#the crooked hats.... excellent

[eerna]

Kaz x Nina fake married is great actually a small applause is in order

[bubonicc-writing]

The Rebound

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3194

Summary: It's been a long time since Cooper has felt a loving touch. Perhaps a little too long because he's not entirely sure what to do with you.

CW: Semi-slow burn, smut, P in V, creampies, loving on a crispy man who needs it real bad. Prob ooc because this is my first fallout/reader fic ever (sowwy)

Cooper was a hard man to break. Downright standoffish and a straight-up jackass. At least that was what he was like when you first met him. Charismatic, confident, an excellent shot, but god, was he a prick. That, though, you had gotten used to the longer you traveled together. As the months dragged on, that standoffishness started to shed from the Ghoul. 

It started with random small talk picking up between you two as you travel between settlements. For the first few months together, it was mostly silence or business talk traded between you. Who was the next bounty? Where were they last? Can you scavenge while I get intel? It was all just business. That was until one night, Cooper started making small talk between their travels. Then came the soft conversations by the fire when they settled for the night. Every week, the weight of that duster and those guns on his back seemed to lighten the more he talked to you. Then came the offered cantine of water on a scorching day. Already an out-of-the-ordinary gesture from him, more so because your cantine wasn’t empty and he was offering his for a sip.

You took it.

The small talk turned into jokes with hushed laughs between you. As Cooper drawled on, you watched him over the campfire's tip. The light it threw cast beautiful shadows along Cooper's features, and when that crooked ass grin warped his lips more and more, you felt a tinge in the center of your chest. A little candlelight flickering and quivering whenever he spoke in that long drawl. It blazed when his eyes flicked up at you, staring at you in a way that made it seem like he could see right through you. It was like he could see that candle burning just for him.

Now, when the two of you slept, you were no longer on opposite sides of the room. You both started to creep toward each other every night until you were only a few feet apart. Cooper never laid down when he slept. Instead, he leaned against the wall and semi-slouched. He’d tilt his hat downward until the brim hid his eyes. Finally, he would cross his legs and arms before drifting off. You, on the other hand, preferred your bedroll. While not much, it was still better than the barren floor or the questionable mattress they occasionally came across. 

Tonight, a storm was coming through, bringing billowing winds and harsh rain that pounded the roof of the abandoned gas station they had sheltered in. You had tried hours ago to sleep, but the chill from the wind crept between the broken boards and cracked windows. You tossed and turned for what felt like hours, unable to get warm in any position. You flopped over one more time, now facing where Cooper was slouched against a wall a good two feet from you. His brim was cast down, covering his eyes as usual, but from how still he was, you figured he had fallen asleep a while ago.

 Chewing your lip, you hesitated momentarily before scooting towards him and bridging the gap. Snuggling up against his hips and thighs, you sighed contently. He smelled of gunpowder and smoke, typical. Slumber tugged at your eyelids, and you finally drifted off within minutes.

A light sleeper for obvious reasons in this hellhole of a wasteland, Cooper had awoken the second you had touched his leg. He waited for you to settle before opening one eye halfway and staring down his brim at you. Studying your peaceful expression and how you pressed your nose into his thigh. Two rouge strands of your hair had fallen against your cheek, slightly curled at the tips.

A former version of himself would have shoved you away, telling you to git back to your side of the station. Except the current version of himself felt something swirling around in his chest. It was slightly uncomfortable but not all too unfamiliar.

It was a sensation he hadn’t felt for over a hundred years, something that longed for that little touch and craved so much more. It flopped around behind his ribcage, and he grits his teeth in annoyance.

Sighing and looking back down, he shifts gently. Bringing one hand down and outstretching two fingers, he tenderly brushes the hair strands behind your ear. With that, he recrosses his arms and sits back, eyes closing.

As the months continue, so do they, but Cooper is different at night. His expressions are somber, his eyes distant while he sharpens his knives. Deep in thought, sometimes it takes calling his name twice before he looks up at you.

“Coop, are you alright?” you ask, your eyebrows furrowed together in concern. You were annoyed when he smiled and chuckled softly, telling you he was peaches and cream. You didn’t push the matter and didn’t have to because he mentioned his daughter three nights later.

He spoke slowly, hesitantly, wondering if he should even be saying any of this to you in the first place. He wasn’t a vulnerable man, not anymore, anyway. 

He spoke, and you listened, night after night, as more pieces of the puzzle of this mystery man fell together. Under all those clothes and behind all those guns, Cooper was still just a man—an ordinary man.

“You’ll find her Coop,” Reaching over from where you were sitting at his side, you placed your hand on his wrist and gently squeezed it, “I know you will.” 

Cooper didn’t respond, but a smile so tiny it almost went missed curved the corners of his lips.

As you lay in your bedroll that night, you felt something shift against your front. Opening your tired eyes halfway, you watched through blurry vision as Cooper lay down next to you. His back was to you, but you scooted against his spine without a second thought. Resting your cheek between his shoulder blades, you closed your eyes again. 

Eventually, Cooper lay facing you. Without saying anything, he would hook your waist and tug you against his chest. Then, you would feel him resting his chin on your head. The first time he had done it, your face burned so hot you feared you might catch ablaze. If Cooper noticed, he didn’t say. No matter, you didn’t want him to stop, and you were sure he didn’t want you to, either. 

In truth, Cooper would be lying if he ever said he didn’t like the sensation of your small palms against his chest. He loved how you played with the buttons on his dirty shirt until you fell asleep.

Each night, you did the same thing, chest to chest, until finally, one night, you nuzzled your face into the nook of Cooper's neck. Soft and plump lips grazed across his scarred skin before placing a gentle kiss on Cooper’s jawline. 

Immediately, Cooper stiffened against you. You felt his fingers tracing lazy patterns on the small of your back pause. You heard him swallow suddenly, and your stomach sank as you expected him to push you away and scold you. 

Instead, Cooper cleared his throat and nestled his chin harder against the top of your head. 

Days in the wasteland dragged on usually, but the following days felt like an eternity since that night. Bounty after bounty, caps collected, and supplies scavenged, Cooper never once brought it up. Instead, he carried on as usual, which, in truth, made your heartache.

It was possible that even after all of this time, the candle he had ablaze in your chest was not mutually lit. 

What you didn’t know was that Cooper's heart had bounced out of his chest and into his throat that night. He didn’t think it was even possible for his cheeks to flush, but damn, they felt hot. It was alien; over 200 years of feeling the kiss of bullets, he had forgotten what a real one felt like. It was incredible but also terrifying.

 He had loved, and he had lost. 

The nights following the kiss, Cooper waited for you to make a move again, but you didn’t. You slept with your back to him and didn’t move when he pressed against you and draped an arm over your waist. After a few minutes, he felt your fingers intertwine with him in a gentle grip. 

The two of you stayed linked that night.

The following night, Cooper watched as you shrugged off your jacket and kicked off your boots, getting ready to sleep after a long day of tracking a bounty through the unforgiving sun. Reaching up, you released your hair from its loose bun and let your locks fall messily over your shoulders.

You half turned when you felt Cooper grab your hand. Watching him bring it to his lips, he kissed your palm and pressed your hand against his cheek.

The brim of his hat temporarily hid his eyes, but when he looked up at you, your heart fluttered. No words were exchanged as you slowly leaned forward, having to stand on your toes even to come close to his marred lips. Centimeters away, you paused, but Cooper filled the gap.

The first kiss was gentle, and your free hand came up to cup Cooper’s other cheek. When you broke away, it wasn’t for long. Reconnecting, your kisses became hungrier, and your hands on Cooper's cheeks drifted downward. Running over his neck, then his collar and chest. You worked your way down as he kissed you until you palmed at his groin.

“Wait,” Cooper pulled away suddenly, stepping back, “wait…fuck” He turned on his heels, pacing back and forth. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask, watching him shake his head and curse to himself. “Coop?”

Once he stopped pacing, he sighed and shook his head before glancing over his shoulder at you.

“I don’t think I have it in me no more, sweetheart.” He laughed softly at himself. 

“What do you mean?” Taking a step towards him, she watched as he finally turned to face her.

“It’s… been a long time. A really long time, sugar.” Too long, really, at least, that is what he thought anyway. Nobody had touched him like this since before the bombs. Nobody had loved him. The only thing he knew now was blood, bullets, and ass jerky.

“Coop,” You said softly, moving towards him and wrapping your arms around his towering frame, “let me take care of you for once.” There was silence before Cooper rested his chin atop your head and laughed. Slowly, his hands came up to rest on your hips, his thumbs dipping under the fabric of your shirt to rub at the soft skin there. 

Looking up, you place a chain of kisses along his jawline. Meanwhile, one of your hands pressed against his back snaked back to his front. There, you worked your way down again until you felt the subtle tent in his pants. You palmed it gently, drawing out soft groans from your Ghoul. He shifted in place, sliding his chin off your head and burying his face between the nook in your neck. His hips lean forward into your touch, and you purr at that.

“That’s it,” you whisper, working the top button until it pops. Next, you slide his zipper down and slide your hand inside. “I’ve got you.”

Upon grabbing his stiffening cock, you feel him tense against you, even sagging a little bit as you start to stroke. Your thumb rubs over his swollen head, spreading the generous amount of precum around. You feel it pulse against your palm, and you can’t help but smile when Copper’s breath stutters against your neck.

“Fuck darling,” He drawls, “You know how to drive a man mad.” Bringing his hands up from your hips, Cooper knots his fingers into the back of your shirt. It doesn’t take long to have him unraveling. You can feel his thighs trembling and his grip tightening the closer he gets to release. Like butter, he is melting and fast.

Each new noise you pull from him causes a feverish heat to swell over your form. Your stomach flips, and you feel your heat clench with desire. As much as you would like to keep your composure, you lean into him, pressing your forehead into his shoulder as you stroke faster and faster. 

The choked growl Cooper lets out is the only warning you get before hot fluid coats your palm and wrist. His hips lurch in your grip twice before he suddenly sags hard against your form. Finger still twisted in your shirt, he finally lets go and lets his arms swing heavily by his sides. His legs are like jelly, and it takes him a moment to stand up semi-straight, his hat slightly crooked. He looks drunk, his eyes glossy, that stupid ass grin you loved smeared across his lips.

“That good, huh?” Stepping back to give him a little breathing room, you pluck the first few buttons of your shirt open. Allowing your shirt to part and fall from your shoulders, your breasts become exposed. With your other hand, you reach down and open the first button of your pants.

“Well then,” You coo, “come on then bounty hunter.” You shimmy your pants and panties off, kicking them off to the side, leaving your form raw to his eyes. “Come and get it.”

There was no need to ask twice. Rushing forward, Cooper grabbed your hips and slammed your forms together. Your lips crashed together again and again, and you whined into his mouth, horribly needy. You didn’t doubt Cooper had seen the slick glistening on your inner thigh.

Pushing you backward, you allowed Cooper to guide you to your bedroll. Once close enough to it, he kicked his foot out, hooked his heel around your leg, and pulled it out from under you. As you fell backward, he fell with you, landing flat on his palms. Towering over you now, eyes ablaze as they drink in your beet red face and beautiful puffy pink breasts. 

“You’ve been wantin' this for a while, haven’t yah?” Lifting one of his hands and pressing it against your soft belly, he drags it down towards your heat. Without warning, he slides his middle and ring finger through your folds, running over your sensitive clit. You gasp, tossing your head back.

“Ngh! Fuck!” Looking up between your bodies, you watch as Cooper drags his fingers up and down over and over, teasing your swelling clit. “Fuck Coop, fuck!”

“Well,” He growls, “Who am I to keep a lady waitin'?” Without warning, his middle and ring finger coast downward and dip deep into your gushing cunt. The squeal that escapes your lips has Cooper chuckling. He presses deep into you, humming as your walls grip his digits. 

Burying himself knuckle deep over and over, a squelching noise is followed by each hand thrust. You lift and twist your hips from the intense waves of pleasure. Only when you feel Cooper withdraw his fingers do you flop down, panting harshly.

Through half-lidded and blurry eyes, you watch Cooper bring his hand between you. He inspects them before spreading his two fingers apart, a tendril of thick fluid connecting them.

“You get this wet for everybody else? Or just little o’l me?”

Turning your head away in embarrassment, you feel Cooper grip your chin and return your gaze to him. 

“Eyes on me.” He growls as he rolls his hips forward, running his stiff cock between your slick folds. The head bumps your clit, and for a moment, you think you see stars. Over and over again, he grinds against you, littering your chest with kisses in the meantime. 

When you finally feel him lean back and press his head against your opening, he hesitates. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper as you place your hand on his cheek and run your thumb over his cheekbone. “I’ve got you.” Sliding both arms around his neck, you gently tug him into your warm embrace. One hand rugs between his shoulder blades while your other rubs the back of his neck.

Allowing himself to lean forward, he nuzzles into the side of your neck before biting the soft flesh. 

Rolling his hips forward, he breaches and slides into you with ease. Gasping and choking out a soft cry, you feel him bury himself to his hilt. Hip connected to hip for a brief moment, he finally drags himself out. Rolling forward, the pase is slow, perhaps even loving, before your Ghoul gets hungry.

It doesn’t take long before your hips are slapping together. You can’t stop the sobs of pleasure that break past your lips with each sharp snap of his hips. Digging your nails into his shoulder blades, you feel your eyes cross when the head of his cock punches that sweet, sweet bundle of nerves.

“Oh fuck, Cooper!” Your back arches off of your bedroll, “F-fuck! I’m… I’m” The hot waves of pleasure radiating from your belly to your groin all the way down your trembling thighs to your toes are winding too tight. “I’m gonna cum!” 

He didn’t slow down and instead angled himself better to strike that little bundle of nerves that had your eyes rolling back. It took two hard hits before he felt your beck snap into a tight arch. He felt your chest bump hard against him, and your hips twisted to the right as your climate ripped you apart.

Head thrown back, mouth wide open, no sound came out of you as your climax held you prisoner.

Above, Cooper's thrusts started to become sloppy, losing their rhythm as your cunt clamped down on him spasmodically. As much as he tried to hold on, it had been too long, and you had felt too good.

Grunting hard into the side of your neck, you felt a warmth bloom in your groin as Cooper spilled everything he had left into you. He slammed your hips together, holding you in place and burying himself as deep as he could, pumping you full. The sensation had goosebumps blooming across your skin as your body finally deflated back down against the bedroll. 

With eyes half-lidded and glossy, you made out the foggy shape of Cooper still hunched over you, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath. Every other breath was a soft wheeze. Sweat had beaded on his forehead, and a droplet fell and landed on your chest.

Leaning back and sliding himself from your heat, a thick flood of cum followed. You shivered at the sensation and watched as Cooper lowered himself against your form. Resting his head between your breasts, he inhaled sharply and sighed.

Lovingly, you stroked the back of his neck, enjoying the sensation of his hot breath against your breast.

Together, you lay like that while listening to the rain from a passing storm plink against the tin roof.

When you looked down, Cooper's eyes were closed, and his breathing had finally leveled. Letting your head fall back, you closed your own eyes and smiled.

For once, the wasteland was at peace.

[theresthesnitch]

Trick or treat!! 🎃👻

"Your mane is crooked."

James scoffs as he looks at Sirius. "It's just my hair. I think it's as good as it's going to get."

Sirus shakes his head, looking back at himself in the mirror as he straightens his blue plaid dress. "That's what you get for for transfiguring your own hair rather than wearing a wig."

"I thought it would be more authentic that way." James turns away from the mirror and looks at Sirius. "Has Remus seen your costume yet?"

"Not yet," Sirus says. He looks himself over, from the short skirt of his blue plaid dress down his stocking covered legs and ruby red heels, then up to where he's tied his hair in pigtails. "He know what it is though."

James snorts. "He knows that you're Dorthy, I don't think he knows you're Fuck Me Dorthy."

"Well, that's all part of the surprise." Sirius turns on his heels. "He offered to dress Teddy. Who, by the way, is adorable in his little top hat. Cutest Wizard of Oz ever."

"I bet he is," James says. "Ready?"

As soon as they walk out of the bedroom, something that looks like a small monkey with wings runs into Sirius's legs. "Hazza P! You make an excellent flying monkey."

Harry holds his arms upto Sirius. "Uppy, uppy!"

Sirius swings him into his arms. "What does a monkey say?"

"Oh, oh, oh," Harry says, imitating a moneky.

"You're perfect for the job," Sirius says, pressing a kiss to Harry's forehead.

"Harry!" Lily calls as she comes around the corner. "Where did you--oh." She pauses as she catches sight of them, then a knowing smirk comes over her face as she looks him up and down. "You're going to make him go mad."

"That's the goal," Sirius says with a wink as he leans in to kiss her cheek, but then pulls back suddenly. "Nope, I don't kiss evil witches."

Lily rolls her eyes. "She's intigral to the Wizard of Oz."

"It's offensive," Sirius says. "You could have picked someone else."

Lily shrugs. "I prefer Elphaba."

"Who?" James and Sirius ask together.

Lily sighs. "Sorry, I pushed the muggleness too far. I'll explain later. But, Regulus is going as Glinda, so I couldn't really pick the good witch."

"I can't wait to see Regulus in a pink ball gown," Sirius says with a laugh. "I bet it's a good look for him."

James pauses. "Wait, does that mean Kingsley is coming too? What's his costume?"

"Sidra got him to agree to be the lollipop guild with her, so he's a munchkin," LIly says.

James and Sirius exchange gleeful looks. "Does that mean shorts and short sleeves?" SIrius asks.

"You two are menaces," Lily says. "But yes, and don't stare too much or I'll have to hex you both."

Lily takes Harry from Sirius, give James a kiss, and they all walk into the living room together. Remus is bent over, adjusting the curtain over Teddy's pram and cooing at the baby inside. "Yes, who's a good wizard. Just the best wizard. You are. That's you, Teddy-boo."

SIrius sighs. "There really is no place like home."

Remus looks up, the silver on his face crinkling with his smile, but the smile quickly drops away and is replaced by open mouthed awe. Sirius walks up and closes his mouth with a finger under his jaw. "Mr. Tinman, I think you need some oil. Your jaw creaked open when you saw me."

"You can't wear that," Remus says.

"Why not?" SIrius says with a pout.

Remus rubs his thumb along Sirius's lower lip. "Because I don't think Dorthy's costume comes with silver paint between her thighs."

"Remus, language!" Lily says, mockingly cupping her hands over Harry's ears.

"Trust me, that was the clean version," Remus says.

"Come on! No time to change," James says, pulling SIrius to the door. "Regulus and Kingsley are already waiting for us."

Sirius turns around to walk backwards as James pulls him to the door. "Moony, Kingsley is wearing shorts. Don't you want to come see Kingsley's calves?"

"Kingsley has calves?" Remus asks distractedly.

"Come on, Remus," Lily says, clapping his arm as she walks to the door with Harry on her hip. "If you're lucky, you can convince his brother to take Teddy tonight so you can find out what's under his skirt."

"You don't want to--"

"Nope!" Lily says smugly.

Remus grabs Teddy's pram and pushes him to the door behind the others. "Trick or treat, Teddy," he says with a sigh. "Hopefully, it's a treat."

[helluvaoutlaw]

It was nearing dusk, the denizens of Wrath emerging from their daily tasks to get a pint or two, and participate in all around debauchery in the local bars and saloons that peppered the streets, rowdy shouts and cheers marking the cooling air, promising another rough and tumble night for the young and the reckless.

A slim figure weaved through the crowd. With her dark eyes and pale hair, two large, luxurious feathers swaying slightly in the wing. she was practically a beacon against the murky background of red and beige that was the town. Foreigners passed through plenty of times, but the way she moved, with an airy and a sort of cool deliberation as she practically glided through the shoving crowd, which thinned as she approached a quiet (a rare occurrence during these hours) saloon at the edge of town.

The doors swung slightly as she pushed through them, the barista looking up at her, staring for far more than a moment.

''A drink, if you please.''

She spoke, her cold voice traced with a strange accent--one from the angelic language, though this random demo rabble surely wouldn't understand it. The barista narrowed his eyes, turning to eye the bottles on the shelf.

''Vodka straight.'' The barkeeper chuckled a bit, sliding the glass he filled across the bar table to her. ''Bit strong fer a lass like ya, ain't i'?'' She raised an eyebrow, taking a tentative sip, then a bolder one.

As Striker rode into the small town nestled within the ring of Wrath, his presence sent a ripple of fear through the cobbled streets. People hurriedly retreated into their homes, peeking out from behind curtains or shuttered windows as he passed by. The air was thick with tension, the atmosphere heavy with unease.

Yet amidst the apprehension, there was one solitary figure who welcomed Striker's arrival with open arms. The gravedigger, a weathered man with a crooked smile, leaned casually on his shovel as Striker approached.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Death's messanger himself."

The gravedigger greeted, his tone oddly cheerful despite the somber surroundings.

"People here may be scared of you, but me? I'm always glad to see you, Mr. Striker. Business has been rather slow, lately."

"Hello, Barnabas. Of course, I reckon it won't take me long."

"Excellent, my dear friend. I'll see you soon...once you're done."

The mortician smiled and tipped his hat, before walking back to his humble shop.

Striker shook his head and looked at the local saloon, before heading right in.

@saints-wrapped-in-plastic

[edwinspaynes]

For @musehart : "someone gets buried in snow" ...Take 1/2 Also huge thanks to @themimsyborogove for reading this one over to make sure Zachary sounded authentically childlike, you're the real MVP

1908

Zachary Arash Carstairs loved Cirenworth Hall. It had always seemed like one of the castles that his sister Cordelia told him about in fairy tales, spinning words in the air like swirls of warlock magic.

But the best thing about Cirenworth was that his two favorite people came to play with him all the time. Dadash and Tom-Tom, who he loved as though they were his own fathers, though not really because surely fathers were not so fun and amusing as they were.

"Zachary," Alastair said seriously. "We are making a fortress in which to hide, not forming snowballs to throw at Tom-Tom."

"Yes, please do not throw snowballs at me," Thomas muttered. His hat was on crooked, for he was silly; his hand, though gloved, was encased in Dadash's. Dadash moved his hands over Tom-Tom's in what Zachary had recently learned was a warming motion; he did it to Doost, his stuffed lamb, so she wouldn't get cold at night.

"Zachary, joon," Dadash said in a silly, laughing voice. Zachary giggled. He loved that tone. "We are going to bury Tom-Tom in snow, alright? Not throw it. For, while it is poor manners to throw things, it is in excellent form to provide others with the gift of a snow-blanket."

"Snow-blanket?" Zachary sucked on his finger. It tasted nice.

"Really, that's only something Dadash wants as a present," Tom-Tom shared.

Zachary nodded sagely at the revelation. "Tom-Tom and Zach give Dadash snow-blanket," he summarized.

"No," Dadash said, "you and I are going to make one for Tom-Tom-"

Tom-Tom leaned in and kissed Dadash's nose lightly. "Sorry, mi amor, it looks as though Zachary once again has identified his partner in crime correctly."

Zachary was not sure what that meant, but he did like Tom-Tom, very very much. So he began to pack Dadash's feet into the snow while he protested weakly, and Tom-Tom helped him bury his brother's legs while whispering something to Dadash about being quite the good sport.

He loved Dadash's silly face most of all, so he made sure to make the snow-blanket extra fluffy to keep him comfy.

[astrhae]

oh give me wesper and 10 please MWAH

10. ...a lazy kiss | post-canon, established relationship, a carriage ride to a ball

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

Jesper flicked the carriage door open, a phantom of a touch as his power did half the work.

They were getting better at channeling Jesper’s gift, even if that blessing did come in erratic flares and bursts. They were also late enough for the Radmakkers’ Ball, the midsummer sun now already brushing the horizon.

Clambering into the carriage first, Jesper held out a hand to help Wylan in.

“Your Excellency,” Jesper teased.

That was the style that came with Wylan’s title. Along with the Esteemed Wylan Van Eck and the Honorable Councilman Van Eck. If Wylan chose to marry, his partner would earn the style of the Illustrious. As it was, Jesper had no title – no matter how illustrious Wylan found him – and Jesper enjoyed teasing Wylan with his wealth of names.

“Your stupid face,” Wylan teased in return.

He shoved the hat on the carriage seat to the other side, squeezing in beside Jesper and closing the door behind him. It was a large carriage, the envy of Ketterdam, with glass windows shielded by ruby-red curtains and plush velvet seats. When it moved, the springs above its wheels made the trip feel a little smoother.

“You like this face,” Jesper shot back, unbothered.

“Just the lips,” Wylan grinned at the red rouge Jesper had put on.

The burgundy suit Jesper wore matched it, but the white mercher gloves he’d conceded to stood stark against them – and against Wylan’s skin as Jesper reached up to curl it behind Wylan’s neck. He let himself be pulled closer, until he could kiss Jesper again, lazy and lingering and longing.

“Just the lips?” Jesper challenged, voice dipped low. The carriage rattled as it turned a curve, pushing them closer still.

“It is excellent at doing – ” Wylan cut himself off as Jesper’s hand moved down to rest by Wylan’s waist, palm pressed just beneath his diaphragm where he might feel every stutter of his decorum fraying, “at doing things,” he lost his train of thought.

Jesper laughed.

His other hand reached down to take Wylan’s right hand, and he lifted it up to his lips to press a kiss over the back of it, the rouge staining Wylan’s own white gloves. All proper and taunting – propriety turned vice, the world unbuilt slipping into his open palm as Wylan felt himself fraying at his edges, undone but still unfinished.

The ghost of Jesper’s breath lingered even through the fabric, coming to rest over his knuckles: evening mist falling over the crags of sunset.

When Jesper pulled away, the red shape of his lips stayed on Wylan’s glove, a mark meant to scar the silk. Jesper could have easily Fabrikated the color away, but by the crooked glint in his eyes – a thief who’d just found the kruge – Wylan knew that Jesper would let it stay for the night, for the length of the ball.

Wylan felt his cheeks flush warm.

“Jes,” he huffed, but couldn’t stop his smile, heart finite for the length of a name.

“You want me to stop?” Jesper asked.

They had around five more minutes before they arrived at the Radmakker mansion, before they’d have to lose this to the crowds at the ball.

“Don’t you dare,” Wylan dragged Jesper back in by the lapel of his suit.

“If Your Excellency insists,” Jesper pressed a kiss beneath Wylan’s jaw, where flesh became pulse and pulse became want.

His own hands traced the dark shadow of the veins climbing up Jesper’s bare neck – a what if on the verge of becoming a what will. Uncurling, a bloom, an implosion: a promise of what he might do when the night was over, when it would just be the two of them again. When the night would fade into the morning and he could spend the sunrise lost in Jesper’s touch, in Jesper’s dreams. Half asleep, but always more than half his world.

“I’m not insisting,” he stole his own kiss from Jesper. Once a thief, always a thief, no matter how honest. “I’m only making a down payment.”

“Oh?” Jesper thumbed the kohl around the edge of Wylan’s eyes. “Payment for what services?”

Wylan grinned into another lingering kiss. “You’ll see,” he promised.

The night was still young, after all.

And so were they.

And so was the world.

[chibipsycho-v3]

Can I request rebecha x reader cuddling i love her very much

*bUSTS DOWN DOOR* The Fluff Express is here! One lazy afternoon cuddle with Reader's name on it! This one came out super-cute, enjoy~

Rebecha x GN!Reader

Soft rain ticked on the windows. A gentle rainstorm gave the pair of you an excellent excuse to be lazy, plus there were usually no repair calls during a rainy day.

You brought two mugs of warm drinks over to the couch, where Rebecha had shrouded herself in one of the nice, cuddly blankets. You handed a mug off to Rebecha, who switched the mug to her opposite hand and lifted the edge of the blanket with the other. You gratefully took the silent invitation, nudging into the crook of her arm as she tucked the warmed blanket over your shoulders.

"Perfect," she sighed, melting against the back of the couch. This was your shared idea of the best kind of day- no work, no worry, just you and Rebecha and all the time in the world to spend together.

You leaned forward to set your cup down as she did the same, then you turned and cuddled into her side with a warm smile. She looked so dang cute when she was just dressed in lazy clothes. You enjoyed seeing her without her usual goggles and hat, revealing her straight black hair. You were sure she'd say something similar about you, but you weren't going to go fishing for compliments.

She laughed as you pressed a kiss to her temple and Rebecha turned to snuggle against you now. This ended in the both of you wriggling around until the blanket ended up over top of you instead, giggling and trying to find an edge. Finally it somehow ended with you leaned on the couch arm and Rebecha laying half on top of you.

"I wouldn't change this day for anything," she sighed dreamily as she settled against you.

"Me either," you agreed, covering the both of you with the blanket. The warmth and the gentle rhythm of the rain lulled you both to a soft, listless slumber together.

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | Tiger Cage II (Yuen, 1990)

The first Tiger Cage was a corrosive cops versus crooks actioner with amazing action scenes. Tiger Cage II is a kinder, gentler, more lighthearted actioner... but also with amazing action scenes. In the first movie, whatever trust we could place in authority or even in our friends proved to be fleeting. Here, if you think you’re having trouble trusting authority on this side of the law, well, they have the same problem on the other side. And if some of the good guys might not be so good, well, some of the bad guys might not be so bad. The boisterous violence of the first movie has been toned down, with the violence less graphic this time around, or at least lingered on less blatantly, but the pace has not let up. Here, we start at a law firm doing some kind of crooked criminal deal involving drug money from eeeeeeeeeeeeeevvvvvvvvvvvvvviiiiiiiiiiiiiiilllllllllllllllllllll foreigners, where Donnie Yen (returning from the first film but as a different character) gets mistakenly accused of murder when the deal goes south and a bunch of people end up dead. He’s soon paired up with Rosamund Kwan, whom he rescues from the carnage, finds himself accused by, and then gets paired up with as both flee from the bad guys and try to prove their innocence.

Yen’s and Kwan’s scenes together are played almost like a romantic comedy, like a Hong Kong action movie version of It Happened One Night, stringing contrived set piece after contrived set piece together at a breakneck pace. The result feels almost free associative, stringing together the bare minimum of cop and crook tropes as it bounces from one scene to the next almost reflexively. True, if the characters bothered to slow down, they could easily resolve any confusion. One gets the sense that this is like The Wrong Guy, where the police have good reason to believe they’re innocent, especially after getting in a shootout with a black-clad motorcyclist killer after witnessing said killer do the deeds Yen and Kwan think they’re accused of. But it’s hard to complain about any idiocy in the plotting when we get scenes like Yen peeing his pants while handcuffed to Kwan and Yen threatening to torture somebody with Perrier water. If you subscribe to the theory that actors essentially play the same character in all their movies, then that’s technically Ip Man peeing his pants in that scene.

I probably don’t need to tell you that Yen is extremely charismatic and a remarkable physical performer, but will note that at one point we see him kick down three bad guys while still in midair. (I don’t know if I’d describe the movie as stylish, but the action scenes are directed with undeniable verve, and images like Yen charging at the camera and the atmospheric scene in the darkened tunnel have a palpable visual impact.) I will also note that after seeing Kwan in Prince Charming, where she’s unfortunately outmatched by Cherie Chung and Maggie Cheung, and Armour of God, where she has unfortunately little to do, I think this movie makes a good case for her particular charms. We also get Cynthia Khan, who has her name misspelled in the credits and is maybe underused, but does get to face off with the motorcyclist killer. I am less familiar with her than some of the other girls with guns stars, but perhaps I will make time to explore her body of work. Also, as I mentioned earlier, there are some eeeeeeeeeeeeeevvvvvvvvvvvvvviiiiiiiiiiiiiiilllllllllllllllllllll foreigners, although instead of the lady with the nice hat from the first one, we get a guy with a ponytail. Which sounds like a downgrade, until I reveal that the ponytail guy has a sword, which we uses to face off against Yen in an all-timer action sequence. Which would be the peak of most movies, but this one finds time to deliver a few more amazing fight scenes right after, because one climax is for pussies.

Alas, the excellence of the first two entries is not maintained by Tiger Cage III, but for a movie that’s not very good, it’s surprisingly good. That’s a contradiction, you say? Well, first of all, fuck you, I’m trying to coin a phrase. Second, what I mean to say is that while there are pretty blatant narrative weaknesses that keep this from being remotely as enjoyable as the first two, it still delivers pretty ably on the kind of pleasures we see these movies for. This time, the sense of corruption has become almost background noise, as we go from a tale of corporate wrongdoing and insider trading to a Phantom of the Opera riff about sexual misconduct and greed, all conveyed with as little feeling as possible. A large part of the problem is the cast, as this lacks anyone with the star power or charisma as the leads in the first two movies. Instead, we get such memorable faces as ascot dude, long hair dude (the specific kind of non-grunge long hair dude they stopped making after the mid ‘90s), and a hero whose facial scars resemble the pizzaface makeup of the zombies in Hell of the Living Dead. Which is to say, I did not find the proceedings terribly worthwhile to invest in, but it’s hard to hold that against the movie too strongly when we have such action delights as a fight with fiery wooden planks and a speedboat / jet ski chase with rocket launchers.

[writingsofhubris-a]

Cabinet Man - Ch. 6

But all my organs were living on inside [AO3] Rating: T WC: 3.6K | 20.1K Tags: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Slow Burn Fandom: Spider-Man (Movies - Raimi) Ship: Otto Octavius/Rosalie Octavius Disc: Ce, qu'on appelle une raison de vivre est en même temps une excellente raison de mourir. | What is called a reason for living is also an excellent reason for dying Otto Octavius, soon to be a doctor, knew his reputation preceded him in more ways than one. He’d all but written off marriage from a young age, until he saw a woman who’s flick of a hair, a rustle of skirts, took his attention firmly from the science he had so long been taken over his mind.  [<<] | [>>]

“Stay.” 

“What?” Otto’s fingers toyed with the brim of his hat, sure he had heard the invitation wrong. His traitorous mind deciding to take hold, he almost heard the word in what he assumed her voice would sound like, wrapped in sleep, trying to steal him from a laboratory he’d  have in the  future. 

In just that singular word, a world that he thought he would be able to hold, if she was there with him. Disheveled, pleading, wishing for nothing more than just a few more moments with him in her arms, his warmth trapped under the blankets with hers. 

But the fantasy was shook from his head, the thoughts that begged for more attention wiped from his head as her words once more spilled.

“For  tea. Please, stay for tea  today.” Rosaline’s hand was outstretched, reaching to rest on his forearm, despite the yards between them. She took over his space, invaded his very being with the simple action. Despite the difference in their sizes, despite the distance spanning,  the attempted reach nearly took him to his knees. Her face, always open to him, pleaded for his  company, just a few hours more with him. It was impossible to deny her request, even the most simple.  His research be damned, he knew that the hours he would devote to this house would offer him just the same rewards as the electricity humming away, crackling at his loneliness. 

“Why would I ever refuse you?” The rhetorical question split her  face into joy, any final tensions in her face disintegrating like fine paper in water. “When  is it everyone will be arriving?” 

“Any moment  now; come along.” Her hand, still raised, almost took Otto’s arm, turned and beckoned him closer, a simple crook of her fingers in his direction. He walked to her nearly instantly, as though she was nothing but a puppeteer and his strings were her fingers. He overtook the space between them, close enough her fingers almost bridged the gap between them. The distance,  so slight as it was,  almost disappeared in a second of weakness. between them The soft whisper of her skirts over the ground reached  his ears as she turned into the parlor, a room  he had  quickly become familiar with, one that he had only just left. “There would have been something  to say about bad manners if you had refused, Otto.” Through  the deep  wood, reminiscent of the  woods  they had seen at the health retreat  they only had just  been at. 

Upon entry into the parlor, he found most of the dishes already set, tea cups set every so often around the room, enough to allow anyone to join in.

“I could never fathom rejecting your offers, Rosie.”

He couldn’t admit to how much he  wanted to stay regardless. She was the one thing in his life that allowed the moments of pleasure and happiness he desperately needed. 

“Excellent!” Her hands took his elbow as soon as his coat was once more off, his hat offered to the maid, all but dragged him into the parlor. It already was set with trays piled high with sandwiches, small things to nibble as the appetite was wetted from tea and chocolate. 

“This looks excellent,” he managed, a slight amount of shock in his features. Rarely before had he seen such a spread for a simple tea; he found himself invited by those who only found a function of a break in tea, only found themselves the break in numbers and formulas in the leaves and hot water. 

“Thank you,” Her words were clearly flattered, the emotions behind her words entirely meant.

The time passed quicker than Otto wanted to admit to. Her company, among the other people, didn’t help his schedule for the day. Many people had joined the throngs, the conversations drifting between those who found joy in the moments shared. Many unfamiliar faces showed between the ornamentation in the room, connections made between the pillows. 

He would have never organically found himself in a situation like this Otto detested the niceties that only just rang true in the most hollow of echos, the promises to see and talk, to discuss and claim truths only finding home from those without formal education taken seriously. Yet, to help Rosie? to offer his time to her in the most simple way, a second of peace and of quiet, a form of Elysium in the river of guests? Otto would find all reserves of strength to be gifted with that small smile she would grace upon him. 

He found himself, much later than he’d expected, with her at a sofa, her rounds already clearly finished for the moment. That smile was faint on her lips, her laugh fading from her lips over the moments. 

“Thank you for allowing me to stay,” he finally said, a small smile on his own lips, a compliment to hers. 

“I couldn’t imagine a moment away from you.” The words offered a catch in Otto’s breathing, knowing the truth behind her words. She wouldn’t lie over something such as that to him. Could she? “How is your research going?” 

“At a small stand still, I’m afraid. We have been successful up until this moment, but our current success seemed to be stalled due in large part to general limitations. Not that we are not trying to work through them. Nothing is too difficult for us to work the details out.’ The small smile on his lips was only for her, a secret gesture to show the confidence worried through his mind. So long as she offered a moment of solidarity, of confidence to his ability, Otto was certain that he would be able to find the solutions to his problems. Her confidence was the only thing that Otto could possibly need. 

“Such as your arms, Otto?” 

“My…” The flick of light in her eyes offered all the recognition that he needed for the information to click through. His mechanical arms, the dream that he had shared with her. “A similar spot to my professional work.” 

“And how so?” There were moments that he nearly offered the specifics, the measurements, the compositions. Otto quite nearly allowed himself, quite unexpectedly, to fall prey to her mere presence. 

“I cannot find a way through a connectivity issue on the joints,” he allowed, a lame excuse for the problem, details glossed over in a nearly insulting level.

“Connectivity?”

“Conduction,” he clarified. 

“In which way?” 

“I cannot find a joint system that allows for articulation in a way that will not pinch off the wires.” There was a pause, as someone called for Rosie, a guest demanding her attention. Her voice rang between the two of them, a hand lifted to them, for just a moment.  

“You’ve considered wires, then. Do you have another option, perhaps? Metal can be made into liquid, we use suspended gold for some certain calligraphy, have you that option?”

“No.” The question took Otto by shock, the clear solution nearly obvious in its choice. “No, Rosie, I had not considered such a thing.” He leant forward slightly, taking her space for his own. “Painting metal on, it would allow for the flexibility required of the metal, that bit of movement that’s required.” 

“There you go, Otto. You just need a little help figuring everything out sometimes.” Her words were carressed by her lips, a confidence he hadn’t expected to find tonight leaving her words. A confidence that she seemed to pull from him, words nearly foreign to him in those moments. she seemed to have taken any thoughts from his head, in the simple, obvious solution. 

“Thank you.” His simple words offered a thanks she couldn’t understand in his words alone; he hoped that his folly in loving her wasn’t discovered until it was assured she loved him too. It was clear only to him in that second that her entirety, her mere persona could sustain his dreams even further. 

“The thanks is mine to give isn’t it? You’re propelling this world further to the benefit of our people. You are the reason that we are going to find our scientific goals realized in any capability that we have not found.” Her elbow found the middle of their sofa back, begging for just a moment of recognition. 

“You fortify my endeavors with your words.” Eloquence, though found from Rosie in the current moment, wasn’t one that he found the ability to employ any more effectively in those moments. Rosie’s praise still caught him as though he was being thrown about in a storm.  

Their conversation was interrupted quite suddenly, with the entrance of Rosie’s father. Silence seemed to ring in the empty air, and seemed to find the silence preferable to previous conversations. Thomas’ persona was imposed upon those around him, his presence recognized with a hush fell upon those at the event. Known to all in the room as the master of the house, the due respect to being allowed into his home had to be recognized. 

It didn’t last too terribly long, silence not very suited for the warmth of the decorations, of the bodies and fabrics adorning the chairs. Tea was informal, perhaps, but even those surrounding them were familiar with the imposition of the man. 

Thomas’ steps took him directly to Rosie and Otto, with a restrained, appropriate smile on his lips. He was clearly privy to what it was between the two youths; a desire to interrupt whatever it was occurring in between them. Rosie stiffened just slightly in her father’s presence for once, a tension between them that was clearly the result of some form of argument Otto wasn’t privy to.  

“Doctor Octavius,” he said, confident in his tone. “Have you been enjoying yourself this afternoon, in my house?” ‘Yes, indeed, Mister Evans.” 

“Excellent! Could I persuade you to join us tomorrow evening for dinner?” The invitation was almost a shock to Otto; the kindness almost seemed as if a calculated test. 

“How could I find a reason to refuse?” The accusation was clear; Otto would be willing to join for such an event, though nerves flickered between him and Rosie when his eyes flicked to hers. He forced himself to keep his calm; a desire to dine with Rosie more than his fear of her father. 

“Excellent. Tomorrow, seven PM.” 

“Perfect, I look forward to dining with you.” Her father nodded, before moving onto another guest in his receiving room. Otto took a breath deep into his lungs before  allowing his eyes to at last move to Rosie’s, concern mirrored back. “I feel as if I should be nervous.” 

“You should be.” 

“Great.” He looked into the crowd of people, clearly unsure just of what her father’s actions meant. 

“You’ll be fine, Otto.” Her hand rested for just a second on his upper arm, nothing more than a breath of contact in the seconds of nerves from them both. 

“Thank you, Rosie.” He let his smile spread over his lips, her confidence infectious to him. 

“Have you had any of the cucumber sandwiches?” 

The next day found Otto in his laboratory, time almost having been lost. His jaw tilted up, tying the clean tie in the old mirror propped against the edge of his desk. The silk was tightened on his neck, the final knot securing it. His hands almost dropped, until the silk started to contract again, almost to the point of stealing his breath. The tension was sudden, nearly as though someone had tried to close the knot around his neck, tried to hold him still, to close his throat. His hand was on his throat, dug between silk and cotton, pulling the fabric away from his heated skin. He could only just see the shadow of something behind him, shifting and twisting, until Otto spun himself around, seeing nothing moving in the dark laboratory. 

Not satisfied with his inspection, Otto took the moments to walk around the cluttered room, expecting some papers or something to have fallen to cause the shadows. His inspection revealed no items discarded from another’s hands, no papers left skewed in an unmanageable way. Otto found nothing out of place, and only one thing moved. The wood carving, currently shadowed in looming darkness, shook twice, swinging to find its home settled back against the wall. The flickers of light trying to penetrate the shroud almost made him convinced that it had found life in some way, shifting dark wood taking on a lifelike appearance. 

A step closer, and he almost swore he had found a new crack between the grains of wood. 

Moisture expands wood, it must have just been too warm.

The explanation that appeared in his head didn’t quite feel like a conclusion Otto would have come up with. He hadn’t seen a crack appear in years, at this point. Not since the storm that had offered him the lowly inheritance. 

Air filled his lungs to their extreme, and the faint taste of liquor appeared on Otto’s tongue. He shook his head, unwilling to allow himself to focus on the taste, the taste that absolutely should not have spread. A taste that really shouldn’t be on his tongue in those moments. He didn’t need to think about that phantom taste right now. 

He looked back into the mirror, straightening his buttons, and ignoring the swirling that danced over the wood of the carving. He didn’t need to think about that. 

“Doctor!” Thomas’s voice managed to ring around the room for jus a moment, a smile on his lips as fake as (fuck it idk) “I am glad you could make it, we were just about to adjourn to the dining room.” The night progressed further and further, conversations drifting among everyone whilst mingling between others. 

“Doctor, I must take the moment to ask. How is your research coming along?” “Wonderfully, in fact. We’re almost at a new break through with harnessing power from Niagara falls, in fact.'' Perhaps he was too generous, as they had been waiting for that breakthrough for months. 

“Indeed, we’ve been hearing about such experiments for months. Have you not found the solution?” 

“Science isn’t as linear as we would like.” 

“Clearly. Perhaps the Divine Influence simply wishes for you to not continue your work more.” 

“Perhaps indeed,” Otto replied, knowing the dangerous topic that had just been broached. “But that is not a question a mere mortal would ever answer; our world is founded in the limitations between experiments, whilst his light is found everywhere else.” distaste in his words was bitter on his tongue, hating the stipulations religion forced him to.

“But you decide to try and find said light with your experiments.”

“Is it not a form of worship to understand his creations more intimately? To harness the gifts he has offered us so freely?” There was a hush after Otto’s words, a distinct lack of conversation around him. “Though I cannot presume His Divine Will, I only offer my practices as the most modern form of worship.” 

“And when they prove foolhardy?”

“Then it will be my hubris to face.” His words were clearly held by everyone, and a moment of silence fell between all sitting at the table. Otto found himself cursing his own words in his head, demanding a reason for his horrid wording. 

“Joanna, your dress, it is just divine. Tell us, where did you find such a thing?” The conversation turned once more, Otto letting his eyes move from his plate to those around him. His eyes were caught, as they often seemed to be, by Rosie, still looking at him with thoughts flitting behind her eyes. He didn’t say a word as their eyes held, before she looked away to continue the conversation she’d been taken into. 

With most of the guests having taken their leave already, Rosie found herself moving next to Otto, her skirts a gentle sound next to him. 

“Did you enjoy yourself, Doctor?” Her words were almost a whisper, a question only for his ears. 

“I did, thanks in large part to your company.” 

“Then I am glad I could offer such a service to you,” she replied, stopping with him just inside the door. She turned to face him, her body hiding the door knob between them. “When is it I will see you again, Otto?” His name, so casually from her, shook him to his core. 

“When will you want to?” His brow cocked up, unwilling to allow himself even a moment to not respond to her. 

“As soon as you want to.” The moment he tried to offer seconds before was thrown in his face, her look of pure excitement stopping him. A wave of emotion flooded through him, a sense of claustrophobia over their whole lives surrounding him. 

“I intend to take you on a trip.” Confusion washed her face. 

“Without a chaperone?”

“Yes.” 

“Isn’t that inappropriate?” 

“Entirely.” Her eyes didn’t leave his, but with the promise he had just made, it was impossible for Rosie to not open the door behind her at last. Words weren’t needed just yet, any further words only reinforcing the promise that was just made. 

Otto took the two steps needed to cross the threshold into darkness, before turning back to look at Rosie once again.

A moment passed between them, and Otto took her hand, a moment of intimacy hidden by their solitude. His eyes were on h ers as he lifted her knuckles to his lips, a gentle pressure on her hand. But it was as he lowered it, Rosie took the steps he had lost from him, and surged up in his personal space. Her lips pressed to his cheek, the other hand holding the bare cheek for just a moment. Before he could even appreciate the feeling, Rosie had removed herself, and the sudden close of the door in Otto’s face solidified just what he thought; her nerves were too much. 

His forehead pressed against the warm wood, taking a breath into his lungs. He heard the softest of taps against it, and he almost fancied the idea of Rosie mirroring his action. His hand flattened over the wood, before he pulled away from it, looking at the carving. One day, if he was lucky, he wouldn’t have the wood between he and her. One day, if he was lucky, Rosie and he would be together. 

Despite the wish he had stolen, pressed close to his bosom, Otto didn’t find his night to end just yet. The door had closed, and the transition from a cozy warmth dissipated into his reality once more. Perhaps one day he could hold his hope, hope that his loneliness could be cured by Rosie. She seemed to understand him, she seemed to care. She seemed to be the only thing Otto could wrap his head around in any logical sense. 

The dark wood of his desk, somehow in front of him again, was covered in papers. Buried at least ten sheets deep, he couldn’t find the exact calculations that he had only just moments ago bullied into making sense. A pinch of the bridge of his nose, a deep exhale from his chest, and Otto focused once more on the page before him, the numbers suddenly appearing under a scrap just big enough to hold the calculations. He pulled the rough paper over, and looked down at the numbers again. 

Copper filaments spooled in short distances next to one pile, electricity steadily beating a beam of light into the curves. The calculations were set back down in favor of the metal shavings, and Otto’s fingers took out a wide shaving, only the most minor of imperfections resting on the surface. Twisted this way and that, Otto found a shape hidden in the bends. He shifted onto his feet with a great effort, and nearly stumbled his way back to the wood carving. 

As it always did, it loomed before him, imposing as it ever had been; between every birthday, even holiday, every event that might have warranted comfort or praise, the wood had found itself an unwilling, or unwitting, viewer. It had been privy to the lashes that showed up on his back, the welts that had found their home in scars, crossing his back. It was, in a way, his brother. Otto found the scars itching as he encroached upon the still wood. Each seemed to wait for the other to make a first move, to recognize the life that they had already spent together. 

The sliver of copper at last bit into the meat of Otto’s thumb, a bead of ruby red blood dripping onto the metal. A step forward, and Otto put the metal onto a curve of wood, and stepped back from it, as if afraid for the moment to turn his back on it. 

His eyes were back on the pile of filaments, of slivers and burrs ground off of other connections. Paper, copper, a small container of real gold calligraphy ink, one that cost him half his rent, and at last, the current mechanical apparatus that had gummed up his mental gears, and stopped the articulation of the arms as he needed. 

Otto once more turned to the pump, now taken by his hand, and hunched over the fine components, the delicate adjustments that would be protected by the metal cover. Otto took a deep breath, and allowed the work that caught him to continue, to evolve.

Tags! @randomfandomtrash28 @emotrash1 @unitedfandomsoftheworld @arandomnerdsblog578 @overlookedfile @yesalwayswelles @niffysboxers @tsukiakarinobara

[drades-lair]

Crush

fandom: Helluvaboss

rating: T for swearing and implied sexual content

Pairings: Striker/OC, Stolas/Blitzo

Calus followed Stolas through the halls of the Goetia palace, discussing casually about the over all security of the palace. Moving into the front foyer the two stopped with Stolas turning to Calus.

“Is that everything?” Stolas inquired.

“I believe so, me and Striker will assure everything stays quiet till Blitz gets back,” Calus assured Stolas with a small smile.

“Excellent, thank you again for agreeing to this,” Stolas sincerely thanked Calus.

“Again, not a problem Stolas,” Calus returned not noticing as Octavia appeared atop the staircase.

Octavia had wondered from her room down the hallway in search of her dad to ask him a question, hearing his voice coming from the front foyer she made that her destination. Gliding her hand along the smooth banister Octavia stopped short at seeing Stolas speaking with a tall, white scaled Dracony in a dark brown duster and cowboy hat.

“Oh, Via. Excellent timing, I wanted to introduce you to Calus,” Stolas declared gesturing at Calus. Octavia gave a little nod of understanding as her cheeks flushed ever so slightly, the Dracony was very handsome making the young Goetia swoon a little.

“Um…hi,” Octavia responded walking down the stairs to join her father and Calus.

“Hey, so you’re Octavia. Stolas has told me a lot about you,” Calus greeted cheerily.  

“Well, I checked the perimeter looks like we’re…oh, am I interrupting?” Striker unintentionally interrupted, coming around the left-hand corner hallway into the foyer.

“No, me and Stolas were just finishing up,” Calus responded.

“Indeed, Octavia this is Striker. Striker works with Calus,” Stolas introduced gesturing to the pale imp.

“Pleasure lil lady,” Striker greeted with a tip of his hat only to receive a flat look in return.

“Hi,” Octavia flatly retorted.  

“Alright, if the perimeter is good then we best start our shift,” Calus suggested.

“Agreed,” Striker confirmed choosing to ignore Octavia’s lack of response.  

Octavia watched Calus leave the foyer promptly forgetting what she was going to ask her father, shaking her head Octavia opted to simply head to the kitchen for a snack. Throughout the rest of the day Octavia would catch glimpses of Calus around the palace or it’s grounds…or maybe it was more like she started stalking him. The Dracony was casually leaning against the palace’s ornate wall outside while smoking a cigarette when Octavia peered around the far corner of the palace watching Calus as he stood with one leg crooked, and one hand tucked into his jeans pocket while the other held his cigarette. Calus took a drag of the cigarette then blew out a puff of smoke before smirking slightly.

“You got something to ask me?” Calus spoke up keeping his gaze straight ahead causing Octavia to startle. Accepting she’d been discovered the young Goetia sheepishly slinked from around the palace wall to approach Calus.

“Uh…how did you know I was here?” Octavia questioned, emerging from her hiding spot.

“If I wasn’t observant, I’d be pretty shitty at my job,” Calus pointed out finally tipping his head in Octavia’s direction.

“True…I just wanted to…um…that is…I was just wondering…how’s your patrols going?” Octavia awkwardly stammered.

“They’ve been fine, things are pretty quiet,” Calus responded with a light chuckle.

“That’s good, do you do this often?” Octavia wondered, touching the tips of her index fingers together while keeping her gaze on anything other then Calus.

“On occasion but, me and Striker mostly do assassin work,” Calus casually answered.

“Oh…you’re an assassin,” Octavia repeated finally looking up at Calus with curiosity on her features.

“Yep, we’re just doing this security detail for Stolas,” Calus clarified.

“I see…how long have you two been working together?” Octavia asked curiously although her voice carried a hint of disapproval in it.  

“A few months now,” Calus answered simply choosing to ignore the tone of Octavia’s voice.

“I’ve read about Dracony…you’re the first I’ve seen in person though,” Octavia admitted with that blush returning to her cheeks.  

“Probably the last as well. The Dracony clan are disbanded and I’m potentially the last of my kin,” Calus briefly explained.

“Oh, I see…” Octavia trailed off, averting her gaze in concern she’d just step over a boundary.

“Anyways, I should continue my rounds,” Calus announced pushing off the wall while crushing out his cigarette on the stone portion of the wall behind him.

“Right… um…can I ask you one last question?” Octavia wondered, looking back up at Calus.

“Hmm? Sure, what’s up?” Calus responded arching a brow in curiosity.

“Why…why do you work with an imp?” Octavia asked trying desperately to phrase the question just right.

“Hmm? Um…it’s a long story,” Calus deflected.

“Oh, that’s fine…I didn’t mean to intrude, hope you have a good day,” Octavia flatly declared before turning around to leave.  

“Humph, see Ya later kid,” Calus lightly chuckled again as he left in the opposite direction.

Despite not understanding Calus’ affiliation with Striker Octavia continued to crush over Calus for the rest of the day till night fell. Calus and Striker were staying in the palace however they had the night off and  walking down the hallway of guest bedrooms Octavia saw one of the rooms doors shut, having seen Calus heading down there earlier the young Goetia concluded that had to be the room Calus was staying in. No other room was closed which was unusual if the imp was staying as well but Octavia quickly put that out of her mind as she really didn’t care about him instead she released a light sigh before continuing in the direction of the royal wing. Upon passing Calus’ room however she heard a noise from inside something akin to a moan or a groan immediately concerning the owlet as she thought Calus might be hurt. Octavia stood outside the closed door for several minutes wondering if she should go inside or not as she didn’t wish to invade Calus’s privacy, but what if he was hurt? Or what if someone had broken in? Furrowing her brow in determination Octavia grasped the handle to the room firmly, carefully turning it in hopes of not making too much noise only to be completely shocked when she was able to create enough of a crack to see inside the room. On the large four poster bed Calus was laying on his back and there was someone else with him.  

Sprawled on top of Calus with the Dracony’s one hand resting on his back was Striker, the two had the sheets resting around their waists covering their lower bodies however it was obvious they were both naked. Octavia covered her mouth in shocked surprise, thanking the stars the two seemed to be asleep allowing the young Goetia to retain some dignity as she quietly close the door, a bright red hue of embarrassment crossing her features as she scurried to her room.

 Next Morning…

Octavia had hoped to simply forget what transgressed the night before moreover avoid both Calus as well as Striker for the remainder of their stay unfortunately fate apparently had other ideas. Octavia had gone to the kitchen for some coffee only to find Striker making himself a cup at the counter, turning to look right at the young owl upon hearing her enter the kitchen.

“Ah, mornin’ lil lady,” Striker greeted with a slight head nod, his hat as well as his white jacket laying on the table nearby leaving the imp in just a black long-sleeved shirt and vest with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“Um hi…. morning…” Octavia awkwardly greeted back, her cheeks already turning red as she moved to the coffee pot.

Striker headed to the table where he took a seat to enjoy his coffee although he didn’t miss the awkward body language Octavia was giving off while getting her own coffee. Striker arched an eyebrow in curious confusion as Octavia went to great lengths to not look at the pale imp or talk to him, hiding her face as much as possible. Calus walked into the kitchen a few moments later and the young owlet gave a comical surprised yelp when he simply said hello nearly causing Striker to spit out his coffee from laughing.

“I’m sorry, I need to go, I, I need to go to go for, um, sewing!” Octavia exclaimed, quickly running past Calus who burst into laughter once she was gone.

“What in the nine hells was that all about?” Striker asked furrowing his brows upwards in confusion.

“Could have something to do with the fact she walked in on us last night,” Calus revealed rather nonchalantly while heading over to make a coffee for himself.  

“What? When the fuck did, she do that?” Striker wondered, surprise lacing onto his features.

“It was after you fell asleep, I was just dosing off when the door opened to our room. I don’t know why she came in but she left rather quickly clearly unaware I was still slightly awake and very much unaware we were together till that moment,” Calus explained still chuckling as he poured some coffee into a mug.

“Humph, that would explain it,” Striker commented with a chuckle of his own.

“Yep, and considering she’s been crushing on me since our meeting yesterday I bet it was quite a shock, ha-ha,” Calus chuckled again taking a sip of his coffee while striding over to the table where Striker was sitting.

“Ha-ha, I’ll bet,” Striker agreed once again lowly laughing.

[shadows-starlight]

Shadows and Starlight

Book 77: A Pirate's Life for Malakar and Aurora

-

Inside the cavern lair, Malakar sat in his armchair and flipped through the pages of the book he was reading while Aurora was sitting on the floor nearby, playing with some blocks.

As he was reading, Malakar took a glance at the ship in the bottle that lay right on top of the fireplace mantel. Inside the bottle was no ordinary ship, it was a pirate ship.

He remembered the moments from when he was a little boy and the times he would hear stories about pirates at bedtime or storytime. He also remembered the days when he, his sister, Arianne, and his brothers, Aric and Cedric, would play pirates in the back garden.

Ah, those were the days.

Then, he got an idea.

He picked Aurora up off of the floor and held her close.

"Aurora my dear," said Malakar, "how would you like it if we went on an actual pirate adventure?"

Aurora didn't really know what her father was talking about, but, when she heard the word adventure, she got excited.

The sorcerer gathered a few essentials, tied a bandana over his daughter's hair and one around his forehead to get the pirate look, and used his powers to create one of his infamous time-traveling portals to take him back to the time of pirates.

When the portal closed behind them, they found themselves on the deck of  The Midnight Marauder, a majestic pirate ship that stood prouder and taller than any of the other ships at the docks. The crew was a lively mix of all sorts of pirates.

Hairy beards, bandanas, feathered hats, pegged legs, eyepatches, hooked hands, golden teeth, missing teeth; the works.

Aurora was a little scared of the pirates at first, but seeing how nice they were when Malakar greeted them, she eventually warmed up to them. At the bow of the ship stood Captain Bram, the captain of the pirate crew. He was a towering figure with a weathered face, a white and yellow cockatoo was perched on his shoulder.

“Ah, Malakar!” Captain Bram’s deep voice boomed, "It's been ages since you sailed with us m'lad!"

Malakar and Captain Bram shook hands. "It's truly wonderful to see you all again."

The pirate captain's eyes then fell upon the baby, "And who's this fine lil' one?"

"Ah, Captain Bram, my fellow lads," said Malakar, holding Aurora up for the pirates to see, "I'd like you all to meet Aurora, my daughter."

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you Aurora," said Captain Bram, tipping his hat, "Welcome Aboard!"

The cockatoo squawked, catching Aurora's attention. The baby was surprised at the sight of the bird. She had seen birds before, but, not like that.

"Ah, that's just Mimsy," said Captain Bram, "she's just sayin' hello."

Mimsy, sensing that Aurora did not mean any harm, allowed herself to be pet by the baby. Aurora giggled as the cockatoo's feathers tickled her.

"So, Malakar," said Captain Bram, "we've got a map to find a hidden treasure, and you've come just in time. We're just about to set sail!"

"Excellent," said Malakar, "we're really looking forward to this expedition, Bram."

"Well then, let's get going," said Malakar as the captain led them to their cabin where they would be staying for the next week.

The crew set to work, the sails unfurling as The Midnight Marauder glided across the vast ocean as they bid the docks farewell. The week was nothing short of exciting; Captain Bram gave Aurora a tour of the ship, showing her every crook and nannie the ship had to offer, Aurora played with Mimsy, Malakar engaged with the pirates in friendly sword competitions (seeing as he was quite the fencing champion back in upper secondary school), sang sea shanties, entertained one another with stories, gazed up at the stars, and danced each night away.

When it was time for bed, Aurora allowed the gentle rocking of the waves lull her to sleep.

One day, near the end of the week, as one of the pirates was gazing out into the vast horizon with his spyglass, he spotted the pale sand and lush greens of a desert island.

"Land ho!" he shouted.

At that call, Malakar, Aurora, Captain Bram, and the other pirates got ready to leave the ship as it anchored right by the island shore.

As they hopped off the ship and set foot on the island, Captain Bram turned to Malakar and asked, "Ready to find the treasure, Malakar?"

"Absolutely," Malakar replied, his excitement evident, "what about you, Aurora?"

Aurora babbled and clapped her hands in response.

Malakar, Aurora, Captain Bram, and the crew ventured into the dense rainforest, following the map through thick foliage and over rugged terrain. After a grueling trek, they discovered a hidden cave where a letter X made from sticks and twine lay in the middle.

X did mark the spot where the treasure was after all.

The pirates tossed the X aside and started digging and digging until they pulled out a large treasure chest. When it was opened, they found all of the typical things you would expect to find; gold and silver coins, diamonds, jewels, jewelry, and of course, rum, as many of you know, pirates do love a good glass of rum.

Aurora’s eyes sparkled as she gazed at the treasure, her tiny hands reaching out in awe.

"Look at all this, Aurora," Malakar said, lifting her to get a better view. "We did it!"

The crew cheered, and Malakar set Aurora down, letting her touch a beautiful pearl necklace while the crew began to split the treasure amongst one another.

Malakar got to keep a bronze-colored pocket watch, some gold coins, and garnet-colored cufflinks while Aurora kept the pearl necklace she was playing with earlier, some diamonds, and a beautiful emerald brooch.

Captain Bram patted Malakar on the back. "Well done, my friend. Another successful treasure hunt!"

As they sailed back to the mainland, the crew celebrated with the rum they found in the chest (with some fresh cow's milk for Aurora) and sang and danced sea shanties before retiring to bed.

When they reached the harbor, Malakar and Aurora bid Captain Bram and the crew goodbye, but, not before Captain Bram presented a gift to Aurora: a pirate hat with three of Mimsy's fallen feathers on top. A large white one in the center with two yellow ones behind it.

Aurora put the hat on her head, but, it fell over her eyes.

Captain Bram laughed and said, "Not to worry lassie, you'll grow into it."

Aurora laughed.

Malakar conjured his portal and together, they returned back to their lair in Ebonvale just in time for Aurora's nap.

The baby slept in her cradle, clutching the edge of her pirate hat and as she slept, she dreamed about sea shanties, buried treasure, and majestic ships.

For now, he sat back on his armchair and went back to his book, reminiscing his time on the high seas.

[icemaninvestments]

IceMan Investments Update – Mid Season 2023/24

New Year greetings from your favourite anti-fascist betting blog. 

We start 2024 with ongoing crises and misery in Ukraine and Gaza. We also confront the electoral rise of the far right across Europe (with the welcome exception of their setback in Poland). 

We have the almost unbelievable possibility that Trump gets re-elected in the States (more on that later). The only bright spot on the horizon is the almost certain defeat of this mean and corrupt Tory government.

As usual IceMan is always punting for a purpose and will donate some of the inevitable profit to Anti-Fascist organisation Hope not Hate. 

Ok on with the Football before we get too depressed. As usual we have some Teams who already look home and dry, some still very much in the mix, a couple heading to the loss column and an absolute stinker. Here goes....

Premiership, Arsenal without Man City 9/4 now 16/5 (ShitePrice)

If you had suggested to me at the start of the season that Arsenal will end the Christmas break a place behind Man City, I would have been well happy, however I would not have expected City to be third and Arsenal fourth. The improvement of leaders Liverpool is not a complete shock, it is the fact Aston Villa sit third that is really surprising. At this stage, this bet looks like a loser. There is a good chance Villa may fall back in the second half of the season, it is making up a 5-point deficit to Liverpool that is problematic. My only hope is that Arsenal can add some reinforcements including a top striker in January and then massively improve, even at that Liverpool still need to wobble. It ain’t over yet, but not optimistic. 

Championship Leicester City Promotion 13/8 now 1/66 (IcePrice)

Gary Lineker is a prominent supporter of this club; I say that cos just mentioning his name upsets so many Daily Mail/Torygraph Gammons. Given that they were relegated last season and took a gamble on appointing Enzo Maresca, I was not entirely sure that Leicester represented good value at 13/8. That price now looks a steal. Delighted with this position, top of the table and even more importantly 13 points clear of third place, looking set for automatic promotion.  I will be collecting on this. 

 League one – Bolton promotion 11/4 now 8/13 (IcePrice)

This is a very competitive division. Bolton are second with a game in hand and only two points behind Portsmouth. Looking good for automatic promotion. They are, however, only 2 points clear of third placed Peterborough, a team I seriously considered backing. Bolton can hopefully hold on to an automatic promotion spot, failing that, they are nailed on for a play-off slot.  Looks an excellent chance of a pickup. 

League Two Stockport 5/4 now 1/8 (IcePrice) and MK Dons 11/4 now 6/1 (ShitePrice) both for promotion 

Stockport aka ‘The Hatters ‘due to the town’s historical link to the Hat trade, it actually has a Hat Museum. are on top of the league so automatic promotion looks on. They have a six-point margin, however 4th placed Barrow do have a game in hand, so this is closer than the market suggests. Stockport have dropped a few points recently, albeit against some good sides, which has allowed some of the chasing teams to close the gap.  MK Dons were the second choice, and I was backing them as more of a play-off team. They currently sit one place outside a play-off position, though they have games in hand, so very much in the mix. Expect to collect from Stockport. MK Dons should make play offs and we can take it from there.        

National League Chesterfield 6/4 now 1/66 (IcePrice) and Gateshead 25/1 now 5/1 (IcePrice) Promotion 

Chesterfield aka ‘The Spireites ‘(due to a crooked town church spire) was a bit of a shortie , however I would have to been a total contrarian to overlook their chances. Only one automatic promotion place in this league, Chesterfield look good for it as 7 points clear with games in hand. Gateshead were selected as they represented excellent value to be competitive for a play-off place. They have not let us down and currently occupy a play-off slot. Expect to collect on Chesterfield and optimistic Gateshead can make the play offs.

Scottish Premiership - Aberdeen without Celtic/Rangers 9/5 now 10/1 (ShitePrice)

Very disappointed with The Sheep and am moving this into the loss column. They have been shockingly inconsistent and are in 9th place, 13 points adrift of 3rd.  They do however have 3 games in hand, it is difficult to imagine them making up that much ground, main rivals Hearts are having a steady season, so can’t see them imploding. Aberdeen may also lose some of their best talent in the January transfer window. 

In better SPL news, Celtic are top and have beaten Rangers for the second time this season.       

Scottish Championship - Dundee United 11/8 to win the league now 4/7 (IcePrice) 

I wish I could be as confident as the markets on this one, I had expected ‘The Terrors’ to be 5 points clear at this stage, currently they sit in second, 3 points behind the leaders Raith. Importantly they do have a game in hand and a superior goal difference. A downside is that they lost a recent head-to-head match with Raith, on the upside they do have a stronger squad which could be reinforced in January. I would expect this to prove a critical advantage in the second half of the season. Optimistic of collecting on this.    

Scottish League One Hamilton Academicals 5/2 to win the league now 7/2

This league looked like a matchup between perennial under achievers Falkirk and recently relegated Hamilton Academicals, so called as they were established by students from Hamilton Academy. . Having previously had my wallet burned by Falkirk, I considered Hamilton to represent better value. Up until recent weeks this has been the case, as it was hard to separate these sides. However, Hamilton have faltered a bit of Late and have gifted Falkirk what appears an unassailable advantage.  This looks destined for the loss column; however, you can never underestimate the ability of Falkirk to grab defeat from the jaws of victory.   

Scottish League Two - Stenhousemuir to win 6/1 each way now 8/15 (IcePrice)    

In contrast to my other Scottish selections ‘Stenny ‘are bang on the money. They are in tremendous form and find themselves 11 points clear in the top spot. A caveat is that other teams have played less games, but a bird in the hand and all that. Stenny looks a cert for top 3 and I fancy them to push on and win this league.  Going to collect something, for sure.  

Bundesliga - Union Berlin top 4 11/4 now 1500/1 (ShitePrice)

Every season there is a pick that turns out to be an absolute shocker. This year it is Union Berlin, a surprise package last year, I fancied them to kick on this season as many of their potential rivals appeared weakened by selling top players.  This season Union have been rubbish, they are in 15th place, 21 points shy of top 4. Enough. 

Politics Lab/Lib Coalition 7/1

No change in this position, the current cash out exactly matches my stake. I am cashing it out as I now don’t expect a formal coalition even if Lab come up a bit shy of an overall majority.   

***New***

Hungary -Euro2024 150/1 E/W now 100/1 (IcePrice)

I love to through a dart at an underrated long shot in tournament football. Politically Hungary being successful would be a nightmare. Far right leader Orban is a massive football fan and would milk any triumph. On the other hand, 150/1 is a big price as many teams of equivalent capability are trading below 50/1. Hungary won a not overly challenging qualifying group and have a young squad led by Liverpool player Dominik Szoboszlai.   

Democrats to win Presidency

I have taken a safety approach of backing Democrats rather than Biden specifically who is available at 9/4. Biden is almost certain to be the candidate but doubts around his age and his current unpopularity mean he could stand aside.  TBH, I would welcome that happening, and his being replaced by Gavin Newsom or Gretchen Whitmer. The real worry about this bet is that it is an Even money shot, the Democrats should be 1/20 on running against Trump the narcissistic sociopath, Trump is actually a marginal favourite in most books. Trump is campaigning as a full on white Christian nationalist and being upfront about his fascistic tendencies. This is a bet where the financial winnings are irrelevant compared to the real-world geopolitical consequences.  

The MAGA cult and GOP enablers seem all in for syphilitic, Adderall addicted whack job. Things are getting desperate when you start to hope that the recent Trump smells revelations on the internet are true and might dent some of his popularity. The MAGA cult will have no problem voting for an authoritarian bigot, but do they want a President who literally shits his adult nappy and stinks the place out.      

City of Troy - 2000 Guineas 13/5 now Evs (IcePrice)

I can’t help myself; I do love an ante post bet on the Guineas. I got on to City of Troy prior to his impressive Dewhurst win. As I have found to my cost, brilliant two-year-old form does not always translate to winning classics at three. On the plus side his trainer Aidan O’Brien seems genuinely enthused and he knows a good horse when he sees one. 

Late Night Pass -Grand National 35/1 

Still my favourite sporting event. I normally get involved in February when the weights are released, however this year I am getting in early as I was very taken by the prospects of Late Night Pass who has had two good outings this season. This has not gone unnoticed in the market, though he can still be backed at a generous 33/1. 

Matteo Berrettini - Wimbledon 28/1 E/W

This is a very tentative and small stakes dip into the Tennis markets. Berrettini is a great grass court player as evidenced by the fact he was a finalist at Wimbledon in 2021. He has recently been injury plagued which is obviously reflected in this price. So, hoping he can reach Wimbledon fully fit and in the form that enabled him to hit the World no6 ranking.   

That’s it . 

 IceMan Investment Portfolio – Punting for a Purpose 

Smash the Fash  

[yokohamapound]

Can I please ask for headcanons of Ranpo, Chuuya, Dazai, Akutagawa, Fyodor, and Kunikida catching reader wearing a maid outfit because they lost a bet? XD

I'm not gonna lie, I had way too much fun with this request... 😂

Characters: Dazai Osamu, Nakahara Chuuya, Edogawa Ranpo, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Kunikida Doppo

Warnings: explicit NSFW, (mild) degradation

Dazai Osamu

This is Dazai we're talking about, so he probably knew this was coming. Actually, he's probably the motherfucker you made the bet with, foolishly hoping you could get him to wear the maid outfit. But let's pretend for the sake of these headcanons that he didn't know about it beforehand.

He stops dead in the doorway, brown eyes wide and sparkling at what he sees. A huge smile crosses his face as he beholds the angel, the belladonna, the pure vision of heaven standing in front of him. You, bedecked in flouncy skirts, a ruffled apron, and a pretty little cap/headress sitting on top of your head.

"Belladonna~"

He's blocking the door, he's getting down on his knees, he's throwing his arms around your hips and squishing your skirts flat while he nuzzles into your stomach. (Dazai has a touch of the dramatic about him.)

"Have I died and gone to heaven? Oh, sweet gods, I've been blessed!"

"No, idiot, I lost a bet so I have to wear this stupid thing—"

"Blessed, I say!"

It doesn't matter what you agreed to do for your bet, Dazai's going to twist the situation so you don't have to go anywhere at all. In fact, you're probably not going to get much further than the bedroom door. Dazai's head goes straight under those flouncy skirts, his mouth working between your thighs. He lets out a moan of approval when he sees the garter around your thigh.

Nakahara Chuuya

Chuuya reaches up and pushes his hat back so it's no longer shading his eyes, a slow, crooked grin breaking out on his face as he takes in the lovely sight in front of him. He leans against the doorway, effectively blocking off any route of escape.

"What the hell?" he drawls. "What are you wearin'? Not that I'm complainin', damn..."

You can try to explain all you want about the bet, but Chuuya's not all that interested. He's got the image of you in that little maid outfit burned into his brain and when it comes to you, Chuuya has a one-track mind.

You're not going to fulfil your end of the bet.

A red glow appears around Chuuya, and suddenly your skirts are floating upward. God help you if you've got stockings or a garter on, because Chuuya's gonna cover the insides of your thighs in bites, before yanking your underwear to the side and going to town with his mouth.

He makes you wear it while he fucks you, too. You won't have time to make it to the bed, because he's gonna bend you over the nearest surface, flip your skirts up, and fuck you until you squeal.

His other fantasy is to screw you on his desk in his Port Mafia office while you're wearing that damn outfit.

Expect a few sly jokes about what "excellent service" you've provided, too.

Edogawa Ranpo

Yeah, Ranpo definitely saw this one coming. He knew all about the bet, and he knew you were going to lose, which is why he didn't warn you, because it also meant he knew exactly when and where to corner you alone in all your ruffles and lace. Heh.

"Hey, honey, you get a new job? If you needed some more hours, you could've just asked the boss..."

It's not often Ranpo outright teases you. Especially not in that tone and with both his eyes open. His smile is downright lascivious. There's nothing childish about him right then, walking around you like you're a new display at the candy store. Appropriate, because he's looking at you like you're a lollipop and he's trying to work out how many licks to get to the gooey centre.

"Is it my birthday? I didn't think it was, but I guess I could be wrong..."

Ranpo might actually get you to totter around and clean up after him in your little get-up while he taunts you some more. What? You're dressed for the part!

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

Oh, god, I don't think the poor guy is mentally or physically prepared for the sight of you in a maid outfit. When you finally notice his presence, he's standing there, staring at you incredulously, eyes wide. Even as you watch, a flush bleeds into his face and colours the tips of his ears. There's practically steam coming out of them.

"What...what is this?" he croaks.

He's not going to take in a single word of your hesitant explanation, except for the fact you were going to wear _that_ outfit in front of someone else.

No. No, you are not.

"Rashoumon!"

Before you know what's happening, you've been snatched up by his ability and restrained. Akutagawa feels in control of himself enough to approach now. He's seen these outfits on the adverts for maid cafes and on the odd TV show, but he never thought to catch you wearing one in real life.

He's...intrigued.

While you're helpless, he plucks the edge of your skirt and lifts it to inspect what's underneath. He hooks his finger under the little garter and snaps it against your thigh, making you squirm. Despite his initial shock, Akutagawa decides he doesn't dislike this absurd thing you're wearing. (And after all, he does have a fondness for ruffles.)

"You look like a little slut in this," he condemns you. "I guess I'll have to treat you like one."

Fyodor Dostoevsky

This man intimidates me even when I'm writing about him, ngl.

It is very, very rare that you can slip something past Fyodor's notice. Especially something as big as a maid costume and a very ill-advised bet (most likely with Nikolai). Perhaps he's been rather too busy with his ratman plans. But the look on his face when he returns to your quarters to find you struggling into a maid dress would be downright terrifying if you weren't his little myshka. Even then, it kind of is.

His flat, bemused expression shifts slightly. There's a light in his eyes that sends a shiver down your spine. (Again, excitement, fear, who knows.)

"What prompted this, may I ask?"

"I lost a bet," you say, very sheepishly. "I have to clean the base for two hours wearing this."

He doesn't have to think too hard about who would be stupid and reckless enough to make that kind of bet with you. He'll deal with them later, but for now he needs to address the fact that you think you are walking out of your quarters wearing such a thing. Where other people will be able to see you.

"Myshka."

You know Fyodor's tones well enough to stop struggling with the zip and look at him. He approaches you, reaching out to do the zip for you. His cold fingers brush your bare skin as he drags the zipper up all the way, making you shiver. He stands in front of the mirror with you, looking you in the eyes through your reflection. That's when you know you're in deep, deep shit.

You don't get to clean the base. Fyodor has you underneath his desk, your pretty mouth wrapped around his cock while he works. If you do a good job, you'll spend the rest of the day on his lap, keeping it warm~

Kunikida Doppo

Kunikida just about has an aneurysm. The poor man drops his notebook, his groceries, whatever else he was carrying. You can hear the sound of his mind breaking, like shattering glass. He can't mentally handle the sight of you wearing something like that, especially not without some kind of preparation.

"What are you wearing!?"

"Chill out, Doppo. I lost a bet so I have to wear this while I clean the office."

"WHAT!?"

Of course Dazai would make a bet with you, knowing full well that you were going to lose. And he only did it to torment Kunikida by making you flounce around the office in a frilly little number. Kunikida braces his arms and legs against the door. No. This isn't happening. He's not letting that bastard get away with this!

"I'm gonna wring that bastard's scrawny neck! He's not getting away with this kind of crap!"

Oh dear, you're going to have to try and calm the guy down or he will hunt Dazai down and beat his skinny ass into the ground for messing with his s/o. Kunikida stops shaking with rage when you rustle your way over to him. He looks up, and takes you in properly for the first time, slowly turning crimson. You reach out and straighten the glasses on his face, and that's pretty much the straw that breaks the camel's back.

Kunikida's hands creep up the backs of your legs, feeling the silky mesh of stockings sheathing your thighs.

"Maybe...maybe that can wait," he says, clearing his throat.

[jaetaimjadore]

Illumination | mk.l [1] (discontinued)

Pairing: Mark Lee x reader

Genre: fluff, angst, soulmates, the world is black and white until you encounter your soulmate, born with your soulmate’s first word tattooed to your body, medical student!AU

Warnings: profanity, slowburn, reader’s initially morally questionable choices, made-up/unrealistic depiction of college life, members aged up/down, food

Word Count: 10.9k

‣ Chapter Synopsis: Your life so far has consisted of four things: black, white, grey, and blue. The black, white and grey part was all well and good, but the blue…let’s just say that colour is a real pain in your ass arm.

Parts: [Blue] [It's Complicated] (ongoing)

Author's Note: *gasp* ok, ok, ok I finally did it. I finally released the first chapter of Illumination, I'm shaking AAAAAA. This chapter is a precursor for context purposes – a backstory if you will (but not a prologue, idek it's kinda complicated) – and will provide the essential information to understand the plot in future chapters. This is my first fanfic ever, so I really hope you enjoy it!!!

Taglist: @wordholic @m1ss-foodi3 @skye-is-here @marksquare @serenity-17 @yyangcoffee @allmylove2chenji @toxicenough

request or dm to be added to taglist <3

PART 1: Blue

You huff, flopping down dramatically amongst the scattered papers on your dishevelled bed, the assortment of rustling sounds loud enough to travel through the phone your unoccupied hand presses to your ear.

“I’m just saying,” says the sickeningly sweet voice matter-of-factly over the speaker, sounding far more interested in whatever he was doing than the conversation at hand.

You drop the piece of paper clutched delicately in your other hand, letting it drift wherever the wind of your air conditioner allows. “Winwin, you’re this close to making me lose lose my mind.” You know he can’t see the way your thumb and forefinger pinch together to emphasise your point, but you do it nonetheless. With a groan you sit up, “You know I can’t apply for medicine without full colour vision. I mean, how would I medically treat a person without even being able to distinguish red from green?” You blink, adding with a mumble, “Whatever those colours even look like…”

After a short silent pause, you shake your head to yourself, bowing down as your voice thins into a demoralised hum. “It’s just not possible, Winwin. I guess I just need to accept that.” You glance towards the crook of your left elbow with knitted eyebrows, scanning each letter of the word etched into that part of your skin over and over again.

Blue

It's in a sort of pretty cursive font you’d always aspired to write in as a child – but never could, mind you – there it is, this word on, or rather, in your skin. And it’s the one thing that’s stopping you from achieving your dreams.

You’ve known of its existence as long as you’ve known yourself, stamped by its decree since you were brought into this world fresh from the womb; it could have even been there since you were inside for all you could tell. According to your mother’s apparent excellent memory, you had first noticed the mark when you were merely 10 weeks of age, probably around the time you discovered you had hands, she had told you with a chuckle.

By the age of two, you could speak the word without fault, having been coaxed into voicing it by your parents far too many times that it would’ve been worrying if you couldn’t. But it wasn’t until you were four-years-old, bouncy and lively in every which way a child of such age could be, that you'd understood it wasn’t simply just a few squiggly birthmarks on the inside of your arm; it was the age when you could finally read it and understand what it was and what it meant.

⋆⋆⋆

You and your mother were at the local beach, sat on the checked picnic rug in front of the vast ocean, the sun beating rays of heat against the little flower-patterned bucket hat sitting on your sand-ridden hair, while her hair flew beautifully along with the pleasant breeze.

You sit between your mum’s open legs, on top of her splayed-out sundress giggling as you poke her shiny sunglasses with a small pointer finger. “Baby, can you read this out for me?” Her fingers lightly tap the word on your arm. You nod enthusiastically, almost tipping the bucket hat out of its place if it weren't for her gentle hand.

“Buhhh…ulllll…oooo. BuhLOOO.” You crack a big, toothy grin, looking at your mother expectantly. She chuckles fondly, kissing your warm cheeks, cooing, “Yes! Blue! Good work, Y/n!” You grin even wider, feeling proud to make her happy. “Do you know what blue means?”

You shake your head.

“Blue is a colour,” she speaks softly, emphasising ‘colour’, earning a confused frown from you.

“Cuh-luhr?” You tilt your head in question, blinking round curious eyes up at her, causing her to smile. “Yes, colour. Colours are…” she pauses, contemplating her words to fit her four-year-old’s limited vocabulary, “Colours are like your feelings. When you feel happy you might feel the colour yellow.”

“Yehlow,” you sound out, nodding your head along with each syllable.

“Yes, that’s it, yellow! And when you feel angry-” she pouts with knitted eyebrows, feigning anger, causing you to erupt into a fit of giggles, “-you might feel the colour red.”

“Red," you pout too, imitating the emotion, before an idea pops into your head, eyes lighting up in thought. “Momma, momma, what about buhloo?”

This causes her to still for a moment, looking up through the corner of her eyes in thought. “Hmm, blue can be whatever you want it to be, baby. You might feel happy or sad…or excited.” She brings her fingers up to your sides and starts ticking you until you gleefully drop back against the rug, flailing around before being attacked with innumerable fluttering kisses.

⋆⋆⋆

“You know, staring at it won’t make it go away…or make you feel any better, Y/n,” Winwin tsks over the phone, causing you to snap out of your dazed reverie with comically wide eyes and a magically straightening posture.

“What? How’d you know I was looking at it?” The bemused tone in your voice earns you a scoff from the boy in your ears. “Uhh, because I’m your best friend and you always look at it," he speaks with a flat tone.

Deflating, you sigh in defeat. “Touché.” You turn your neck around to take in the horrendous sight of your messy bed once again, hastily gathering the papers in a makeshift pile before continuing, “My point being, I can’t just apply for the course by lying about my illumination, because A: that’s just morally wrong, and I’m not that kind of person, and B: they’re gonna find out anyway when I can’t tell apart basic dipstick colours. I’m just saying.” You quote your best friend’s words from earlier with a grin and a mental mic drop…although you’re not quite sure why you’re so proud of yourself when you’ve single-handedly argued against getting into the course of your dreams.

“Whatever you say, bubbles, but take it from me – someone who can tell apart dipstick shades – you’re gonna meet your soulmate sooner or later. I mean, I did, and that’s gotta mean something, so surely you’ll meet yours soon." he pauses, half expecting you to interject his little speech, but to his surprise, you don’t.

“Look, you’ve nailed your pre-recs and you passed your finals with flying colours not even a month ago...no pun intended."

You snort at the remark.

"Y/n, you’ve practically already been accepted in Neo Central’s clinical program. Are you really gonna throw this all away in despair? Over that goddamn tattoo?" Winwin pauses, hesitating. "What happened to us getting into med school together?” He almost sulks over the phone and you find yourself frowning, feeling guilty as ever.

You did promise each other you’d both work hard throughout high school to achieve results that would get you into med school without a hitch. And work hard you did, studying together in the library often till midnight, waking up early to fit in that extra little bit of revision. Racking your brains for the answers until you had that beloved lightbulb moment. You endured it all together.

And the efforts definitely payed off, both of you being among the top achievers of your grade; Winwin even earning the dux award in grades 11 and 12, which you couldn’t be prouder of.

In a way, you suppose you’re obligated to him for being by your side through some of the toughest years of your life so far, but your situation wasn’t exactly allowing for decent recompense on your part.

Maybe I could try applying…

You bite your lip in thought, entertaining the idea briefly before shaking it away.

No, it’s wrong, and even if I got accepted, I wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt

Sighing with a devastated expression, you reply, “Sicheng, I know…and I’m really sorry. But I thought I would’ve had my illumination by the time college applications were due.” You place the pile of papers onto your nightstand and lie back properly against your pillows. “And for the last time, please stop calling me bubbles.”

Bubble

Six letters, two syllables, and one utterly ridiculous word.

But it was your utterly ridiculous first word. Go figure.

This was yet another word of significance in your life, and you’d only come to know why by the age of eight; the age when you also fully understood what the peculiar little word in the crook of your elbow truly meant for you.

⋆⋆⋆

“Wait, so this-” you point at the word on your straightened arm, showing it to your parents who busy themselves with the night’s work in the kitchen, “-is my soulmate’s first word?” You scrunch your nose, almost disgusted with what they’d just told you.

“Yes,” both your parents speak in unison, both glancing up at you for a second, before resuming their chores, you blinking up at them obliviously. “Whaaaat?” your face screws ever tighter as you drag out the word, looking back to your arm in confusion before flopping it down to your side, shrugging, “I don’t get it.”

Your dad dries his hands on a dishcloth before walking around the island and patting one of the bar stools, pointing his chin toward it for you to saunter over and struggle to sit upon by yourself. “Do you remember what your first word was, love?” he asks.

“That’s easy, bubble,” you reply simply.

“Exactly,” he smiles, “Just like you had your first word – bubble – someone else had theirs, and that’s blue.” He unfolds your crossed arms and points at the word. “And just like you have that special person’s first word on your arm, that special person also has this special person’s first word on their arm,” he playfully taps at your cheek, his words causing you to smile, even letting out a tiny giggle at being called special.

“Soooo, someone else has bubble on their arm? In the same place?” you ask, starting to get invested after grasping the gist.

“Yes," your mother interjects blithely, joining you and your father on the other side of the kitchen island after finishing her work with the dishes. “And guess what?” She bends down to your face level and whispers, causing you to perk up in hopes of listening in on a potential secret. “WHAT?” You absentmindedly whisper-shout, earning a few chuckles from your parents.

“Mum and dad have matching marks too,” she smiles, watching as your eyes widen and a dramatic gasp falls past your now ‘o’ shaped lips. “Can I see?” You ask, eyes lighting up in fascination and excitement.

They share a soft look with one another, nodding to you before looking down at their feet, your gaze following. Etched on the inside of both of their right ankles are the words cat - on your mother's ankle - and ball - on your father's.

The sight sends another loud gasp tumbling from your lips. “Woooow,” you look up at them with stars in your eyes, as they smile brightly back.

“Do you remember your colours?” your dad chuckles.

You eagerly nod in response. “Yes! Yellow means happy, but the sun and bananas are yellow too, I just can’t see it yet. Red means angry, but apples and love hearts are red toooo!” You shape your hands into a heart and push it out from your chest towards your parents, before dropping it with a huff. “But I can’t see red yet either." Your mum responds by reaching forward and stroking your head as you continue. “Blue is the colour of the sky and the sea…oooo and this is blue too!” You excitedly point to the word on your arm, recalling your mother describing its deep blue tint to you not too long ago.

You’ve learnt a lot for a child of your age, always the inquisitive type, never hesitating to ask the colour of every little grey object that caught your eye, and making sure to recite the colour without fail. One might say this was further provoked by the day one of your friends came screaming to you that she could see colour.

It made you curious and perhaps even a little envious in every essence of your eight-year-old self – though you’d never admit it aloud.

Your friend had mentioned a funny word that you couldn’t quite remember. Ilima…minli…alima…what was it?

“Don't worry, lovely, you’ll be able to see colours soon.” Your mother winks at you.

“When?” you flick your gaze back and forth between your parents in wonder.

“Well, when you meet the special person whose first word was blue,” your dad starts, tapping the tattoo, “That’s when you’ll see colours.”

“It’s called your illumination.” Your mum pronounces the word distinctly, and you repeat it back once, twice, seven times, however long as it takes for you to remember it.

⋆⋆⋆

“Alright, bubbles, just know that I support whatever decision you choose,” Winwin chimes into your ear drums, yawning loudly through the speaker.

“Thanks, Win,” you smile, feeling a comforting warmth spread through your chest.

He seriously is the best, you really don’t deserve hi-

“-no matter how stupid I think it is.”

Scratch that.

You roll your eyes, “Ok ding dong, get some rest, you obviously need it.”

“Night bubbl-“

“Don’t. Call. Me. Bubbles,” you cut Winwin off, grumbling, “Good night.”

You end the call and drop the phone on your chest lightly, sighing for the nth time that night and turning to face your laptop on the other side of the room. Its light is bright and inviting as far as the average unilluminated eye could tell, coaxing you to reluctantly swing your feet over the edge of your bed and drag yourself to sit on the leather chair in front it.

Typing in your password on the keyboard, you manoeuvre and click the trackpad to a document saved on your desktop, eventually met face-to-face with a college application.

The college application. Not the other irrelevant ones you’d already filled out, emailed, and had interviews for; those don’t really matter, even though you suppose they should.

This application however, was the one that was supposed to be securing your admission into Neo Central College, the college with the most prestigious medicine program of them all. This application is in tip-top shape; already filled with words from top to bottom just in case your soulmate decides to show up last minute.

It’s right in front of you, all ready to be emailed through, to be read and commended and accepted by the college of your dreams.

You look back to your arm and the action quite ironically bursts your bubble. Here this damned tattoo sits, mocking everything you’ve ever worked for, stopping you from reaching the one thing you’ve always wanted. You sit there in silence staring back and forth between the the application and your tattoo, swivelling around every once in a while in your chair, blowing away loose strands of hair every couple minutes. You think and wallow in a deadly cycle, recalling Winwin’s words from earlier.

"Are you really going to throw this away?"

Well, am I? you think to yourself. But do I really have a choice in the matter?

Your internal struggle causes you to stand up and start pacing around your room, feet tapping unrhythmically and teeth gnawing at your lips.

Is this what I want? You try to reason with yourself. It’s still not too late to apply to NCC, admissions don’t close for another month.

Surely you wouldn't let Winwin down, right? It’s the least you could do not to. Right?

A buzz from your phone startles you, luring you toward your bed to read the message:

Loselose [10:36pm]: My interview’s in a couple weeks…you better wish me luck whether you decide to apply or not 🔪🔪🔪

You grimace at the text, dropping your head back to face the ceiling, feeling even worse now that the words are displayed in front of you.

How nice it must have been for him to have found his soulmate and be able to see the world in colour. You’re happy for him, you truly are, but that was supposed to be you too. You and him together.

Loselose [10:37pm]: I know you’ve already filled that application out

Loselose [10:37pm]: It’s still not too late to submit…if you want 🤷‍♂️

You simply blink.

If you want…

You eyes grow as big as saucers.

What the fuck, of course I want to! screams your slightly fogged up internal voice. Who cares if you haven’t had your illumination yet? This is your life, that you control; nobody and nothing else has the right to take that control away from you.

With this in mind, you dash back with long strides to your laptop, an empowering newfound energy coursing through your veins, instigated from Winwin’s confronting text. With shaking hands, you open up your mailbox, dragging the application file into the already drafted email, and hitting send.

Email sent.

You flop back into your chair, pushing it back slightly from the desk while releasing a deep breath you frankly weren’t aware you were holding in the first place.

Well, that was fast.

You start to feel light-headed.

I mean, I’ve got the grades. Again, starts your pious self-talk. And I’ve got the pre-requisites, and the extra credits. Worst case scenario, they discover my non-existent illumination…but surely they won’t kick me out of the medical program once I get in, right? What could go wrong?

What could possibly go wrong?

Mark Lee’s first word was blue.

So weird he’s always thought, still can’t bring himself to understand how it‘s even possible for a baby to speak a word as phonetically complex as that. He'd come to accept it eventually after his mother’s incessant convincing over the years that she swore she heard him babble it when he was an eleven-month-old infant.

It was undoubtedly a weird first word, however, not the least in a bad way.

Though Mark hasn’t ever seen anything remotely blue in his eighteen years and two months of existence – can't see anything other than black, white and grey for that matter – blue is in fact, his favourite colour. And if someone were to ask him how he came to that conclusion without his illumination, he wouldn’t dare tell them that it’s been his favourite colour ever since his mother told him what colours were in the first place.

He just feels it, likes the vibe, flows with it. He’s drawn to the enigma surrounding the word blue; how he’s been told before that the sea and the sky are both coincidentally blue. That underneath all those dull monochrome hues, the two most vast and boring plains to exist, are perhaps not so boring and plain in another person’s reality.

The ocean waves which Mark can only describe as an assorted palette of greys, whites and blacks, is, in fact, the same beautiful rolling sapphire silk to the average illuminated folk. The sky Mark walks beneath, most often a dull mid-toned grey – perhaps whitish on the best days, darkish on the worst – is the same sky luckier people would spend hours admiring; waking up at the crack of dawn to watch the dulcet sunrise, a white ball too bright for its own good, or so Mark would describe it as.

These are things he can’t even begin to imagine. After all, he can only be acquainted with the life he’s so far lead, and it is the most dull, plain and monotonous notion to have ever graced his conscience. Nonetheless, the possibilities lying in the palm of Mark's future, pique his curiosity. But he knows all too well what happened to the curious cat, so that's exactly where he reluctantly chooses to draw the line.

The truth is, he wants to witness colour. Desperately. But he knows that to witness any sort of blue, green, red, or yellow he must undergo his illumination. He must meet the one.

His one.

And that's where Mark's main issue stems from; he really can’t care less about his one.

Fuck that he often says, absentmindedly glancing down at the ink etched into the crook of his left elbow every time the thought pops into his head. He wasn’t born with the word inked into his skin like some of his childhood friends were, it simply faded into existence when he was about four months old, or so his mother had professed to him more than enough times his poor ears could handle.

Bubble

That’s what the letters spell, written in a fancy font that most girls in his classes would compliment as aesthetic.

But Mark hates it with all his being.

What a stupid word.

⋆⋆⋆

“Renjun, Jaemin, do you have a favourite colour?” Mark asks his friends as they sit side by side on their regular stone bench, shaded from the blaring sun by the swaying leaves of the tall tree up above.

Mark sits to the very left of the two boys, face scrunched while roughly tugging at the jammed zipper of his Spiderman lunchbox. Renjun – who sits in the middle – promptly snatches it, returning it to Mark unjammed and open, displaying his sandwich packaged neatly in cling wrap.

“Thanks, Jun,” Mark replies, ever the well-mannered boy despite his often-troublesome tendencies.

Taking his sandwich out, he immediately frowns with a small humph.

Tuna coleslaw; eight-year-old Mark’s worst nightmare.

Yuck!

Sniffing something a little more delicious, Mark cranes his neck forward, eyes landing straight upon the source; Jaemin's egg and bacon sandwich. He feels his mouth start to water watching his friend chew away happily.

In Mark’s defence, that sandwich would also look way yummier to any other eight-year-old holding a tuna coleslaw sandwich.

Jaemin catches Mark’s more-than-eager stare, pausing mid chew and pulling his sandwich closer to his chest possessively. Mark’s pout etches itself a little deeper across his puerile features as he sulkily bites into his tuna coleslaw sandwich.

“Ugh, fine,” Mark perks up as Jaemin's red Nike Air Forces step into view, “Here,” he holds his sandwich out to Mark, nodding for him to take a bite.

Never before had one seen a little boy light up with such joy, as Mark smiles widely, revealing two gaps from the two milk teeth that fell out a couple weeks prior. He gratefully takes a bite – not too big a bite though; he wouldn’t have liked it if Jaemin ate a third of his own egg and bacon sandwich in one fell swoop, so he wouldn’t do that to Jaemin either.

“Dankoo daemin,” he beams with two cheeks full of the delectable sandwich, crumbs decorating the corners of his more than satisfied smile. Renjun giggles looking at Mark’s ridiculous face, poking his puffed-out cheek. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Jaemin dismisses, bowing his head to smile widely in hopes nobody sees it. Both Mark and Renjun see it.

A thought suddenly pops into Mark’s head. “You guys didn’t answer my question," he points out.

“What question?” Renjun asks, eyes wide and sparkling as a small breeze flicks up a lock of his dark brown hair. Mark huffs at the sincerity written on Renjun’s face, repeating, “Do you have a favourite colour?”

“I don’t know what colours look like," Jaemin chimes in, scoffing down the last of his lunch, “I haven’t met my soulmate yet.”

“Me too,” Says Renjun, indifferently. “But I don’t care. Girls have cooties-”

“-my favourite colour is blue,” Mark ignores them, interjecting his own statement, hellbent on boasting the little fact. His two friends turn their heads toward him simultaneously.

“You can see colours?” Renjun asks, somehow more invested now that his friend could apparently see the world through a different lens.

“Yep,” Mark grins ear to ear, proudly tilting his chin to the air.

In all honesty, Mark can't see colours. His world is just as boring and dull as Jaemin and Renjun’s probably is, or maybe even more. This little boy just wants a little attention to himself, a juvenile selfishness instilled in almost any child of his age. Telling a little white lie couldn’t hurt, right?

Wrong.

“Liar,” Mark’s head whips around to see Jax, the boy nobody dared mess with in third grade, walking around to the little bench and standing tall in front of Mark’s small frame. He already had his illumination, and that made him all the more intimidating.

Though Jax only speaks the truth, Mark doesn’t back down, his immature little pouch of pride willing him to argue back, smile dropping into a furrowed expression as he yells. “I’m not lying!”

“Prove it then,” Jax says. “Show me what…” he looks around, eyes lighting up when they land on Mark’s tattoo. “Tell us what colour your mark is.”

Mark’s eyes follow Jax’s gaze to his very grey, very colourless tattoo; Bubble.

He hesitates, trying to logically solve the colour.

Bubbles are made from water and soap; water is blue...but soap is pink…that doesn't many any sense!

Suddenly aware of his slouching posture, Mark straightens his back and stands up, feigning confidence. The top of his head only reaches Jax’s mouth, so he lifts his chin a little higher.

“That’s easy, it’s blue,” he speaks, hoping he comes across more confident that sceptic. He went with blue since there’s more water than soap in bubble mixture; it makes sense so it simply had to be blue.

Blue is the colour of the sea and the sky. Blue is also Mark’s favourite colour. There were simply too many blue things in the world for the tattoo on his arm not to be blue.

⋆⋆⋆

Needless to say Mark's tattoo wasn't blue.

He became the third grade’s laughingstock, earning an earful of malicious laughter and teasing for upwards of two weeks. He’s never been able to let the incident go ever since.

Orange, it was orange. Not blue.

Orange.

He should’ve known, given its lighter grey complexion compared to Jaemin and Renjun’s tattoos, and he’d be damned if he ever forgot it.

Bubble

Right now, sitting in his room, on his bed with his hands so close to ripping out his head of bed hair, Mark wishes nothing more than to erase this word from existence.

“Shit.” He curses, hastily reading over the words on his laptop again and again.

Illumination: Required

Illumination: Required

Illumination: Required

“Ah, fuck," he throws his head down into his hands.

How did this happen?

How did he miss this after reading through the application requirements at least thirty times over? How did he miss it the dozen times he read through it before he sent the application? How did he miss it the dozen times he read through it after he sent the application?

Of course, he didn’t do it intentionally…he just missed it.

But how?

Mark looks up at his laptop once again, ripping his glasses off and blinking his eyes shut for ten seconds, willing for this nightmare to end once he opened them back up.

Illumination: Required

It's still there.

“Fuuuuuuck,” he drawls out tossing the glasses somewhere across the room, running his hands down his face and rubbing his eyes as he falls back against his unmade duvet. “Fuck you,” he mumbles into his palms, not in the correct frame of mind to distinguish who or what exactly it was directed at…probably the six-letter death wish on his arm.

There goes his shot at landing NCC’s undergrad medical program, blowing up right before his eyes.

He had sent in his application almost two weeks ago, confident and ready as he’d ever be.He’d worked for this. He worked hard for this.

Though he hadn’t cared much for his studies as a child, Mark had grown to be a naturally bright young man; some might have called him gifted. That being said, he didn’t boast his natural smarts, and he didn’t rely solely on them too. He put in extra efforts in high school to get himself where he is now. All he had to do was nail the interview, and the world would be his stage.

Mark groans.

So much for that.

He smacks the tattoo on his left arm in anger. It was all because of this. No way in hell is he getting an acceptance email-

The shrill ring of Mark’s phone from his desk startles him back to a seated position on his bed. He sighs and sullenly trudges his way to pick it up, glancing briefly at the caller ID.

God, I really need to lower my ringer.

Displayed is some unknown number, but still within the country given the dial code. He picks up the call and holds the phone to his ear, waiting for a voice to speak up over the line; he’s heard far too many horror stories about scammers that can track voices, vouching never to speak up first on calls with strangers.

“Hello? Is this Mr Mark Lee?”

He perks up at the almost robotic female voice that speaks on the other side, clearing his throat silently.

“Yes, it is. Speaking?” he cautiously answers.

“This is Tiffany Young from the Neo Central College admissions board.”

Mark’s eyes widen, mouth dropping open, suddenly feeling his heart rate pick up in his chest.

“Oh? O-oh, yes, ma’am!” he stutters, catching himself by the tongue before he blurts out anything stupid that could work against him. Grip on his phone faltering for a second, his second hand comes up to support it against his ear, not trusting himself.

Get it together, Mark.

He decides that sitting down in his chair would probably be the best way to get it together.

The lady – Ms Young – speaks up again. “I’m calling in regard to your college application for NCC’s medical program.” She pauses, expecting Mark to reply, though it takes him a moment to catch on.

“Oh...oh! Yes!” he squeezes his eyes shut, knocking his knuckles three times on the side of his head, face contorting into one of embarrassment and annoyance at himself and his atypically sputtering demeanour.

What the hell is happening?

“It was a privilege to read. You seem to be a promising student, Mr Lee.”

Mark covers his mouth to suppress what felt like a squeal as he felt it slowly rising up his throat. “Thank you, Ms Young.”

“You’re most welcome. You may know it is not typical that we call our applicants directly…” Oh no, he feels it coming. “…I understand you have not had your illumination as of yet.”

Mark gulps, feeling a shallow pit open in his chest, all the nerves shooting right out of his dispirited heart in anticipation. “Yes, ma’am,” speaks his timid voice, void of all the confidence it held not even a week ago.

“I hope you are aware an illumination is one of the requirements for this course. This was made explicitly clear in the requirements form issued prior to application submissions.”

Mark nods, more to himself than anyone else, repeating, “Yes ma’am," and though he can probably come up with at least a dozen convincing excuses as to why he still applied, he knows better than to rub salt in a wound, instead opting to hang his head low as he holds the phone to his ear and accept what the woman has to say.

He hears Tiffany sigh over the phone, feeling even worse for being such an oblivious fool. “Given your exemplary performance in school, along with your application, the admissions board has decided to overlook the mishap and offer you an interview opportunity.”

What, what?

Thank goodness Mark hadn’t decided to quench his parched throat with the water on his nightstand, because it would’ve splurged right at the phone instead. “HUH?” he blurts out, hand slapping over his mouth in embarrassment as soon as the word leaves his lips. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I-I don’t understand.” His eyebrows furrow as he pushes his ear into the screen of his phone.

How are they allowing this when they're aware he can’t see in colour? Isn’t that against the regulations?

“Congratulations, Mr Lee, Neo Central College has accepted your application, and would be pleased to meet you for an interview.”

Mark blinks, wide-eyed and dazed.

“I’ll take my leave now.”

He snaps out of it, almost shouting, “Yes! Thank-thank you, ma’am. Thank you so much!”

The line cuts, leaving a very stunned, very confused Mark Lee sitting at his desk, his hands once more rising to his hair; but this time to tug at his roots in shock.

“Holy mother of-“

“God, what am I doing,” you mutter to yourself quietly, hands fidgeting in your lap as you sit in the passenger seat of your mum’s car – more specifically her navy car…but you wouldn’t know either way since; You. Can’t. See. Colour.

You scoff at the thought.

It would be an understatement to say that today hasn’t been your day so far. In fact, today you didn’t just wake up on the wrong side of the bed – with about only 6 hours of sleep, by the way – but you woke up with a splitting headache AND an unusually bitter taste in your mouth.

Not pleasant in the least.

Still, you’ve learnt to take everything in this life with a grain of salt.

Besides, you’ve known no headache a dose of Nurofen couldn’t fix.

Maybe this was the universe’s way of saying a big FUCK YOU for applying to something you really shouldn’t have even considered applying to in the first place, given your circumstances.

But you’ve never been one to back down in the face of the universe and it’s wrath. Instead, you simply opted for sending both your middle fingers right up its big egotistical assho-

You’re startled out of your thoughts by your mother’s palm slamming down on the car horn, your body sent lurching forward – though saved by the oh-holy contraption called a seatbelt – as she rams her foot down on the break. Her hand hovers over your torso in protection as she quietly curses the reckless driver responsible for the ordeal.

You sit there still with your own hand pressed to your heart, breathing heavily in shock of what almost unfolded.

Yep, that’s a definite fuck you from the universe, alright.

“Darling, are you okay?” Your mother lets out a deep breath of her own, starting to drive again once she deems it safe enough.

“Peachy.” You reply anxiously, looking down at the dark folder in your lap, your heart rate refusing to slow down.

Despite knowing the potential consequence of you applying to NCC’s acclaimed medical course, your parents have both supported you from the beginning, having a similar take as Winwin to the whole situation, and rather encouraging you more than anything else to give it a shot since you never know what the world has in store for you when you least expect it.

By this point you think you’re more than acquainted with the world’s intentions for you, especially when you least expect it.

But…maybe there’s some truth in the matter. After all, you are on your way to the interview you thought you wouldn’t be accepted for. It’s a miracle how your non-existent illumination went unnoticed and unquestioned…as of yet.

Soon enough, you spot the familiar evergreen trees whose arrangement never fails to stun you stupid every time you’ve driven past them. However, this time you’re not driving past, but driving right down the road which they sway idly above, casting their shadow over your giddy features as you watch them wave their hearty hellos to you. Just beyond the trees you spot the student accommodation building, a proud array of grey and black tones visible through the branches which you could only assume look exquisitely colourful to those who can appreciate it.

When you catch a glimpse of the main NCC campus, you’re more awestruck than you’ve ever been. You spot a large, elegant water fountain at the entrance – spraying water at least five full metres high in precise routine – and you want nothing more than to jump head-first into the extravagant display. Behind the fountain is a long, angled row of steps – about ten from what you can see through the window – adorned by at least fifty people at a time walking up and down, most likely either on their way to, or back from their own interviews.

The stairs lead up to the tall, wide and dare you say, fashionable, looking main building with the big bold letters NCC built near the top. It was modern in every sense of the word; ever the classy and chic architecture with its tall, reflective glass windows and smooth, lightly coloured exterior. Ornamental pillars extend from the roof, meeting the walls midway to the ground.

It’s fabulous, to say the least.

You can only imagine what the interior of the building would look like.

Too busy staring at the architectural masterpiece, you don’t realise your mother has parked the car until she gently grabs your hand from your lap.

You turn to her with a nervous smile and nod, noticing the way her eyes tear up.

“Go kiss your frog, princess,” she smiles.

You burst out laughing at her unexpected dialogue. “What? Kiss my frog?” you ask in amusement between giggles, wiping at your mother’s cheek with a soft thumb.

She kisses your forehead. “Don’t be nervous, be frank and confident. You’re going to do amazingly.”

“Yes mum,” you nod, hearing those exact words for at least the sixth time today, “I will.” You click your seatbelt off, gripping the folder tightly before opening the car door and stepping out into the cool air while shrugging on your jacket.

“And Y/n,” you hear her call out, leaning over the passenger seat to see you better as you stand in front of the bright sun. You turn back around, waiting for her to continue, “Do smile, dear.”

That makes you crack a genuine, wide smile towards her, leaning back inside to peck her cheek. “Got it. Thanks, mum.”

Closing the door, you look down at your somewhat crumpled skirt from sitting in the car. With a tsk, you pat away the creases and tug it down slightly, before taking a deep breath and marching confidently to the entrance of Neo Central College.

“Winwin’s interview should be happening right about now,” you muse aloud, sending him blessings while you did. You decided to arrive an hour early in hopes to catch him before you went in yourself; seeing him would give you the energy boost you know you need.

In the meantime, you decide to simply stand around and stare.

At the fountain, at the building, at the people, at EVERYTHING.

Walking up the stairs along with the bustling crowd of young adults – your steps a little slower than others’ in your dazed reverie – you feel a certain comfort.

The ambience, the aura…it’s enticing.

Reaching the top step, you find your head dropping all the way back as you squint up towards the NCC logo previously seen from your car – not caring for the numerous stares and shoulder bumps you were receiving as a result of planting yourself smack in the middle of the busy walkway.

Suffice to say that everything was a lot bigger and taller now that you were standing right in front of it all.

Daunting, now that you really think about it.

You release a shaky breath and close your eyes, mind wandering to the one image you’ve dreamed of far too many times.

There you are, looking a smidge more mature than you are now, dressed in a black, mid-sleeved robe with a dark velvet sash resting around your shoulders. Although you can’t picture it, you know the sash is green; the representative colour for Medicine graduates…Neo Champagne Green.

A black square hat rests on your head with a tassel dangling off the right. Winwin stands to your left smiling at you as you smile right back, both holding your bachelor’s degrees wrapped in a ribbon that still looks pretty despite its grey colour.

A smile subconsciously stretches across your face at the pleasant scenario, eyes kept closed just to hold onto it for a little longer…just a little longer.

They’re gonna find out, I’m not gonna be accepted anyway.

Just as the thought manifests in your brain, you feel a sudden stab on your foot, face contorting in pain as a yelp leaves your mouth, stance faltering in your block sandals.

“Sorry.” Yells a distant voice, but you’re far too distracted to notice.

Your arms flail around, reaching out and grabbing the nearest stranger in attempt to balance yourself properly on your feet. As you feel the person’s hand quickly move to catch your back your eyes fly open.

You gasp.

To the third person, the scene would look like an awkward mishap they didn’t ever want to be involved in; you harshly gripping a random man’s forearm and staring dumbfoundedly as if he’s the one trying to make an advance…all this, for some peculiar reason, happening in the middle of a busy university entrance.

But you're seeing something VERY different.

Your eyes widen as you watch the stranger, a ripple making its way down his annoyed features, leaving behind an outrageously extravagant splash of…something all through his face.

This time both your mouth and eyebrows drop down together.

The man is young and handsome, but that’s all you’re able to discern as your head whips up to look at the sky behind his face. You gasp again, stumbling back a few steps as your hand lets go of his arm, flying up to cover your mouth instead.

It’s then that you notice your blurry thumb in your periphery, your eyes crossing down to stare at it against your cupid’s boy, head tilting in shock. You scramble to tuck your folder underneath your arm, before ripping your hands away and holding them in front of your face with your fingers spread wide, turning them back and forth in alarmed examination.

At this point, the pain in your foot is all but non-existent.

You spin around left and right on the spot, eyes landing on whatever and whoever coming into view.

Everyone – everything – looks like it has been dipped in…in…

Life.

You suddenly tug the left sleeve of your jacket up to your tricep, looking down at the marking on the inside of your elbow…now looking not-so-grey.

That’s when you realise;

HOLY FUCK, IS THIS MY ILLUMINATION!?!?

You pull down the sleeve and immediately turn around to apologise to the stranger from before – somehow expecting him to still be standing there, ready to listen to your impending coming-of-age dramatic monologue.

But he’s nowhere to be found.

“Y/n!” Hyperaware of your senses now, you abruptly turn back again towards the direction of the college building, looking for the owner of the voice while squinting as tall glass reflects the sun in your eyes. You see a familiar lean body wearing a formal jumper and black pants.

As he approaches you immediately recognise who it is.

“Winwin?” you ask, still squinting as he comes to a halt right in front of you.

“That’s the name,” he chuckles.

You look up at his face, your own features tensed as ever as your eyes travel around each contour glowing underneath the sun above; starting from his chin, to his lips and nose, his cheeks, ears, eyes, forehead, hair, and back down again.

So this is what a human really looks like

Finally, you look down at his very colourful hands clutching a single-coloured – though you can’t tell which colour – folder just like the one resting in your own very colourful hands, and you're immediately reminded of why you’re both here in the first place.

“Oh, right,” you shake your head subtly, blinking to yourself, before looking up at him again. “How was the interview?” You strew together a confused looking smile, eyebrows still subconsciously furrowed from the preceding epiphany.

Winwin turns his chin slightly to the side, eyes narrowing in on you. “The interview was fine…but are you?” He pushes his head forward with raised eyebrows in question, worriedly watching the distracted way your eyes travel across his arms as if there’s a snake wrapped around them. “Hey!” He snaps his thumb in front of you twice, watching amused as you’re dramatically startled back to reality. “What‘s wrong?”

Should I tell him?

I mean, the guy just came back from his interview, I probably shouldn’t tell hi-

“Ihadmyillumination,” you blurt out, looking Winwin dead in the eye to gauge his reaction, still unsure whether to categorise the happening as good or bad.

“WHAT?” he blurts back, earning a few glances from the endless hoard of passers-by. You huff looking around timidly as if you hadn’t just created an even bigger scene less than four minutes ago, speaking in a hushed tone. “I said, I had my-“

“I know, I heard you the first time,” he waves his hand in dismissal, grabbing you by both shoulders with a wide angelic smile, “Y/n, that’s great! When did it happen?”

Your stare ahead at his wide smile, pearly looking teeth on display.

Those are definitely white

“Just now,” you utter trying to get used to this big bang in your life called colour.

“Now?” he questions, to which you nod in response. “Who’s the soulmate then?”

You simply stand there, blinking blankly, no expression whatsoever on your face.

Oh, shiitake mushrooms.

“Y/n,” Winwin speaks, a warning tone lilting at the end of his voice, “You do know who it was…right?”

You hesitate, clearing your throat and forcing a very fake sweet smile. “Well, there’s so many people here, I couldn’t have possibly-“

“God dammit,” he huffs, interrupting your futile justification, your smile dropping as you watch his thumb and pointer finger rub circles into his temples. He stands straight again. “Is there no one…absolutely ANYONE, that you saw or, like, touched, directly?” fe flattens a hand and slices it through the air, illustrating his point of directly.

You think back to what happened, replaying each significant action in your head.

Well, someone stepped on my foot, then I almost fell and grabbed a stranger’s arm and-

You mind pauses, hooked onto something.

The stranger…You think.

THE STRANGER!

He must be the one!

“Oh, OH! Th-there wa-there was a stranger!” You point a finger forward at your eureka moment, eyes expanding as you flick your neck to look over at Winwin in wonder.

He’s unamused to say the least, not an ounce of excitement at your words. He blinks once at you, before stretching a sarcastic smile across his face. “If I could turn this whole place into the facepalm meme right now, I would,” he gripes, shaking his head with a twirl of his finger at the mention of whole.

“Well, he is a stranger, I don’t know who he is…All I know is that he was headed inside the gates,” Yyu visibly deflate, nodding your chin over Winwin’s shoulder toward the entrance gate of the college, earning a sigh from the man as he turns his head in the same direction.

He turns back to you. “Well, you better damn hope he gets accepted at NCC if you ever wanna see him again.”

“Well, I better damn hope I get accepted first,” you chuckle dryly.

“Oh right, shit, you have your interview soon.” He glances down at the smartwatch on his wrist, mumbling an off-hand “Thirty-five minutes to go.”

Wait, he thinks to himself.

Realisation suddenly strikes his features as he has a thought, face slowly rising to meet yours with a stunned expression. “Y/n.”

“What?” you reply anxiously, hands beginning to clutch tightly at the corners of your folder pressed a little too harshly into your torso, anticipating the impending hour ahead of you. You watch as Winwin awkwardly digs through his back pocket, fishing out his phone and typing something, all while a sly smile tugs at the corners of his lips. He no sooner shoves the screen so close to your face, you’d have to lean back to see what’s displayed.

“What colours are on this dipstick bottle?”

You stand confused at his sudden question, until you fully look at the image in front of you. “I see…white and black…and grey…” you glance at Winwin, unsure. He stands there with a cheeky smirk.

You flick your gaze back to the screen, focusing hard.

And suddenly it hits you.

Like a goddamn truck.

Eyes widening for what might as well have been the seventh time that day, your smile grows as you continue, “…and there’s also a bunch of other colours that I can’t describe but can definitely see!” The pitch of your voice gets higher and higher as you speak, before breaking out into a squeal that you have no choice but to cover with both hands, staring up excitedly at Winwin.

It fully sinks in.

Colour…I CAN FUCKING SEE COLOURS!

And if I can see colour, that means…

Your whole face sparkles up in joy at the thought, a firecracker burning up inside you as you throw your arms around Winwin’s neck and hug him tightly, almost knocking him over in the process.

He chuckles into your shoulder, just as happy as you.

“Welcome to NCC, Y/n Y/l/n.”

It has been the better part of three hours since the flight Mark and his mother had taken landed in town, and he’s already jogging up the familiar wide steps two-at-a-time on his way to the main NCC campus reception. He decides against wasting any time or logic in admiring the architectural mastery of the place, having already done that a couple weeks ago. He’d barely made it on time back then despite arriving an hour early, too distracted by the magnificent setting.

Not this time, he inwardly tells himself, long strides carrying him straight inside the building to greet the same lady at the front desk from weeks before, though it’s clear she doesn’t remember him when she asks his name while donning an oblivious expression.

Poor facial recognition probably comes with the job.

“Uhhh, Mark Lee,” he looks around cautiously, making sure to lower his voice in case any curious ears prick in on his words. “I have a special provisions application.”

The lady nods, muttering something about expecting a special provisions applicant at this time today. She stands, leading Mark down a few plain corridors before stopping behind a large wooden door.

On it a shiny panel reads, Executive Professor and Dean of Medicine, Soo-man Lee

Same last name. Huh, Mark muses in his head.

“The Dean will be with you in a moment.”

Mark nods, thanking the lady as she retreats back down the corridors.

Today, Mark assumes, is one of the busiest interviewing days for next year’s NCC applicants – according to the number students he’d seen entering and exiting the building alongside him earlier.

But the truth is, he’s not here today for his own interview – he’s already had that; as a special provisions student, the panel requested an earlier interview for him than regular applicants.

The reason he’s here right now…well he has no clue why he’s here.

A week prior, when he thought he’d be expecting an acceptance letter, he’d instead received a call-back request for further consultation…whatever the hell that meant.

So now as Mark sits here waiting for that further consultation, faced with the reality of the Dean’s office door right in front of him, all he can feel are the cold jitters and nerves coursing down his spine as he makes it his mission to envision every the worst-case scenario that comes to mind.

On top of that, the cold air from the air conditioner does little to alleviate his heightened state.

Upon hearing the dampened sound of footsteps in his periphery, Mark looks up. A tall, slender male figure holding a lightish folder approaches from the right side of the hallway – the same hallway Mark had been led down. The man wears a formal looking jumper and what Mark can only assume are black slacks, given their seemingly dark tone. He looks to be from some East Asian country – perhaps he’s Chinese – and seems young, probably around the same age as Mark, maybe a year or two younger.

No wait, that’s impossible…unless he’s a prodigy or something, Mark thinks to himself with a small shake of his head.

As he walks closer, Mark decides the chap to be decently good-looking, dare he say, handsome; delicate-looking features and hair styled in parted curtains, and though he does look a little on the feminine side, it suits him.

He looks distracted, taking deep breaths as he quietly mutters indiscernible sentences to himself, glancing at the ceiling every once in a while. If he notices Mark staring at him, he doesn’t acknowledge it until he’s walking right in front of Mark’s seated figure; briefly making eye-contact, forcing a polite smile with a small nod of his head, and then walking right by.

Must have an interview, Mark assumes, watching the guy retreat around a corner, wishing him well out of goodwill.

No sooner does the office door in front of Mark open, startling him as an average heighted man – likely in his mid-sixties – steps out. He’s dressed head to toe in formal attire, shoes polished shiny and glasses resting low on the bridge of his pointy nose. Mark recognises him as one of the panel board members that interviewed him weeks prior.

Wait the Dean was there that day?

“Mr Lee, please come in.”

“Yes, sir,” Mark immediately stands up, politely walking into the Dean’s office as the door is held open for him and shut quietly once he steps inside.

“Please, take a seat,” the man gestures amicably to a black leather couch situated in front of a large, polished oak desk with neat piles of folders, papers and such stacked near the edge. A huge bookshelf, as tall as the ceiling, spans across the left wall of the office, filled from top to bottom with books of an array of grey and black tones. A strong scent of weathered paper and musk fills the air, accentuating the modern woody room.

This room is very different to the room the interview was held in.

A little intimidating, to put in simple words.

The Dean sits down in the large leather seat across from Mark’s tense form, clasping his hands upon the desk in front of him. “I’d like to start by commending you on your application to NCC, Mark. You don’t mind if I call you Mark, do you?”

Mark shakes his head a little too vigorously than he’d have liked. “No, sir, not at all. A-and thank you. It’s an honour to be considered at all," he gestures his hands in a way he can’t quite understand himself, eventually deciding on pulling them into his lap before he ends up knocking the water jug off the coffee table in front of him.

The Dean beams a small smile – the kind you’d expect him to pull when getting his picture taken – and nods along with the boy’s enthusiasm. “I expect you’re confused why you received a call-back letter?”

Not so much confused as scared.

“A little, I’m afraid," Mark replies cautiously, voice catching in his throat, which he immediately clears. But as he sits there, he acquires an inkling of why he may be here...why he didn’t receive the acceptance letter he’d hoped to receive.

He mentally face-palms himself at not having picked up on it earlier before walking inside.

“A few things need to be discussed,” Professor Lee pauses, getting straight to the point, “I understand you haven’t experienced your illumination as of yet.”

Mark blinks, swiftly but hesitantly replying, “Yes, sir.”

“I hope you understand, that as a medical student you would be required to have colour-sensitive vision,” the professor eyes him through the top of his spectacles, earning a nod from Mark and another quiet “Yes, sir.”

“You may already know that the first year of your chosen course consists mainly of revision of previously acquired knowledge; biological and chemical concepts taught within high school." While speaking, the Dean unclasps his hands, somehow acting as a visual indicator for Mark to relax slightly from his tense posture. "From what I gather, you’ve maintained an exceptionally high GPA over the past few years, as such posing little foreseeable concerns regarding your first year – if accepted – at Neo Central College.”

Nodding thoughtfully in response, Mark purses his lips to suppress the smile that tries to form on his lips; he can’t help but feel a sort of pride swell in the depths of his chest at the praise.

The Dean continues, “With all this considered, after major discussion among the admissions board as well as myself,” he holds a hand to his chest, “and, in conjunction with your interview,” a small smile appears on his face at his next words, “we have reached a consensus that it would truly be a shame to turn away a promising student such as yourself from Neo Central College.”

Mark’s head visibly perks up, now allowing his small but confused smile to show.

“Mr Lee, I would like to accept you into our undergraduate medical program.”

Marks eyes widen at the same time his mouth drops open, blinking a couple times before realising how rude he must currently appear in front of such an important figure.

With all the world’s metaphorical slaps hitting his reddening cheeks, Mark instead opts to fix his posture and sport a relieved – but poised and hopefully professional-looking – smile on his face.

“However, this course is offered to you on one condition.”

Now his smile falters as the room is engulfed by a heavy layer of air. The Dean stares at him with a serious expression, causing Mark to subconsciously gulp, nerves crashing in again at full swing as if they never left in the first place.

He anxiously sucks in a deep inaudible breath as the Dean further explains, “You must undergo illumination by the end of your first year, otherwise…” he removes his spectacles with a single hand, holding them out to one side, “…I’m afraid you will have to discontinue the course. And while, I understand the matter is out of your direct control, this is a measure which must be taken and clarified from the beginning. Do you think this is feasible for you?”

Illumination.

Mark has always been inclined to brush that word off for another day…another time…another place…maybe even another life. But now he realises that muttering an off-hand fuck that and going about the rest of his day is not – no, cannot – be the solution.

Not if he’s going to pass up a once-in-a-blue-moon opportunity like this, at least.

Which he’s not.

It takes Mark no longer than three seconds to outtalk the little voice in his head telling him that what he’s about to agree to could quite potentially be impossible.

It’s not impossible. I can do it.

With a determined nod of his head – more to himself than anyone else – and a solemn look glazing over his tensed features, Mark looks up, fierceness present as ever in his eyes.

“Professor Lee, I would be honoured to take up this opportunity,” he nods his head again, this time more firmly, feeling even more determined than ever.

This is his life that he’s setting himself up for; medicine is his dream, being a doctor is his aspiration. He wants to help the world, heal the world. This course is his one-way ticket to getting everything he’s ever wanted. Of course, he knows it only gets harder once he gets in, but he’s always been ready to put in the hard work; always ready to put in extra effort when required.

If having his illumination was the extra work he needed put in to reach his goal, so be it.

It’s now or never.

“Your acceptance under such provision in an extreme anomaly for Neo Central College, Mark. Once you agree to these terms, they mustn’t be taken lightly.”

I mustn’t take this lightly.

“Yes sir, this will not be taken lightly," Mark says with a tight shake of his head, watching as the Dean stands up and taking it as a cue to stand up himself. “Thank you very much for this opportunity.”

The Dean smiles, walking around his table and extending out his hand for Mark to shake.

“Neo Central College is glad to welcome you, Mr Lee.”

Mark doesn’t know when or how he finds himself back where he was before his meeting with the Dean, but here he is, sitting in the chair outside the very office in which he just sealed his future; elbows digging into the top of his kneecaps, eyebrows furrowed, hair a little dishevelled now that his fingers have scooped through them once, twice, maybe even eight times.

I’m in?

His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks as he sucks in a sharp breath of air through his teeth, eyebrows furrowed while tilting his chin to the right in thought.

He abruptly stands up.

BLOODY HELL, I’M IN!

Before he can stop himself, he jumps up in the air in excitement, pumping a fist high enough it could’ve punched right through the roof, before realising what he’s just done and clearing his throat.

He cranes his neck left and right in appraisal of any audience, letting out a relieved sigh seeing the hallway is empty.

With a giddy smile and a little skip in his every other step, Mark makes his way back down the halls, through the reception and straight out to the front gates of NCC where the sun shines bright, and the world stands anew.

Looking out at the crowded entrance steps bustling with students in every which direction, Mark feels like a changed man, pleased at the thought he’d be walking up and down those very steps almost every day the next year.

I’m unstoppable!

“Mark!” He hears a familiar voice yell beyond the throng of students, standing on his toes with cinched eyes to spot his mother waving at him.

Her smile is so sweet and fond; it powers Mark with a certain surge of energy as he waves back, smiling just as wide, before springing forward on his feet in excitement to tell her the news. He sees her expression turn into one of surprise watching her son run towards her.

Mark’s smile only grows, twisting, turning and dodging past the walking bodies – probably accidentally nudging a few of them here and there, but frankly he’s oblivious.

He knows his mother is going be the most proud, having always been his number one supporter; the thought itself makes a garden of happiness bloom around his heart.

However, in this state of oblivion, Mark accidentally steps on a foot among the crown before he can help it, hearing a small yelp while muttering an “Oh, shit,” as he feels his own ankle twist upon contact. He stumbles forward yelling back a “Sorry” as he catches himself on his toes, heartbeat thrumming in his chest upon the almost-occurrence of him tumbling down the steps…and potentially taking down at least 10 other people with him.

He stands there for a moment, body slightly hunched, hands resting on his knees as he breathes heavily facing toward the ground.

Then he starts to notice something – almost like a crease or wave of sorts – ruffling across the floor as if it were a wave crashing on the seashore.

It leaves the concrete looking a little more…grey.

With furrowing eyebrows, Mark double takes his gaze to something that glints from a couple meters away in the corner of his eye, his once heavy breaths hitching in his throat.

A shoe buckle…but it’s not grey or black or white.

It’s…it’s…

Mark doesn’t know what it is.

Tilting his head to the side, his eyes – now growing increasingly wide by the second – follow the black shoe upon which the buckle rests, turning his body as the owner of the shoe steps by.

What?

Mark raises his head in confusion, suddenly jumping on the spot when he’s met with a hoard of all sorts of different pigments in every which angle. He snaps his neck left, right, back and front, looking around as if all the people walking past him have turned into ghosts floating by.

It’s everywhere.

Well, it isn't exactly one thing, it is many things; repeatedly present along shirts, pants, shoes, jackets, hair, faces, even cars!

I must be dreaming…

Mark closes his eyes for a second, tipping his head back towards the sky while mentally instructing himself to take a few deep, calming breaths.

In…and out.

And in…and out.

He opens his eyes.

“AH, what the fuck?” He gasps in horror, arms raising up to his sides as he jumps again in reflex, almost falling onto his back as he’s startled by the very different tone present all throughout the sky.

“It’s not grey,” he wonders aloud, moving his eyes all around the brightness above.

He freezes.

Wait…

...then…

Is it blue?

Blue → It's Complicated

[another] Author's Note: AHHHHHHHH hope I didn't put you to sleep lmaoooo. Anyways, that's Part 1 of Illumination and practically where the real story between Mark and Y/n will start off from in future chapters. I plan to drag this series out for at least a few more longer chapters, so please stay excited and look forward to it :D I've also decided to start a taglist for Illumination, so if anyone's interested, please don't hesitate to request here and I'll be more than happy to add you :))))

© jaetaimjadore, 2021, all rights reserved

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Curtis x Honey Preview

Life Is Short So Make It Sweet Series

A/N- Hello everyone! I'm still working on editing and prepping this chapter but I wanted to give a bit of a sneak peek at where these two are headed. I'm HOPING for end of next week as I will be leaving for a couple of days mid-week. Thanks guys for being the best.

Va Bene was a formal place, Curtis tugged once more at his tie now that he was missing his favorite hat and jacket, now left in his truck. You two were brought to the table he had reserved for the evening, it was in a lovely spot, near the windows that overlooked the dying light on Lake Superior. Hues of red and orange glimmered off the water just outside, there were a few boats at the dock near the restaurant and the outdoor patio was currently closed off for the season, but you could easily see why this restaurant would be so popular. The waiter poured you both a swallow of wine in glasses, which Curtis took a sip, glancing at you to make the final decision.

You took a taste as well and looked down at it before setting the wine glass down. “It’s good.” When the waiter offered you more you took it and Curtis did as well. 

Now it was just the two of you left with menus that both of you skimmed over. It all looked excellent, but it was just a bit out of your element. You would have killed for a burger and fries, once in a while, you glanced at Curtis over your menu who seemed just as lost as you were in the moment. “So um, any idea of what to have?” He asked, seeming to look for some idea among the options, his own eyes darting over his menu at you. 

You flashed a smile before closing the menu and leaning closer to him to take a chance on your haunch. Crooking a finger so he would lean in close to hear you. “Listen, I love this effort, honestly. But I’m so feeling a burger and fries, how about you?” You took your chance, hoping that you weren't making a negative lasting impression on him.  

“Was I that obvious?” Curtis sighed with his own crooked smile and you reached over to place a hand on his arm, giving a slight squeeze. 

“Maybe, but listen. I am so down for that… how about we steal this bread basket and book it?” 

Curtis was all up for that. When the waiter came back, the table was empty short of a few swallows of wine and missing bread. 

Laughing, you two stumbled outside of the restaurant, snapping into some crunchy breadsticks and strolling back to his truck. “I should have just asked you where you wanted to go.” Curtis confessed as he helped you back in. “Edgar and Tanya insisted that this was the place to be.” 

“It was nice, but I want you to enjoy yourself too.” You leaned over to loosen his tie for him and pulled it out of its place. “And I don't know, this just doesn't seem like it, Curtis. How about you show me something you like to do?”