#he also says 'there are no correct answers but there is an incorrect one'

[something-about-sunflowers]

Not pretending that the voting is gonna be unbiased because I know my audience but I AM providing some actually good answer choices;

[shinynewmemories]

The exchange between Peeta and Gale in Tigris's basement used to be my least favorite scene in the entire book. I hated how it made Katniss out to be a heartless drone whose only motivation is survival. But I've been thinking about it a lot lately, and I'm now convinced I grossly misinterpreted the purpose of the passage the first times I read it. I don't think it's about Gale revealing some sage wisdom about Katniss; I think it's a revelation about how far gone Katniss and Gale's relationship truly is, and how little he understands the way she loves. AND it's about how much better Peeta understands Katniss, even in his half-hijacked state. Let me break it apart a tad to explain what I mean:

“She loves you, you know,” says Peeta. “She as good as told me after they whipped you.”

Peeta is correct on both counts. Katniss DOES love Gale, and in CF, she internally refers back to the whipping as the moment she "chose" Gale over Peeta. Peeta knew it then, and he knows it now.

“Don’t believe it,” Gale answers. “The way she kissed you in the Quarter Quell... well, she never kissed me like that.”

Correct, but it's interesting that Gale refers to THAT moment on the beach as proof that Katniss loves Peeta. Because on one hand, that WAS the first time she felt and displayed sexual desire for anyone. But on the other hand, I would argue that there was lots more evidence for Katniss's love for Peeta; "anyone paying attention" could see it. So why does Gale point to the one time things got hot and heavy between them?

“It was just part of the show,” Peeta tells him, although there’s an edge of doubt in his voice.

Incorrect, but I'll give him half credit for the "edge of doubt" in his voice.

“No, you won her over. Gave up everything for her. Maybe that’s the only way to convince her you love her.” 

Here's where Gale starts talking kinda crazy. Since when has the issue been convincing KATNISS that HE (or Peeta) loved HER? Since the end of book 1, there has never been the slightest doubt in Katniss's mind that Peeta loved her. And she's never doubted Gale's love, although she admits it caught her off guard. Does Gale actually think that if Katniss could just SEE how much he loves her, she'd have no choice but to marry him? Or does he think Katniss is holding back because he hasn't "given up everything" for her? Either way, he paints Katniss as a fundamentally untrusting and self-centered person.

Also, he implies that Katniss needs to be "won over", that she needs to be PERSUADED to love either of them... Yikes. It's like he actually believes Katniss doesn't have the emotional capabilities of falling in love all on her own.

There’s a long pause. “I should have volunteered to take your place in the first Games. Protected her then.”

Incorrect! Over to Peeta for an explanation of why that would have been a Colossally Stupid idea:

“You couldn’t,” says Peeta. “She’d never have forgiven you. You had to take care of her family. They matter more to her than her life.”

DING DING DING DING! I just picture Peeta making a ????????no??? face as Gale says he should have volunteered for him. Like?? Can you IMAGINE? Book 1 Katniss would have been screaming at Gale like "you absolute IDIOT. WHY would you throw your life and the lives of your and/or my family away. And for WHAT? MORON."

But I get it. Gale is saying this out of desperation. Because he can't say "I wish you had died in those games" (although perhaps that is how he's felt once or twice). And to be fair, if Peeta had never been in those games with Katniss, things between them now would be very... different. (shhhhh Gale doesn't have to know about the whole "this would've happened anyway" thing)

“Well, it won’t be an issue much longer. I think it’s unlikely all three of us will be alive at the end of the war. And if we are, I guess it’s Katniss’s problem. Who to choose.” Gale yawns. “We should get some sleep.”

Correct, nothing to object to here.

“Yeah.” I hear Peeta’s handcuffs slide down the support as he settles in. “I wonder how she’ll make up her mind.”

Even though Peeta is more in sync with Katniss, he doesn't presume to know how her romantic side works. Gotta respect that.

“Oh, that I do know.” I can just catch Gale’s last words through the layer of fur. “Katniss will pick whoever she thinks she can’t survive without.”

So I ask: if Gale is shown throughout this exchange to be mostly wrong about Katniss's motivations, desires, and possibly her whole personality, why would we believe he's correct about this?? I think the only conclusion is that he's NOT.

I'll end by adding Katniss's opinion about Gale's assertion:

It’s a horrible thing for Gale to say, for Peeta not to refute. Especially when every emotion I have has been taken and exploited by the Capitol or the rebels.

Katniss is DEEPLY hurt by what Gale said. And I no longer believe it's because it's the truth about HER. I think it's because it's the truth about how Gale sees her, and he sees her in a very hurtful (albeit incorrect) way.

[daycourtofficial]

Snapshots of Time

Summary: your relationship with Azriel, as shown through your relationship with Cassian.

Author’s note: this is based on this incredible request. Honestly I could do this forever I’m OBSESSED with Cassian I need to be his best friend like now.

-

The hulking Illyrian general looked down at the woman in front of him, examining her outstretched hand. Azriel stood behind her, watching Cassian with curious eyes.

No one knew how this was going to go, what to expect. Azriel never brought girls home, let alone asking Cassian to meet one of them. The moment clear in his mind, as Azriel walked into the dining room to eat breakfast with Cassian.

The shadowsinger sat down, setting his morning coffee, eggs, and bacon in front of him. Cassian looked at him, nodding in greeting as he shoveled some cantaloupe into his mouth.

His brother spoke first, “are you doing anything after lunch?”

Cassian thought about his day, he had dinner plans, but nothing for the afternoon. He shakes his head no, his mouth still full of cantaloupe.

“Good,” his brother tells him, “I want you to meet someone.” Cassian stops chewing, surprised at this. “You want me to meet someone?” Is what he tried to say, but with the cantaloupe blocking his throat, it came out more like, “boo bant me bo beat bomeone?”

Despite the confusing question, Azriel knew what his brother meant and sighed. “Yes, I’ve been… seeing someone.”

His tone conveys he doesn’t want this conversation to continue, but Cassian will not let him get away without a few answers. “You’ve been seeing someone?”

“Yes,” Azriel states, “and she wants to meet you.”

Cassian finally swallows the hunk of cantaloupe, “so it’s a her?” He asks, waggling his eyebrows. Azriel swallows his bite of eggs, disdain coating his voice. “If you can’t handle it-“

Cassian cuts him off, “Oh, I can handle it, brother. I assure you.”

He looked again at the lady in front of him, a smile adorning her face, making her look so soft, so warm.

He can see why she has Azriel wrapped around her finger - she’s been in front of Cassian for all of thirty seconds, telling him her name and offering her hand to shake, and he already finds her incredibly endearing.

But he also wants to give both of them a hard time. As nice as she may look, this is serious for his brother. His brother, who has always felt so undeserving of love, bringing someone to meet his family.

Well, to just meet Cassian. Azriel figured slow introductions was the best way to go about this, and he started with Cassian. A decision Cassian can tell Azriel is starting to regret.

“Ah,” he takes your hand, giving you a bone crushing handshake. You take it like a champ, he notes, as he calls you by the wrong name. It’s close to your own name, but not exact.

You correct him, prompting him to call you a different, incorrect name. He looks at you expectantly, the eye contact you share telling Cassian that you know exactly what he’s doing. And you don’t back down.

“That’s right, Calliope.” You respond, “nice to meet you.” You smile at him, a sweet smile that he sees through.

Wonderful.

-

Azriel had asked Cassian if it would be okay if he brought you to training. It was something you seemed interested in and, Azriel admits to Cass, if things continue he’d prefer you to have some knowledge of defending yourself.

Cassian had seen you a time or two since your first introduction, the two of you continuing to use incorrect names for each other. He agreed to let you come, as long as he could help your training.

You showed up to training the next morning, a teasing smirk making it’s way to Cassian’s face as you approach.

“Behave,” Azriel warns his brother, as he approaches you. You smile as he gets closer, standing on your toes to kiss him quickly.

Cassian’s desire to tease you both falters for a second, wanting nothing more than to make a comment about the red finding its way up Az’s neck, heating his cheeks. The general goes to say something, stopping as he watches the way you look at his brother. Your eyes show such kindness, such warmth, even from yards away.

You walk up, greeting Cassian as you come up to him. “Good morning, Cassandra.” He chuckles, throwing an incorrect name back at you. “You ready to learn?”

You beam, “yeah! Hopefully you’re a good teacher - maybe I’ll surpass you and take your job.”

You start shadow boxing around him, pretending to hit him. Cassian laughs at you, as Azriel looks at you fondly, your back turned to him.

The two of them lead you through a variety of stretches, they teach you how to throw a punch, and where to strike an opponent for the most impact.

“Can I spar with you?” You ask Cassian, both of the males eyebrows shooting up at your request. “I’d ask Azriel, but I don’t want to ruin his pretty face,” you say, cupping his face in your hands.

Cassian grumbles as you two walk towards the clearing, “I’m pretty too…”

You laugh, as he turns to face you. “Okay, sunshine, let’s spar.”

You two circle each other, and Azriel watches from the sidelines in both amusement and to ensure you don’t get hurt. Cassian throws a lazy punch at you, which you block flawlessly, the shock etching his face. You throw a piss poor punch on purpose, wanting him to lower his guard. He blocks your punch easily, and you two continue in this half-assed dance for a few minutes, until you decide to go all out.

You fake a left jab, causing Cassian to move to defend his left side, leaving the right side of his face open for your fist to collide with.

The impact creates a bone breaking sound that doesn’t come from your fingers. Azriel sucks in a breath, running towards the two of you as Cassian falls to the ground.

He looks up at you, the blood dripping down his face. “Where’d you learn that, sunshine?” He laughs, spitting blood out in the ground.

“I have three older brothers,” you smile down at him. “They taught me how to throw a punch.”

You offer a hand, and he takes it, laughing as you help him up.

-

Cassian’s wings were flapping so hard, so fast. He was exhausted, the events of the day catching up to him. Determination to get to you was keeping him moving.

He vaguely knew where you lived, Azriel mentioning stopping by to see you after going to a bakery. He lands in front of the bakery, and does the only things he knows how to: he starts knocking on doors.

Various Velaris citizens open their doors, ready to be angry at whoever is pounding on their door in the dead of night, until they see the High Lord’s General, asking if anyone with your name or your description lives there or if they know you. Eventually he reaches a door where the woman inside tells him that you live a few doors down, with the green door and flowers on your doorstep.

He approaches the door, knocking until you open the door, only allowing a small sliver to see who is there. “Cassian?” You ask, opening the door wider. He can tell he woke you up, due to your messy hair and sapphire blue nightgown.

You wake up at the realization of Cassian being at your door, immediately asking him if Azriel’s okay. Cassian shakes his head, asking if you want to come see him. You ask how dire it is, and he says you have a moment to change into actual clothes. You find some sweatpants and a shirt Azriel had left at your place, and allow his brother to scoop you into his arms as you two fly towards the House of Wind.

The flight is silent, both of your anxieties practically palpable through the air. You two eventually land, Cassian leading you directly to Azriel’s chambers.

You had been a frequent visitor to Az’s room in the other residences, but you’d only been in the House of Wind once. You’re thankful for Cassian’s lead, following close behind him.

You wind through the halls until Cassian stops in front of a door, knocking softly. He waits a moment, then enters, no response from the other side. He opens the door and Rhys is present, turning to look at the both of you as you enter the room.

You take in Azriel’s form on the bed. He’s asleep, you hope, watching his chest, watching it rise and fall slowly. You match your breathing with his, the deep breaths calming you, the only way Azriel can soothe you right now.

“How- uh- how bad is it?” You ask, unable to look away from his form on the bed. You approach slowly, taking in the injuries as you get closer. You’re a few feet away and you can see the deep bruising on his face, his chest, his arms. You shutter, his knuckles covered in blood.

Rhys grabs your shoulders softly, “he’s going to be okay, sore, but okay. He was asking for you, though.”

You nod, Azriel’s request warming your heart a bit. He always came to you after missions to help bandage his wounds. You smile a bit at the fact that whatever the hell happened to him out there didn’t stop him from wanting to continue that tradition.

Cassian is the first to move, as he moves two chairs to sit next to Azriel’s bed. He gestures for you to sit in one of them, as he takes up residence in the other one.

Rhys rubs your shoulders softly as he asks, “do you want some tea? Water? Anything?”

You clear your throat, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Some tea would be nice, thanks.”

Azriel woke up feeling incredibly groggy and like he had fallen from a balcony. He heard laughing, and he kept his eyes closed to figure out what was happening near him.

The room smelled like his room, the sheets felt like his, and he almost snapped his eyes open at your laugh.

No, not just your laugh, but the loud boisterous laugh of Cassian and the soft amused laugh of Rhys.

The three of you were talking about him.

“The morning he told me he wanted us to meet, he was shaking like a wet dog,” Rhys said, amusement lacing his tone.

“No hr wasn’t,” you say, shock in your voice. “Oh, yes,” Rhys replies, shifting in his seat. “He’s never brought anyone home before, and he’s never talked about anyone before.”

Cassian snorts, “I almost caught him with someone a century ago. I swear I heard something, but when I came in poof they were gone.”

You laugh, the sound filling Azriel’s chest with warmth. “He had told me that you two wanted to meet me!”

Rhys laughs, “he told us you wanted to meet us!”

You all laugh, as Azriel stirs slightly. He opened his eyes to find Rhys in a chair on his right, with you and Cassian taking up two chairs on his left.

“Don’t listen to anything they say,” Azriel rasps, coughing from how dry his throat was. “They’re both liars.”

Azriel closed his eyes again, but he felt your hand wrap around his, and he could see your face in his mind. Your hand squeezed his, and despite the injuries, he couldn’t help the smile on his face.

“Hi, love.”

“Hi Azzy,” Cassian responds, earning a groan from Azriel.

You want to touch his face, but you’re worried you’ll hurt him.

“Well, now that you’re awake, we’ll see ourselves out,” Rhysand told him, offering him a wink as his brothers get up and begin moving to the door.

“A woman’s love is the best medicine,” Cassian says.

“You assholes aren’t even going to see how I am? After staying all night?”

Cassian laughs, “oh, we didn’t stay here out of concern over you. We stayed to keep her company.”

-

Looking at where you and the general stood, you regretted the events leading you here. “I’m just saying he’d love this little black number.”

Cassian currently had an arm draped around a mannequin, wearing the least amount of fabric possible.

“Cassian,” you hiss, embarassment leaking out of you, “why are we here?”

“You asked for help for a gift - this is my help!” He says, gesturing broadly around the lingerie shop. You hiss at him, “this isn’t what I had in mind-“

A chipper voice cuts you off, “good morning! How are you two today?” You turn to find a pretty shopkeeper looking at you and Cassian, her eyes lingerinf on his biceps wrapped around the mannequin. You swear you see him flex a little.

Cassian looks at you with a shit-eating grin as he tells her, “great! I’m helping her find a gift for my brother.”

She looks between you two, confusion on her face. “Is it for him to wear? We have a men’s section-“

“No, no,” Cassian says,”I’ll come back another day to check out that section. We’re looking for something for her, preferably in black or blue.”

He smiles at the shop associate, and she blushes at his attention. He winks at her, as she turns around to find you some options.

“Cassian, I’d prefer it if you weren’t aware of my lingerie choices.”

He raises his hands up, “I can close my eyes if that’ll make you feel better.” He places his hands over his eyes, “just guide me around the store, please, so I don’t fondle any mannequins.”

-

“I know something you don’t know,” Cassian coos at you, swaggering into the room. You’re seated in the library, enjoying a nice book by the fire. At least, you were.

“Hi Cass,” you say, taking a sip of your wine. He plops down next to you, stretching his arm behind you on the couch. You almost recoil at his smell, clearly coming in straight from training or fighting or something.

“Ugh, Cass, can you shower before showing up? You have a smell.” You fake gag at him.

He waggles his eyebrows, “some call it a musk,” he replies, “and I know you like it when Azzie is all sweaty after training.”

You roll your eyes, moving a little away from him. “Yes, but he’s hot. It’s different.”

He gawks at you. “It’s not different!” He insists, “I’m hot!”

You sigh, accepting the turn in conversation. “Yes, but not when you smell like that.”

He waggles his eyebrows, “so you do think I’m hot?” You slap him across the chest. “Yes, you’re a very handsome boy. Now what did you know that I don’t?”

Cassian pauses, trying to remember why he came in here in the first place. Then he remembers, smiling at you. He leaned back, placing his hands together on his stomach.

“Ah, yes. I know something you don’t know.”

You huff, “yes Cassian, and I know plenty that you don’t know.”

“Yes but my knowledge is about a certain pretty shadowsinger.”

You eye him, his grin spanning his whole face. “What do you know?”

Cassian looks at his hands, twiddling his thumbs. “What’s it worth to you?”

You push him, “tell me.”

“What’s it worth?”

“Tell me, tell me, tell me.”

“Value?”

You sigh, “I’ll set you up with my friend Varia.”

He lifts an eyebrow, “promise?”

“If your information is valuable enough.”

“Oh I can guarantee it.”

“Then we have a deal. What do you know?”

Cassian looks around the room, to ensure you’re truly alone, including the presence of any nosey shadows. Once he feels confident you’re truly alone, he tells you, “I saw him in a jewelry store today.”

You pause, “okay?”

“And your birthday isn’t for six months, solstice was two months ago, your anniversary is in 8 months, so…”

He motions his hands, hoping you’ll get what he’s insinuating.

“He’s preparing?” You ask. The general rolls his eyes. He grabs both of your arms, shaking you as he tells you, “he was looking at rings!”

You gasp, “no you did not! Did you see any? What did they look like? Do you think they’d fit my fingers?”

Cassian rolled his eyes, “well he wasn’t shopping at Jewelry for Giants”

You hit him in the chest with a pillow. “No, I didn’t see any of them, but he was there for quite a while. Pretty sure the shop assistant showed him everything he had in the store.”

You squeal, launching yourself onto Cassian in a hug. “This better be real, valid intel Cassian or I swear I’ll cut off your testicles and feed them to Bryaxis.”

He eventually leaves, having had enough of your squealing and questions about rings, opting for a glass of milk before bed. As he’s in the kitchen pouring a glass he hears from behind him, “Cassian I know you saw me.”

He flinches, but just barely, causing the shadowsinger to smile just a touch. “Saw you where?”

Azriel sighed, “stop playing dumb with me Cassian, you saw me at Winston’s Jewelry.”

Cassian’s surprised at Azriel’s forwardness, his lack of dancing around subjects a skill Cassian wishes he shared. “Yes, I did. So? I assumed you were buying a birthday gift.”

His brother doesn’t buy the fib. “You know exactly what I was looking for in that store.”

“Mm, jewelry?”

Azriel closes his eyes, counting to ten, to keep himself from leaping across the kitchen and stabbing his brother. He keeps his eyes closed as he says, “I bought a ring.”

“This is so sudden, brother, I mean how could I say yes when we haven’t even spent a night together?”

Azriel rubs the bridge of his nose, annoyance still there from the moment he saw Cassian watching him. “Not for you, for her.” He pauses and Cassian doesn’t try to fill it, waiting for Azriel to continue.

Azriel sighs, letting the truth fill the room. “I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

Cassian cheers in delight, excitement coursing through him.

“How are you going to do it? A bunch of flowers everywhere? Oh, oh, put the ring on your cock and -“

Azriel balks at Cassian, the headache coming back. He goes to walk away, but stops. “Just - don’t tell her you saw me. Please?”

Cassian pales, but agrees, and watches his brother head towards his room. Once he hears the click of his door, he races across the house to the library, where you’re still seated.

“Don’t-“ he pants, “mention anything about rings.” He pants again, surprisingly winded. “I didn’t tell you anything.” He turns to walk away, but he hears you say, “okay?” before he walks out.

-

You were spreading olive oil across the grape tomatoes as you heard your door open. You didn’t hear movement as your husband walked into the kitchen, your back turned to him.

“You’re home early,” you say, stirring the gnocchi. “How was your day, sweets?”

“It was fine, darling,” you hear Cassian respond, followed by a chair dragging across your floor as he plops down, spreading his legs wide, taking up a considerable amount of space.

You turned around, expecting a different Illyrian in your kitchen, a quick retort on your tongue as you look down and see his shoes. “Cassian!” You scold, “I’ve told you to take off your muddy boots before you come in.”

You walk over to him, flicking him in the ear. He rubs it softly, muttering about something. “Sorry, dear,” he says, emphasizing the term of endearment, as he starts unlacing his shoes.

You begin walking back to continue your cooking. “I thought you were my husband,” you shout to him as he walks back through your living room, the door softly opening. “Well, I’m flattered sweetheart, I thought we could have had something special, too, but my rascal of a brother got you first.”

You roll your eyes at him, stirring your noodles, “We never would have worked out, Cass. We’re both too chipper, we need to share our happiness with the grumps of the world.”

Cassian snorted, opening your fridge to grab a beer, “no we wouldn’t have worked out because Azriel would have murdered me if I made a move.”

He opens his beer bottle with his teeth, chuckling.

You laugh, cutting up your cooked chicken to mix it back into the pasta. “Oh what could have been, Cass. The world wouldn’t have been able to handle us together.”

“I know I certainly couldn’t.”

You smile, feeling your husband ghost a kiss to your cheek. He wraps his arms around you, basking in your scent before he goes to get his own beer.

Cassian rolls his eyes, “you would have skulked for hundreds of years, brother.” Your eyebrows raise, “you think we would have been together for centuries?”

“Oh yeah,” Cassian nods, putting his beer down on the table. “If not out of love, out of spite.” He gives Azriel a little smirk, and Azriel slaps the back of his head.

“Why are you here, Cass, other than to flirt with my wife?” He asks, taking his usual seat at the table.

“Yeah, Cass, didn’t you have a date tonight?” You ask, placing the pan in the oven and setting a timer. Azriel stills at your question. His brother did have a date tonight, one that should have started two hours ago.

You both reach the same conclusion as you say, “oh, Cass,” turning around to look at him. “What happened?”

He shrugs, starting to rip the label off his bottle to occupy himself. “She just.. wasn’t right.” He sighs, a contemplative look overcoming his features. “I just want something real. Not a few nights, not a few months. Something real. Like you two.”

Cassian’s face reddens, his admission in the air. He’s about to apologize, but you wrap your arms around his head, placing your own on top of his.

“You deserve someone incredible, Cass. Someone that isn’t me.” He laughs, patting your arms. “I’m sorry she didn’t work out. But you’re free to stay for dinner tonight, if you want. I’m making pesto chicken gnocchi.”

Cassian sighs, deflating in your arms a bit, “I don’t want to impose-“

Azriel snorts, “yes you do. Go ahead, Cassian. Impose. We’re happy to let you.” Cassian smiles, a real, genuine smile. Most nights the loneliness doesn’t get to him, but this is a rare night for vulnerability, and as the three of you gather around the table, gossiping about the girl Rhys was under the mountain with and how she was now at the Moonstone Palace with Rhys, Cassian feels his friends help carry his burden.

[chaepink]

K so imagine this:

Tutoring Hinata or Kageyama, (either one works cause they're both in desperate need of kicking up their grades) fucking them in a serpent's embrace-type position while they complete a study guide you prepared but edging them until they get 100% accuracy. Them breathily sighing out answers and occasional whines. Drilling the content into their heads while drilling them with the strap

Studying session | sub!kageyama tobio

wc: 1.4+ words | masterlist

dom!reader, begging, edging, pegging, reader is mentioned to be able to lift him up, slight spanking, degrading

note : i feel like i wrote this weird...

When you suggested that you would help tutor Kageyama for his upcoming test, he thought it was all going to be flashcards, tests, and strict tutoring. Although you did bring a study guide that you made for him to use, he didn't think you would propose an idea that made the whole situation a lot more interesting.

"Is the answer-" He cuts himself off with a whine as you continue fucking him with your strap. Every bounce of his body sends shocks throughout him.

"C-C?" He lets out another breathy whine as you smile. "That's right," you say, speeding up your movements.

The next question is harder, a question about information that Kageyama had trouble memorizing. It doesn't help that he's rather close to cumming either, with his hips jerking up and down, trying to match the pace you're setting.

"Is it C?"

"Sorry babe, but that's incorrect." You slow down your thrusts to an almost complete stop as Kageyama sobs at the lack of pleasure.

"N-No! I was so c-close, please!" He turns to you with tear-brimmed eyes, begging you to continue with your movements. You quietly shush him as you wipe away the tears that are about to fall.

"Shh, it's okay. There are still a few more questions left and you've done so well so far. How about you get these last ones correct and you'll get a reward?" He nods hesitantly at you, turning back at the study guide.

You begin your previous actions again and start slowly fucking in and out of him again. While it's enough to make him feel a bit of pleasure, it's still not enough for him. He needs more!

Though he was hesitant at first to agree to your... unique method of tutoring that includes some pegging, once he got into it, he began enjoying the idea a lot more. Of course, he's not going to verbally tell you that but you can already tell by his begging and actions.

With his back to your chest and him sitting on your lap, you're able to slip your hand under his shirt and play with his nipples every once in a while as he tries to answer the questions correctly. This also means that even a slight movement of your legs sends a bolt of pleasure up his body due to the strap in him moving as well.

"T-The correct answer is ngh! i-is B."

"That's correct." He whines as you speed up your actions. He can tell that you're purposely increasing the pace less than you would usually, knowing that it would drive him crazy.

As you ask him every remaining question that's left, he gets it right. All that's left is a particularly hard one that you may or may not have put there as the last question on purpose, knowing that you would have made him agree to your idea.

Kageyama takes some time thinking (although he can't do it very well, not when you're still inside him) before telling you his answer to the final question.

"Correct! That's awesome, baby." You give him a kiss on the cheek. "I'm so proud of you for finishing all this." A grin makes its way onto your face.

"You know what you get now, right?"

He twists his head to look at you, a blush adorning his cheeks as he stutters out an answer.

"A r-reward?" You smile at him.

"That's right." Grabbing him by the hips, you gently lift him up enough so you can slip the strap out of him, eliciting a whine out of him.

"[Name] w-what are you-"

"Don't worry, you'll get your reward. Just lay flat on the table."

Obediently, he does what you tell him to and lays his body on the table in front of him, making sure to remove the papers on it first. Due to how low the piece of furniture is, his knees lay nicely on the floor. He's in a near-dog position with his elbows on the table and you swear you can almost see a doggy tail waving side to side behind him.

You can't help but lick your lips at the view. Kageyama, your oh so adorable boyfriend, presenting his ass to you as he turns around and looks at you with innocent, pleading eyes. His current state hugely contrasts his usual stoic and serious demeanor. 

You can just ravish him then and there, but you have to take it slow first. It's his reward after all. Grabbing him by the hips, you position your strap to his hole.

"Ready for your reward?" Instead of a verbal answer, Kageyama teasingly shakes his ass at you and you tsk, giving it a small slap. Kageyama whimpers at the delicious pain.

"Such a tease, aren't you? I need a verbal answer."

"Fuck y-yes."

In one smooth motion, you enter the strap inside him and begin fucking him with slow yet deep thrusts. Each and everyone one of them elicits a moan out of him.

It's not long until you eventually speed up and begin fucking him at a faster pace than before, one that has his knees weak, eyes about to roll back, and breathless. God, it feels so good, he thinks. The strong grip you have on his hips hurts but the slight pain only adds to the pleasure he's feeling.

You lean forward, your chest almost touching his back. Although he's lowering his face toward the table, you can still see how red his face is. With this new position, you're able to fuck him from a whole new angle as you talk into his flushed ear.

"I'm fucking you so good, isn't that right? I can tell by the way you're crying and moaning like a bitch in heat."

You teasingly blow cool air onto his ear, enjoying the way his body shivers.

"y-yes you're ah! f-fucking me so good!" He lets out another whimper and as you take a peek at his dick, you grin as you see how hard and red it is, pre dripping onto the floor.

"Answer this question, baby." You grab the study guide you made for him off the floor and put it in front of him, showing him a random question.

"f-fuck is the answer-" He cuts himself off with a choked moan as you hit a particular spot in him that has his toes curling and head thrown back, eyes rolling.

"What's that? Repeat it for me."

"i-is the a-answer D?" You shake your head, however, you don't stop your movements this time.

"That's incorrect. You got this right just minutes ago too." You feign a pout even though you know he can't see you. "Such a shame. Is it because I'm fucking you so well that you've turned stupid? Is that it? You've been fucked dumb, hm?" Kageyama nods, too fucked out to even process what you're saying or doing to him. All that he feels is the pleasure you're giving him.

"Before I was drilling all that information in your head now I'm drilling this strap in you, isn't that right? And you're enjoying it so much too."

Your thrusts continue to turn rough and the pace increases, making Kageyama let out of near scream as you hit all the right spots in him. His arms give up under him and he's laying flat on the table now. His knees are about to give up as well but the only reason they aren't is because you're holding onto his hips.

He's close, you know it.

"[Name] p-please!"

"Please what?" He lets out a choked sob at your feigning innocence. Another thrust from you steals the breath right out of his chest.

"i-im close! ah! pleaseplease-"

You pretend to think. "Hm... i don't know. You have been doing good when i was tutoring you though..." Kageyama immediately peeks up at you, face flushed even more and he looks like he's about to cry. How cute.

"i did good, i s-swear!"

"Alright, go ahead then and cum."

And he does. He lets out a moan loud enough that you have to cover his mouth, making sure the neighbors don't hear how much a slut Kageyama is.

He makes a mess all over the floor as his arms fall out from under him. Pulling out of him, you hear him whine as he clenches around nothing.

Oh, you just know he'll come running towards you every single time he needs tutoring from now on.

ty for reading to the end! ❤ - chaepink

╰┈➤ masterlist | rules

[spenglersweetheart]

I’m not sure if your requests are open or not but I was wondering if I could get a Egon X reader who is smart (not really smart) but smart and one day he’s rambling about fungi and he gets a fact incorrect and reader corrects him and he’s just like

🧍🏻

I love it when you talk science

Idk it popped into my head seems the sorta thing he’d do

i am taking requests! you're my first request and oh my god i love it sm. i'm sorry if the fungi talk is a little minimal or even a bit basic, as i do not know much about it but i am researching a bit, just for you! :) hope you enjoy it!

��────────────── ✦ ───────────────

Penicillium, Not Penicillin

Egon Spengler x Reader

WARNINGS : none!

─────────────── ✦ ───────────────

IT WAS NORMAL FOR EGON TO TALK ABOUT his love for fungi. In fact, you loved when he talked about it very much. You learned a lot from the talks that you two have. Sometimes, you even take notes because the things he spills out are so interesting. So when you were at the Firehouse, you were settled in your usual spot in the lab, hearing him talk about another fungus. The famous one most people know. The one that people mixed up.

You're looking back at your notes and you notice something, mainly because you were absent mindedly listening. Maybe it was indeed a mixup, but, when Egon was talking again, you immediately noticed it.

"A lot of people know that penicillin can spread through mostly food, but it can also be found on different fabrics, too," Egon explained.

"Penicillium ..." you mutter, fixing your notes that you have just written down.

Egon turns around from the current activity that he's multitasking on. You look up at him. If you hadn't been so close to him, you wouldn't have noticed the slightly widened eyes that he currently wore behind his glasses.

"Sorry?"

"Penicillium," you repeat, "Not penicillin. Penicillin is the antibiotic that comes from the fungi that I assume that you're talking about. Penicillium is the actual fungi that you're referring to. It's a common misconception. One that I am surprised that you have mixed up."

"Had I? Well, I didn't even notice," Egon told you.

"I know, because you were so invested in it," you say back, "Also, Penicillium can grow in any material that is water - damaged, so if you guys don't clean up after yourselves if you spill things on the floors or anything else that we have that wooden, we will have a penicillium problem. And that may even be more of a problem than New York's ghost problem."

You look back up, waiting for a response from the other scientist. But, he looks at you, seemingly flabbergasted that you even corrected him in the first place.

"Egon?" You ask. You almost get worried, "Earth to Egon ... What are you thinking about in that huge brain of yours?"

He eventually breaks from whatever reality that he's in. You wait for a response. You almost stand up to walk over to him, but you don't, since you see that small little smirk that appears on his face.

"I love it when you talk science," he says to you.

A smile crept up on your face as soon as he said that to you. "I can talk more science," you say. "That is, if you want me to."

Egon then sits down right across from you. You can tell that he's definitely invested in what you have to say now.

"Gladly," he answers.

[ardbar]

You know. Noobs aren't really expected to last very long. Every time we see one that isn't Evbo, they never last long. We watch at least 5 of them die. Who knows how many Evbo has watched die. They probably aren't expected to last more than a few weeks.

And who would waste resources teaching things to people who will be dead in a few weeks anyways? Who would even teach them things? The Pros? The pros would Never, even if it was their Daily Task they would likely just sneer at the Noobs and call them stupid.

It makes me wonder. How many things are considered Common Knowledge that Evbo simply doesn't know even exist? How many things does he do that everyone else would consider him Utterly Insane for that were just... normal on the Nood Level?

EMF catches him using a bucket of water and bar of soap to wash his clothes instead of a washing machine and just thinks he likes doing it the old fashioned way. Shades Pro sees Evbo counting on his Fingers, only after 5 he's speaking jibberish. Shades decides he misheard him or Evbo is fucking with him. Seawatt finds him picking grass blades off a grass block and turns away with a roll of his eyes, not seeing Evbo stuff the fistful of grass into his mouth. He says that even reading is parkour because that's how he refers to all things he's never seen before (and 90% of the time is Correct in this assumption) and EMF and Seawatt think he's just making a joke.

And no one helps him because they don't know he needs help. They don't know that he can't read or write, he doesn't know numbers past 5 and ended up making up names for them, doesn't understand any sort of machine, even unable to understand how furnaces work really, as they had them on noob level but had no fuel for them, he eats grass blades because sometimes... sometimes Pros would "forget" to deliver some meat to his house, or he would be late and not get any, or sometimes the hunger would just get To Bad. Does he even know what a callender is? Evbo has no idea any of these actions are incorrect or that there's things he should learn.

After all, how can he possibly ask for the answers to a question he does not know exists?

Wait I actually love this. I've also believe that Evbo just wouldn't know as much as everyone else because as you said the Noob level just has no infrastructure. Like to your point about him saying even reading is parkour, he specifically mentions he only started to learn it after becoming the champion. This really goes to show how the noob layer just wasn't cared about. However this has always made me question some things, what exactly is the point of the noob level if ranking up is impossible. The master level is obviously a parallel for the wealthy elite, which would make the pro level something around the working class, following this type of logic the noob's would be like the lower class and menial labor. However, the noobs don't actually do anything. While we didn't spend too much time in the noob level all we really saw was that they have to do their daily parkour for food and then as long as they follow the rules they have no other tasks. Do they just exist to keep the pro class busy, to make the pros not realize they are still at the bottom of the social hierarchy?

Personally I think it would be cool if that was why the Noob layer is so underdeveloped and as you said not well educated. The noobs were only a means to an end. I think it would make sense that the Pro level has the biggest population since they aren't prone to dying like the noobs and because they do most of the jobs. Because they have the biggest population and thus a decent amount of sway the champion keeps the noobs around to make the pro's antagonize them instead of trying to rebel against the masters and him. By keeping most of the conflict between the pros and noobs he has effectively prolonged his society.

The noob's exist as an example that things could always be worse. That while the pros need to work to get time to practice parkour they at least have food, they at least have nice homes, they are safe as long as the noobs exist.

Personally I think it would be really fun wrote a fic about various things Evbo does and everyone else just looks at him like, "how are you alive right now?"

[wondernus]

˗ˋˏ a winter interlude ˎˊ˗

synopsis: maybe this is meant to be an interlude – an unforeseen passing moment in each other’s timelines. but with the stroke of a conductor’s baton, the symphony lands on the fermata hovering above the note. do we allow this interlude to become something longer than a short period in our lives, or do we end it after all of it is over?

pairing: wonwoo x coworker!reader

genre: romance, drama, light angst

tags: children's book illustrator wonwoo, publisher reader, enemies to lovers, fake marriage, food/drinks, work husband jeonghan cameo, small town dynamics, snowed in, scene where reader almost gets physically injured

wc: 11.3k

message from nu: waaaa first fic of the year. special special special thank you to my beloved madi (@heartkyeom) for being my beta reader well after midnight. I also wanna thank mars (@onlymingyus) for being mars c: I remember a while ago I answered an ask with a possible wonwoo work husband spinoff. this is it. this is wonwoo's work husband spinoff. this can be read as a standalone fic. happy winter and happy new year to all of you. I hope you all enjoy this svthub snowventeen collab fic - nu ♡

wondernus's masterlist / snowventeen collab 18+

one

“Don’t forget to wear you layers because it’s about to be chillier as the week passes by. For those trekking into the mountains, make sure you look out for weather updates from the signal tower and stay indoors because a large snowstorm is about to paint the mountains white. Stay safe, and have a great day. Now, onto Yoon Jeonghan with the traffic.”

“‘Trekking?’ What are you? A protein bar wrapper? Anyway, thank you Joshu-"

Never really understanding why other people say they often find themselves turning down the music while driving to see better, you find yourself doing the same – driving in silence as if the silence could create such a frictionless surface that would shoot and propel your car to your destination. A couple of hours late to your annual winter work retreat, a clear understatement defined by the speed at which you are driving, what was supposed to be a carpool event turned into you sitting in a pool of cars while stuck in traffic.

The Sun shines lightly, a gentle kiss against your skin, but not enough to hug everything it touches in warmth. With the heater on high, you sit in your front seat sweating and dreading the moment when you have to get out of your car, thighs peeling off the leather seats and leaving a pool of sweat where you were sitting. Perhaps it is not the Sun and the heater’s heat that causes you to sweat, but a psychological factor – an amalgamation of stress and anxiety that stemmed from the moment you realized you were late.

No longer can you allow yourself to forgive him that easily, yet you really did not want t blame him for giving you incorrect meeting minutes. But when the retreat itinerary clearly stated to meet in the morning at seven in front of the publishing house, you should have known better than to wholly trust your ditzy new intern to attend your office meeting while you traveled out of town to hunt down your author for her overdue speculative fiction novel draft. Instead of writing the correct time to meet, he incorrectly noted the arrival time.

This unprecedented-precedented blip is the catalyst for a series of chain reactions that would metaphorically send you pummeling down the steep side of a mountain in a snowy avalanche that you could have avoided. But you do not know it, nor do you know how it, whatever “it” is, ends.

Dark circles under your eyes and a forgotten paper-thin pimple patch a jolt over a speedbump away from falling off your oily skin, you keep telling yourself that everything will be okay once you get to the camping grounds. Hopefully, this sort of denial could make up for the fact that you spent all of last night kicking your feet under your covers while binge-watching the reality show that your favorite boy group filmed rather than packing for your trip. But there is only so much your heater turned on high can do for someone wearing an old flimsy university tee with a couple of cat teeth-made holes who forgot to put their contacts in last night. You are better off skipping the winter retreat, but you are already nearing the mountains. There is no turning back – especially on winding roads.

And the embarrassment. This feeling of creeping anxiety seemingly washed away the moment it stepped foot into your head even though you are utterly unprepared and inappropriate for being late to the paid work retreat. Because this sudden realization hits you mid-drive: the only person who you would be embarrassed to meet in your current situation is excused for the retreat. Reasons unknown. And not that you would let any man define you, but at your core, you are simply a person with an embarrassingly big fat crush on your co-worker (and seemingly everybody else you work with). This crush is so bad that if HR made every team create their own set of photocards, you would put his in a protective cover with tiny holographic hearts, and then in a sturdy toploader decorated with overpriced stickers. One glance at him would put you in a trance, daydreaming about what it would be like to wake up in his arms on a sunny day with birds chirping outside your window, and him with a soft smile on his face.

Except for one thing – he hates your guts, so you decided to hate his too.

They always say “try, try again,” but how many tries would it take before the attempts turn Sisyphean? Sure, Hades enchanted Sisyphus’s boulder so that it would roll away before Sisyphus reached the top, but what about you? Car tires struggling against the icy roads, you drive carefully so your car does not turn into a giant hockey puck or a curling stone on (what is essentially) a giant ice rink. But being careful does not help the fact that you are unprepared. And being unprepared means your car has absolutely no way for you to drive over any sized slopes, no matter how many times you try.

You only realize any further attempt of going over the slope or taking any other route is fruitless when your tires spin in place after digging themselves well enough into the road. And you slump against your steering wheel like an exasperated character in a movie – pounding your head against 12 o’clock a few times for good measure. So much for a fifteen-minute-saving de-tour through a small town you have never seen before. And so much for you trying to drive over a slope you could easily walk over. Trying sucks.

Still, the only thing that keeps you from abandoning your hand-me-down car to trek forty-five minutes to the campsite is the fact that it is freezing outside, and your cellphone Wi-Fi gets especially spotty when you are in areas of high altitudes. With one final sigh, you push yourself away from your steering wheel to sit upright, leaning the back of your head against your headrest. There is not much to do except to put your car in neutral and try to push your car out of the little hole it dug itself in.

The thing is, the texture of real snow is a lot different from the snow that giant portable snow machines shoot out of their gigantic cylindrical nozzles to cover the courtyard in front of the city hall whenever the local city has its annual winter festival. Real snow is also incomparable to the “snow” a child creates along the perimeter of an ice skating rink, hands holding onto the rails for support while they repeatedly scrape the inside of one of their blades towards the inside of their other shoe, creating soft ribbons of shaved ice before the navy blue Zamboni can create a clean slate before private lessons start.

Real snow is relentless toward anybody who does not come prepared to interact with it. So, no matter how much you try to dig and twist your sneaker sole into the snow, that tactile grip that you wish to create that supports your feet while you are pushing against the back of your car can seldom be created. You slump against your car’s bumper in defeat. The Sun still shining on your skin, a little bit stronger now, leaves you with the same warmth you felt against your skin, a bit tingly and upsetting, when you knew your skin would still burn no matter how nice the cordiality of the Sun felt on that one Spring day in the past.

Plus, there is a little more time to observe your surroundings when you have given up completely.

In the grassy median strip that denotes the entrance into the small town is a wooden welcome sign with the name in loopy golden lettering against a beautiful pine green: “Welcome to Interlude.” A few feet ahead of you, the mountainous road marries smooth concrete, and the sidewalks pave in a festival town-esque brick lining. And you conclude you must be on the outskirts of the town. Leftover snow fills the grooves between each brick and covers the dark-colored awnings in front of each shop along the town strip. Where flashy LED shop signs and brightly colored bulbs decorate sidewalk trees drawing visitors in from around the world, is surprisingly a lack of people. And you frown while thinking about how you would be able to push your car to the side of the road if another vehicle wants to enter the town.

Not a few moments later, a navy blue truck slowly climbs up the road, and you feel the littlest bit of hope surge into your body. Forcing yourself to stand up, you move out of the way and wave at the incoming car. But as your day could not have gotten any more unfortunate, your car starts rolling backwards towards the pickup truck. And you cannot help but see your entire life flash in front of you – a person dressed too lightly for the snow and the used car passing by like a celebrity on a parade float, all in a moment.

What is scarier than the fact that your car is now bumper-less and the pickup truck remains unscathed is the man who hops out of his truck. Looking like a snow-stage boss from a video game, the man who is large and menacingly looking enough to make his shiny dark green car look like a minivan next to him stalks over to you with his finger pointed directly at your face. The only thing missing from the scene is the army of ice ogres that are supposed to follow closely behind him.

However, the only thing you can register is the fact that he is yelling at you – face glowing bright red and spit flying out of his mouth. Your body is frozen in fear. There is a lack of capacity for you to be able to stand up for yourself while you are shocked and unable to recognize your surroundings while terrible words spill out of the man's mouth. And you cannot do anything except take in his expletives while teardrops well up, ready to spill out of your tear ducts.

But they do not. A figure puts himself between the man and you, and your view is too obstructed to see the other side.

“I called the insurance company. Give me your information and I’ll handle it,” the mysterious person says.

“And who are you?” You hear from the other side.

“I’m their husband.” He fishes for his wallet in his back pocket and takes out a business card, handing it to the man between two fingers. “Call me. Email me. Your choice. I’ll get it sorted. Sorry about the whole thing, I didn’t have time to drive my partner. Bad husband right?... So, I heard you’re the new fishing shop owner? I’ll drop by sometime.” He tries to switch subjects to lessen the tension while slipping his wallet back into his pocket.

The thing is, it works. The presence of the man who uses his body to shield you calms the angry pickup truck driver almost exponentially. And the man who yelled at you seemed to forget he was yelling at you just because he realized your marital status. The man calms down, and even falters in his speech.

“Ahh…I’m not a fishing shop owner. I guess it’s fine now that you’re here, but you know men. There aren’t bad husbands, only ba-”

“I’ll be at Town Hall if you need more information from me.” The man who calls himself your husband purposely and curtly cuts the other man off, knowing very well that he would be even more upset if he heard the man finish his sentence.

The man does not turn back to address you until he is done taking photos of both cars and waving the other man goodbye. And your piece of junk car stays in the same spot, bumper-less and bruised, while the pickup truck, clearly without any injury, smoothly makes its way into Interlude, disappearing from your sight.

“You’re just going to dumbly let that man say those things to you? About you? Do you have no respect for yourself?” He lectures you, his deep voice muffled by the black wool scarf wrapped around his neck and mouth.

You see him clearly this time, how his black locks fall in front of his face in neat curtain bangs, set in a defined “C” shape. The oversized fleece-lined collar jacket falls to the middle of his thighs, leaving little room for his cream-colored sweater to peep into view. And his stance, focusing his weight on his right heel while his left foot slightly protrudes forward, allows him to tap his foot against the snow while he waits for you to answer him.

But what is shocking to you is not the code-switching he uses when speaking to the driver versus when speaking to you. What is shocking, you realize, are the thin silver-framed glasses that sit on the bridge of the man’s nose and the familiar deep woody scent that clings onto him, touched with a hint of peach.

It couldn’t be.

A cold chill leaves your tongue dry and squeezes your stomach.

“Are you dumb? Did you not hear about the snowstorm coming?” He asks you, a voice without concern, all while pulling out his phone from one of his pockets.

He tugs his manicured thumbs out of his gloves to wake his phone and proceeds to reveal his face from under his scarf to unlock his phone. After a few loud keyboard taps, you hear your phone’s notification sound from your car. But all you can do is stare back at the man, stomach gurgling and queasy.

“Yn,” your co-worker sighs, clearly annoyed by your lack of response. “Why are you here?”

two

A backpack-wearing piglet who happily crosses the street. A fashionably dressed lumpy toad who rows across the pond in a wooden paddle boat. A shrew who picnics with a chipmunk in a grassy city park. Tiny children who sit between each of a stegosaurus’s scutes. An angry and scruffy-looking Siamese cat who wears a cone too big for it to see. The backside of each illustration states:

Jeon Wonwoo ILLUSTRATOR Same Dream Publishing House Work Email | Work Number | Personal Website

Nicely squared recycled textured card stock printed with soy ink, Jeon Wonwoo’s business cards can very well double as collector cards. And the owner of these cards himself, in your eyes, is the most beautiful man you have ever laid your eyes on. No fantasy writer, no Renaissance artist could ever truly depict how you see this man. Yet it makes you feel terrible, so entirely rotten on the inside, knowing that he would rather crawl up several flights of stairs made of tiny plastic building blocks than take a fifteen-second elevator ride with you.

If you could pinpoint the exact day Jeon Wonwoo started hating you, it would be the Monday after coming back from a previous work trip to the vacation home of a poet the two of you were assigned. The two of you were amicable with each other, even more so – close friends. A power couple in the children’s books and short stories field – a force to be reckoned with. And the hotel rooms adjacent to each other where the two of you decided to sit on opposite sides of your shared door and talk to each other with both your backs against the door. You remember the sound of his hair brushing against the wood and his soft chuckle when you accidentally bump your head against the door. The goodbye after the trip lingered for a little too long while the first hello back never came. And you can only watch from the back of the crowd during meet and greets and panels, sometimes only catching the tip of his tiny flyaway from far away.

It would hurt your feelings a lot less if he turned away whenever you walked near him, but he chooses to frown instead. Unfortunately, it doesn’t make you like him any less. But you do not know what you are holding onto (or if there is anything to hold onto at this point).

Even now, there is a blatant emotional and physical distance between the two of you. He briskly walks at least a meter in front of you, never turning his head back to see if he left you behind or if you were following closely behind.

The thick uncomfortable shoulder strap keeps slipping from your shoulder, unable to find any traction against the smooth nylon of the puffer you put on earlier. And it is just a walk, a measly ten-minute walk to the police station where you can report the accident, but it is hard to walk while looking ahead when you are so close to crying. No matter how much you try to adjust your shoulder strap so it doesn’t stop falling, it finds a way to slip from your sore shoulder or frozen grip. Overwhelming emotions usurp any will to continue onwards and leave you feeling so annoyed, so dejected, and so frustrated with everything that happened today. And when your bag’s strap slips again, you let it slip from your shoulder, sending your entire duffle bag crumpling against the wet and icy brick pavement. 

And so you crumple with it, sinking to your knees and wallowing in your unhappiness.

The winter boots that clop in front of you never stop. Jeon Wonwoo would never stop for you, never walk backwards to pick up your heavy duffle and offer you a hand. So it wracks your head trying to understand why he would help you out in the first place, leaving you in the snow once everything was settled, and threatening an IOU coupon for the future. Why he would be in this town in the first place.

The shop window lights of the tiny electronics store to the side of you flicker on. On display and pressed flat against the glass are a bunch of old television sets stacked on top of each other, creating a large screen if not separated by the thick plastic television frames. Golden tempera paint in a modern Serif font exhibits the store’s logo across the glass: “Stay For A While,” in a wide downward pointing arc.

Every single television screen livestreams the local news. According to the subtitles, a giant snowstorm is about to hit the local area. Residents are advised to seek shelter and stay home. The sunny weather is only a farce. 

But you don’t notice the news. To you, the only thing in front of you is a lachrymose shadow of a blob trapped in a foreign town with nowhere to go. And your heart follows closely behind the man as if dragged by him on a leash – blindly bouncing, cobbling, and getting scratched by the various pebbles and dirt on the pavement.

The man never looks behind to check on the organ. He doesn’t even know it’s there.

“What do you mean you’re cat sitting? Jeonghan, you never volunteer to do things willingly…Oh, for the friends who are high school teachers? Then road trip with their cat and save your cousin who is stranded in the mountains.” You adjust your grip on your phone while mindlessly browsing through the several knickknacks for sale in the souvenir shop in the town’s only lodge.

Passing the wall of graphic tees and sweaters and passing through a shelf of souvenir mugs, you stop at a shelf of tiny woodcarvings. Your eye lands on a figurine of a whittled cat, hand-painted orange with a white belly. On the other end of your phone call, your cousin complains about the weather, but you don’t listen – clearly too entranced by the tiny cat.

“Of course I listened to the radio this morning,” you mutter while running the tip of your pointer finger against the cat’s ear, feeling the smooth sanded wood under your touch. “Okay, you got me. It was for background noise. Look, I’m not asking you to pick me up today. I somehow ended up booking a room after finding out cab services are down today. But if you’re not going to pick me up then I’m going to hang up and solve this myself. But if you don’t hear from me in three days, then call a search party. Okay?”

Except he hangs up before you can say goodbye, grumbling about how you never listen to him. Still, you’re unbothered by his action. The tiny cat, now in the palm of your hand, looks so content with life, unbothered by what goes on around it. Your mind wonders about its artist, how long they must have spent carving the cat from a single block of wood, the hours it must have taken to create something so tiny yet so fulfilling to own. And you wonder about the artist’s emotions, if they ever felt sadness after parting with their cat. If the cat was the artist’s friend, even for the brief moment, that juncture, in their individual timelines.

It would be best if you left the cat on the shelf, you think. Just in case the artist ever changes their mind about selling the cat. And the cat looks happier sitting on the shelf with its other animal friends, happier than what its painted lazy smile suggests.

And for the first time today, you feel a tiny bit of happiness – a halcyon moment surrounded by forest-themed trinkets and flashing keychains with generic names and soft 2010s pop music playing from the store speakers. That is until you see a familiar figure being escorted to the lobby of the lodge. Curiosity causes you to leave your spot in the souvenir store, edging closer to the creation of a new scene.

“I have a room.” You hear him try to reason with the security guard. “It’s not called loitering if I am a guest.”

You can’t hear the security guard, but it seems like Wonwoo’s bluntness is not a strong enough source of logos for the guard. And the guard stands in front of the illustrator, fully unconvinced that the man wearing a suit and holding his work briefcase would be any other out-of-town guest. And one look of pure panic on Jeon Wonwoo’s stupidly handsome-looking face sends you on autopilot, making your way to his side for no good reason.

“Babe.” You lie through your forced smile while looping your arm around his right arm. “Where were you?”

His arm jerks in the tiniest bit before it relaxes as if he hesitated for a moment before making his decision. Of course, another explanation could simply be because he experienced a negative bodily reaction to your mere presence. Flabbergasted, he would mutter. The nadir of today’s excitement. And you would hate him even more for using vocabulary without incorporating any malapropisms. He is as pretentious as the outfit he wears.

“Baby,” he grits through his teeth. “This gentleman seems to think I’m stalking the halls like some animal out to hunt its prey.”

“Sorry, Sir.” You pout at the security guard, hoping your natural pathos could appeal to the man. “My husband has a tendency to walk around whenever he’s bored. It’s been a while since we went on vacation, and he clearly has too many thoughts in his head. You see his outfit? It’s a bad habit.”

The security guard strokes his chin and nods, eying Wonwoo’s ineffable outfit. He wonders why the man in front of him would pack a business suit for a vacation in the mountains, but he doesn’t want to be the one too quick to judge. Rather, he agrees with the fact that the suit actually fits the man very well. If the man wasn’t stalking the hallways just a few moments ago, he would’ve asked him about which tailor he sees. “If he’s so bored, why don’t the two of you join couples night tonight? Winners get a free bedroom upgrade. And between you and me, I heard there’s a famous author who’s staying with us,” he whispers the last portion, a quick cheeky wink.

You don’t realize that you are still grabbing onto his arm until you dragged him into your room. And he shrugs you off, taking the extra step to smooth out his suit fabric while looking through your vanity mirror before turning to you.

“You have the grip of a snapping turtle,” he scoffs while looking around your room.

It is a standard room with a single queen-sized bed at the center of the room. If it were not for the carpeted floors, the entire room would look like a wooden box from its Western Red Cedar planks that make up the four walls to the wooden paneling that covers the ceiling, giant circular wooden beams that keep the ceiling steady by design. The rooms in this lodge are a termite’s dream feast and an art deco enthusiast’s nightmare. Even the bedframe is made of logs, cylindrical in every piece, and the bedsheets are of deep burgundy red bordered with silhouettes of black bears as if it came straight from the video game your cousin was so obsessed with a few Summers ago.

What catches his eye is not the fact that your duffle bag is thrown across your bed, nor the fact that the lamps in your rooms may as well be oil lamps. Rather, he stares at the door to the right of your mounted television, the divider between your room and your neighbor’s. And you can’t help but wonder what is going on in that head of his.

“You are insufferable, you know that?”

“How long did it take for you to think of that comeback?” His attention is drawn away from the door and aimed toward you. “Just because I compared you to a turtle didn’t mean you had to act like one.”

Your jaw drops and becomes your turn to scoff at him, loudly. You cannot believe what you are hearing, and your breathing becomes shallower as you glare at him. “Are you kidding me? Me helping you literally saved you from being pathetically kicked out by the security guard. You should be happy I didn’t record it and post it online.”

“Like you would have enough followers for it to go viral,” he sneers while taking a step toward you. “And I never asked you for help.”

“Loitering in the hallways? Wearing a business suit when you’re supposed to be at the retreat?” Now there is almost no space between the two of you. And you reach over to his chest, grabbing the plastic nametag that dangles from his neck, and holding it up to his face. The item feels as cold as the person who wears it. “Wearing your work badge? Fine, I’ll admit I have no idea why you’re here. But if you thought that walking around and waiting for some author to come out of their room and have some preplanned accidental meet cute could work, then you’re so wrong. And I’m not going to let you defame our company just because you have no social skills whatsoever.” You let go of the item you’re holding, letting it drop against his chest.

“Okay, I’ll be the bigger man and admit that I was waiting for the author my team wants to work with to show up. But talking about defaming the company? You want me to care about what you say when all of that was coming from someone who would rather let some random man verbally degrade their worth than to stand up for themselves? You’re all bite and no tongue. Just like a snapping turtle,” he says, his face entirely without emotion.

“SNAPPING TURTLES HAVE TONGUES. DUMBASS,” you snap at him.

“That’s exactly what a snapping turtle would say,” he challenges you.

The thing is, Jeon Wonwoo likes to keep things short even though he is not as quick-tempered as you are. He prefers to relay everything he wants to say at once, saving anybody from asking for clarification. Yet, you can feel that Wonwoo only seeks to maim you with his words. Even at your most imperturbable composure with your intern, you cannot stand being alone in a room with Wonwoo once he starts opening his mouth to speak. And stupidly and repeatedly you let his elementary quips affect you like rubbing salt on an open wound. The laceration in your heart.

“You’re so rude Jeon Wonwoo. No wonder I hate you more and more every single day. You’re the single-most worst person in the entire world, and I hate how I once considered us friends.”

He looks like he has something to say to you but mentally drops the notion. Instead, he sighs and makes his way to the door beside your television, unlocking the knob and opening the door. He doesn’t make some offhanded comment about being your neighbor and only quietly closes the door behind him, making sure it’s locked with a tiny click.

three

It is a tiny office breakroom, the kind with a beige refrigerator whose motor is a little too loud, a low-watt microwave, and light green walls decorated with random pen marks from the lodge workers signing up for holiday potlucks. The late afternoon sunlight shines in an ethereal orange glow through the window, casting what could be the day’s last warm ray across the round wooden table in the middle of the room. Central heating runs throughout the building, and the lodge manager sits in the hot seat, his hands folded in front of him while he stares at you and your “husband.”

“Darling?” A nice elderly receptionist on break holds up a bag of mini marshmallows, the tri-colored kinds you can only find in baking stores, and points to it with her manicured finger. “Marshmallow?” she asks you from her place near the kitchen cabinets.

“No thank you,” you reply, your hands wrapped around a warm disposable cup filled with generic brand instant hot chocolate. Gratis, courtesy of the elderly receptionist before the manager arrived to talk to the two of you.

You bring the sugary drink to your lips, blowing softly and watching the steam disappear into the air. The drink itself, velvet chocolate that coats your tongue, is a warm invitation to this little town in the middle of nowhere. However, you cannot help but feel the only thing – or person – that unwelcomes you is the man who tries to angle his body away from you and the manager if the two of you ever cause trouble for your neighbors. Again.

“Look, we’re not going to kick you out. It would be inhumane to kick someone out during a snowstorm. And also we’re all kinda snowed in…actually, we’re super snowed in so nobody is coming in or out at this point. Funny how it was sunny earlier, right? Anyway, word has it that the two of you are married. So why don’t you two take some time to work things out, yeah? I’m no relationship counselor, but this is a small lodge in a small town so word gets out fast. So, seeing how far the two of you are sitting apart from each other, maybe channel that pent up anger into some competitive spirit during couple’s night because we can’t have you two being loud and arguing elsewhere. And I hate to be the bad guy here, but no more calls from your neighbors complaining about the two of you arguing or else we will contact authorities. Alright? Just keep it down and work it out, would ya?”

The manager’s lengthy spiel is immediately followed by silence, although not awkward, but one that provokes thought. And when you sense Wonwoo, being the smartass he is, open his mouth to counter his marriage status, and you immediately kick him in the shin with the heel of your tennis shoe. And he folds like his latest pop-up book, glaring at you while trying not to wheeze in pain. A fake smile and a solemn pledge to not bother the other patrons for the rest of the night are enough for the two of you to be excused from the conversation with the manager.

But not from each other.

How you ended up blindfolded and dizzy with a bat in your hands while Wonwoo angrily yells at you from the sidelines is beyond you. For the time being is what the two of you agreed with, albeit this one is far from Ruth Ozeki’s version. It’s a small promise to try to prove the two of you are more than amicable: attend a few games and activities together with the other couples, attempt to act like a married couple, and dip after an hour.

After twelve elephant spins with your forehead against the baseball bat, you and the other blindfolded contestants try to cross to the other side of the banquet hall in order to smash one of the many squashes on the large blue-colored plastic tarp laid across the floor. And Wonwoo, along with the other separated pairs, barks into the open air in the direction he wants you to move.

The funny thing is, you would expect to hear him call your actual name out of all of the pet names being thrown around, but Wonwoo cannot yell for the life of him, so much to shout your name in public. So even though you hear a bunch of people getting confused with the various forms of “honey” and “baby” being called out, you struggle to find his voice amidst the cacophony of shouts. Once the physical dizziness from spinning around evaporated, you feel a new kind of dizziness from being agitated as an aftereffect of trying to find Wonwoo’s voice in the middle of the crowd. By the time you decide on giving up, the shrill sound of a whistle signaling the end of the game fills the air. Shrugging the blindfold off your face, you look around to see the aftermath. While the other pairs are on the other side of the room surrounded by broken pieces of squash, there is only one man standing in front of you alone and separated from the others.

Your breathing hitches when you realize he’s walking towards you – long, even strides like the romantic lead in a movie. By the time he places himself in front of you, your baseball bat is in his hand while your cheek is in his other.

“It was hard, wasn’t it?” he whispers while looking into your eye.

Except you can’t help but train your eyes elsewhere, unable to look him in his eyes while it feels like your heart is beating erratically. And even though you know very well how he is faking everything, you can’t help but regress to the same you, the same you who is so helplessly in love with the man you hate. The same you who spends every day wondering how did the two of you end up that way.

“You only took the bat from me because you’re scared I might whack you with it. And not going to lie, I was contemplating it,” you mumble.

“It’s okay babe.” He tries to cheer you up, a slight undertone of insincerity in his voice. He continues to ignore your statement. “You did your best. Snapping turtles are slow, but they still manage to survive.”

Ignoring the fact that Wonwoo’s hand is warm because he has warm packs in each of his loungewear jacket pockets (and the fact that he refused to share one with you), someone catches your eye in the distance. Where workers are cleaning up the aftermath of the squash game, a familiar-looking man stands to the side where some lodge patrons flock around him with rectangular objects in their hands. Once you see him turn his head your way, your entire body freezes – Wonwoo’s touch suddenly begins to feel cold against your skin. And Wonwoo, who was expecting you to get mad at him for calling you a turtle, can’t help but notice your state of panic. And he not so subtly turns around to see who could be causing you so much fear.

“Oh my,” he mutters, coming to his realization.

“I can’t believe –” you begin before Wonwoo interrupts your train of thought.

“I hope he rots in hell before he can get his next book deal,” he almost spits at the man from several feet away. He drops his hand from your cheek and takes a tiny step back before taking a deep breath as if he is about to ask you something that he would regret, “Do you mind staying a little longer? I want to make sure chauvinists never win book upgrades.”

“Room upgrade,” you correct him while glaring at the other man from afar.

“What?”

“You misspoke.” You guide your attention back to the man who is, for what you think is the first time, looking at you attentively and without malice. And the fact that he is looking at you amicably makes your brain go haywire, but you subdue your thoughts and continue the conversation. “It’s the ‘room’ upgrade that we’re trying to stop him from winning.”

“Book upgrade or room upgrade, it’s the same thing.” He frowns while tapping the end of the bat against the ground. “It turns out your pickup truck man is the author my team is after. But I’d rather be jobless than to work with someone like him.”

So he works with you, absolutely demolishing the competition during the Dinner and Paint section and loudly cheering for you while you stacked plastic cups. And the way he smiles at you, lovingly and with the glimmer reflected from the ceiling lights contrasted against the cocky attitude he surrounds himself with when one of you wins a game – it almost makes you forget that you’re supposed to hate him. How easily he wraps his arms around you, hugging you tightly against his embrace so much that his cologne lingers on your clothes, leaves you feeling hopeless. Because the only time Jeon Wonwoo could ever approach you without visibly withering in repulsion is when he acts like he is in love with you.

Outside the cozy lodge, the Sun sets its rays on the heavy layers of snow. While the Earth turns to face the other way, the rays wash the pillowy white crystals in a warm and deep burgundy orange – a warm embrace, a promise to return, before parting for the night. As you clean Wonwoo’s smudged glasses with the hem of your shirt, he sneaks his right arm around your waist while he leans further into his seat as the Couple’s Night host announces the next game. You feel something warm enter the pocket of your jacket and look down to see Wonwoo’s hand back on your waist. The untouched hand warmer gradually feels hotter in your pocket when you gently place your fake husband’s glasses back on the bridge of his nose. He whispers a small “thank you,” and you can only smile back at him with a heaviness in your heart that only you can carry.

The hand warmer feels like it would burn through your clothes at any second.

four

“Team Snowball, what did your partner answer for the question: ‘What is your partner picky about eating?’” The emcee points at the woman sitting next to you who gladly flips her sketchbook around for the other half of the room to see. She squints her eyes, trying to read the woman’s squiggly writing, and smiles when she realizes it’s a match. “Soft grapes? It’s a match. Point to Team Snowball.”

Despite everything going around you, you can’t help but fidget in your seat, the sketchbook’s pages starting to feel damp in your sweaty palms. Wonwoo sits with the separated pairs across from you. He crosses his legs, and his sketchbook lays comfortably across his lap so he can twirl his black marker in his hand. Even when you know you wrote the correct answer to Wonwoo’s food preferences, the two of you are still several points behind the other teams. Your stomach cannot help but feel queasy every time you embarrassingly flip your sketchbook for others to see. Because every single wrong answer about your “husband” whom you love very much feels like a punch in your gut every time you hear snickers from the others around you.

Seafood is your answer; you’re the last to answer this round’s question. You earn a small cheer from the woman reading your answer and a small smile from Wonwoo. He sneaks you a tiny thumbs up, the tip of his thumb poking out of his sweater.

“Next question,” dictates the emcee. “When did you know they were the one?”

It’s an abstract question – one that doesn’t necessarily need matching answers from both sides. Still, you look across to look at Wonwoo, uncertain whether or not he would put much thought into an answer he would have to pull out of thin air. Uncapping his marker with his mouth, he pulls the sketchbook closer to him to scribble down whatever comes to his mind. The action leaves your mouth feeling dry: one, obviously, because he uncapped the marker with his mouth; and two, he was the first to start writing.

Some answers are simple. Some answers are meaningful. Some answers are like yours – “love at first sight.”

Corny, overused, and unusual, your answer is the safest route you knew you could take. And despite how clichéd your answer is – its timelessness, its Hallmark-ability – still garners a series of awws from everybody around you. Technically, there is some truth to your answer. You developed a tiny crush the first time you saw him at the office. Who wouldn’t? He surrounds himself with illustrations of anthropomorphic animals and has a laugh that bellows and fills any room with joy. He made your days brighter by simply existing.

Now, the brightness struggles to navigate its way through the thick fog. And you’re left alone in the cold, the fog’s misty droplets clinging onto your skin.

It’s weird how in this life, time moves linearly, but moments and experiences with others exist in intervals – interludes that we can relive over and over again through memories. Sometimes we experience interludes of happiness, interludes of pain, and interludes where it only seems like there are only two people in this world. But nobody can determine how long these interludes can last and for how long you can try to hold on to these moments before letting go.

“Let’s see if Team Turtle can earn a point. Please show us your answer.”

“I’m kind of embarrassed,” he softly chuckles, voice more sonorous than ever, while standing his sketchbook on his knee.

9 pm is his answer. You, and the rest of the people sitting beside you, cannot help but gaze at his answer in confusion.

It is only when he sees you staring at him he finally clarifies, “When we were sitting in my car eating donuts while the waves crash on the shores in front of us. You smiled at me with pieces of maple donut glaze stuck to your upper lip.”

You. He speaks in the second person and looks directly at you with a soft gaze. It couldn’t be, you think. But it is true, you recognize his diction as true. He’s speaking to you.

And you remember that shared moment in the front seats of his car, the night of the work trip. The donuts were for the poet, but the two of you had the door slammed in your faces before being able to hold a full conversation with the poet. And after an entire day of confusion and apologies, the two of you were finally able to fulfill your portions for the work trip. Who knew that the tiny suggestion of walking along the pier after dinner would turn out disastrous – frigid ocean winds strong enough to blow people away? The clothes the two of you packed were not meant to sustain harsh winds but harsh sunlight – after all, the work trip’s destination is a beach town. So the two of you sat in his car, eating donuts, people-watching, and sharing anecdotes to get to know each other better. It was the type of conversation that you would do anything to prolong its duration, the type of conversation with the right type of person.

“You were so happy,” he finishes.

You were so happy, it echoes in your head.

Are you happy now?

“How about you?” The emcee turns to you for clarification. “Your partner gave us such a beautiful explanation. So, you have to explain your ‘love at first sight.’ Tell us about it.”

“Ohh,” Wonwoo begins awkwardly while giving an equally awkward chuckle. “You don’t have to if you do-”

“I was having a really bad morning.” You smile into your lap and look up at your supposed husband. You don’t know why or how the full day with unease bubbling inside of you dispersed so quickly after Wonwoo’s particular answer. But you launch into your story, letting the words flow out of your mouth like melted snow on a grassy hill under the bright Sun. “A really bad morning. I ended up working overtime and accidentally missed my morning alarm. I had to chase the bus while my hot coffee poured out of its opening and onto my skin. My entire day at the office was a mess because I kept messing up. I felt awful and exhausted. So I worked overtime for the second day in a row to clean up my errors. Someone places hot green tea in front of me, the free ones at the office. There is a doodle of a stingray with the dumbest-looking smile on its face. It looked so pathetic that it made me feel a little better about myself. He says that he accidentally boiled too much hot water and thought to make a cup for me. And then he holds his own up in front of his face. There’s a picture of a cat wearing glasses. ‘You can do it,’ he tells me in a squeaky voice. And he leaves. We don’t meet again for about a month, but his kind gesture pieced me back together. And I held onto his kindness for days.”

He stares at you, a few strands of his hair out of place and in front of his eyes. He doesn’t care to move them back in place. There’s that smile on his face, the exact one you imagined to be on his face that time he sat on the other side of your shared door. Soft coral lips relaxed, but the cupid’s bow is slightly perked as the corners of the lips turn upward. He tries to hide the fact that he is smiling, keeping his happiness hidden and only to himself.

So you smile at him. An honest, genuine smile where the cheeks kiss the lower lashes. And his lips stretch thinly so that his brilliant white teeth shyly make their way into the open. He smiles back at you.

Musicians know that an interlude, in music, is an interrupting or intervening passage that connects different parts of a song. An interlude can also be a song in an album. In other words, there are different ways for musical interludes as well as temporal interludes to exist. Now, there is a new interlude in your timeline, this shared moment where two timelines from two completely different lives collide and converge. Anybody can tell that this shared moment is filled with happiness and understanding…perhaps, even longing.  

But what do you call it when these two timelines have converged in the past? If two timelines that once converged reconverge at a further point on the timeline, did that initial interlude ever truly end? Are interludes simply short periods in our lives if these interludes stay in our timelines forever, even when the moments they denote end?

Nevertheless, at this moment, you know you’re happy. And you can only hope the man who sits across from you, the one who looks at you with a reminiscent expression you once experienced so long ago, is feeling the same way.

“Okay. We’re in third place. If we win this one, then we’ll be a point ahead of them.”

“I tied it pretty tightly. Is the tightness okay with you?” Wonwoo frowns from below you, seemingly exploring a different problem at hand. He inspects the rope he tied around your leg, poking and prodding at different sections. “It’s a three-legged race, but I don’t want you getting hurt from an accidental rope burn because I tied it too tightly.”

“Wonwoo, it’s fine.” You pat his left shoulder, letting him know he doesn’t have to worry.

He grabs your stretched hand, and you help hoist him upwards. But there is an apparent frown on his face.

“Why do you still call me Wonwoo,” he mumbles while wrapping your arm around his back and on his waist. There is a tiny pout on his face pointed downwards as he naturally loops his arm around your shoulders like he had done it a thousand times. “Are you not comfortable with calling me ‘babe?’ Any other name also works.”

Deep down, or not even deep down, you know he is right. You are uncomfortable with the idea of casually calling him by these pet names over and over again. Calling him by fake pet names, not counting the many idealistic scenarios that once played in your head, in this case, feels very wrong. His sudden change in attitude towards you as well as his overall demeanor after the last game left you in shock. A plot twist in a season finale would be less shocking than what you feel at this very moment. Like every other hypothetical person in your situation, you choose to ignore your problems by focusing on your other problems at hand. Because you know very well, allowing yourself to fully play into this fake husband rouse, even in times when you’re truly happy, would only hurt you in the end. And you’ve been hurt by him before, not really sure if you ever fully healed.

But you can’t deny he looks and seems nothing like the literal he-devil he was this morning. In fact, he seems to be the opposite. Even without being physically tied to you, he trails behind you like a lost puppy and clings onto your sleeve like a cat who kneads dough on your arm, nails hooked onto the fabric of your clothing. And you let him hold you close to him so much that he leans his chin on your shoulder while listening to others talk. And you let his hair tickle your scalp and would let him melt into you if he asked.

Getting hurt by the same man twice does not make a right. Succinctly, it only makes you dumb. So, to protect yourself, you use the image of the screaming man from the morning to remind yourself that everything is a rouse no matter how much you enjoy each moment with the illustrator.

The three-legged race’s course starts in the banquet hall, passes through the hallway and into the lobby, takes several twists and turns throughout the sitting area, and finishes in the banquet hall. Wonwoo takes the lead, firmly holding you against him while he chants “in, out, in, out” to direct how the two of you should speed-walk. But the excitement of the games and the promise of the upgraded room must have gone over the heads of several of the teams, causing each team to speed walk into a sprint once they left the banquet hall.

Wonwoo and you are also victims of wanting to win, or at least of wanting to beat the author. But in this incredibly small lodge, there are only so many paces you can take before having to try to squeeze past another team. And Wonwoo practically hoists you onto his foot without notice, penguin-walking you to make it past another team to navigate through the sectioned seating area.

Startled by his sudden lack of communication, you demand he set you down. “Let me go,” you grunt after being jostled against one of the round wooden tables. You are absolutely sure your hip would bruise in the morning if he bumped you into one more object. “It’d be easier if one of us walks ahead of the other.”

Does it look like I care?” His ego slips from his tongue, completely coating the sweet words that came out of his mouth before the game started. His sudden change in tone catches you by surprise. “I’ll buy a sled from the gift shop if it means I get to drag you instead of hauling you around.”

“It’s just a game.” You try to push yourself off of him, annoyed that he’s suddenly being uncooperative with you. In the meantime, the team behind the two of you catches up and pulls ahead. “Let me go before one of us gets hurt.”

Wonwoo’s eyes aren’t trained on you. Instead, he stretches his head to look at the few teams in front of the two of you. Surprisingly, the two of you make it out of the seating area without any trouble. Before the two of you can make a sprint back toward the banquet hall, you pull yourself away from Wonwoo, yanking his arm off of your shoulder.

“Babe, come on.” He holds out his hand for you to grab onto. “We’re going to end up being last.”

But your hand never reaches out to meet his.

“Babe? Are you serious? Are you kidding me? Are you really calling me ‘babe’ right now?” You almost shriek at him if it weren’t for the fact that the two of you are standing in proximity to the reception desk. But you are exasperated, your voice wobbles as you voice what is bothering you. “I’ve had it with you, Wonwoo. I tried communicating with you. I tried voicing my fears. But your head is so far up your ass that you couldn’t even think about the safety of the person right beside you. Am I sad and mad about what happened this morning? Yeah, I still am. Nobody deserves to be treated that way, but nobody deserves to be ignored. I don’t care about winning anymore. I feel humiliated, utterly and devastatingly humiliated by you and by myself. To think I let myself have fun around you. To think I believed for a second that you truly did care about me. At one point, I thought we were friends. At one point, I really did like you for who you were. But I guess I can’t expect people to stay the same, can I?” More words and sentences pour out of your mouth – like a small tornado that grows larger in size after picking up all of the things you left unsaid, the words that threatened to slip from your tongue all picked up and twirled into the tornado, you ended up saying more than what you meant to say.

“Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say,” he begins, but he can only hopelessly stare at you squatting in place to untie the rope that binds the two of you.

“There.” You bitterly drop the rope in his free hand. “You’re free from me now. You can go back to hating me all you want.”

“But I don’t hate you.”

“I’m done, Wonwoo. I’m done with being confused so I’m just going to give up and wallow in my room until Jeonghan picks me up once the snow clears.”

five

“No offense, but I would never spend that much time or energy on a guy…especially a guy who treats you like that. He even stopped pounding on your front door so that obviously means that he’s the type to stop trying after a while,” your cousin rants from the other side of your phone screen. He shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose while the cat he is looking after purrs contently on his lap. “So what are you? A masochist? You like men who treat you poorly and then reward you with like an hour of happiness? That’s literally like if professors gave you the hardest final you’ve ever taken in your life and told you to grab a free cookie after you turned in the final. What are you even holding onto at this point?”

“I don’t know,” you wail at the older man, crumpling your used tissue in the palm of your hand. It quickly joins the growing pile of snot-riddled balls of tissue at the edge of your bed. When you recline into your initial position, the shifted blanket knocks Wonwoo’s hand warmer onto the floor.

“Eww stop holding your phone so close to your face,” Jeonghan complains, “Vernon says I kinda look like you, and I can’t help imagining that’s how I look when I cry.”

“I don’t know why I still like him,” you mumble to your cousin. You honestly still don’t understand why you like him despite every single recent negative encounter with him. To be honest, your heart doesn’t flutter as it does with the characters in the novels you read. Nothing cliched happens when you see him, like how the world stops and he is the only one who walks in slow motion. Quite frankly, your days pass by whether you see him or not, but it doesn’t mean that the thought of him crosses your mind every once in a while.

“Maybe you just like the idea of him,” he offers with a sigh. There isn’t much that he could do for you in the middle of a snowstorm except to be on a video call with you and hope that the can solve whatever you have going on before his bedtime.

“I make up scenarios of him in my mind but I still prefer the real him,” you admit with a twinge of embarrassment. You can only sink deeper under your covers, pulling the cabin-themed sheets closer to your chest. Maybe you’re still holding onto the Wonwoo who existed during the work trip, and maybe, you think, he still exists somewhere.

“Hypothetically, do you maybe think that the reason why he’s so bad at everything is because he spends most of his time with children and draws instead of writing so his communication skill is basically hindered? Like how you’re good with feelings and ideas because that’s the bulk of the media you surround yourself with daily so you have more exposure to that area. So you have man-child versus person with skewed expectations on love and relationships. But then you literally have people like me…perfect in every aspect.”

“Shut up. You talk about traffic every morning but you can’t even name the model of your car. You were also tricked by a catfish.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“I’m sorry,” you beg him. “Please don’t.”

“My point is.” He places his phone down on the sleeping cat to use as a temporary phone stand while he gathers his thoughts. “The two of you seem like total opposites. And the only time the two of you seem to work well together is when you meet in the middle. So, have you ever tried communicating with him? Ever pulled him to the side to ask him why he’s such an ass?”

Yoon Jeonghan’s simple solution to your problem causes your brain to briefly short-circuit. Silence fills your lonely cabin room as your mouth slightly hangs open while your cousin silently judges you from the other end of the phone. It took a simple suggestion to make you realize that you have been hanging onto Wonwoo’s personality change to even think to consider the idea of confronting him about it. And Jeonghan’s hypothesis may not be wrong at all – life isn’t a fictional novel where everything can be magically solved in the incoming chapters.

“No?” Your answer is meek. You don’t know what to feel after this revelation. Anger? Despair? Peacefulness?

“And is he still knocking on your door? Trying to talk to you?” His tone is gentle for once.

“Yeah?” You look to the right side of your room where the door stands between his room and yours. Slips of lodge notebook paper often found in the nightstand drawers slowly shove themselves through the tiny crack under the door. “I think he’s pushing slips of paper under our shared door.”

“Then go talk to him. But throw away your snot pile and fix your appearance before you do. Yeah?”

“What would I do without you?”

“I don’t know. And I don’t care. Bye.”

Sitting on the floor with your back leaned against the door, you shuffle the sheets of paper in your hands. There are a couple of sorry notes partnered with sad and apologetic-looking animal doodles. There are a few slips where he asks you to forgive him. Then there are these series of slips – a mini cartoon of his morning, this morning – that somehow cause a small upwards curl to form on your lips.

Blue ballpoint pen ink depicts a series of panels starting with a text he received this morning. This comic is void of cute tiny animals and can only be drawn with the sincerity of a children’s book illustrator. He draws himself staring at his phone screen in confusion – you’re missing, and the rest of the work group chat has no idea where you are. And he’s worried. Everybody is worried, but nobody is worried enough to send search parties for you. Blue-figured Wonwoo rushes out of his room, completely abandoning his presentation for the author, to rush to the entrance of Interlude. Because he knows that your team always passes through Interlude, but you’re known to arrive at the campsite while rubbing your eyes, hair frizzing from the static built from your head rubbing against the headrest while you were sleeping on the way there. But the scene he stumbles upon makes him angry despite how relieved he is to know that you are okay.

The few pages that you hold in your hand are smudged with blue ink, and the ending is unfinished. Wonwoo softly rasps his knuckles against the shared door, calling out your name. When you don’t reply, he sighs and sits down with his back against the door. You feel a tiny jolt with his added pressure against the door. Still, you can’t bring yourself to confront him. At least not yet.

“I’m childish and I let myself get caught up in moments. And you were right, if something happened to you, I would never forgive myself for hurting you. At one point, I really did forget that the reason why we agreed to work together was because we didn’t want him to win. I ended up wanting us to win, or at least for you to win so you could have the upgrade. I’m really sorry for not communicating well with you, and for how I acted.”

The sound of his hair leaving the door lets you know that he probably dropped his head toward his lap.

Taking a shallow breath, he mutters into his hands, “And I wasn’t lying when I talked about us at the beach. I really did like you then. I still like you.”

“Then why ignore me? Why act like you hate me? What did I do to deserve how you treated me?” The questions leave your mouth in a flare of anger.

“I started ignoring you because I was hiding from you. I couldn’t confront you because I knew I would make it obvious that I liked you. But I guess I hid from you for too long because you thought I hated you.” His voice muffled from being on the other side of the door.

“So all of this happened because of some big misunderstanding? Just because we couldn’t confront each other?”

So it really was a simple problem with a simple solution. The revelation feels like a sore punch in the gut, one that’s so surprising that all you can do is laugh.

“I’m sorry, Yn. I really am.”

“I’m also sorry.” You feel really guilty now that you know that you were wrong to believe that he hated you. “I should’ve confronted you about this earlier.”

“Does it still hurt?” His voice sounds clearer as if he shifted his body so he sits facing the door.

“Oh, from the race? Actually nothing happened.”

“From when you fell from heaven,” he finishes with his voice trailing in diminuendo, almost as if he is slightly embarrassed from using the overused pick-up line.

“It actually hurt a lot,” you joke. “But I’m glad it was you who found me in the middle of the road.”

“Then can I stay by your side? Not separated by doors, but by your side?”

So you push yourself away from the door, turning around to unlock the brassy knob. The door slowly swings open to Wonwoo, who is still sitting on the floor, now facing you. And you awkwardly sit in front of him, not really able to meet his eyes.

“I think I have a lot to learn.” He fiddles with the hem of his sweater. “I’ll start by being more communicative about my feelings,” he promises with a soft smile. “Because I really do like you.”

“I like you too.”

There is a magnetic pull that slowly draws the two of you closer together, a comforting sort of sensation that offers a moment of solace created from two extremes. The outside world is dark. The snowstorm has long gone. The surfaces where the sunlight once touched are replaced with the soft yellow glow of several lamps around both of your rooms. Kaleidoscopic remnants of shards of light scatter around every surface. But the two of you, seemingly in the very corners of your shared world exert a different type of glow - one that can only be created in a collision like the break of dawn after a devastating snowstorm. 

“I really like you too,” you can’t help but reaffirm.

“It’s actually ‘I also like you.’” He can’t help but playfully correct you. “You’re the publisher. You shouldn’t be making these errors.” He teases.

“And you’re the illustrator, so shouldn’t you stay quiet so I can kiss you?”

one month later

At the base of a computer monitor, a tiny wooden whittled cat naps lazily next to its turtle counterpart. Two people sit side-by-side in the breakroom a few rooms away, the metal seats practically stuck to each other. While their lunches heat up in the microwave, the two happily discuss the upcoming young adult novel they are finally working on together. Under the table, their pinkies naturally interlock. The man who scrolls through art ideas on his tablet can’t help but let his eyes linger on his partner for a little too long while they scroll enthusiastically through the several concept art slides he created. When the microwave sounds, he quickly leaves a soft and brief kiss on the side of his partner’s temple before getting up to remove their heated lunches. And the partner smiles while turning back to look at him, a smile brighter than the soft sunlight that wraps the room in a warm afternoon glow.

There’s a new interlude in their timelines. In this interlude, the two opposites are taking it slow, learning to meet in the middle.

dedicated to ellie (@flowershu/@eliphant). just wanted to thank you for supporting wondernus for all these years. happy new year <33

Copyright © 2022 Wondernus. All rights reserved.

[muzyoshi]

Miles Edgeworth's Secret

This post is purely for documentation purposes, and also to inform anyone who may not be aware. This post will contain SPOILERS for the end of Phoenix Wright: Trials & Tribulations, so proceed with caution.

During Case 5, Bridge to the Turnabout, while playing as Edgeworth, you are presented the opportunity to peer into Iris' heart. Specifically in regards to a secret she is withholding from Phoenix, someone she was romantically involved with. During which, if the player fails to present the correct evidence specifically for the second Psyche-Lock, an interesting conversation concerning the nature of secrets occurs.

I have seen talk of this dialogue, but no footage or screenshots, so I took the liberty of getting them myself. The full conversation and my further thoughts will be found under the cut.

You MUST present incorrect evidence during the second Psyche-Lock. This dialogue is laughably easy to miss, which is why I could find zero footage of it. (Sorry if the formatting for this sucks)

(Interesting to note: the music stops playing here.)

Incidentally, Iris' secret is that she developed romantic feelings for Phoenix while dating him in college (disguised as her twin sister). Edgeworth affirms her thoughts, confirming that he does indeed have a secret of similar nature deep within his heart and soul; "It takes one to know one." It cannot be said what exactly this secret of his is, but every real plot point behind Edgeworth has been more or less resolved by this point in the series. He found his path as a prosecutor, the truth behind his involvement in the DL-6 incident was concluded, so... What's left? Reading between the lines, this only really seems to lead us to one answer. It has something to do with romantic feelings. I truly can't see it being anything else, even with a critical mind.

Just mere moments ago, Iris had inquired as to what Edgeworth and Phoenix' relationship was. Edgeworth (famously) responds that Wright is a "dear and indispensable friend". Wonder if Iris gleamed something deeper from that comment, then? ;P Keep in mind: she makes these comments directly because Edgeworth avoided presenting Phoenix Wright's profile.

"he just like me fr" - iris probably

Now, just for completion's sake, let's see what happens when you present Phoenix's profile and break the Psyche-Lock.

I have a lot of thoughts regarding this string of text from the two of them. This is a huge reach from an admittedly shipper-crazed brain, but aren't Edgeworth's retorts here... interesting? He does not know this girl, but he knows that the two of them are important to one another. We can assume it's likely that he is pushing for this for Wright's sake, rather than Iris'. At this point it's fair to say that Edgeworth has some basic understanding of her secret (the feelings, at least), and he doesn't benefit from her telling Phoenix her secret. So why is he adamant that she does it? Especially when he's, apparently, holding a secret of similar nature himself? Projecting, perhaps?

"But it's pointless..." "Why would you say that?"

Why indeed.

(EDIT) I was thinking about this feverishly, and I had another thought. What if the "darkness in his heart" and his "secret" has something to do with jealousy? Still in context of romantic feelings... it starts to make sense that this could fit into the puzzle as well. By this point it was already established to Edgeworth that Phoenix and Iris share an intimate connection of some kind, and with all of this pressuring (including the words the two of them share before Edgeworth leaves the Detention Centre), it sort of adds up. "Uncovering the truth" in order to "get rid of the deep-seated darkness in [his] heart" - could this refer to closure? As in, if Iris comes forth to Phoenix Wright with her secret, and there is some level of reciprocation, would this make Edgeworth's own secret/feelings "pointless" to confess? I wonder.

One last note I'd like to make is that this is the first time we view Edgeworth through the 'protagonist lens', and that a great deal of care was put into having the player truly feel like they are Miles Edgeworth in this moment. His mannerisms, choice of words and thought patterns are decidedly very different than Phoenix's when you are in control of them, as I'm sure most people would agree. Therefore, I feel comfortable proposing that a lot of what he says here isn't filler, and in fact is very deliberately worded.

I think this post also deserves a spot here.

Diehard Narumitsu/Wrightworth shippers are likely already aware of this conversation's existence. However, due to the circumstances necessary to see it, I wasn't able to find any screenshots. I hope this was interesting to read, at least... Thanks for reading!

[analysisn3rd]

Sherlock Holmes is autistic. I will tell you why.

Although I feel like this is something that’s talked about a lot in the Sherlock Holmes fandom, I wanted to write about it just because I like talking about it; Sherlock Holmes is autistic. There’s a lot of things, clues, pieces of evidence, whatever you want to call it, present in the ACD canon to prove this and I will present it to you.

Autistic stereotypes and how Holmes fits into them and doesn’t simultaneously

There are many autistic traits that are considered stereotypical, but the one I mean here is the “cold, emotionless, non-empathetic, calculating machine” autistic stereotype, which Holmes does fit into, but he also doesn’t. Despite the use of this very description in several of the short stories, Holmes doesn’t fit this description quite well. It may be what people see on the surface, it may be what people are first faced with when they meet Holmes, but it’s not the truth, or, more accurately, it’s not the complete truth.

As I’ve written before in one of my analyses about Holmes, he doesn’t lack empathy. He’s quite empathetic, and he cares a lot about people (specifically Watson, Mrs Hudson and his clients), but he shows it in a different manner than others normally would. He shows it by listening to people and believing their stories and caring about them, not just for the thrill of the case or the mystery behind it. There have been several cases where everything was mostly resolved, he didn’t need to dig deeper than he had and the answer was not as unclear as it normally is, but Holmes didn’t leave it be until his client got the closure they needed. There have been other cases where he didn’t think that it was going to be an important affair, but, because he understands what his client might be feeling, he heard them out and helped them to the best of his ability. With Watson, there have been several examples of him showing that he cares about him and that he truly values him, and the same goes to Mrs Hudson.

Holmes also isn’t emotionless; he tends to express emotions in different ways than “normal” people would, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t possess them. He also reacts differently from “normal” in some situations, like how, during one of the more grim cases, he was able to take his mind completely off of it and talk, rather animatedly, about one of the topics that he was researching (which is probably to do with his research subjects being his special interests, something that’ll be talked about below)

Saying that Holmes is a “calculating deduction machine” isn’t necessarily incorrect, but I think that it takes away from his humanity quite a lot. The reason why he’s so good at deduction (well. It’s not really deduction, it’s induction, but that’s a discussion for another day) is because of his pattern-recognition ability and high attention to detail, both of which are things that are quite common within autistic people due to the way that their brains process information; something that’s called ‘bottom-up’ processing, where the details are processed before the big picture.

I will now talk about certain autistic traits and aspects of being autistic and how this is found within the Holmes canon.

Special Interests

A great portion of autistic people have specific, sometimes called rigid, interests that are also called special interests. Holmes has several of these and they’re mentioned quite a lot within the series.

The most evident one is deduction in of itself and mysteries. As we’ve seen several times within the series, when Holmes doesn’t have a case, or anything that he finds engaging like another special interest of his, he feels awful, to put it in simpler terms, and he experiences what Watson calls his “black moods”. 

Some of his other special interests are chemistry, especially when it involves forensics, which is something that he’s seen doing quite a lot and spending hours upon hours carrying out experiments to see if his hypothesis was correct or not, much like what he was doing when he initially met Watson in ‘Study in Scarlet’. 

Music is another one, which is something that he’s quite knowledgeable about, and he likes to engage with this particular interest by attending concerts with Watson and by playing the violin, where he either plays melodies to reflect his thoughts and feelings or composed symphonies that he and/or Watson enjoy.

Another is bees (and nature to an extent), which is something that he’s very interested in, considering how he took up bee-keeping during his retirement and how he’s written several monographs about it.

Aside from his special interests, he’s also had various hyperfixations throughout the stories, which he’d write monographs about as well.

Social differences

It’s very obvious how Holmes interacts with people differently compared to other characters, and the ways in which his social interactions differ is very similar to that of autistic people. 

One of the ways in which this presents is how blunt Holmes is. He’s very truthful and he doesn’t realise that what he’s saying, which he mostly means in a very literal, very genuine way, could be taken in another way. An example of this is this quote, which is from ‘The Hound of Baskerville’: “It may be that you are not yourself luminous, but you are a conductor of light. Some people without possessing genius have a remarkable power of stimulating it”. This, amongst several other compliments from Holmes, tend to sound backhanded and they’re mostly read as him being snarky or simply mean to whoever he was saying them to, but I think that he just meant it in a very literal way.

Another way that his social differences present is how he doesn’t quite understand other people, especially women, where he tells Watson quite often that he’s the one who understands and appeals to the “fairer sex” from the both of them. His not really understanding people also shows up in how he’s never really having a friend before Watson or Victor Trevor; he’s never really understood anyone aside from them and I don’t think that anyone, aside from them, tried to understand Holmes back. I also think it’s evident that he doesn’t understand social norms by how he chooses not to comply with them. Holmes is a very logical person and if something doesn’t make sense to him, he simply wouldn’t do it and would probably deem it stupid.

Another thing that I don’t think is a social difference as much as it’s a difference in how Holmes sees the world is how he has a really strong sense of justice. His sense of morality is interesting, to say the least and I’ve discussed it before in one of my analyses of him, and his sense of justice kind of ties into it. Regardless of what he views as “right” and “wrong”, he will strongly defend what he believes and he wouldn’t let anything that he thinks is “wrong” slide. As I’ve written earlier, some cases had a fairly clear resolution and he could’ve just let them go, but it’s because he cares about his client and because he absolutely cannot let injustices simply pass without the persecutor getting punished, he solves the case until it’s completely resolved.

Masking

Generally speaking, Holmes doesn’t mask, and I think it’s mainly because he doesn’t really see a point in doing so; he doesn’t do it often, and the only instance of him masking is the beginning of ‘A Study in Scarlet’, when he and Watson hadn’t known one another quite well yet. He would hide parts of himself, he wouldn’t try to talk about any of his interests at all (to the point that Watson didn’t even know what he did for work until months after knowing him) and he made sure to be very neat and organised with everything, which is something that he most likely struggles with. However, once Watson found out about everything, he didn’t really bother masking again. 

Holmes’ struggles in relation to his autism

There are several things that autistic people struggle with (including communication, which I already discussed above) that Holmes also struggles with.

One of which is how he struggles with eating. I think that’s mainly because he doesn’t exactly feel hunger cues as most people would; he doesn’t exactly realise that he’s hungry until his stomach is cramping from the lack of food or he’s on the verge of passing out, which I think is a very believable conclusion considering how often he forgets to eat and Watson has to coax and/or remind him to do so. Another thing that Watson really helped him with is his injuries. I think it’s very likely that he doesn’t feel pain normally, which is something that happens to some autistic people, where they either feel it too much or too little; the latter is what Holmes struggles with. He doesn’t really notice injuries that he gets on cases because he doesn’t really feel the pain. This is most likely why he has several scars and acid burns on his hands when Watson first met him.

Another thing that I think he struggles with is executive dysfunction, especially when it comes to chores like cleaning his space and laundry, which is something that I recall Watson complaining about Holmes not doing in the beginning of one of the short stories. It’s possible that he has his own system when it comes to his organisation, but it was said in ‘Study in Scarlet’ that he was a very neat man, so I think it’s more reasonable to think that it’s just something that he always wants to start but could never really get to doing it due to executive dysfunction.

It’s also possible that Holmes struggles with sensory issues regarding his hair touching his face, which is why he always has it gelled back, and that he has them regarding facial hair, which is why he’s always described as clean-shaven (though I know that both of these could be due to other reasons as well).

I think that cocaine was Holmes’ way of self-medication. He needed something to help him through feelings of overwhelm and under-stimulation from the lack of cases, so he used it. It served as a distraction to him from his overwhelm and scarcity of mental stimulation that’s enough to keep him satisfied.

Similarly, I think that his habit of smoking was a way to keep his hands busy instead of stimming.

Due to all of the aforementioned reasons, I think that Sherlock Holmes is autistic.

[pizzaboerr]

From nothing to something.

(Sanji x reader, part one)

part 2

Summary: You work in a restaurant in Loguetown, a group of pirates come in and blow you away, giving you a offer of a Lifetime.

Warnings: Nothing yet, fluff(?)

Word count: 2,3K.

Authors note: Hello, welcome to my first ever ‘Sanji x reader’. I’ve started watching One piece after I watched the life-action. Let me know what you think and what you guys want to see next :) I have a few ideas for a few other stories, for different characters. Enjoy!

P.S.: Sorry if there are sentences that are grammatically incorrect, English isn’t my first language, so my apologies in advance.

~~—~~—~~—~~

One day when you were cleaning the tables in the restaurant you worked at, you saw a group of 5 people, who were waiting to be served. You looked around and sighed. This table wasn’t yours to take but everyone was so busy, so you decided to serve them.

You slowly walked up to them and quickly got your notebook and pen from your apron. “Hello my name is y/n and I will be your server for tonight. What can I get started for you all?” The smile you gave was a little one. To be honest, you never did this, you only cleaned tables and helped when necessary so you felt a little bit nervous.

“I want a beer.” the Green-haired boy asked you.

You nodded, wrote it down and looked at the guy next to him.

“I also want a beer, no make it two!” The guy said. “I want a beer too please” The girl said shortly after.

“I want a big glass of cold milk.” The boy with the straw hat said. You were still looking at your notebook when he said that, which made you chuckle slightly, not because you thought it was funny but because you expected it from him somehow.

“Can I have whatever you would normally get mademoiselle?” You looked up from your notepad because you just finished writing down the glass of milk and looked into the most beautiful blue eyes you’ve ever seen. “U-uh y-yeah sure. Do you want it to be a surprise or do you want me to tell you?” You asked curiously.

“Surprise me love.” He said while he winked at you. You felt your cheeks heat up slightly, nodded quickly and walked away to get the drinks. You smiled when you walked to the bar and made it your mission to prank the blond haired flirt.

When you returned with the drinks, The straw hat asked you about something in the Grand line, hoping you would know. You lived in Loguetown so wasn’t unusual at all for someone asking about the Grand line. You answered the question and gave everyone their beer, gave the straw hat their milk and handed the blond haired man a hot chocolate with whipped cream.

He looked confused at the drink, both boys and the girl laughed hysterically and the straw hat sighed loudly. “That looks good Sanji!” The straw hat boy said excitedly as he looked back at you and said without hesitation “I want one of those as well.” You smiled wildly and nodded. You looked over at the boy named Sanji and when he didn’t say anything and was just slightly smiling at the hot cocoa, you took a breath and smiled slightly.

“You said, and correct me if i’m wrong, Can I have whatever you would normally get mademoiselle” You tried saying it the way he said it which made the green haired boy spit out his beer and laugh again. Sanji gave him a nasty glare and when he looked back at you he smiled.

“And you are absolutely correct, I’m just amazed that this is your choice madam.” He chuckled, grabbed the mug and took a sip. “But now that I tasted it, I understand it completely. this is perfect.”

After everyone finished what they ordered, you walked back to the table to give the check to them. Before you could do that, the straw hat boy asked you another question about the Grand line which you answered with ease. He smiled and nodded to the rest.

He then asked another question, and then another which made you laugh but nevertheless you still answered truthfully. When they got the bill the straw hat laughed, signed the bill and looked at you. “Put it on my tab.” He smiled proudly. You smiled slightly and thanked them for dining at the restaurant before leaving them behind.

You took the signed check and put it in your apron, you knew from the moment you laid your eyes on them that they were pirates, not that that scare you, but you thought ‘Maybe someday in the future this could get you a lot of berries’.

What they didn’t see is that you paid for their meal. You didn’t do the ‘put it on the tab’ thing at the restaurant, but had no balls to tell them or to go to the chef about this and let them handle it. They were sweet and try to make you laugh with any chance they got. Besides you didn’t want to inconvenience anyone.

When you were checking if everyone had left, Sanji stood there, the last one in the restaurant and you smiled.

“I’m sorry Sir, but we’re closing.” you said kindly, pointing at the clock which said 11PM.

“Sorry Madam, I couldn’t leave you here, all alone without offering to help.” He smiled and started cleaning the tables. You were shocked and shook your head softly, while you tried to avoid his gaze. “It’s okay Sir, it’s my job anyways to do so, But thank you.”

“Please love, just call me Sanji, even though when you say it, it has a really nice ring to it.” He winked and just continued cleaning the place, while you just stood there watching him, trying to come up with something to say. “And besides mademoiselle, Is it also your job to pay for guests who clearly weren’t gonna pay?” He smiled while he stopped cleaning to lean on the bar and watched you for a reaction.

You quickly looked at your feet again and blushed. He caught you red handed and you didn’t know what to. The both of you cleaned in silence for a bit until you looked over at Sanji, who was humming while he was cleaning, clearly satisfied with what happened earlier.

“Sanji, may I ask you something?” He looked up from sweeping the floor, smiling and waiting for what you were gonna ask him. He absolutely adored it that you called his by his name, catching him slightly off guard.

“Are you really going to the Grand line? Or is that some kind of hyper fixation of the straw hat boy?” He smiled and nodded. “Our captain Luffy, the straw hat boy as you referred him to, wants to become the king of the pirates and we all think we will be able to achieve his dream by going there, so yes. We’re planning to leave tomorrow morning or the day after.”

You just nodded and continued cleaning. For some reason you felt sad that they were able to leave and you weren’t. You are no pirate, just someone who cleans in a restaurant.

Some time had passed and the restaurant was tidied up and ready for the morning shift to start the day. You got your stuff and walked up to the front door, Sanji following your moves and grabbed his coat. He opened the door for you and waited for you to leave.

“After you love.” He simply smiled. You couldn’t help but blush once again. This man made you feel special but you quickly shook it off, thinking he would do this with every girl he saw.

You closed the restaurant, smiled at him and thanked him for helping you. You took a few steps towards your tiny home and got stopped by Sanji, who grabbed your wrist slightly.

“I’m so sorry mademoiselle, Can I ask you something before we part ways?” You smiled before turning around to face him. “Yeah of course. What do you want to know?” He smiled and took a deep breath, trying to contain himself. He was still holding your wrist, scared you disappear if he let you go.

“Why do you know so much about the Grand line?” His question came out just a little bit louder than a whisper.

You sighed and smiled sadly. “It was my dream to know about the Grand line, I always wanted to go there and help people who need me, or who are seeking for some answers. I realized it probably wouldn’t happen anytime soon, because no one really leaves Loguetown on their own.”

When you told him this, his heart broke. He saw how sad you were ‘knowing’ you wouldn’t be able to leave. He was determined to ask Luffy to let you join their crew. They needed you anyways because they weren’t prepared at all.

“It’s a nice dream to have Madam, Maybe it will happen sooner than you think.” He smiled sheepishly and his hand who was holding your wrist, grabbed your hand and he pressed his lips to palm of your hand. “Goodnight mi amore.” With that he left, leaving you confused and speechless in the streets.

~~—~~—~~—~~

When you arrived at the doors of the restaurant the next day, the captain of the straw-hats was there waiting, with the biggest smile you’ve ever seen. “Hello.-“ He quickly looked at your nametag “-Y/n. A little birdy told me that you wanted to enter the Grand line. Lucky for the both of us, we need someone who knows a lot and you are the person for the job. What do you say if I wanted you to be a part of my crew?”

You were absolutely flabbergasted. First of all this was your chance to leave Loguetown, a place you didn’t think you would ever be able to leave. Second of all, you ready for a new and long adventure. And ti feel important made you get excited.

You smiled slightly. “Can I maybe think about the offer? When are you leaving?” There was a tone that sounded hopeful, that he maybe wasn’t leaving today. The captain smiled brightly. “The plan was to leave this morning but for you we could extend our stay one extra day?, if that helps with your decision?” He said, even though it sounded like a question.

“That would be great! Thank you. I’ll find you as soon as I have my answer, What is your name?” You asked excitedly, now smiling excitedly. “Monkey D. Luffy, Captain of the straw-hats.” Luffy said proudly.

You nodded and quickly went to work, leaving Luffy alone in front of the restaurant.

~~—~~—~~—~~

The day went slower than normal. You got some time to think about Luffy’s offer. Honestly you knew what your answer was, but didn’t know how to bring it to everyone.

After the shift ended, you had made your decision and had started to make a story how to bring it to your boss. You searched for your boss and after 5 minutes of looking you found him in the kitchen.

“Hey sir, Is there a possibility that we can maybe talk in private please? I have something I need to discuss with you.” You started nervously, trying not to show it to him. He looked up and smiled. “Ah of course y/n. Walk with me please.” You just nodded and followed him silently.

Once you entered his office, you sat down in a chair in front of his desk while he took his own seat. “What is it you wanted to discuss?” He leaned back in his seat and looked at you curiously.

“Well-“ You started off, not fully knowing where to begin. You took a deep breath and looked at your hands. “You know that I know a lot about everything that goes on in the Grand line right?” You looked from your hands and saw him nodding slowly.

“So this group of pirates came to the restaurant yesterday and were asking me questions about it, which I just answered. This morning the captain of the crew came back and asked me to join his crew.” He just smiled slightly, knowing where this was going. “I didn’t gave him an answer yet but I really want to go with them, meaning I need to quit this job.” You took another deep breath and waited for his reaction.

“Very well then. I know how much this means to you and I’m very happy you get to have an opportunity like this. The only thing that I need to know is; Are these people trustworthy?” He asked you while he reached into a cabinet in his desk to grab a pouch, before placing it on the table. “Yes sir, they are, for as far as I know now, trustworthy and kind people. They aren’t like any other pirate group we’ve come across.” You smiled back at him. He nodded and gave you the pouch. “Here are some berries. Enough to keep you going for a while at least. Now even though I hate to say this to you, I need you to grab your stuff and leave. Go on the journey, and when you come back, tell me about everything you’ve come across, pirate y/l/n.”

You smiled. Your boss could be difficult sometimes but seeing him like this made you cry a little bit. You stood up and gave him a hug. “I know this is inappropriate Sir but thank you, thank you for everything you have ever done for me.” With that you left his office, grabbed everything that had belonged to you and left the restaurant without looking back.

You quickly rushed home, grabbed a back, stuffed it with everything you think you needed on this adventure and left your home. Maybe for good. You locked your door, took a few steps back and looked at your tiny house. You took a deep breath and smiled. After you turned around you headed for the docks, to the ship that was gonna become your new home.

[hamiltonaf]

Expecting the Unexpected | Kylian Mbappé

Pairing: Kylian Mbappé x Female Reader

Requested: Anonymous

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: Angst but turns into fluff / Kind of smutish towards the end / Cursing if you squint.

A/N: Thanks to anon for requesting. Currently working on other requests so hopefully they will be posted soon. Hope you guys enjoy .xoxo

2 years of marriage. It went by very quickly but gosh it annoys me being asked that one question since the day we were married. When are you guys having a baby ?

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love kids and of course I want to see Kylian being a dad, but the idea of having a baby right now at the age of 23 wasn’t part of my plan. Studying a post graduate degree isn’t easy and especially going to work in between. I’ve heard it countless of times to drop work and studying because Kylian is there for me, but all I really want is independence and not having to hear one day that I used Kylian.

As family oriented as I am, I’ve come to a point where I try to avoid meeting any family - my own included - just to avoid being asked the dreaded question. I hate the idea that straight after getting married, all that’s left is to have kids… why can’t married couples enjoy their life for a few years at least before growing their family ?

Since Kylian’s season was over, my mother-in-law had invited Kylian and I for dinner. I was willing to go for dinner since I haven’t seen my in-laws in a while, but my mood turned sour when my boss instructed me that I needed to stay behind and do corrections to my work that was apparently incorrect.

Kylian had texted me asking me where I was and I replied back apologising that I won’t make it to dinner because my boss was holding me back to do extra work. He left me on read.

The corrections drove me insane because I did as I was told to do, but yet my boss gaslighted me saying that he told me to do something else. Asshole. I left work 2 hours later and went straight home, not knowing if Kylian was back from dinner or if he was still with his family.

As soon as I unlocked the door, I dropped my keys on the kitchen counter along with my bag. I could hear the TV playing and walked my way to the lounge. “Oh you’re here. Sorry I missed dinner. My boss was being such an ass and gaslighted me saying-“ “Save it” he cut me off as he continued to watch the TV. “Excuse me ? What do you mean save it ? I literally told you that my boss was holding me back to do extra work, I didn’t have a choice !” I raised my voice as I walked around the couch to stand in front of him with folded arms. His ‘don’t-care’ attitude was driving me insane, he literally had the audacity to continue watching TV.

“Kylian. I had a long day and the last thing I want is for us to argue” I toned down my voice. “I’m so done making excuses for you” he said as he finally met my gaze. “What excuse ? You didn’t even give me a chance to finish ! I was saying that my boss gaslighted me into thinking I did the wrong work when I literally followed his instructions. He held me back because he wanted me to correct it” I started to grow annoyed. “Lies lies and more lies. Just admit it (Y/N), you didn’t want to come to dinner because you’re worried about them asking you when we’re going to be parents. Do you know how embarrassing it is for me ? Our relationship looks so one sided” he raised his voice as he stood up and towered me.

“One sided ? You know that’s a lie. Also, enlighten me on how it’s embarrassing for you when I’m the one who’s expected to carry our child, not you ! So do tell me how you’re the one under pressure” I raised my brows. “How do I answer my mum when she asks me when will she be a grandmother ? What do you want me to say ? Oh don’t expect to be a grandmother any time soon because (Y/N) isn’t interested in having a child !” He yelled in my face.

“I- you know what, I can’t continue this conversation any further” I said calmly as possible before walking away from him. “No, we’re not done talking. Why do you keep running away from your problems ?” He asked as he followed me. “Can you just shut up ! Ugh !” I groaned as I walked to our room. With all my built up frustration and stress, I could feel tears start to pool at my eyes.

“(Y/N) answer me !” He said as I came to a halt. I looked up in hopes of getting rid of my tears, but the second I turned to look at Kylian the tears threatened to spill. His look softened when he saw the tears run down my face. He stepped closer and cupped my cheeks. “I’m sorry ma chérie” he said as he wiped my tears away with the pad of his thumb. I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths to try, and calm down. I walked away from him and walked to our en suite to lock myself in the bathroom.

He started knocking on the door and calling out,“Ma chérie, I’m so so sorry. Please forgive me. I hate fighting with you and seeing you cry. I’m just so frustrated from being asked the same question over and over.” I don’t know what came over me but I couldn’t stop crying to myself. I was so focused on my thoughts and emotions that Kylian’s words were inaudible.

After a minute the door had suddenly burst open. I looked up in shock to Kylian as he rushed to my side and pulled me in for a hug. “Please don’t scare me like that” he said softly. I wiped away my tears with the back of my hand and turned to look at him. “Are you crying ?” I asked as I half smiled. He nodded as I wiped away his tears. “Please talk to me. Tell me what’s going on. I hate being left in the dark, I don’t know what else to tell our family. Why can’t we have a baby ?” He asked.

“I love you Ky. I really do…but having a child after 2 years of being married wasn’t part of my family planning” I pouted. He pressed his lips together as a sign for me to continue.

He remained silent for me to get to my point. “Ky, if I barely spend time with you, why would I even think of us having a child right now ? I won’t lie that at times I did think that maybe us being parents would change things for the better but I kept holding back because I have too much on my hands right now” I said as I avoided his gaze. “Babe, then why don’t you drop studying and working ? Why put yourself through so much when I can be the one to provide for you and our baby” he said as he brushed a strand of hair away from my face. “It’s easy for you to say but I just happen to enjoy being independent. It’s how I’ve always been growing up, besides that, the last thing I want to hear is people calling me a gold digger or user blah blah. I didn’t marry you for your money, I married you because I love you” I pouted.

He broke into a smile as he cupped my cheeks and pulled me in for a sweet kiss. “Please don’t worry about what other people think. What’s mine is yours…I love you so so much. I’m sorry again for snapping at you, besides being asked that question so many times, I myself had questioned when will the day come that we’ll have our own mini us” he smiled at the thought. “I know you said that we barely spend time together, I’ll also take the blame for not spending more time with you when there were times that I could’ve made the effort. Again, I’m sorry for not being the greatest husband, I’ll try to do better” he said as he held my hands and rubbed small circles with his thumb.

“Please stop apologising. You’ve been such an amazing husband to me. I know this whole thing got blown out of proportion, we should have had this conversation sooner” I sighed as I pulled him along with me to sit at the edge of our bed. “I agree, but don’t feel pressured into doing anything. I get it” he said as he held my face with one hand. “This timing is really bad but I don’t think I can keep it a secret any longer. I’m pregnant” I pressed my lips together. “Stop playing with me babe” he half laughed. “Ky I’m serious. I’m pregnant. You’re going to be a dad !” I squealed.

“Wait. Really ?” He asked again. I nodded my head as he then screamed and jumped up whilst punching his hands in the air. Once again he cupped my cheeks and placed his lips on mine. He then lifted me up and spun us around the room. “I can’t explain to you how happy I am ! Why didn’t you tell me sooner and when did you find out ?” He asked eagerly.

“I found out about 2 days ago. I did a test because my period was late for about 2 weeks and I thought it was just one of those moments where it’s rarely late, I don’t know what made me take a test and a few minutes later I found out. I was planning to do a whole cute reveal for you but like I said, everything had gotten blown out of proportion. You didn’t know this, but I was actually looking forward to coming to dinner, I thought I could reveal it tonight just amongst our immediate family but then I was genuinely upset by my boss” I half smiled. “Oh no. Now I feel even more terrible. Babe I really am so sorry I just-“ I cut him off by grabbing his face and connecting our lips together.

Our lips moved in sync as he walked backwards to the edge of the bed. “Stop apologising” I said as I straddled his lap and broke away from our kiss. “I can’t believe we’re going to be parents. I can’t wait to be a dad. More especially, I can’t wait to see you grow and carry our baby. You’re already so sexy, I don’t know how I’ll contain myself seeing you from now on. I say that this calls for a celebration” he smirked. “I was hoping you’d say something like that” I wrapped my arms around his neck and closed the gap between us.

[gallavichthings]

It's time!

How would you all like 21 22 fics on the 21st 22nd of December?

The Gallavich Masquerade Ball 2023 is now open! Grab a glass of champagne or anything else you'd prefer, some hors d'oeuvres, and choose your (first) dance partner for the night!

You can check all the fics in our AO3 collection or on this post, after the cut. A list of all authors with links to their profiles is also included. This post is pinned so you can check it whenever you want.

And here's the link for the form where you can put your guesses. It's only one form for all the fics, so please wait to submit your guesses only after you've read them all.

Here's the updated point system:

Points for readers: Correct guess on first choice: 5 points. Correct guess on second choice: 2 points. Incorrect guess: lose 1 point. (Please note that you only lose 1 point per story, even if you guess incorrectly on both choices.)

Points for writers: If someone correctly guesses your fic (regardless of in the first or second choice): 1 point. If someone wrongfully guesses your fic: 3 points.

Leaving kudos and comments is allowed and appreciated! Writers are also allowed to answer, but it's up to them whether to already do it or wait until everyone's identity is revealed so as not to give anything away accidentally. Oh, and if you want to post something about the fics here on Tumblr but can't tag them, I can serve as buffer for now lol.

Oh, and the surprise? The winners will get some great fanart, courtesy of the talented @doshiart! Isn't that awesome?! 🥂

Cheers!

Keep reading to get a list of all the fics with their summaries and word count, as well as a list of all the authors, with links to their AO3 profiles.

FICS:

AITA?  (2,072)

AITA? My new clients (29M and 31M) threatened me and I want to fire them. I know that’s not official therapist speak. TLDR; I want to encourage them to have healthier boundaries and find a new therapist, but until then, what do I do?

Attitude adjustment (4,483)

Post-canon Ian and Mickey figure out some relationship issues. That includes insults, (play-)fighting, more insults, and orgasms. Or: Mickey is having an attitude. Thank god Ian knows exactly what to do.

Black Charcoal meets Fiery Red (1,838)

Ian poses in a life drawing class. A straight forward job, if not for the guy with the blue eyes who can't stop staring at him.

Carnival (3,136)

Ian and Mickey spend the evening at a carnival... "Ian locked the car’s door, and put his arms around Mickey’s shoulders, as they walked towards the carnival. He had brought the leaflet home a few days ago, wiggling the colorful sketch of a carousel and the outdated font under Mickey’s nose with some hopeful glee. Mickey had protested for habit sake, but had caved in pretty easily..."

Five Dates with Brad f*cking Pitt (4,269)

Sometimes things may not be what they seem. Especially when there are assholes around who add fuel to the fire just for the sake of a fucking joke.

Groceries (2,260)

A routine trip to the store turns into a trip down memory lane.

The Guardians (4,879)

3,000 years ago, they had to join forces to defeat an evil sorcerer. Now, the sorcerer was back, and more powerful than ever. Could they defeat him for good?

i'll find a new place to be from (5,947)

They stand in silence for a couple beats, unspoken words lingering above their heads. The cig in his hand has long burned out and Ian resists the temptation to light up another, and another. He feels his mouth open, and close, then open again–but nothing comes out. Time’s up. "See you inside, Red," Mickey finally says before pushing the door open, and Ian remembers how to breathe.

Infused Attraction (3,434)

Mickey has to receive Iron infusions. Ian is a student nurse who is assisting the other nurses with the infusion. Mickey is interested in the redhead. Ian is seemingly interested in him too. Let's see how it goes!

Italy (I Trust And Love You) (3,183)

"Ian closed his eyes and ran a hand through his damp hair. He sighed and straightened his shoulders. Took a deep breath, as if to steal himself for some monumental task, and walked off down the sidewalk. The rain made quick work of drenching him. Ian didn’t seem to notice. In the dirt beneath the tree, drawn in crude blocky letters made with the toe of his boot: I + M." OR A story mostly told through Debbie's eyes during world war two, as she worries for all her brothers, but particularly the one sent home much before the rest.

Jump To Recipe (5,977)

Hiring Mickey Milkovich - Freelance Photographer to shoot the photos for his food blog was the best move Ian’s ever made. Mickey’s a fantastic shot, plus he’s committed to the success of Ian’s blog. (He’s fucking hot, too. But that’s just an added bonus.) And the best thing about him, is that in all the ways he’s professional behind the camera, he’s refreshingly unprofessional to Ian’s face. Which means when he comes around, Ian always knows he’s in for a good laugh, intriguing conversation, and an ego boost - Mickey never shy about how much he loves Ian’s food when they dig in after the shoot. Ian’s made chocolate lava cake today. But when extra time leads to their at-home appointment going way off script - Mickey wanting to update Ian’s headshots, but with a twist - who will the spicier photos leave wanting more, the “housewife army” from his blog’s comment section, or Ian and Mickey?

A Lot (4,245)

What could have happened if Ian had told Mickey that he was worried about going to Mexico with him?

The man in the van (2,141)

“Suppose I should thank you for the compliment then,” Ian teases, smirking a little. The guy snorts. “Don’t mention it, Red. I just call ‘em like I see ‘em.” He proceeds to shamelessly check Ian out again, licking the corner of his mouth as he does. or Ian Gallagher wouldn't mind some excitement in his life. Enter one Mickey Milkovich, ready to oblige.

ole red (5,596)

Mickey is out of prison and walking the straight and narrow with help of his cheering section, P.O. Larry . It’s hard being tough in a pastel polo and dad shorts. Old Army is just a paycheck until he meets the assistant manager, Ian. Finally he figures out Ian was Mandy’s Ian from their teen years. Mickey is attracted to the redhead but is still closeted. Ian responds to Mickey lashing out by revealing he knows Mickey’s secret. Mickey decides to be brave and the reward , huge 😈

The Reason to Exist (4,851)

lieutenantcolonel [18:22]: can you stop stealing my loot lieutenantcolonel [18:22]: this team only needs 1 sharpshooter anyway 😐 mm1234567890 [18:23]: shut up u f** lieutenantcolonel [18:23]: WHAT

Red Hot (4,364)

Ian's workday has been shitty... but his afternoon might just be very different. Thanks to his favorite nephew and a certain mouthy and opinionated stall owner at the winter farmer's market.

A Salute Before We Sink (4,601)

The world will end tomorrow. Ian's only chance at survival is to earn a spot in an underground bunker. One man stands in his way.

Snowballs and Sneaking Out (2,441)

Mickey shows up to the Gallagher House in the middle of the night with a surprise for Ian.

So drunk on you (3,878)

"Then Mickey launches himself into quite a detailed account of the previous evening and there goes Ian’s sanity. He’s learned over the months to hone his selective hearing. That is, he’s not tuning Mickey out completely but he’s trained his brain to gloss over the facts that fall under the TMI category and focus on the highlights. Again, for the sake of his sanity. Because the thing is, he’s so gone on Mickey it’s actually embarrassing. And he’s been gone pretty much from the very beginning." Just another friends-to-lovers story.

Span the Distance, Bridge the Border (4,988)

Ian and Mickey are happy, living on the West Side and adjusting to life as husbands in their new apartment. Things are going well, really well, until one day Mickey’s brothers show up. And God only knows what they could possibly want.

weight of the world (3,360)

Mickey thought he was fucked for life and that he’d never see his mom again. Turns out he was wrong about both of those things.

Wonderful- a Gallavich Christmas Mini-fic (5,030)

In which Mickey learns the reason for the season or How the Mick gained Christmas.

AUTHORS:

Blodeuwedd

Calli_Writes

Captain_Jowl

energie_vie

Gallabitch73

gallawitch

Gembu

GrandSelfMythology

IanGalagher

JuliaKay

lingy910y

MissSnowwhitepink

mmmichyyy

My_Brain_Melted

NotHereNJ

Rayrayor

sam_writes_fics

Suzy_Queue

sweet_perversion

Sweetbee78

whatthebodygraspsnot

whatyouandihave

[trianglesimpfordpines]

ok so like 2 people said they wanted to see the "ford is the most realistic genius" post and that's all the encouragement i need. i'm probably gonna sound pretty full-of-myself on this post but that's just how it be like sometimes.

a lot of the time, "intelligence" is assumed to mean "knows more things." fictional characters who are supposed to be geniuses typically just...miraculously Know information they have no real way of acquiring, anticipate events that cannot reasonably anticipated, or every other character just suddenly gets stupid when the genius character is around so that the "genius" character just doing the logical thing comes off as particularly smart.

so you have a character who supposedly has a really high iq, but in practice they may as well be psychic.

as someone who actually has an iq of 147 (bear with me, because this isn't a flexing post), being "really intelligent" does not mean Just Knowing Things. what it means is that someone who's "smart" (in the traditional sense) can process more information, draw more conclusions, and do so faster than most people. it also usually means being really good at rationalizing things. so if you're someone who's well-adjusted and well-informed, that can definitely look like knowing all the right answers...but if you're someone who's not well-adjusted or well-informed, it can, if anything, make you even wronger. you get better at rationalizing your mistakes and digging yourself in deeper. and heaven help you if you have paranoid tendencies, because it's that much harder to convince someone they're being irrational when they're on a whole 'nother level of finding information to back up their irrationality.

ford is a genius. he learns incredibly fast and thoroughly. but he's also constrained by the information he has available to him, and by his own biases and past trauma and people issues.

that one writing advice post that made the rounds saying that a character's biggest flaw is usually their biggest strength in the wrong situation is very true of people who are very intelligent. it's why, for example, you'll sometimes see doctors, academics, experts buy into conspiracy theories. it's not because they're stupid; it's because they're smart enough to recontextualize all their knowledge to support their biases and beliefs.

and so many people do not understand this because they still think of "intelligence" as "knowing & being right about everything." so you get people arguing that ford isn't really a genius, because he was wrong and he made mistakes. but in my opinion, the mistakes he makes make perfect sense because he's a genius. that kind of recklessness is exactly what you get when you combine abnormally high iq with ford's myriad of personal issues. you get someone who's great at rationalizing, great at taking in information, and great at finding surprisingly well-thought-out reasons why their paranoia and antisocial tendencies are totally just the rational response.

think of it this way; the smartest people alive in the medieval era believed in the miasma theory. they weren't too stupid to understand what bacteria and viruses are; they just didn't have the tools needed to observe them. so they came up with a theory based on the information they did know, wrote essays and papers about it, made medical practices based on it...and it was completely incorrect, because genius without correct information leads to spectacular and very well-thought-out mistakes.

anyway, all this to say, as someone who could nominally be considered a "genius" but has been hella wrong about a lot of things in my life, i think ford is an incredibly realistic take on what most "geniuses" are really like. impressive in the right situations, not so much in the wrong ones, and very much not magical beings capable of mysteriously knowing all the correct information because they're Just That Smart. and very much not immune to emotional and personal issues getting in the way.

thanks for coming to my "i-just-slept-for-20-hours-and-my-brain-is-a-bit-scrambled-right-now" ted talk

[aquagirl1978]

Fact or Fable (also known as "How the Heck Isaac Ending Up Wearing *That* Dress)

Arthur: Hey Newt, come in here!

Dazai: Yeah, Ai-kun, come join us.

Isaac: *grumbling* What do you two want?

Arthur: We're playing a little game and thought you could join us?

Isaac: I don't like the way you're smiling.

Dazai: Don't you wanna play this game with us? It's fun, I promise.

Isaac: I don't like the sound of this.

Arthur: *pushing Isaac into a chair* It's really very simple...

Arthur: *ignoring Isaac's glare* Dazai will tell us a statement and we will take turns saying if it is a fact about Dazai or if it is from a Japanese fable.

Dazai: If you guess wrong, you drink a shot. If you guess right, the other drinks the shot. Sounds fun, right?

Isaac: Ehhh...

Dazai: Great, you're in! Let's start with Arthur so you can see how it's played. Arthur, fact or fable - when I was little, I wore a bowl on my head.

Arthur: Fact!

Dazai: Wrong - drink a shot. That was from the Tale of Hachikazuki, I should have a copy of it in my room if either of you would like to read it.

(Isaac shakes his head while Arthur drinks his shot)

Dazai: Very well. Ai-kun, this one is for you. Fact or fable - I was born in a peach.

Isaac: You have to be kidding me.

Dazai: I assure you, I am quite serious.

Isaac: Fable. No human can be born from a peach.

Dazai: And you would be correct, that is from the tale of Momotarō. Arthur, take another shot.

(This went on for a few rounds, each of which Arthur was made to drink a shot)

Isaac: *looks at Arthur* You're drunk.

Arthur: *smiles* So then you don't mind upping the ante on this next one?

Arthur: *pulls out bag he had hidden away* Answer this wrong, and you'll have to wear this outfit

Isaac: And if I answer correctly?

Arthur: I will wear it.

Isaac: *shakes hands with a drunk Arthur* You're on.

Dazai: Fact or fable - I have a koi pond here at the mansion.

Isaac: *spoken quite confidently* Fable!

Dazai: I'm sorry Ai-kun, but that answer is incorrect.

Isaac: *standing from his seat, voice getting louder* What do you mean, wrong? I dont see a koi pond anywhere in this mansion. Not outside. Not inside. Not a single pond.

Dazai Oh, but I do. I never said it was a pond with actual water. I have a painting in my room of a koi pond. Painted it myself, would you like to see it?

Isaac: No, I do not want to see it!

(A very sober Isaac fell back onto his seat, screaming silently knowing his fate)

Arthur: Just sit in the carriage.

Isaac: How 'bout no.

Arthur: C'mon Newt, you lost fair and square.

Isaac: There was no agreement to actually go somewhere dressed like this.

Arthur: Rules change. Now get in the carriage.

Isaac: No.

Arthur: Do you want me to start yelling and then everyone in the mansion will come out and see you?

(Isaac grumbles as he climbs into the carriage)

Arthur: *holds out a shiny red apple* Now take this.

Isaac: What? No, I don't want your stupid apple.

Arthur: You know you want the apple.

(Isaac took the apple and held it for a moment before tossing it at Arthur's head)

Arthur: Hey! That was a perfectly good apple there. You could have fed it to this horse.

Isaac: Are we done here? Have you had your fill of amusement?

Arthur: Yeah, yeah. You can go. I suggest you go in through the back. You don't want anyone else to see you dressed like this.

[wordy-little-witch]

Okay CoraBug hours where we look at canon, go HAH No, and carry on bc I Do Not See It

Buggy and Cora being absolutely the schmooziest, goofiest couple ever.

Cora and Buggy experimenting with makeup looks together.

They each have an Egg Each, but they have each other's eggs, or they both make two each so one can have the second egg on hand for long distance stints.

Long denden calls and writing letters to each other.

Sengoku having several attacks of just as many varieties because his son is dating a pirate and it's THAT pirate as well and he's So Fucking Angry bc Buggy isn't even all that bad, he HATES it-

Uncle Garp. The shenanigans there. Need I say more?

Shanks telling Buggy about Luffy and it goes "my brother adopted the grandson of my boyfriend's honorary uncle" and you can see the smoke coming from his ears.

Cora and Buggy were childhood sweethearts, and Shanks ABSOLUTELY gave Cora a shovel talk. Roger also gave Cora a shovel talk. Rayleigh played psychological warfare as a test (Cora passed).

They do shows together and their favorites are acrobatics and aerials.

Buggy has forbade Cora from fire stunts, so Cora simply watches Buggy do them and drools respectfully. (In his defense, Buggy is VERY skilled with batons and dragon staffs.)

Devil Fruits have something they need to Feed or things that Feed the fruits. For some, it's foods, some it can be abated with tobacco. Cora uses his cigarettes and Buggy runs on sugar.

Cora is actually a very clean person and prefers unscented soaps, he just has a skill for always looking freshly mugged in an alleyway. Buggy meanwhile is a neat freak who changes up his soaps frequently, but always within a certain brand/maker rotation bc he has sensitive skin.

Drawbacks Of Devil Fruits My Beloved - they're both more lethargic in highly humid weather, or in the rain. Cora's sleepier overall when stuff gets to that point, but Buggy runs a higher risk of getting sick as a result.

Buggy sometimes has Bad Brain Days, be it an episode or he's overstimulated. Regardless, when he needs Space, he'll shimmy under Cora's feathered coat and Cora will cast a bubble for them with just enough muted input to calm Buggy down but not trigger his intrusive thoughts.

Likewise, when Cora is in Cover And Perform Mode, Buggy will gently lead him away and pull the other down to his chest, ear over his heart, and will just... talk. Random, unimportant things like "Oh I heard dinner will be this tonight" or "I've been thinking of getting x, y, z tools for the ring". Just stuff to ground him, she he isn't alone, that things are okay and fine and safe.

They have prank wars. Ritchie always wins. Nobody knows how.

Cora will straight up scruff Buggy like a cat when he gets angry and stabby.

Buggy will climb Cora like a tree when he feels playful.

<><><><> Bonus Incorrect Quotes <><><><>

Buggy: They call it committing murder because it's a commitment. It's stronger than marriage.

Cora:

Buggy:

Cora: babe, no-

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Cora: I could kill you if I wanted.

Buggy: Yeah? So could any other human being. So could a dog. So could a dedicated duck. You aren't special

Cora:

Buggy:

Cora: I love you-

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Buggy: *banging a pen on the table out of frustration*

Cora: Stop that. How would YOU feel if I banged you on the table?

Buggy: I—

Buggy: I don’t know the correct answer to that question.

Cabaji, who just wanted to eat his lunch in peace:

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Buggy: BE A BETTER PERSON!

Cora: WHY?!

Buggy: BECAUSE SOMEONE NEEDS TO HAVE MORALS IN THIS RELATIONSHIP, AND IT SURE AS FUCK AIN'T GONNA BE ME, SWEETHEART!

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Cora: *sighs*

Buggy: You bored?

Cora: Yeah.

Buggy: Wanna start drama for no reason?

Cora: I thought you’d never ask.

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Cora: I truly go into housewife mode when I'm someone's soulmate- like, I'll make you pancakes and bacon every morning.

Buggy: This is a lie.

Buggy: I'm literally dating them. This is a lie.

Buggy: THEY DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO COOK A PANCAKE, WHAT IS THIS.

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Buggy: What’s your favorite color?

Cora: Stop asking stupid questions. Ask me something logical and mature.

Buggy: How many moles of sodium bicarbonate are needed to neutralize 0.8ml of sulfuric acid at STP?

Cora: My favorite color is pink.

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Context: Roger and Garp having a play date, Shanks and Mihawk are sitting to the side while Buggy is doing smth mundane across the beach when Cora descends on the swordmen

Cora: Wait, what's going on? Are we all talking about how hot Buggy is? Because Buggy is a straight up sexual fox riding a red-hot nuclear bombshell right toward the yowza plaza in the heart of Babe City, Assachusetts, U S A. The last A just stands for more ass.

Mihawk:

Shanks:

Cora:

Mihawk: wh-

Shanks: YEAH!

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Buggy: I'm very scary.

Cora: You're about as scary as a wet kitten.

Buggy: Wet kittens are cute, at least I've got that going for me.

Cora: And small.

Buggy:

Buggy: ...Yeah, yeah. I guess.

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Buggy: Live fast, die young, leave behind a pretty corpse! That’s what I always say!

Cora: You should say something else.

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Cora: What’s your body count?

Buggy: Do you mean sex or murder?

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Cora, carrying a box: What would you say if- if I, hypothetically, came home with several kids one day?

Buggy: …

Buggy: What’s in the box?

Cora: What woul-

Buggy: Cora, what’s in the box?

Cora: I think you know.

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Buggy: Hey, wanna take a shower with me?

Cora: I have a gun in that nightstand beside the bed. If I ever say no to that question, I want you to take it out and shot me because I’ve obviously gone crazy.

[shadowpeachceo]

Ninjago incorrect quotes Garmadad

Lloyd: What are you doing here?

Emperor Garmadon: I could ask you the same question.

Lloyd: I live here. This is my house.

Emperor Garmadon: I should probably ask you a different question.

Lord Garmadon: I’m going to hell.

Lloyd: Probably.

Lord Garmadon: I'll pick you up?

Lloyd: *nodding* Carpool.

Computer: Please enter a password.

Sensei Garmadon: *types in Lloyd*

Computer: Your password is too weak.

Sensei Garmadon: How fucking DARE YOU-

Emperor Garmadon: Quick! You must come with me! Your in great danger!

Lloyd: Why?!

Emperor Garmadon: Because I’ll kill you if you don’t.

Lil Lloyd: Help! I’m drowning!

Lord Garmadon: Calm down. We’re only in six feet of water!

Lil Lloyd: NOT ALL OF US ARE TALL!

Lil Lloyd: But that’s censorship.

Lord Garmadon: Well done. You are correct. You’re being censored. Now go.

Sensei Garmadon: Just be yourself. Say something nice.

Lloyd: Which one? I can't do both.

Emporer Garmadon: Ah, Hello again. We really need to stop meeting like this.

Lloyd: Maybe we would, if you would sTOP BREAKING INTO MY FUCKING HOUSE!!!

Lil Lloyd: Honestly, I am so evil. So full of darkness. I feed of the souls of the living I strike fear into-

Lord Garmadon: You sleep with a teddybear.

Lil Lloyd: He’s my sECOND IN COMMAND IN MY ARMY OF DARKNESS!

Lord Garmadon: I love cooking breakfast. It makes the whole house smell like bacon.

Lil Lloyd: That’s true, but it also smells like fire and panic.

Lord Garmadon: You and the smoke detector need to get off my case.

Lloyd in season 4: *About to do something incredibly stupid*

Sensei Garmadon: I know I can't stop you, but I won't let you go by yourself.

Lil Lloyd: Hand me the people opener.

Lord Garmadon: ...

Lord Garmadon: Pardon?

Lil Lloyd, annoyed: The g! Just hand it to me!

Lord Garmadon, stressed: WHAT THE FUCK IS A PEOPLE OPENER?

Lil Lloyd: How do you not know what a people opener is? Its pointy- you know? With a handle?

Lord Garmadon: Knife. It's called a knife.

*Lord Garmadon raised Lloyd Au*

Lil Lloyd: Standing next to sunflowers always makes me feel weak like ‘look at this fucking flower. This flower is taller than I am. This flower is winning and I’m losing.’

Lord Garmadon: Wow, you are not ready to hear about trees.

Lloyd: *Kicks the door open, looking panicked*

Lord Garmadon: What did you do?!

Lloyd: NOBODY DIED!

Lord Garmadon: WHAT KIND OF ANSWER IS THAT?!

Lloyd: I think it's time to start fucking some shit up.

Garmadon: Oh no.

Lloyd: More like "oh yes!"

Lloyd: Might I make a suggestion you possibly won’t like?

Sensei Garmadon: Do you make any other kind?

Season 3 Garmadon: Treat spiders the way you want to be treated!

Season 11 Lloyd: Killed without hesitation.

Emperor Garmadon: If we lose, you'll go back to not being my son.

Lloyd: I was your son again?

Movie Garmadon: *dangling from a rope over a pit of fire* Remember when I said I’d tell you when we’re in too deep?

Movie Lloyd: Yes?

Movie Garmadon: We’re in too deep.

Sensei Garmadon: How has life been treating you lately?

Movie Lloyd: Horribly.

Movie Garmadon: What do you call a dictionary on drugs?

Show Lloyd: If you say "addict-ionary" I swear I will cut you.

Movie Garmadon: I was actually going to say "high definition", but your answer's much better.

Movie and show Lloyd: ...

*movieverse At the police station*

Movie Lloyd: Hi, I’m here for Lord Garmadon.

Police officer: Who’s Garmadon?

movie Lloyd: Ah, you must be new.

Sensei Garmadon: How are you today?

Oni Lloyd: Please don’t make me think about my life.