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watchmegetobsessed · 7 months ago

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UNMATCHED

A/N: it's been like 6 months since i last posted something and honestly, i haven't even written anything, things are very shitty these days but i felt the motivation to write this quickly after watching 'tell me lies' and 'rivals' these past weeks so here we go! if student-prof type of fics are not your thing then don't read it

WORD COUNT: 2.6k

WARNING: age gap, student-professor relationship

SUMMARY: Harry is very strict about staying away from students as a young and handsome professor, but there is one person he can't get out of his head and a Christmas party brings an unexpected turn.

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Harry hates these type of parties, mostly because he can’t imagine inviting dozens of students into his home, his private space, have the roam around and spend an entire evening with them, talking and pretending like they aren’t just trying to get a better grade at the end of the semester with their too friendly behavior. Or, in his case, some girls try to push the boundaries and flirt with him, hoping to hook up with him.

He is not stupid. He has heard students whisper about him several times, he notices the heart eyes when he is talking in class and he has gotten several phone numbers on papers since he started his PHD studies and started teaching last year. His friends teased him about being the heartthrob of the faculty, but he didn’t think it would actually happen and to this extent. To avoid any possible scandals, not that he planned to make any, he has put on quite a rigid mask towards the students to scare them off from even trying, though that hasn’t stopped some of them from wanting to shoot their shot.

He wouldn’t have come to this party, he would rather be home and continue his research that’s still not even close to being done, but Professor Bradford, or Stella as she requests Harry to call her, is the only person he gets along with in the faculty. She is 18 years older than Harry, but still younger than the rest of the old men who have been teaching here since probably before the declaration of independence was signed. Those men are the reason younger people don’t like classic literature anymore, with their outdated ways of teaching and unwillingness to bring something modern into their lectures they are scaring the new generations away. But not Stella. She is one of the reasons Harry went into his PHD and now he gets to work with her. He couldn’t just reject her invitation for her annual Christmas Party she holds for her students and some colleagues.

Now he is standing by the wall, drinking mulled wine and just gritting his teeth, trying to calculate how early is too early to leave. A couple of girls have already tried to chat him up, they like to circle him, leave him almost no room to escape and then make him talk about school stuff, but then they slyly bring up personal things, hoping to break his usual character, but he sees through them always.

Harry’s best friend, Niall always teases him that he should just give in and have fun with one of them. His morals are a lot looser than Harry’s, that’s for sure.

Just as he is about to look for the bathroom, not to use it but to hide for a bit, another group of girls spots him and he can already feel his skin crawling as they approach him from down the hallway. He is quick to assess the situation, but he realizes he has no chance of fleeing before they reach him.

“Profesor! So good to see you here!”

And here we go.

It goes the same, they are extremely nice and inquiring about his plans for the next semester and then suddenly they are talking about summer and Harry knows they are moments away from asking what he’ll be doing once the school year is over. One of the girls is talking about going to Italy on a yacht and the others chime in with their own ridiculously over the top plans while Harry is avoiding to even look at them, his eyes roam around the other guests.

That’s when he sees her.

Just down the hall he can peek into the kitchen and there she is, with a boy Harry assumes to be her boyfriend. He’s seen them around campus the past few weeks, he even waited for her after Harry’s class and saw them walk away together as he fought the way his stomach churned every time.

Since the moment she walked into his class at the beginning of the semester Harry has been feeling like he is losing his mind. Whether it be the way she laughs with her friends before class or focuses with undivided attention as Harry explains something by the board, or says hello every time she passes him in the cafeteria, Harry can’t stop thinking about her for days after even though he knows such feelings should be banned from his mind when it comes to a student. Every time he catches himself thinking about her he wants to throw himself out the window, but he still can’t fight it. There’s something in her that draws him in and swallows him whole and it’s not just the looks. Unlike a lot of students who take his classes for easy credits or to drool after him, she is there to learn as much as she can and she’s had the most brilliant thoughts on certain subjects Harry has ever encountered, making him almost jealous he wasn’t the one to think about them.

She is… unmatched. And forbidden, but impossible to ignore. She’s been his vice for months.

From where he stands it appears she is having a fight with said boyfriend, her always cheerful expression is now rather upset and confused while the boy seems to be over the conversation, almost irritated by her, dismissed. Harry tries to appear not too obvious about watching them, but he is also way too fixated on her to ignore what’s happening just down the hallway.

He glances away just for a few seconds, but the next time he looks back he sees the boy stomping away, irritated, while she is left there, pulling on her coat before disappearing through the backdoor, swallowed by the darkness of the unlit back terrace.

And before Harry could stop himself, he is already moving.

“Excuse me girl,” he mumbles disorientedly as he slips out of the small circle.

He places his glass to a nearby table and then grabs his own coat from the wardrobe in the hallway before making his way outside. After her.

The moment he steps out into the cold a short sense of realization washes over him that he definitely shouldn’t be here, that he is crossing a line, but then another voice in his head tunes it out, convincing him that he is just making sure she is okay and there’s nothing wrong with that.

Stopping by the door his gaze rakes through the terrace, but he doesn’t see her, until she spots her slouched form sitting on the bottom of the stairs leading out to the lawn. He hears her sniffling, but she hasn’t acknowledged his presence yet, if she noticed it at all. There’s a couple of moments of hesitation on his end, he can hear the rational side of him screaming somewhere in the back of his mind, telling him to turn around and just walk back inside, yet he still finds himself moving towards him and then that voice is silenced.

“Everything alright?” Harry asks from the top of the stairs, but he startles her so much that she jumps to her feet and backs away a few feet. That’s when he sees her tearful eyes and red nose.

“S-Sorry, I don’t–”

“Hey, it’s all good. You didn’t do anything wrong. Just checking in.”

She squints her eyes at him and that’s when he realizes she must not even see his face since the light is coming right behind him. So he walks down the stairs and then finally his face is lit and realization settles in her eyes.

“Oh, Professor Styles. Hi.”

“Hello Y/N. Are you okay?” he asks again, to which she just chuckles bitterly.

He can’t miss that even with tears running down her cheeks and her eyelashes stuck together, she looks so fucking beautiful it baffles him. He has to fight the urge to reach out and touch her tear-soaked cheeks.

“Um, yeah, everything is… perfect,” she scoffs, reaching into her pockets, probably looking for tissues, but finding none so Harry grabs one from his inner pocket, handing it over to her, her fingers brushing against his for the shortest second as she takes it and then it’s over, but his skin keeps tingling.

“Thanks,” she mumbles before drying her face as much as she can. “I’m good. Just…” She looks at him and changes her mind. “Ah, wouldn’t want to bore you with my nonsense personal drama.”

“Drama is never boring, have you learned nothing in my class?” he jokes and it actually makes her laugh.

“This drama is not worthy of being taught in class though.”

“I bet some of the big names thought the same thing upon writing what we read in class these days.”

“So you’re saying I should write about how my boyfriend is fed up with me because I told him something he did hurt me?”

“That sounds like something I bet a lot of people would want to read about,” he smiles and when she mirrors it, he can feel his chest expanding. Somewhere way too deep in his mind an alarm goes off, but it quickly becomes one with the void and all he can think about is her. “Actually I can think of a few great pieces that are about similar topics.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, believe it or not, you’re not the first one to experience this.”

The way she looks at him is setting him on fire. The mixture of sadness, tiredness and gratitude towards his attempt to cheer her up is still making her glow in a way Harry has never seen before on any woman.

“Do you mind analyzing one for me right now?”

“I’d be happy to.”

The party is completely tuned out for the two of them. First they actually talk about a novel, but soon it turns into sharing their favorite books and authors, their guilty pleasure reads, recommendations for each other and even more personal bits Harry would never share with a student, but Y/N is the exception.

They have no idea how much time passes as they stand outside and Harry ignores how the cold starts to sting his fingertips even in his pockets, because he knows that if they go inside this bubble will pop and he is too selfish to let that happen just yet.

When there’s a short silence Harry notices that she is probably slipping back into what happened earlier and when she looks at him again he already knows she is about to share.

“I gave him a chance and explicitly told him not to fuck me over, because I can’t deal with that again. But all he has been doing is manipulating to believe that I’m always in the wrong.”

“It’s impossible for you to always be in the wrong.”

“I know. Well, part of me knows, but then I always go back to thinking that he is right, I must have messed up something.”

“That just proves that you have self-criticism, that you don’t just think everything you do is perfect.”

She sighs and looks away, her gaze distant as she battles herself inside her head, a feeling Harry knows very well, unfortunately. It doesn’t sit right with him that she is visibly struggling because of an immature guy’s untreated problems. She deserves so much more, but how can he tell that without crossing a line?

“Give it some time and you’ll see it clearer. Use your critical thinking on his actions as well, not just yours and don’t settle for less than your worth.”

“You think I did that?” she asks, eyes jumping back to meet his gaze. “You think I settled for less than my worth?”

There’s more behind her eyes than the words she said out loud and he is torn, because he can feel himself being pulled in more than ever, like she just opened the door the slightest and he has the chance to slip in. It’s the first time he senses something on her part and after all the yearning he is eager to take the chance.

“I think you deserve a lot more, Y/N. You’re brilliant, bright and give so much to others, you should get the same amount if not more back. If someone can’t see that, then they don’t deserve you.”

For a second he wishes he didn’t say a thing, he regrets crossing the line and he fears her reaction, but then…

Then he forgets everything. Because she is kissing him.

It happens fast, one moment she is staring up at him with doe eyes, the next her lips are crashing against his, her hands grabbing onto the lapels of his coat. He barely recovers from the shock when she is already pulling away.

“I-I’m so sorry, I d-didn’t mean to, I just—Oh my Go–”

Her stammering is quickly cut short when he kisses her, his hands holding her jaw to angle her face perfectly and while her kiss was closed, rushed and panicked, this one is different. He is quick to beg for her to open her lips so he can explore as much of her as humanly possible, he is letting all the passions loose that he’s been locking up these past months and when she returns it just as eagerly it just pushes him even further.

They inch back to the wall of the house and when he pins her against it a moan slips past her swollen lips, completely maddening him.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he breathes against her lips, kissing her jawline, savoring the sweet taste of her skin that’s supposed to be cold, but it’s actually burning. For him.

He keeps one hand on the side of her neck, the other one digs into her hip through her coat and she keeps pushing against him, while her hands wander under his coat, they are on his waist, back and when they move to his lower stomach, brushing against his belt, something snaps inside him.

But before he could completely lose his mind the backdoor opens and he quickly sobers up, pulling her farther away from the corner so they can’t be seen.

“...and that was actually crazy,” a girl speaks up, oblivious to how Harry has Y/N pinned against the wall just a few feet away. They are both breathing heavily, but she has her face buried in his shoulder while he covers his mouth with a hand, adrenaline racing through his veins.

“Ah shit, I’m out of cigarettes,” another girl says.

“Mm let’s get out of here then. I think Max said they are having a little party as well.”

“Okay.”

Then the door opens again and the voices disappear, but reality hits Harry hard in the head.

He slowly pulls back, enough to look at her face and when he sees her swollen lips and slightly smeared mascara he almost combusts.

Because he wants nothing more than to take her, right here and then everywhere else in the world, but he also realizes what he just did and this time his rational side wins.

“Fuck,” he gasps as he jumps back, cupping a hand over his mouth.

“I wanted it–”

“Y/N, stop!” he cuts her off. “Fuck, this was a mistake.”

“But I wanted it! You didn’t–”

“I said stop!” he barks and she shuts her mouth right away. “This shouldn’t have happened.”

And before she could protest again or worse, kiss him again, he is already storming back inside, across the house towards the front door.

“Harry! I haven’t seen you all night!” Stella catches him, but he just wants to get as far away from this house and from Y/N as possible.

“I’m sorry, I need to go. I’ll talk to you later,” is all he manages to say before he is already out the door.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb

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sanguineterrain · 1 year ago

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im begging you to write a part 2 of vigilante reader because the way you write??? the dynamic between reader and jason??? the sex tension???are chef kiss!!!

thanks very much! part 2 and I couldn't put off the reveal bc I'm just too impatient lol 🫶 but I might write another part post-reveal? maybe? cuz I'm growing attached to these two <3

jason todd x gn!vigilante!reader (nocturne). tw explosions, smoke inhalation, reader passes out, canon typical violence, identity reveal, asshole bruce. jason is in love? jason is in love.

read pt 1 here! | all fics are reblogged to @sanguinelibrary

****

"Go home."

"Bruce, I—"

Bruce looks at you, eyes sharp with fury and... something else. Something older.

The others know how to talk back. You still haven't gained the courage to sass The Batman.

"Go. Home. If you need an escort, I can call Superman."

You take a step back at his coldness.

"Bruce, I know I messed up, letting Hood escape but—"

"Yes, you did. You deliberately disobeyed an order. I told everybody to stand down. He could've killed you."

But he didn't, you don't say. He could've, but he chose not to.

He'd felt safe.

"I had it under control, honestly. He wasn't—it wasn't like the other encounters you've had with him. He wouldn't have hurt me."

That is the wrong thing to say. You realize that after the words leave your mouth and the muscles in Bruce's jaw jump.

"You can't be this naive. I know I wouldn't have chosen someone who's this naive," he says savagely. "You know Hood can't be trusted, and you're defending him to me. We've seen time and again he's rogue. He doesn't make sense and that's exactly why he's dangerous."

"But if you would just listen—"

"Enough," he snaps. "Enough. Go home. I'm suspending you for three weeks."

"Three w—I'm not even injured!" you cry.

"No, but you need the time. You're not thinking clearly. Go. I don't want to see you until next month."

You press your lips together before you say something truly foul. Something about Batman's habit of pushing people away. Something about dead Robins.

You don't let the tears fall until you leave the Cave. This is all Hood's fault. You know it would've been a different conversation if you'd managed to successfully capture him.

You'll take down the Red Hood if it's the last thing you do.

****

It takes you approximately two days to break your suspension.

In your defense, you meant to follow Bruce's orders. You would've stayed put and helped Barbara with research instead.

But not at the expense of civilian lives.

"All units to Canal and Riverview, 10-80. Standby. Do not enter the factory until given clearance from the Bomb Squad."

You turn off the police scanner and stuff it in your drawer. In Gotham, explosions usually come in multiples. If there's one, there's bound to be another. The police are generally inept when it comes to evacuating civilians. You know one of the other Bats are on their way, but you're the closest to the docks.

You glance at your suit. No. If you go as Nocturne, Batman might suspend you indefinitely.

You grab your gas mask and put on a black hoodie and a domino mask. You'll just have to make do.

The marina is blanketed in thick smoke. It makes your eyes water. But in the commotion it causes, you're able to slip past the barriers and help workers out of the factory. It's difficult because without the suit, people don't give you the same trust and respect. But you're anonymous, and that's all that matters.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

You ignore the voice and keep hauling two elderly workers towards the exit. They're barely outside before you turn around, determined to clear every level of the factory.

You're yanked backward by a hand on your hoodie. You nearly lose your footing, but the hand is firm, dragging you towards the pier.

You're spun around and put face to face with a red helmet.

Oh, of all the fucking—

"Let go of me!" you shout, smacking his arm. Hood's grip tightens.

"I will as soon as you stop doing stupid shit. What were you thinking, coming here?"

You pause. Whoops. This isn't how a plain civilian would react to being apprehended by the Red Hood.

And that's definitely not how the Red Hood would react to getting swatted by a random civilian. Shit.

"I was, um, I was thinking I could help," you say haltingly. "P-please don't hurt me, Mr. Hood, I was—"

Hood sighs and lets you go, then tucks his gun into his holster.

"Cut the shit. I know you're Nocturne. I also know that you need some acting lessons because what the hell was that? Mr. Hood?"

A chill washes over you. "I don't know what you mean. Nocturne?"

Hood shakes his head. "I don't have time for this. The building's gonna collapse any second. Stay. Put."

He goes back toward the smoking entrance. Your eye twitches as you follow him.

"Last time I checked, you don't have that kind of authority, Hood."

He turns around and looms over you. "Don't I?"

Anyone else would back down. You might've a week ago. You should, after the tongue lashing Bruce gave you.

But there's no soot on Hood's helmet or vest. He doesn't smell sweet like gasoline or pungent like motor oil.

He was in the factory to help.

Something shifts. Batman is wrong. Batman is more wrong than he's ever been.

Because Hood's not the enemy here. Not anymore. Maybe not ever.

You push past Hood. "It'll be faster if we work together."

"Oh, absolutely not. You're not even in your suit."

"As per your request," you say, flashing a plastic smile. "You're welcome."

"Don't get cute with me, you—hey!"

You dart past him and go straight into the factory. Hood shouts your name, which makes you pause, just for a moment.

But revealed identity or not, you need to clear the building. So you pull on your mask and run faster.

Your worst fear is confirmed when you check the upper level: someone was missed in the evacuation. It's a worker, and she's unconscious.

You don't think about how explosions come in pairs in Gotham. Don't think about how long it'll take to get to the exit.

You take off your mask and slide it onto her face. The smoke burns your throat immediately, but you ignore it and lift her in a fireman carry, just as you were taught all those years ago by Robin. He's the one who taught you how to save people without relying on brute strength or height.

You hope he's alright, wherever he is. You hope he's not too upset seeing you rush into a burning building.

That's your last thought when you see the entrance. Your face is covered in sweat and grime. The heat from the fires is exhausting. You can feel your eyes beginning to close.

"There's something seriously wrong with you," a decoded voice says in your ear, and then the woman's weight is lifted from your shoulders.

Hood grabs your hand, the woman over his opposite shoulder, and you make it out just as the second explosion goes off. It knocks you forward.

Hood puts the woman down just in time to catch you. His arm is around your waist, the other hand cradling your head. His gloved thumb touches your mouth, and you feel his dawning realization as he finally sees your mask on the woman.

"Don't tell Ba'man," you slur.

"Jesus fuck—" Hood starts to drag you. You feel lightheaded. He's moving, and you wish he'd stop. "You don't take off your mask. You never take off your mask. We taught you that!"

"She was unconscious, J'y..."

Arms tighten around you. Everything goes dark.

****

You wake up to the smell of scrambling eggs.

For a moment, you just bask in the smell. It smells like Alfred's breakfast scramble. Bacon. Butter. Golden potatoes.

Then you wake up further and realize that you're not in the Manor. You're in your apartment.

So who's cooking?

You get up quietly, slipping out of your room. You pause in front of the full-length mirror.

Honestly, you've looked worse. Your hair needs a wash, and you're in the same clothes you went into the building with, which are now a little charred. But your face is clean of soot, and your throat hurts only a little.

The kitchen sink runs. You slowly creep out into the living room, keeping your breathing even and silent.

The mess of black hair, you recognize. Sort of. You might've mistaken him for Bruce if you didn't know that Bruce has a lifetime ban from kitchens all over the world.

He's too tall to be Dick. Too skilled in the kitchen to be Bruce. Too nice to be Bruce, too—you can't imagine Bruce Wayne making you eggs. Especially when you disobeyed his orders. Again.

The red helmet on the kitchen stool turns your blood to ice.

You grab the letter opener from a drawer and wait a few seconds to see if Hood's heard you. Then you throw the letter opener with near perfect aim at his exposed shoulder.

He catches it without turning.

Your heart skips a beat. Every time you think you might get the drop on him, Hood reminds you just how competent he really is.

A mix of fear, aggravation, and something you don't want to examine too closely swirls in your gut.

"Impressive," he says. "Dami been training you? Mama Al-Ghul spent a lot of time on his knife lessons."

"Why are you in my apartment?"

Hood sets the letter opener down on the counter and turns off the stove. Then he serves the breakfast scramble on two plates, then sprinkles chives over them.

This is the weirdest kidnapping ever.

He sighs, back still facing you.

"You can't tell anyone it's me," he says.

"You make a lot of demands for a guy who just used the last of my eggs."

Hood laughs. It sounds wet. It sounds like grief.

"God, I've missed ya, honeylove."

Your heart pounds. You try to find another weapon, anything. Hood doesn't give you the chance.

He turns around.

The first thing you see is the stark white streak of hair and the curls you once loved. The curls that were near unrecognizable in the casket.

You were right: Batman was wrong.

pt 3

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd fanfiction #red hood fanfiction #red hood imagine #batman fanfiction #dc fanfic

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jungkoode · 2 months ago

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死 KKANGPAE | #09 死

† leather jacket †

“You always knew alcohol could be intoxicating in its own way—but sometimes it takes a few more drops of vodka and some leather jackets for the effect to really seep into your veins."

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 5.5k

rating: mature

content: drinking, lowkey hints being dropped, sope bantering like a married couple, truth or dare, V being a lil shit, clothes swap, sexual tension, leather jackets and their scent lingering on your body

☠ author's note ☠

OOOOP? Early chapter drop? Yup yup! Your support and enthusiasm reaching the goal for FMU 14 has truly motivated me and I was honestly SO hyped to post this and see you guys reactions? 👀

Not me having written a completely different version of how this chapter could have gone and keeping it from you all… (◕‿◕✿)

What can I say? That's what happens when you’re sad and horny. Don't worry though, I've saved it for… research purposes???

ANYWAY! There will be time for that in the future. Many times. Many, many times. cackles maniacally while typing

Is the slow burn slow burning enough for you? I don't know about you, but I LIVE for that charged atmosphere where every accidental brush of hands feels like someone dropped a toaster in a bathtub. The lingering stares! The almost-moments! The internal screaming! Beautiful stuff, truly.

And we're finally delving deeper into the plot! Nine chapters in and you finally know the reason behind the number one rule of the gang. Took long enough, right? In my defense, building tension is an art form, and I am but a humble disaster pretending to be an artist.

Also, yes, the goal is right below at the end of the chapter. It's ridiculously high because you all TERRIFY ME. Last time I set it at 100 thinking "this should take them a few days at least" and y'all demolished that in less than 24 hours. :))))) So suffer the consequences of your own enthusiasm, hoes lovely people. 🥰

Also because smut is on the horizon, and I'm 100% going to make you work for it because I'm the god of this fictional universe and chaos is my love language. Start engaging, peasants! Your frustration fuels me. 🙂‍↕️

(A bit unrelated but if you’re feeling particularly generous, I’d appreciate if you could go give some love to the stories on my wattpad? Our numbers are quite low over there! Also—reminder that the goal in Wattpad is a lot lower and it works the same as the one here, so… just sayin’.)

⚔ socials ⚔

read on ao3

read on wattpad

tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

The walk back to the bonfire feels like playing hopscotch between shadows and firelight. There's gang members scattered around like party decorations, laughing and drinking like it's literally their only worry.

You reach Jeon first, holding out his whisky. When his fingers brush yours, something electric zips through your skin. He takes the glass quickly—but not quick enough to hide that moment of hesitation.

"Thanks," he mutters, voice softer than usual—not as stormy as it usually is.

You just nod, trying to ignore how your skin tingles where he touched you.

Stop being a stupid bitch.

You fish out a beer from your hoodie and pass it to Takama.

"Here."

"Thanks!" Takama's grin is always genuine, you notice.

You drop onto the bench next to Yunjin, whose bubblegum hair looks almost neon in the firelight. She brightens when you hand her the other beer.

"You're actually the best," she declares, popping the tab. "What'd you get?"

You lift your glass. "Vodka lemonade. Moon knows his stuff."

"It's weird seeing everyone so... normal," she muses, watching the crowd. "Like we're just regular people having drinks."

"Right?" You take a sip, enjoying the perfect balance of sweet and sharp. "No ranks, no murder plots. Just vibing."

She hums. "Moon's got skills though. That drink looks good."

"He's amazing at it." Another sip confirms it. "Said he wanted to own a bar once. Can you imagine? Our Deputy Commander mixing drinks in some cozy pub?"

"That's... actually kind of perfect for him?" Yunjin tilts her head. "He's got that whole calm, 'everything's under control' energy. Makes perfect sense as to why RM would choose him as his right hand."

"Yeah." You swirl your drink, thinking about what he said earlier. "Makes you wonder what everyone else wanted to be before... all this."

She goes quiet for a moment. "Weird how we all ended up here, huh? Different paths leading to the same psychotic family."

"At least the company's good." You bump her shoulder with yours.

"Yeah." Her smile turns soft. "Really good."

The vodka warms your chest, or maybe it's just the way Yunjin leans against you, comfortable and familiar.

Eunchae suddenly throws her arms around you and Yunjin, all tipsy affection and bright smiles. Her body sways slightly, using you both for balance.

"My favorite bitchessss," she sing-songs, words already slurring. "How're you doing?"

Yunjin melts into the group hug, giggling. "Just vibing. How many drinks have you had?"

"Who's counting?" Eunchae's laughing in that drunken way she has when she's on her third glass of rum. "It's a party!"

You snort, patting her arm. "Maybe slow down though? Night's still young."

"And I plan to make the most of it!" She beams like it's the most brilliant plan ever.

The moment shatters when V practically twirls into the firelight, radiating that chaotic energy that always accompanies him wherever he goes.

His smile, of course, is all teeth—sharp and bright.

"Heeeey everyone!" He throws his arms wide, commanding attention like he was born for it. "Let's remember why we're here! Celebrating our dear leader taking over after his brother got fucking murdered!"

The crowd actually cheers—because of course they do. V could probably announce the apocalypse and make it sound fun. But J-Hope steps in, doctor mode activated.

"V." His tone carries a warning. "Dial it back."

V rolls his eyes like a teenager caught sneaking out, but his grin never falters. You sense weird vibes oozing off him under that playful expression he wears—but it's like he's wrapped it in enough charm that it goes unnoticed.

Or maybe you're reaching?

"His brother's dead?" The words slip out before you can stop them. You turn to J-Hope, curiosity burning. "What happened?"

J-Hope sighs, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. His fingers tap against his thigh—a nervous tell if you know how to spot one.

"It's not exactly classified," he says carefully, weighing each word. "But it's... complicated. RM wasn't always in charge. The gang belonged to his brother first."

You exchange looks with Yunjin, both leaning in slightly. This is the kind of story that explains so much about how Kkangpae operates.

About why certain rules exist.

J-Hope's face contorts in the dim light, shadows dancing over his features he debates how much to share. V watches from across the flames, that sharp smile still in place, like he's enjoying the tension he's created.

"His brother?" Yunjin's eyes go wide with curiosity.

"It's about betrayal," J-Hope says, voice dropping low. "RM's brother led Kkangpae before him. His fiancée sold him out to MDF, and..." He trails off, letting the implication hang in the air.

A chill runs down your spine despite the bonfire's warmth.

"So RM had to take over?"

J-Hope nods, running a hand through his hair.

"Nam—" He catches himself, clearing his throat. "RM stepped up when everything was falling apart. Gang was splitting at the seams, losing territory to MDF."

"Built it back from nothing," Chaewon adds quietly. "That's why he's so strict about relationships. He's seen what they can do to people."

You notice Jeon tense at that last part on your periphery, though he's trying to look uninvolved. Something flickers across his face—pain maybe, or guilt—before his expression locks down again. His fingers twitch toward the cigarette pack he can't use.

"That's..." Yunjin leans closer, voice barely above a whisper. "It explains a lot about how things work around here."

"Heavy legacy to carry," you murmur, watching RM across the fire. He's laughing at something Moon said, but there's weight in his shoulders that makes more sense now.

"Can't forget where we came from." J-Hope's eyes drift to his glass of water. "Makes us stronger, but also more careful. Trust is..." He shakes his head. "Trust is complicated here."

The conversation dies out naturally, leaving you all to digest the story. Smoke from the bonfire drifts up in weird rivulets, as if dissolving the thick fog of tension that seems to have settled over all of you. You find yourself studying RM with new eyes, seeing past the white hair and commanding presence to the brother who had to rebuild from ashes.

You can't help but wonder how many other secrets this gang holds, how many other stories wait in the dark corners of the castle.

"Must've taken some serious balls," Yunjin says softly, respect clear in her voice. "Building everything back up like that."

"It did." J-Hope responds in a hushed tone. "RM rebuilt from scratch—new recruits, stronger divisions. Dragged us back from the edge. Now look at us."

You let the weight of it sink in, watching the flames dance. Because this? This explains so much. About everything and everyone.

The strict rules, the emphasis on loyalty, why everyone walks on eggshells around certain topics.

"That's why we celebrate." JM appears beside you, hands tucked into his oversized cardigan. "Remembering where we started, how far we've come."

The energy shifts suddenly as RM approaches, beer in hand, firelight catching on his dyed hair. His smile is crooked, eyebrow raised like he knows you've been talking about him.

"Why's everyone looking so serious?" He asks, though playfully.

V materializes like he's been summoned, snatching someone's beer out of their hands like it's normal. He clinks his bottle against RM's with dramatic flair.

"Oh, just sharing tales of our glorious leader." V grins, and it sounds almost mocking—were it not for the respect clearly coloring his tone despite all that theatrical bullshit.

RM's eyebrow climbs higher, amusement flickering across his face. He takes a slow sip, eyes scanning your little group like he's reading a particularly interesting book.

"Legendary tales?" He chuckles, the sound warming the night air. "Should I be worried?"

"Just telling it like it is." J-Hope's smile is soft. "What you've built here."

Silence falls, but it's not weird, or tense or uncomfortable. Rather, it's like a brief respite where everyone can gather their thoughts, really look at RM and ponder all he has achieved.

No wonder everyone respects him so much.

"Not just me," he says quietly. "Every person here made Kkangpae what it is today."

You watch him immediately work the crowd, joking and talking with members from every division. It's impressive how he balances it all—being both the guy who can order executions and the one who remembers everyone's birthday.

You know now why people would literally die for him.

RM is not only a leader—but a mentor. A companion. A friend.

AD finally graces everyone with his presence about twenty minutes later.

And holy shit, he's wearing actual pajamas with a puffer jacket thrown over them—giving exactly zero fucks about dress codes or basic social norms.

His hands are stuffed in his pockets as he approaches, moving with his usual 'everyone here is an idiot' energy. The crowd parts for him automatically—partly out of respect, partly because nobody wants to deal with his grumpy ass when he's been interrupted mid-game.

"This meat better be worth dropping League for," he announces to no one in particular, a mix of annoyance and vague threat.

A few people laugh because, well, of course AD was gaming. Man would probably try to finish a match during the apocalypse.

You catch Jeon using the distraction to slip away, moving toward the BBQ area with that silent grace that makes him such a good sniper. His timing is s̶u̶s̶p̶i̶c̶i̶o̶u̶s̶l̶y̶ perfectly calculated to avoid AD.

Takama notices too, because that man apparently notices everything. He gives the group a small smile.

"Going to help with dinner prep," he says casually, but the knowing look in his eyes says he's well aware of what he's actually doing—running interference between two of Kkangpae's most complicated relationships.

You watch Takama head for the grill, where Moon and Jeon are already setting up for dinner.

AD drops into a spot near the fire, his puffer jacket rustling against pajama pants. Only he could show up to a gang celebration dressed for a gaming marathon and still command respect.

The perks of being a genius, you guess.

"He's always like this." Yunjin whispers, leaning her pink head against your shoulder. "All grumpy but like... in a way that works?"

"Yeah." You watch AD pull out his phone, probably checking League stats. "Like he exists in his own dimension but somehow still runs cyber security for a whole criminal organization."

Eunchae sways closer, definitely past tipsy now. "He's literally just a cat in human form." She giggles. "A really smart, really angry cat who can hack the government."

"That's AD for you." J-Hope's smile is fond despite his words. "Brilliant bastard works best when we leave him alone with his computers."

The conversation drifts into lighter territory, gang members sharing stories about missions gone wrong and parties gone wild.

Someone brings up the time V tried to convince everyone he could parkour off the castle roof (he couldn't), and another mentions how AD once hacked the castle's speaker system to blast K-pop when RM pissed him off.

At some point, your eyes end up drifting to the grill again, where Jeon's rolled up his sleeves to help with the meat. The distant light catches on his silver chain, on the tattoos snaking down his arms, and—

Noooope. You take a long sip of your drink.

Tonight's about having fun with your friends, not staring at your division chief like some horny teenager.

After a couple minutes, RM's got everyone hooked on some wild story about a past operation. He's actually a good storyteller—knows exactly when to pause for dramatic effect, when to throw in a joke. His white hair glows as he gestures, painting pictures of close calls and clever escapes.

Everyone goes quiet as he hits the climax, especially the new recruits like you.

Because this is more than just a story—it's their story, really. All the shit they've been through together, all the wins and losses that made Kkangpae what it is.

Movement catches your eye as Jeon comes back from the grill, empty-handed but smelling like smoke and grilled meat. His eyes sweep the crowd before landing on you for a beat too long. You don't know why you shift in your seat.

The smell of dinner gets stronger, making your stomach growl. Moon and Takama have outdone themselves, judging by the heavenly aromas drifting over.

You stretch as you stand, joints popping after sitting so long. Everyone migrates toward the food like moths to flame, and you walk behind everyone right along Yunjin.

Once it's your turn, Takama hands you a plate with a little bow, looking stupidly proud of himself. The grill's loaded with enough food to feed an army, everything sizzling and perfectly charred.

"What'll it be?" He grins, waving at the spread. "Got spicy pork, garlic shrimp, Moon's fancy chicken..."

You're still trying to decide when Jeon appears beside you like a s̶e̶x̶y̶ stealthy shadow. The heat from the grill has nothing on the warmth he radiates like a fucking stove.

"Try the bulgogi," he says quietly, like he's sharing a secret. "Moon's got a special marinade."

You turn to him, eyebrows raised. "Yeah? That what you usually get?"

His lips quirk up slightly, pupils reflecting the firelight. "I know good food when I see it. Trust me on this one."

"Fine," you match his almost-smile. "But if it sucks, I'm blaming you."

Something flickers across his face—amusement maybe, or satisfaction. "Deal. But it won't."

Takama watches this exchange with poorly hidden surprise.

"He's right though," he adds, grinning. "Moon really outdid himself tonight."

Takama loads your plate with bulgogi and all the fixings, somehow making even serving food look elegant. You catch Jeon watching you, his dark eyes lingering on you for a hot second before snapping back to the grill.

The plate feels heavy as you turn away.

Was that—

No.

You definitely didn't just see the ghost of a smile on Jeon's stupidly p̶r̶e̶t̶t̶y̶ annoying face.

You shake your head, trying to dislodge that thought along with the weird flutter in your chest. Walk back to the bonfire, where everyone has gathered once again.

You catch AD practically drooling over his plate of meat when J-Hope strikes like a particularly aggressive mother hen. In one smooth motion, he swaps AD's feast for what looks like a garden threw up on a plate.

"What the fuck?" AD stares at his new plate of greens like it personally offended his entire family. "The hell is this shit?"

J-Hope grins, way too pleased with himself. "It's called vegetables, genius. Some of us care if you die of scurvy."

"Did I fucking ask?" AD's eye twitches. "Give me my food back before I hack your medical license."

"Not happening." J-Hope holds the meat plate higher. "Your blood work was atrocious last check. You need fiber."

AD rises from his seat like a hissing cat. "Listen here, you overgrown nurse—"

"Fucking—!" J-Hope dances backward, still holding the plate hostage. "I swear to god, you're worse than a toddler—"

"At least toddlers don't have to deal with control freak doctors!" AD lunges for the plate. "Give it back before I reprogram all the hospital equipment to play Baby Shark!"

"Try it!" J-Hope dodges. "I'm not letting you die of a heart attack at thirty just because you refuse to eat a vegetable!"

They chase each other around the fire like two cats fighting over territory, completely forgetting they're supposed to be respected Council members.

Truly, the sight of Kkangpae's scariest hacker trying to tackle their head doctor over grilled meat is... something else.

J-Hope scurries away from AD's grab, his face scrunching with frustration. "God, you're so difficult. Maybe if you ate a vegetable once in your life, I wouldn't have to babysit you!"

"Fuck off!" AD snarls. "I survived this long without your fucking helicopter parenting."

"Oh, I don't know, maybe it's thanks to my job as Chief Medical Officer?" J-Hope throws his hands up.

"Which you're gonna lose if you—that's it." AD's eyes narrow dangerously. "I'm revoking your med bay access. Have fun treating patients from the parking lot, doc."

"Are you actually insane?" J-Hope's voice rises. "You want people to die because you're throwing a tantrum over vegetables?"

"There's plenty of doctors in your division." AD's voice drips venom.

"You little—"

"Give me my damn food," AD cuts him off, eyes glinting with malice, "or I'll double your clinic hours too."

J-Hope hands the plate back with a heavy sigh. AD's victory grin would be cute if he wasn't such an insufferable brat about it. He tears into the meat like he hasn't eaten in days, and J-Hope watches with the tired resignation of someone who's fought this battle too many times.

You don't miss how V drapes himself over JM like an overly affectionate puppy, all charm in one package. His voice drops low, honey-sweet with poison underneath.

"Your hair's like moonlight on the Han River tonight, Chim."

JM flushes pink, fingers twisting the hem of his oversized cardigan. It's weird seeing the Finance Chief so f̶l̶u̶s̶t̶e̶r̶e̶d̶ vulnerable—usually he's all gentle smiles.

"Stop it, Tae," he mumbles, but there's no real protest in it.

V leans back, looking way too pleased with himself. His laugh sounds like dark chocolate tastes. "What? Can't admire how pretty you make yourself?"

"Not for you," JM says, but his lips twitch upward.

"No?" V's eyes glitter dangerously. "For the stars then? Giving them competition?"

JM shakes his head, laughing despite himself. "You're absolutely ridiculous."

"You love it though." V tilts his face skyward, looking like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. But you've seen him throw knives without blinking. "Admit it, Jimin. You'd be so bored without me."

"Maybe." JM's voice goes soft. Fond.

You watch them, these two opposite forces... It's like watching a mouse play with a snake, except the mouse knows exactly what game they're playing.

The fire makes V's face look almost tender, and you wonder if that smile is sincere at all.

The bonfire's died down to a gentle pulse now.

Most of the gang's cleared out, leaving just the Council and a few others scattered around.

You smell it in the air—woodsmoke and lingering BBQ smell, plus that weird mix of everyone's signature scents—cinnamon, sandalwood, fresh lemons.

Pine.

AD sways on his feet, drink sloshing dangerously in his hand.

"One more round?" His words blur together, eyes squinting like he's trying to focus on three J-Hopes at once.

SMACK.

J-Hope's hand connects with the back of AD's neck. "You're already wasted, dumbass. Put the glass down."

"Fuck off," AD rubs his neck, scowling like an angry kid. "I'm celebrating."

"Celebrating what? Your last functioning brain cell?" J-Hope's eyebrow shoots up. "Remember last time? When you redecorated my clinic walls?"

"That was—" AD waves vaguely, almost falling over. "Different."

"Right." J-Hope's voice drips sarcasm. "Just like when I had to carry your drunk ass upstairs while you rambled about beating RM at Mario Kart?"

"Never happened." AD tries to stand straighter, fails spectacularly. "I never lose Mario Kart. 'Specially not to that... that dimpled nerd..."

"Sure." J-Hope watches him sway with tired resignation. "I'm not playing nursemaid tonight. Last time I practically had to read you a bedtime story."

"Got there fine myself!" AD protests.

"After decorating the hallway with your dinner!" J-Hope throws his hands up. "The recruits thought someone had poisoned you!"

Everyone laughs, because watching Kkangpae's scariest hacker get mothered by their head doctor is honestly peak entertainment.

The fire catches on AD's blonde hair as he wobbles again, and you catch J-Hope tensing, ready to catch him if needed.

For all their bickering, it's kind of s̶w̶e̶e̶t̶ amusing how they look out for each other.

"Let's play truth or dare." AD's eyes gleam with drunk mischief. "Keep the party going without dying of alcohol poisoning."

Everyone shuffles closer to the dying fire, and you settle between Yunjin and Eunchae, feeling the warmth of both the fire and the vodka in your system.

"No life-threatening dares," RM warns, using his Commander Voice™ despite the slight slur in his words.

Eunchae bounces in her seat, hair vibrating with her. "I'll start!" She zeroes in on JM. "Truth or dare?"

JM fidgets with his cardigan sleeve, firelight catching on his round glasses. "Truth."

"Ever stolen from anyone here?" She leans forward, grinning.

Pink creeps across JM's cheeks. "I... maybe borrowed V's favorite lighter once? But I gave it back!"

"Knew it wasn't just misplaced." V drapes himself over JM's shoulders, smile sharp. "My little thief."

The nickname makes JM flush darker. Everyone laughs, and he quickly redirects attention to AD. "Your turn. Truth or dare?"

"Dare." AD's still rubbing his neck where J-Hope smacked him earlier. "Do your worst."

"Most embarrassing mission moment. Spill."

AD's cocky grin falters. "Fuck. Fine. Had to hide in a dumpster once. Got attacked by this demon cat for two hours straight. Came back looking and smelling like actual garbage."

You snort so hard your drink almost comes out your nose. Even Jeon's lips twitch, which is practically rolling on the floor laughing by his standards.

"Yeah, yeah." AD waves off the laughter. "V, truth or dare?"

"Dare, obviously." V's eyes glitter dangerously.

"Do your best Flower impression."

V stands with theatrical grace, straightening his posture until he looks eerily like your division chief. His voice goes sharp, nailing Chaewon's don't test me tone.

"Listen up, you worthless men. Touch my girls, I remove your hands. This is a crucial mission—no room for your masculine incompetence. Follow the plan or face consequences. I hate all of you equally." He pauses, then adds sweetly, "Except Jimin, of course."

Everyone loses it at V's impression, especially JM who's clapping like an excited seal. V takes an exaggerated bow before dropping back down next to JM.

"Not bad." Chaewon tries to hide her smile and fails. "But we'll work on that impression later."

"My turn." V's eyes lock onto RM with some kind of sharp focus he gets sometimes. "Boss man, truth or dare?"

RM sets his drink down, looking thoughtful. "Truth."

"Ever regret any decisions as our fearless leader?"

RM goes quiet. Something dark passes over his face, and you remember what J-Hope said earlier about his brother, about betrayal and loss.

"Yes." His voice comes out rough. "Leadership comes with its share of regrets."

Silence descends, only the crackling fire interrupting it. It's like momentarily, everyone is holding their breath, like they've stumbled onto something they weren't meant to see.

"But that's in the past." RM shakes it off, mask sliding back into place. "Jessi, truth or dare?"

"Dare." She sits up straighter, ready for anything.

"Dance around the fire." RM's smile turns playful again.

"Pffft. Easy."

Jessi jumps up without hesitation because of course she does. She moves like she fights—confident, though clearly powerful. Everyone cheers her on, the earlier tension dissolving into laughter.

"That was fun." She drops back into her seat, grinning. "Moon, truth or dare?"

"Truth." Moon adjusts his glasses, looking amused.

"Got any secret wine stashes in that castle of yours?"

"Not so secret now." He chuckles. "A man needs his vices, and good wine happens to be mine."

The game continues, everyone getting progressively bolder with their challenges as the alcohol flows.

You're about to call it a night when V's eyes land on you.

A dangerous sparkle glints on them, and you don't like it one bit.

"Your turn, princess. Truth or dare?"

You blame the vodka for what comes out of your mouth next.

"Dare."

The way V's smile spreads across his face makes your stomach drop. He looks like a cat that just cornered a mouse, which is never a good sign.

"Swap clothes with Jeon."

The group goes quiet. Your eyes snap to Jeon automatically—he's gone rigid, jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth. His eyebrow piercing glints as he quirks it up.

"Pick something else." Jeon's voice is sharp and direct.

"Nope." V pops the 'p', clearly enjoying this. "Rules are rules."

"This isn't—"

"What's wrong?" V cuts him off. "Scared of a little clothing swap?"

Jeon's gaze goes rigid. The fire catches his silver chain as he shifts, and you catch a whiff of pine and mint. His eyes meet yours for a split second before darting away.

"Fine." He practically spits the word. "But just the jacket."

Everyone goes quiet, heads swiveling between you and Jeon. You can practically hear V's inner thoughts as if he's considering pushing for more, but even he knows when he's pushed far enough.

Your heart does a stupid little flip when Jeon shrugs off his leather jacket. Because it's going to smell like him, you realize. Like pine and wood and s̶m̶o̶k̶e̶ whatever.

This is fine. Everything's fine.

He walks over to you, jacket finally off him—the one he practically lives in, and jesus christ—the black turtleneck underneath fits him like a second skin. Your eyes trace the way it clings to his shoulders, his chest, every muscle clearly defined under the fabric.

You peel off your hoodie before you can overthink it, though it catches in your hair because of course it does. When you finally emerge, your white turtleneck suddenly feels too tight, too revealing.

Especially when Jeon's eyes darken as they sweep over you, and his tongue flicks out to play with his lip ring.

Something hot coils in your stomach.

You try very hard not to stare at his mouth.

His gaze feels like a tongue licking down your neck, lingering where the turtleneck hugs your curves. His Adam's apple bobs, and he wets his lips again.

You catch yourself wondering what that lip ring would feel like against your—

Stop being horny around your superior, damn slut.

The night air raises goosebumps on your arms, but you barely notice. You're too busy trying not to gawk at him again, to openly stare at how his turtleneck stretches across his pecs. Your fingers itch to trace the lines of muscle you can see through the fabric.

But then V's laugh breaks through the tension like a bucket of cold water.

Right. You have an audience.

You thrust your hoodie toward Jeon, desperate to end whatever this heat is.

His fingers brush yours during the exchange, sending electricity shooting up your arm.

You slip into his jacket and immediately regret everything.

You were wrong.

It doesn't smell like pine and wood and whatever.

It smells like leather and tobacco and something wild, like pine trees after rain. Like a fresh breeze coming through the forest on an autumn morning.

Your heart hammers against your ribs as his scent wraps around you.

Jeon looks almost p̶a̶i̶n̶e̶d̶ uncomfortable as he pulls on your hoodie. His usual fluid grace is gone, movements stiff and awkward. The hoodie that drowns you barely fits across his shoulders, and something about seeing him in your clothes makes your pulse skitter.

Okay, no. This is not fine.

Because his goddamn shoulders strain against your hoodie like it's trying to contain a force of nature.

It's weird seeing him in something so... soft?

He moves, trying to adjust in the smaller piece of clothing—clearly not his size. So it rides up, revealing a strip of tattooed skin right above his waistband.

You've seen his tattoos before.

Yet, somehow, this accidental glimpse feels more i̶n̶t̶i̶m̶a̶t̶e̶ inappropriate than all your training sessions combined.

His eyes snap to yours, catching you staring. Suddenly it feels like all oxygen has been depleted. His jaw clenches, the muscles working under his skin in a way that's suddenly very distracting.

Everything feels magnified—the rise and fall of his chest under your hoodie, the flex of his fingers at his sides, the way his silver chain slightly bounces with his breathing.

The party fades to background noise, and all you can focus on is how his presence seems to fill every inch of space around you.

He looks impossibly hot, and it's unfair, really.

It's unfair how your heart pounds so loud you wonder if he can hear it. It's unfair how there's something magnetic about him tonight, something that makes you want to step closer even as your brain screams to maintain distance.

It's in his stance, his gaze, the storm brewing behind his dark eyes.

And then he speaks, low, gravelly and utterly, utterly unfair.

"Looks like it fits you better than it does me, sunshine."

It sends shivers down your spine, that nickname again. Because the way he says it? Like it melts down his lips like honey dripping right from the comb?

Not fair.

But nothing about Jeon has ever seemed fair.

Not now, not before. Not even as you two make it back to your previous sitting spots.

But you saw it—the way something flashed across his face when he said it, like he was allowing himself that tiny reprieve. Something so wild and unguarded that had disappeared so fast you almost think you had imagined it.

Truth or Dare keeps going, each round getting bolder, but you're having trouble focusing. Your brain keeps circling back to the leather jacket wrapped around you, to the scent of forest that's definitely not helping your concentration.

Jeon's eyes find yours across the fire for the hundredth time tonight. The way he's looking at you now... It's definitely different. It makes your neck burn hot.

Because it's like every time your gazes lock, the air gets a little thicker, a little harder to breathe.

"You good?" Yunjin's whisper cuts through your thoughts. She bumps your shoulder, pink hair falling in her face as she studies you with that too-knowing look of hers.

"Yeah, just thinking." You manage a smile, hoping the firelight hides how warm your face feels.

Someone then dares AD to do aegyo and nearly gets their laptop privileges revoked. You laugh, enjoying the moment with your crew.

But you can't lie to yourself. You're still stuck in this weird bubble where all you can focus on is how Jeon's jacket feels against your skin, how it carries his warmth like it's trying to brand you.

It's not long before the bonfire burns low, casting longer shadows across familiar faces. People start drifting away in twos and threes, sleepy and dizzy.

RM stretches. "Time to wrap it up. Early start tomorrow."

"Ready to go?" Yunjin tugs at your sleeve. "I'm about to pass out."

You nod, pushing yourself up on slightly unsteady legs.

The walk back to the castle feels dreamlike, caught between the quiet forest sounds and your own thundering heartbeat. You tell yourself it's just the alcohol making everything feel so intense.

Yunjin is chattering about something and you feel kinda bad—because you're not really listening. Your brain's too busy replaying every moment by the fire, every loaded glance, every touch.

Your room feels smaller somehow when you finally get there. You close the door and lean against it, trying to get your head straight. The fabric over your shoulders heavier now that you're alone, like it's carrying more than just Jeon's scent.

You shrug it off slowly, fingers catching on worn spots in the leather. The smell of pine and wood hits you again, making your stomach do that stupid little flip thing.

You don't want to analyze what that means.

Taking a deep breath (that definitely doesn't make your head spin with his scent), you lay the jacket at the end of your bed.

It looks wrong there, too dark and dangerous against your regular bedding.

You change into pajamas quickly, like you're trying to outrun your own thoughts, and the truth is the cotton feels too soft after the weight of leather, too normal after everything that happened tonight.

Sliding under the covers, your eyes drift back to the jacket.

It's just clothing, just leather and zippers and thread. It lies there, so inanimate—and yet, somehow, so full of meaning.

The castle creaks and settles around you, leaves rustling outside your window as you wait for drowsiness to drag you under.

You tell yourself the only reason you're not hanging the jacket up is because you're too tired.

goal: 300 notes. next chapter will be posted immediately AS SOON as the goal is reached. 🧚🏻 do your thing kiki nation. <3

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unicyclehippo · 10 months ago

Text

ok so i submitted a story for a competition & didn't get far but i was pretty happy with it so imma post it here for y'all. pls enjoy!

YEAR OF THE WOLF

Blood and shampoo wash pink down the shower drain. My body aches, back hot with pain. I gotta stretch more, I think, before remembering what time of month it is.

I’m not stupid, I want that to be known up top.

Tired? Yes. A bit forgetful now and then? Certainly. Overly reliant on blind optimism? Of course. Who can afford for things to go wrong these days? But stupid? No. Not about this, anyway. I’ve known for almost a decade that I’m a werewolf. I just thought if I ignored it long enough it would stop, or at least stay low on the list of important things I had to deal with—somewhere between turning thirty and the world burning down around our ears.

Still, it manages to take me by surprise each month. I see the blood, feel the shift-pull-crack of bones and vitals, the wet throb of viscera and organs, as my body reshapes itself. The wolf and I share a space not big enough for two; something must give way.

I lose time daydreaming about it. Transforming. My only plan for the day is work, maybe video games later, cooking dinner. I could call in sick. I could clear away the bathmat and towels and fall to my hands and knees and change into something bloody and terrible and wonderful, I could lay myself down on the soft carpet in the sunrays, decadent, I could leap from my balcony, powerful, and lope away into the bush off the track to explore the silver-blue of the leaves and the cathedral termite mounds, I could—

The shower pipes groan, rattle, and spit freezing water down onto me.

I don’t transform.

I towel off. The mirror shows me a human with the same soft features as ever. Shampoo suds clinging to my shoulders. Hair cut short and plastered down on chalk-white skin paler than usual. The doctor warned me low iron was a side-effect of transformation but I look myself over for another cause. Lift my arms, twist to check my back. There’s a pimple or two where my binder digs in but no injuries. I promise the doctor in my head I’ll bring it up at our next appointment.

My doctor is a careful woman, dedicated and precise. She sits primly and dresses well—her blouse is fashionable, flowery, her trousers professional and practical. She keeps notes in a leatherbound book and her thoughts securely behind her eyes. She asked me to keep track of any changes Inoticed. I pull out a crumpled receipt where I’d scrawled some notes.

tired

hungry

headaches

more dreams than usual

tired—oh I already wrote that down. still true

irritated way more by stuff?

jaw hurts?

‘Alright,’ she says, writing it down on her page about me.

I sit hunched opposite her, then fix my posture, then let my shoulders droop again, conscious of being too broad, too big. In the time it takes for her to commit a few brief notes to paper, I’m struggling not to get distracted by the lights and their electric buzz—the popping stop and start as the filaments crackle in the bulbs. My eyes wander over neat stacks of paperwork, a penholder with all the pens pointed in the same direction.

‘We’re going to order a blood test. You’re right, the fatigue and headaches could be an indicator of iron deficiency.’

‘Okay.’

‘Do you know if there’s a history?’

‘Of…iron deficiency?’

She smiles. ‘Of lycanthropy.’

The question makes my head spin. There’s been some excitement about there being some genetic predisposition to lycanthropy (unconfirmed), which half my friends were leery of, seeing the research as another way for hunters to exterminate us, and half took to romantic spirals, daydreaming about their ancestors being just like them. But the doc is asking about, like, my parents and grandparents, and it makes me laugh.

‘No. No way.’ I think harder. Is it possible? My maternal grandparents, definitely not. But my dad’s parents…I don’t know that well. ‘I could ask, maybe.’

After the three haphazard sessions we’ve had stretching across eleven months, which chiefly feature my repeated and sustained reluctance to talk, she indicates her doubt with a quiet raised brow.

It’s fair. I don’t tend to do things I don’t want to do, even if they’re important. Sometimes, especially if they’re important.

At the end of our fifteen-minute session, she walks me to the door and beneath the stench of eucalyptus-scented cleaner that makes my nose itch and head ache, I catch a whiff of her cologne. Wood pine and wild.

I think about it all day.

Has she helped me because she’s like me? The thought races ahead of me, tempting; I sprint after it. I wonder what she wears at home. Does she google boxers for bed because they seem so comfortable? Does she veer at the last moment to Boyfriend shorts! Now in satin – for HER! Or does she kick the world off at the front door next to her shoes and just…exist. Is she like me? Just a person who does things? Or is she a woman who does things? Or a person who does woman things or a woman who does womanly things or a woman who does things knowing they’re not womanly and caring or not caring? Does she splinter the cage that would contain her and let the hungry animal of her body carry her to meat and sleep and hunting and to the warmth of her partner at rest?

Is she like me?

As a kid, I wanted to take karate. My brother wanted to sing. Somehow, I ended up in the music class. It was in a demountable that creaked, off-key, with every step and stunk of the creek next door. The singing teacher had a red round face and told me not to sing too loud—I was practicing to be part of the choir, I should be part of the group. That group was made up entirely of nervous and near-silent girls who shivered with the desire above all else not to stand out. (I learned that part well.)

On the other side of school, my brother stood in karate class with a teacher who ignored him and older boys who picked on him—he was short back then, with baby fat still on his cheeks, and had a close relationship with boredom and distraction that came from being smarter than most.

Once we figured out the joke being played on us, our places switched, we made a pact to teach each other what we learned. It didn’t last. Within three lessons, I spent more time on the walk to the classroom than in class; I dawdled in the fields and by the creek, tracking beetles and digging for dinosaur bones in the mud. When I did arrive, it was twenty-five minutes late with dirt under my nails and finally the teacher told me not to show up. My brother took a faster approach and called the teacher a moron. Mum had to pick him up early from class and neither of us learned very much.

My gran lives hours away and I never got the impression she liked me much. I think about sitting in her drawing room, the sticky-sugar smell from bottles of fancy port on the shelf, and her sitting opposite, eyes hawklike, mouth pursed and tongue sharp. I don’t visit her. I think about asking my dad instead and, while he does like me, he doesn’t like werewolves and I’m not ready to risk exile.

I get my blood drawn. The doctor prescribes iron pills and congratulates me on my teeth coming in.

My mother doesn’t like my sharp teeth or short hair or the way I sit. I want to tell her I didn’t do anything to my teeth; that if anyone is to blame for the handsome jut of my canines, the neat, careful way they can tear flesh from bone, it’s her. She made me. But saying stuff like that only opens up the room for more questions.

‘Do you like it? Looking like that?’

It will hurt her if I say yes. When you are a daughter, wanting to change means you don’t want to become your mother, which means you don’t love her.

I can’t say no.

The wolf stirs. It wants me to say yes. It loves fiercely and loves me most of all. But it isn’t the one who has to live here—work, be a daughter, a sister. It won’t be the one who has to listen to my mother tell me to be sure before I tell anyone else because there’s no going back and people will hate me for it, just for being, and that she can’t support me doing that to myself, that it’s against the god she’s never thought twice about, and has someone talked me into it?

I’m not ready for that.

‘It’s just teeth,’ I say.

She shakes her head but doesn’t ask any more questions. I think she’s scared I’ll tell her the truth.

am i a coward?

My friend Luna takes a long while to answer.

While I wait, I wash the dishes I’ve been “soaking” for three days; the kitchen smells of dish soap when I’m done and the world is a little cleaner. Outside, my balcony is drenched in sunlight. I make my coffee and sit out there, turning my nose to the wind. Somewhere close by, someone is cooking chicken loaded up with paprika. It’s more accurate to say they’re burning chicken. Next door, my neighbour digs through the rich dirt of their garden and plants rosemary and lavender.

My phone lights up.

No, she says. Then, Why do you ask?

the whole werewolf thing. i won’t transform, wont tell my family.

This reply is much faster. Definitely not.

i feel like one

First of all, you transform when it’s right & as much or little as you want & that changes from person to person. Second, being safe is not cowardly.

yeah

Do you want to tell them?

The coffee is gorgeously strong. After a few gulps, I feel like someone has brushed the cobwebs out of my head.

it’s like. there’s this version of me in their heads that isn’t real yknow. like im not a person im a cloud in person shape & sometimes they get a glimpse of my hand or whatever. & its safe inside the cloud its harder to hit me but . they cant see me

sorry i know this is teenager shit

In the distance, a fire alarm starts to blare.

No it’s good. I get it, obviously. And you know my parents were awful when I told them but we go running every month now. The question isn’t “am I a coward”. The question is, are you prepared to confront that version of yourself in their heads? Are you ready for it to change?

i wish i knew. how it would change i mean. bc i feel like if i knew for Sure that they would take it badly then that’s one thing & i could deal w that. & if i knew theyd be fine w it i could deal with That but. i don’t know. & its freaking me out. but it’s also like…ok i don’t live w them, i’ve got a job, idont rely on them for anything. what real bad consequences could there be?

Dots pop up at the bottom of the screen. They disappear after a minute, then reappear, as Luna takes her time to answer. Finally, she says,

By announcing the real version of yourself, you open yourself up to vulnerability. Things that didn’t bother you before will feel uncomfortable or hurt because it touches you. And when you change the way that you exist in the eyes of people who are supposed to love you unconditionally, you invite the possibility that they will reveal the love was in fact conditional & not for you, that you somehow failed to live up to the person they imagined you to be

mate i’m already scraping the bottom lol

You’re wonderful, Luna says, because she can tell when a joke isn’t really a joke. Her worst trait. If they can’t see that, it doesn’t mean it’s not true.

yeah

You don’t have to tell everyone. You could pick whoever would take it best & get someone on your side. When I take too long to answer, Luna sends a string of photos—her dogs, her family in matching hiking shirts, the view of the nearly full moonon her side of the world. I’m on your side, she says. Always. Let me know how it goes.

The full moon burns, beckons. We are both gloriously awake this time. I have never been more awake. The sky is a black lake and when it rains we taste space and stars and smog. The stairs are slick with the rain. On all fours we are sure, quick, eager! The grass is waiting for us! Splendid! Everything is incandescent in silver, including me. The grass—dew-wet, green scent full in our nose—invites us to roll in it, sticks its seedlings to our fur, tagalongs on our adventure. We run! Smell everything! ticklegrass wetmoss possum pee BUG rough brick mud SPIKY plant big tree lavender dog smell road gutter old leaves bird feathers vinegar shARP on my tongue bag crinkles between our teeth

The days’ heat still smoulders on the surface of the road. We are standing in the centre of it, massive, when a car crests the hill. It stops, engine rumbling and blue-glare lights illuminating us. It waits for us to cross the road before driving on. The driver stares from their seat. In one easy jump, we clear the fence and disappear.

Three more streets and the road ends. The world is huge, bigger than I could have imagined. There’s dirt here! dirt mud rocks beetles scuffling under the leaves koala musk leads to claw marks at the base of trees.

The wolf likes it when I’m awake. It wants to show me the world. Look, its questing nose says, look what you miss out on when you sleep.

It takes us to a termite mound and we listen to them sing.

We stay out all night, trekking through the pocket of national park. I am the biggest thing in the forest. Nothing frightens me. We find a creek filled with every fascination the world has to offer. Ten thousand wet stones, bottle caps, an ill-tempered fish.

When the sun rises, I am sore and covered in blood. I call my brother to pick me up. I stand by the edge of the park to wait for him; at the bottom of the hill, the highway stretches out like a grey branch, cars buzzing along it like bugs. A firefly splits off from it, flying towards me.

The yellow of the headlights cuts through the trees. Inside the car, my brother jumps when he sees me and the light reflecting off my eyes. The wolf is still awake and we move fast and strong to the passenger side door.

He knows.

I can tell. Smell it on him, see it in his uneasy posture. He knows and still I can’t say it. It feels like I’ve swallowed a bird whole, alive. It trembles, stuck in my throat. When I think about talking it pecks at my tongue and if I open my mouth, if I try to explain, he will see my bloody tongue and the bird and he’ll see me all wrong, all the ugly brutish parts of me I’d like to keep hidden, if I can.

The wolf is still awake. It isn’t scared; it is massive and powerful, it can bite through anything, it can run forever without getting tired. We can. And if there is ever a time to talk to my brother, to let him know who I am, it is now.

I do not want him to think I am a bloody-mouthed girl.

I want him to know I am not a coward. I am myself, a werewolf, alive and finally happy for it.

The wolf yawns. I catch a glimpse of my teeth in the mirror, sharp.

‘Hey.’ Of all the ways to break a very tense silence, it’s not the worst. ‘Thank you. For picking me up.’

He risks a look at me, away from the road. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah.’

A muscle tics in his cheek as he chews on silence. He’s upset that I won’t say more. So am I. I want to. The bird is in the way. I have always had to trick myself into talking; it is never easy, not in doctor’s office, not in my parents’ home, not in the forest, or my brother’s car.

We slow. Ahead, the traffic lights paint the dashboard red. The car shivers around us, idling. I can feel it shake through my bare feet, dirty and scratched up from the rocks, pressed to the rubber floor mats.

The first word comes out like a pulled tooth.

‘I—need to say.’ He glances my way. I think, briefly, about jumping out the window but the light turns green so I can’t. I have to talk instead. ‘I’m a werewolf.’

He drives. I realise he must have been waiting to talk, really talk, because this is the first time I’ve been in his car without music playing.

‘I think the proper term is lycanthrope,’ he says, finally.

‘Dude.’

‘Sorry. Just, medically speaking...’ He shakes his head. Drums his fingers against the wheel. ‘How long?’

‘I dunno.’ I do. A decade of knowing and doing nothing about it. Almost a year of thinking very hard about it and doing slightly more.

He knows me better than my doctor; both his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, entirely unconvinced.

‘I’m still me,’ I tell him, because that’s what everyone says in books and movies. I guess it’s what you’re supposed to say. What I want to say is that I’m more me than ever. What I want him to say is thank you, and I’m his favourite person, and that he understands how hard it was for me to share but he’s proud of me. But I would have to ask for that and the bird in my throat won’t budge.

‘Okay. Wow. So… Are you going to move? Change your name? Are you going to get claws? A tail?’

‘Okay, never ask me that again.’ He laughs. ‘And no. I don’t think so. I kind of like that it’s not super obvious. It’s no-ones business but mine.’

‘And mine now.’ I think he’s smiling, a little. ‘Why did you tell me? If you don’t want anyone to know?’

I wish I was still a wolf. If I were a wolf, I would howl and people would understand. The tenor, the tremble, the shivering cadence. There would be no need for picking the right words, no eye contact, no consequences for an ill-timed joke, no shame for feeling everything so big and weird, like there’s a forest in my chest and a songbird choir blocking up my throat. My hands itch as the claws retract under my skin and I fight to keep from scratching, fidgeting. I turn to stare out the window.

To his reflection in the glass, I say, ‘I want you to like me.’

‘Of course I like you—’

‘I’m louder like this,’ I whisper. He looks unconvinced, which is fair. I’m still hiding. ‘Messy. Bigger and stubborn and hairier and angrier. It’s not the wolf. I’m like that too. I wanna be like that. Real. I’m so—I’m so tired. All the time. I don’t want to pretend anymore. I want to be me and I want you to like me as me.’

My back aches as everything in me crunches back into place. The wolf is asleep and it has left me alone with my words and my brother.

‘I really love you,’ he tells me as he pulls up outside my house. He puts his hand warm on mine. He doesn’t flinch at the blood. He hugs me close. Plucks a leaf from my hair.

My brother offers to come with me to tell our parents. It probably would have been smart but I’m still wary. If it goes bad…I don’t want him to see that.

‘How did it happen?’ my mother asks when I’m done, like it’s something you can catch.

For a moment, I entertain the thought of lying.

Do you remember my uni friend? Verne? Well he’s part of a pack and if he brings in three new werewolves over three months, and they each bring in three new werewolves, he gets a bonus. Why? Are you interested in this exciting new life opportunity?

I can’t joke about it yet. Worst outcome, she thinks I’m serious about it being a some kind of cult. Less worse but still bad outcome, she thinks I’m being unserious about the whole thing. Nevermind that I have thought about it every day for ten years, this inevitable confrontation, this moment where I have to explain myself, defend my existence, back up my claims with proof and research like it’s my thesis. I tell her,

‘It just made sense.’

She likes that less than she would have if I’d joked about it, gets all stiff and pinched.

‘It doesn’t make sense to me. I don’t understand where this is coming from—you’re human. You’re not –‘ She shakes her head. ‘Maybe if you left the house more often. These things you’re imagining about yourself, if you were around more people…you’re not like that. You’re lovely,’ she insists. ‘You’re not that.’

It should hurt to hear. It probably does, in a way I’ll feel five years down the line, and I’ll wish that I had bit back, told her that just because she thinks there’s something wrong with me doesn’t make it true.

My dad hasn’t said anything.

When I look at him, he’s staring down at his plate. He eats everything on it, even the tomatoes he usually tries to hide under the broccoli stems. Then he stands, puts it in the dishwasher, and walks away.

‘It’ll pass,’ my mother tells me. ‘You’ll come to your senses. This won’t last—don’t do anything permanent. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.’

Don’t give in.

Don’t transform.

Don’t smile wide enough to show your teeth.

Don’t tell anyone else.

I realise I’ve been trying my hardest not to do anything, like being nothing would be preferable to being me. When did I get the idea that to starve would be better than anyone seeing me hungry?

‘I don’t want to hide anymore.’

‘But it’s no-one’s business,’ she insists. ‘I don’t understand why anyone needs to know, I mean, I don’t go around telling people I’m human.’

The words sound different coming from her mouth but they’re the same.

It’s no-ones business but mine. That’s what I told my brother and I thought I meant it but now I think I was still scared. Biting off bits of myself before anyone pulled out the silverware and cut it from me.

There’s a bird in my throat and the little bastard is choking me. It’s not fair. I don’t want to die without saying what I mean for once.

I bite down on it, blood between my teeth.

‘It’s not the same thing,’ I snap. There’s a gorgeous growl to my words I’ve never heard before. No one told me that would happen. I love it. I love the sound of my voice. ‘No one tries to kill you because you’re human.’

‘Exactly!’

When I stand up fast, chair scraping against the floor, she freezes. Caught between telling me to pick up the chair first and not knowing how to talk to a monster in her daughter’s skin.

It hadn’t occurred to me that telling the truth wouldn’t change just me.

Staring back at my mother, I find I don’t much like the woman I see. If that’s what awaited me, I’m glad to have changed. The world is huge and beautiful and painful and I am kinder, stronger, hardier for it.

I pick up my bag from the floor.

‘I’m the same person, it’s just now you know I’m a werewolf. When we went out for lunch last week? Werewolf. When I got you groceries when you were sick? Werewolf. Every birthday, holiday, every vacation we’ve had since I was nineteen? Werewolf.’

She looks sick. Puts a hand on the counter to steady herself.

When I get home, I’m going to curl up in my closet for a week. The bird is going to come back any second now with backup. Eagles, this time. ‘I’ve had a really long time to think about this and you haven’t so I’m - I’ll give you time. But you should know that I’m happy and healthy and safe. All the things you said you wanted for me.’

As I leave her house, maybe for the last time, I hope she’ll call. I don’t know if she will.

I have been sleeping better and dreaming more. In my dreams, I am always the same. I have a wolf head, with sharp teeth and keen eyes. I sing with a powerful voice that has unsettled for centuries. I cannot see my pack but I can hear them out there, howling. My body is the same; the only difference are the claw marks across my flat chest, red and raw and careful. I am not dead, only transformed.

#tagging my stories #original fiction #werewolves my beloveds.......

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fortheloveofkonig · 2 years ago

Note

Hello, hope you're having a good day/night

I was wondering if I could request the 141 x Male reader, they know alot of medical like they use their knowledge of the human body against anyone whom threatens them (or people the care about). They aren't a medic are doctor parday but have extensive knowledge of the field that helps the team. Seem cold uncaring and ruthless but if anyone of them is injured its like a total switch of 'mom bear mode' checking them over the gentle hands and worry.

(Kinda of trope of don't mess with the doctor lol)

Summary: TF 141 reacts to Reader who knows a frightening amount of medical knowledge.

Note: I'm going to do this as more of a headcanons type of post ^^ hope this is good enough! ^^ I did 95% of this all in the last 2 hours

Content: Medical speak, Injuries, Slight Torture, Slightly Bad Medical Research, But I Did Research. Roach Talks.

Word Count: 1085

TF 141 x Knowledgeable in Medic Field M! Reader

Ghost

Probably first heard about your knowledge from Soap talking to him about how terrifying it is to see it come into play

Doesn't believe him.

You've always been good at what you do but have never shown any previous knowledge or interest in the medical field so, who can blame him?

There was also no way you could've went to medical school unless you were years above your usual education range

He finally sees it come into play when you two were 'interrogating' someone.

"If you're gonna stab, don't do it right there. Price said he needs to stay alive."

Ghost looks at you, annoyed. "I've stabbed many people and seen many people survive stab wounds of surrounding areas."

"In lower places of the abdomen and with quicker medical care, if you do it there" You point to where he had the knife, pointed at the tied up man's skin. "It could puncture an intestine and we will be fucked. If you want to stab, move the knife below the belly button...about right... right there. Do not remove the knife once it pierces through."

He did as you said, with questions, but still followed your lead.

From then on he watched everything you did, even noticing that you took care of some of the rookies that ended up with minor cuts and damage that wasn't enough to bother the medics with.

Needless to say, he also ended up coming to you for some patch ups, mostly when he wanted to keep his new damage a secret from Price.

He ended up finding it kind of hot during the interrogation thing so he often asked to do things like that with you again.

Soap

Honestly, probably figured out about your medical knowledge after he was being a dumbass with explosives and almost got hurt.

"Go change into some shorts and a tank top." Your voice was in a serious tone as you went to grab a nearby first aid kit.

"Already wanting to see me strip?"

You just glared at him until he actually left and did what was told.

Despite having only a few scratches, you still cleaned them up as best as you could.

You also went on a rant about it too, about how dumb he was

"Do you realize how dumb you are? What if you actually made a big explosion and a piece of shrapnel flew and hit one of the carotid arteries in your neck?

"My What?"

"Do you realize how fast you would've died? Why weren't you wearing any protective gear?"

"I'm pretty bad at forgetting protection."

If looks could kill, he'd be dead.

That was not the last time you had to clean his wounds, he seems to be a magnet for them.

Asks you more about medical stuff, just to get an idea on how much you know.

You know a lot.

Unsure at this point if he hurts himself in new ways just to hear you yell at him for what dumb way he could've gotten himself killed this time.

Gaz

He falls out of helicopters a lot, that's the truth. What's one more time?

This time (and somehow not the last?) he ended up hurting his foot, you were there the whole time when it happened.

When the both of you were both safe in the safety of a van, you got him to put his leg up so you could check it.

"This is stupid" He mutters, "It's nothing more than it has been in the past."

"Shush, let me concentrate" You mutter feeling around his bootless ankle, nodding your head when you hear him hiss at a pointed touch.

"Any pain when you walk on it?"

"Possibly....yes."

"I'm gonna say it's a sprain for now but I think we should take you to the infirmary after we get back to base. Doesn't seem dislocated. Possible fracture though."

It was just a sprain

Was surprised when you spoke fluent...doctor to the doctor.

Honestly felt like a little kid in the doctor's office, watching his parent's converse with the Doctor telling them what was wrong.

Wouldn't have it any other way.

Price

Always knew, almost nothing gets by him unnoticed

Was probably one of the reasons he wanted you on the task force.

He knows how soap and gaz the boys are

Has you teaching rookies how to probably put a tourniquet on.

"What the fuck are you doing? That's not how I taught you."

The rookie you were speaking to just looked down at the dummy that they were working on and the tourniquet, "It looks-"

"Terrible! He's still bleeding out! Retry it."

Definitely has to sit in on these sessions, some rookies have complained to him that you take it too far.

You always just use the excuse that if those were real people and not training dummies, they'd be at fault for letting them die.

He agrees with you.

The rookie looks over at Price.

"Get to it. He told you to retry it. The man is bleeding out."

Mostly just sits in because it's less complaints now that he is showing he agrees with you in front of everyone.

Roach

This fucker needs a friend that has medical knowledge

Much like Soap, it seems like he is a wound magnet

Was probably the first of the 141 that you had to go full protective, medical knowledge out and work on him.

Man's like a tank too, no matter what the day brings to him it seems he's just able to walk it off

You don't let him

"You're limping, sit down."

He just waves it off, "'m good."

"Like hell you are." You walk up to him and grab his wrist, dragging him to a nearby chair and pushing him onto it. "Stay or I'll have Ghost lay on you."

Does not stay.

You cannot get Ghost to lay on him.

You just end up pelting pillows at him until he joins into a pillow fight, and you both end up getting exhausted.

"I'll rest right here."

"Good."

Stubborn but still okay with medical help

Often comes to you with oddly specific questions.

"Hypothetically, if a car blew up in the near vicinity of where I was at, what is the possible health issues that could arise?"

"Well, burn marks obviously, depending on the distance it could be any degree. If it was enough to knock you over, then a possible concussion. Depending if you hit the ground and hard enough, possible broken or fractured bones. Not to even mention the possible pieces of metal and glass flying, and just blast trauma in general. Could cause damage to internal organs with enough force."

"Okay, so...hypothetically, if that happened, I should go to the infirmary?"

"Roach, were you next to a car when it blew up?"

"..."

"Gary???"

You immediately dragged him to the infirmary.

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charmedreincarnation · 1 year ago

Text

Hey, guys! I've been receiving a ton of messages in response to my last post. It's reminding me of how I first discovered shifting. I feel like doing a little story time since Ive just passed the three-year mark of my discovery, and I've been reminiscing with friends about it.

I remember being in a very dark place when I stumbled upon shifting. I was depressed, and very suicidal. Yet, there was this unshakeable optimism inside me that I was meant for an extraordinary life. Despite my mental state, I had a lot of knowledge of subliminals and the law of attraction (-_-). These gave me hope, but they weren't enough tbh. I didn't want to attract my dream life through practicing gratitude or becoming a magnet for my desires or whatever. Nor did I want to have to listen to subliminals for years on end to achieve my goals. My list of desires was so long, and I needed everything to change that going step by step and waiting years for each one to manifest just wasn't feasible.

But I refused to give up. One day, after a particularly hard day of being sad per usual, I searched on Quora for something like "fastest most powerful subliminals on YouTube ever" (Y’all 😭😭). Among the recommended sub creators, I found a video called "Desired Life: Reality Shifting". The description promised everything I had ever wanted: waking up with all your desires fulfilled permanently in short. It piqued my curiosity so much. Could I really just wake up with my dream life, family, house, wealth, all based on my scripts and imagination?

Growing up, I was a heavy maladaptive daydreamer. From ages 10-17, I created alternate lives in my head, telling myself I would go there someday. I was always doing SATs (State Akin to Sleep), and I think that's what kept me from ending it all. I was constantly in the wish fulfilled state, even though I didn't know what that was at the time.

Back to my story, I went into the comments of that video and came across a guy who claimed that after a week of using this subliminal, he woke up with a new life as a multi-millionaire living in his dream penthouse. I messaged him, and he gave me his Instagram which showcased his luxurious life. He had what seemed like a perfect relationship, he was very attractive, had so many cars, and travelled 24/7 while having a six figures amount of followers. He was living proof that this wasn't just scripting. Also the law of attraction community is known for their mad expensive coaching.. like hundreds of dollars per hour for questions and he was answering it all for free something I didn’t see the law of attraction community. And I talked to him for hours! He never got mad, he had proof, and he was kind, proof and the behavior of someone who really had mastered the art of life.

After our conversation, I spent the next couple of months doing research. I found numerous stories about glitches in the matrix, accidental shifting, people entering parallel realities, and eventually, shifting communities on platforms like Amino and Reddit. It was stuff I already believed in and did in my imagination; I just didn’t know there was a term for it.

Then I got reminded of a memory that I had seriously repressed bc it was so fucking weird. When I was 6 and my brother was 3, we were absolutely obsessed with dodo birds. One day, we were outside playing, and on god time seemed to stop. Out of nowhere, a dodo bird appeared. I know you’re probably like “maya be so fr rn you were a kid” but no, This wasn't just our young imaginations running wild - there was a bird that was huge, dinosaur-like, exactly how dodos are described in books and pictures we had.

Then things got weirder. Suddenly it started raining eggs. Big, large eggs everywhere it was so gross and my brother and I were a mess. We were young, sure, but not stupid. We knew this wasn't normal. My brother and I rushed inside to tell our dad. When I managed to drag him outside, he was furious, accusing me of throwing eggs everywhere. To this day, he tells the story of the time I "trashed the backyard with eggs." And every time, I'm like, "Dad, where would I get that many eggs?" We didn’t have eggs but so he assumed I stole them and we went inside for hours and it was magically cleaned. So he also tells the story of how responsible I am and how I took accountability for my actions even as a child. I didn’t clean that shit bro and I tell him that too and he just laughs it makes me so mad.

My brother, who knows I'm into reality shifting (though he doesn’t really believe in it), can't explain that day either. He often shrugs it off as a "glitch in the matrix," which honestly, well no duh it is a shift dummie. He does believe in manifesting but only bc he has seen me use it and he experiences the good things I manifest as well. They’re the same thing anyways but that isn’t the point

The reason I'm bringing up this bizarre childhood memory is because during my months of research into shifting, I found countless stories of accidental shifts, people entering the void, entering parallel universes, time glitches, examples of the Mandela effect first hand, glitches in the matrix and etc. It was like uncovering a myriad of experiences that confirmed what I already believed: we can change and choose our reality. I just didn’t know the phenomena had a name. Obviously in the future I came across other things like the law of assumption, the void state, etc etc but this was where it started.

I wish I had saved all those fascinating stories, posts, and blogs. I might go back and compile everything I found because they were so real and enlightening. It will probably take forever tho if I do choose to do that, but I think it's worth sharing.

In the meantime, check out this accounts of accidental shifts that my friend shared with me this account https://instagram.com/tessicavision?igshid=OGQ5ZDc2ODk2ZA== based off the Glitch in the Matrix subreddit which is also a goldmine of people experiencing similar phenomena. It helped me make sense of my own experiences and might do the same for you.

I don’t want this to be too long and I already got to the point I think! but regardless stay curious and realize you’re really not that special. I mean ofc you are, i mean this is not some tumblr thing teens girls discovered or created and isn’t even limited to “spiritually/manifesting inclined people” I think at the beginning of my journey people talking about accidental shifts and such, inspired me more than purposeful success stories because they really have no reason to lie and they were looking for answers just like I was.

#law of assumption #manifesation #manifesting #reality shifting #shiftblr

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olderthannetfic · 6 months ago

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So, you mentioned low standards of research in podcasts. I don't listen to podcasts or watch a lot of videos about fandom analysis, but I have seen error corrections happening in the wild for what I have listened to, so I can only imagine how annoying it is when you know your shit.

Do you have any resources that come to mind as things everyone who likes fandom should be comfortable with, or specific essays on uniquely important fandoms (such as Sherlock Holmes or Star Trek) that everyone should read? Obviously the OTW resources are up there; what else?

Aside from resources, do you think there are any skills that are especially vital for getting to the bottom of fandom trends? Interview skills are probably pretty high up there.

Any pitfalls you see a lot of young fans falling into?

(I do a lot of fandom history research. It is the thing that gives me joy in fandom; other people like shipping or AUs, I like my little mini-anthropology sandbox and watching how ideas spread. I'm not necessarily good at it, but it's fun!)

Well... it's the usual things.

For example, a lot of fans claim to love fandom stats, but the ones that get passed around come from like three people. The people doing those stats, including me, don't usually have a statistics background, which doesn't automatically make them bad, but it really seems like people are just trusting anything with a pie chart.

We've recently seen people discover that those year-end AO3 ship stats have a seriously weird methodology. They don't show the thing their fans are actually trying to find out. People were pissed. But most of the time, they don't even bother asking what the methodology is or trying to do anything themselves.

There's far too much sitting back and waiting for some BNF to spoon feed one publicly-available information.

The big failings aren't usually the math itself but, of course, not knowing what question to ask, so it pertains to history research, not just stats.

You'll see a lot of stuff on shipping that looks at AO3 because AO3 shipping numbers are easy to pull... But AO3 shipping numbers don't just happen to be easy to pull: that is both an effect and a cause that is directly related to AO3's content. Someone interested in meta shouldn't be asking "What do AO3's numbers show?" as their first question. They should be asking "Why is this metadata available or not available and what does that mean on a sociological level?"

Thing two is the eternal I Have Apparently Never Heard of Anime problem. A fuckton of people theorizing about fandom trends seem to know fucking nothing about whole massive sectors of fandom or treat them as afterthoughts. This is okay if you're writing a history of Media Fandom. It is criminally stupid if you're trying to talk about what makes a piece of media have fic when another doesn't, what kinds of websites make fandoms take off, etc. Those kinds of broad questions need a broad understanding of what's out there.

It's not anime-specific, and I'm not asking for a high degree of knowledge.

I have routinely had people tell me that best friend ships and mystery/crime as a genre aren't popular, and that's why AO3 has this or that pattern... Meanwhile, buddy cops are the bedrock of oldschool slash fandom and make up basically all of the longest-running Western m/m fandoms that aren't Star Trek. CSI slop tends to have legions of future canon het shippers, and they make plenty of fanworks. It's just that some of this is more visible on FFN or older places, not AO3.

I'm always seeing things like someone speculating about how this and that anime fandom thing or bit of mid-00s FFN community drama led to this other thing on AO3, not realizing that AO3 came out of LJ Western fandom slash culture. To them, FFN is so central that it must be the main reference point, not the bajillion and one archives AO3 founders ran or Usenet or mailing lists or LJ.

I once saw someone asking on twitter about where a prominent Ranma fic might have been posted in the mid-90s. People claiming "My professor is an authority!" came out of the woodwork in droves to blither about K/S zines and then LJ. Not only was this entirely wrong, but the right answer was blindingly obvious if you knew enough to interpret the google results. I can only assume that the person tweeting had never heard of Usenet and didn't recognize the acronym for the big anime fanfic group that literally everything like this was first posted to.

I'm talking people insisting that fandom only goes for white characters when it's very obvious that fandom goes for majority leads who are not othered. All the bawwing in the world about "People assume anime characters are white" won't get rid of The Untamed or Kpop thirsters or whatever.

I'm talking sweeping pronouncements about gender and fanfic writers where the person hasn't even heard of FIMFiction or SpaceBattles or Dark Lord Potter cheesefests.

I've been in fandom for a long time, but I wasn't in all these parts, and I wasn't around for 80s zines. You don't need deep knowledge until you pick a research topic. But it's shocking how little shallow, broad knowledge a lot of people have when they're writing their Theory Of All Of Fandom History.

People are stupid as shit about survivorship bias, and fandom history is no exception. They're also dumb in the opposite direction, assuming that the thing they like now has always existed in this exact form.

For example, someone got mad at Fanlore for supposedly not documenting the history of f/f zines. Others have searched and searched for the zines of their old show they got into last year and are bewildered to not find any. The reality is that Fanlore editors are attempting to document every Media Fandom zine and have combed through old adzines looking for any mention of anything. Because of the methods of distribution—because it was expensive—small fandoms often had no zines at all.

Femslash fandom doesn't seem to have gotten enough critical mass to do much until Xena. The internet has really democratized things, but even the early internet was still somewhat in that old mindset where only certain popular things have a fandom. I think Yuletide itself, which started in 2003, really helped spread the idea of rare-but-existing fandoms being a thing. FFN and perhaps some other multifandom archives like Media Miner played a huge role.

Nowadays, we think of fic as just how you respond to media, any media, even if there are only two fics for that one car commercial, but that isn't how people saw things in every era—or at least it's not how fandom infrastructure worked. A lot of the time, the big hosting spots were single-fandom archives, often with restrictive content rules. Finding somewhere to post a m/m/f OT3 fic used to be hard. Never mind early zines when photocopiers didn't even exist yet and you had to sell out your print run of 500 to make a go of it.

All good research starts with a lot of preliminary investigation to figure out what you're even trying to look for.

Actually bothering to look for fans talking about their own history or casually chatting with your interview subjects before the formal interview will put a person miles ahead of many of the cringeworthy fandom ~papers~ I've seen.

The biggest mistake people make is going "Okay, these numbers aren't perfect, but some numbers are better than no numbers".

Bullshit.

As soon as there's a pie chart of the false numbers, everyone's brain turns off and they never look at the chart subtitle, never mind the research notes.

Bad numbers are often worse than no numbers.

Look at the logic behind the methodology first. Look at the social context. Basic understanding of human nature and familiarizing oneself with the shape and hangout locations of a community will get you most of the way there before you sit down for a specific interview or try to collect any specific numbers.

None of this is a fandom thing. Research is research. It's just that most people think "research" means watching a tiktok that the algorithm likes and were never taught how to evaluate a source for reliability.

Evaluating sources is a skill. I had explicit lessons on it in school. Lots of people don't, and that sucks.

Honestly, watching the more thoughtful debunking content on non-fandom topics, like Miniminuteman's stuff on pseudo-archaeology or Dan Olson's... everything, is a good window into critical thinking, and that's most of what's missing from bad fandom history.

But more than any of that, more is more. Not the crap stats, but the narrower, more personal accounts, the interviews. The more fans who investigate their little corner that isn't the same old AO3 site-wide "Why is there so much m/m?" ship stats or the same canned "Everything comes from K/S" history, the better.

What I object to is not amateur efforts but efforts that pull from the same small pool of data or that just reblog a tiny handful of supposed authorities.

If people are going to read just one thing... hmm... go try to look up a history of rec.arts.anime.creative, not because I think it's the most important fandom history out there but because it's at the nexus of things a lot of current fandom history work miss.

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1moreff-creator · 5 months ago

Text

Okay listen, listen. Eden's Garden CH1 was great and I loved it and I'll make a more detailed analysis post about it at some point. And Eva in particular is fantastic and my favorite character. There's just- There's just a little, little issue I have with her FTEs, and if I don't talk about it I'm gonna explode.

Spoilers for P:EG CH1 and Eva's FTEs.

CW: I am about to be a Massive Fucking Nerd on main.

This post was originally going to be about how Eva's papers, the way she describes them, sound like they kinda suck. But then I realized that the way she describes the Riemann zeta function… is just wrong???? Like, it doesn't converge to- EVA WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SAYING?!?!?!?!

Like, look, I don't think "Eva sucks at writing papers actually” is the conclusion I'm meant to reach after doing her FTEs. I'm also pretty sure the mistakes she makes when describing the Riemann zeta function (henceforth "zeta function” for brevity) are just mistakes on the writers’ part, which is fine because that thing is very confusing.

And to be clear, Eva being bad at writing papers doesn't mean she's actually bad at science. I mean, she apparently solved the goddamn Riemann Hypothesis, and doesn't even think it's that big a deal!

Eva, sad [3rd FTE]: They'll put it on my gravestone: here lies the girl who could barely solve Riemann's stupid hypothesis.

(Thank you Ani from youtube for uploading these things it makes citation so much easier <3)

Girliepop if I solved a problem that's stumped mathematicians for over a hundred years (which carries a million dollar prize btw), you bet your fucking ass I want that on my gravestone! And look, I know that this is not necessarily due to her doing more impressive stuff in mathematics. That it's more so because she's internalized what other people think about her skills, and since a lot of people erroneously believe math is uncool she doesn't think this is as big a deal as it is. But the fact that she managed to solve this thing at all, not to mention at eighteen years old, already puts her in contention for best mathematician of the damn century. And that's incredible, because math is badass.

In short, Eva's cool and a great mathematician. But the way she talks about her other work, the papers she wishes got more recognition, makes me really doubt her actual skill as a writer of these papers. Let me explain.

There are three papers Eva mentions writing, or thinking about writing, across her FTEs. One about literature, another about lightspeed travel, and one about the Riemann zeta function.

Eva [1st FTE]: Earlier this year, I wrote a whole paper on an obscure subgenre of Western speculative fiction… I spent weeks on it, expecting it to receive a lot of attention from literary critics…

Eva [1st FTE]: I could write a research paper on the theoretical possibility of lightspeed travel, but no one would care, because…

Eva [4th FTE]: …I wrote a paper about how you can use tabletop gaming to understand [the Riemann zeta function].

Now, I can't say anything about the literature paper, because she gives no details on it. I also don't know enough about literature to know how long it usually takes to write papers on it, so I'll take her word for it that working for weeks on it is notable.

For the hypothetical paper about the "theoretical possibility of lightspeed travel", I have my doubts, but she also doesn't give enough details about what that paper would entail for me to definitively say anything about it. We'll get back to this one, though.

Meanwhile, the paper she gives the most details on is the Riemann zeta function one, and… yeah that one's trash.

There’s two reasons I say that. One is the technical issue with the description she gives, which basically boils down to “there’s severe inaccuracies in her explanation and also she just straight up gets some things wrong,” and is extremely nerdy and math heavy to explain; and the other is a much more fundamental problem with the very thesis of the paper, which doesn’t require math to explain, but I’ll leave for later.

I’ll start with the technical side and the things she gets wrong about the zeta function. I’ll try to make this accessible for non-math nerds, but fair warning, this is pretty difficult math so I can only do so much. That includes keeping to the tabletop analogy Eva used in the spirit of the thing.

By the way, take everything I'm about to say with a grain of salt. I'm a third year Physics major, so while I know way more math than the average person, I am by no means an expert. I am liable to get things wrong. In fact, I actually didn't know anything about the zeta function or the Riemann hypothesis before seeing these FTEs, I just researched them because I got curious about the Riemann hypothesis after seeing it show up in not one, but two fangans I've seen (it has a cameo in DR Despair Time if you're curious). However, even though I'm not an expert, I think I know enough to definitively say Eva's very wrong about a few things.

Lots of math incoming, TL;DR after the next red title

As a refresher, this is a paraphrased version of what she explains.

Eva (Paraphrased) [4th FTE]: Take 1, ½, ⅓, ¼, and so on for infinity, and pretend they are characters in a tabletop game (TTG). An enemy casts a status effect on your denominators so that they are all raised to the power of p, where the value of p is decided by dice roll. Now your characters are 1, 1/2ˆp, 1/3ˆp, etc. For your turn, you add all of your characters together, and that’s the zeta function ζ(p) = 1 + 1/2ˆp + 1/3ˆp + ... What is the value of ζ(p)?

This is good, that sum is indeed the first way to define the zeta function (more on that later), so it's correct. However, she then makes two statements.

Statement 1: If p is higher than 1, then you get a whole number; a number without decimals. ( ζ(p) = a whole number). Statement 2: If p is lower than 1, then you get 0, “an infinite amount of zeroes.” ( ζ(p) = 0).

(You’ll notice I put that last thing in quotes. I’ll get back to it)

Now, I’m going to ignore a few minor inaccuracies which Eva likely makes to simplify the concepts, because they’re not too important. For example; you can’t “add” infinite numbers, that’s not a thing. An infinite series can converge, which is slightly different from arithmetic addition. However, the two things are close enough that, for most people, the distinction doesn’t really matter. In other words, I’m fine with her saying she’s adding infinite numbers together, and similar claims.

There's one inaccuracy I can’t gloss over, though; Eva never tells Damon which dice is rolled to determine the value of p. In math terms, she never tells him the domain of the function (the domain of a function, btw, is the set of values for which the function is defined). Are the values p can take real or complex? Can it be any real/complex, or are there restrictions?

For the unaware, since this is gonna come up, I’ll define a complex number using the TTG analogy. A complex number is a special character born by adding together a real number "r" (one of the numbers you’re all familiar with), and another real number "b" equipped with (math: multiplied by) the Epic Tier item known as the imaginary unit “i”. This Epic item has the property that iˆ2 = -1. So basically a complex number "z" is one where

z = r + bi

where r,b are real and i is the imaginary unit. "r" is known as the real component, and "b" is the imaginary component.

(Note: All real numbers are complex numbers where b=0, but not all complex numbers are real)

In case you’re curious, these things are used in several fields, such as the study of electrical circuits with alternating current, and they appear in relation to the Schrödinger equation- I’m getting off track.

So, what dice does Eva want the opponent to roll to define p? Well, she never says it, but we can infer. She says that p can be “higher than 1,” and that clues us in that she’s probably rolling the dice of real numbers. After all, there’s no universally agreed upon definition of what it means for a complex number to be “higher than” another complex number. Meanwhile, she doesn’t mention any restrictions on what value p can take, so it’s safe to say she’s implying that p can be any real number higher than or lower than 1, aka any real number except maybe 1. Now, the zeta function doesn’t actually have that domain, but we’ll get to that.

For now, let’s analyze her statements assuming p is any real number other than 1. Let’s take a look at the first one.

Statement 1: If p is higher than 1, then ζ(p) is a whole number; a number without decimals.

This is wrong. Just so we’re clear, I could probably prove, with my somewhat limited math knowledge, that this statement can only work if the domain is more restrictive than “all real numbers other than 1” as described previously. It'd have to be defined only in whole numbers, for example.

However, I don’t need to. One of the first lines in the Wikipedia page of the zeta function says that ζ(3) (which is the value you get after “adding all your characters” when p = 3) is an irrational number. That is, among other properties, a number with infinite decimals. Eva could not be more wrong if she tried.

(Btw, yes I'm using Wikipedia as my only source. Not particularly rigorous research on my part, but this is a silly Tumblr post about funny killing game, there's a limit to my insanity)

I don’t even know how this happened, btw. It’s pretty clear this is a goof on the devs’ side (perfectly understandable btw, it took me several reads of the Wikipedia pages for both the zeta function and the Riemann hypothesis to even get them enough to write this post, and as stated I study a lot of math for my career), but I genuinely don’t know where they got the idea from. There’s nothing I could find about whole numbers in relation to the zeta function. There’s connections to prime numbers, which are all whole, but the series doesn't converge to them, the connection is a bit weirder than that. There's also some stuff Euler found about it converging to rational numbers for negative integers, but again, not whole numbers, and not even for real values above 1. So, yeah, no clue.

Anyways, what about the other statement?

Statement 2: If p is lower than 1, then you get 0, “an infinite amount of zeroes.”

This is also obviously wrong. In fact, reader! Can you think of a counterexample which is immediately obvious if you think about it for two seconds? A real number p lower than 1 such that ζ(p) isn't 0?

If you said “zero, because zero always breaks everything in very obvious ways,” you have good intuition! You could have also picked any other real number lower than 1, but those are less obvious.

For 0, the reason it’s so apparent is that any number raised to the power of zero is just 1, so 1 + 1/2ˆ0 + 1/3ˆ0 + … just turns into 1 + 1 + 1 + … and so on for infinity. Very obviously, the series diverges, it “goes to infinity.” This is very different from converging to 0.

And just so we’re clear, the series also diverges for any real value of p lower than 1, though I’ll leave proving that one as an exercise to the reader, with the help that I’ll tell you the infinite series 1 + ½ + ⅓ + ¼ + … also goes to infinity. Again, Eva could not be more wrong if she tried.

So, what went wrong here? Turns out, the way Eva defined the zeta function as an infinite series (a "sum of infinite numbers”) only works when p is a complex number with a real component higher than 1. That’s why it was important for her to say what dice we were rolling to determine p, what the domain of the function defined by the series is. For other numbers, you need to define zeta in different ways.

And what happened to the whole “infinite zeroes” thing? Well, you see, I have a theory. I think the devs must have read that the zeta function had “an infinite amount of zeroes for values of p with a real component lower than 1” (which is true, but doesn’t mean what they think it means), and misinterpreted from there. Fair mistake. I kinda wanna correct it using the TTG analogy, but I’ll leave that for the end of the post because it’s gonna derail the entire thing.

(I got carried away and explained everything I understood about the Riemann zeta function oops)

What you need to know for now; you can do some math tricks to define the zeta function outside of the infinite series Eva described, though a lot of those tricks are way above my pay grade. That way, you can evaluate the function for any complex value of p other than 1. In other words, you can roll different die for p, but it requires redefining what you're doing with that p.

Turns out, in doing that, some funky shit happens, and any time p equals -2n for any n which is a natural number (that is, p = -2 or -4 or -6 or -8, etc.), the zeta function will go to zero. Those values of p are known as the “trivial zeroes” of the function, and are obviously infinite in number. However, note that these trivial zeroes are exclusively negative even integers; there are plenty of real values of p lower than 1 for which the zeta function is not zero, so Eva still isn’t correct at all.

Though, to be clear, there are also zeroes of the function other than the trivial ones. This is actually where the Riemann hypothesis comes in. The hypothesis is that any non-trivial zero of the zeta function has a real component of exactly ½, with the only difference between them being the imaginary component (if you didn't follow, again, more detailed explanation at the bottom of the post). This (in our world) has not been definitively proven to work for every non-trivial zero, though it does work for the first several trillion.

Absurdly nerdy math rant over

So TL;DR, Eva made some pretty big mistakes when talking about the convergence of the zeta function, mainly stemming from not properly defining its domain, but also just straight up getting the convergence wrong. It doesn’t converge exclusively to whole numbers for real numbers above 1, and has to be defined in a different way for real values below 1, not to mention that she never brings up the full function is actually defined for complex numbers other than 1.

Obviously, this all likely stems from the creators not actually understanding the zeta function themselves, which is pretty funny.

But you wanna know what the bigger issue is? That even if Eva had properly explained the zeta function, her paper would still suck ass. Because there’s a much bigger, more fundamental issue with the very thesis it upholds.

I want you to take a step back. Really look past the complex math and weird terms and the contrast between the very serious sounding Riemann zeta function and the somewhat silly concept of a TTG…

And realize that the thesis of the paper Eva describes is “analogies exist.”

She can frame it however she likes, but ultimately, that’s what the point of the paper was. Eva, where the hell did you even get this published? In fact, I think it’s silly for you to say that it’d have been better received if your talent was different, because without it, I don’t see a world where this shit could even be submitted to any journal with even a modicum of self respect!

And look, she’s not wrong. I get her point, that mathematicians often don’t put in enough effort to communicate their work to the layman, and would benefit from explaining things in more creative ways. That’s cool. But that’s the kind of thing you would write for, like, an article or something.

But a paper is specifically meant for research. Calling this thing a paper almost feels insulting to mathematicians. Like the concept of using analogies to explain math is an unprecedented discovery that required actual research to figure out. Unless this paper was also the one where Eva solved the Riemann hypothesis (which God I hope that was a different paper), there's no new information being presented here. It's at best a personal opinion piece, which is not what scientific papers are for.

Am I silly for getting hung up on the wording of this being described as a paper instead of an article or opinion piece or whatever? Well, this entire post is silly, but I don't think it's because of that, because words mean things. And a scientific paper carries certain connotations that do not align with what Eva describes.

And this little issue casts doubt in her general skill as a paper writer. That's why I'm a bit skeptical about the paper she mentions about the "theoretical possibility of lightspeed travel.” Because, quite frankly, that paper topic sounds… meaningless? Like a bunch of technobabble?

Like, what exactly are you discussing about lightspeed travel? In fact, what are you actually referring to when you say "lightspeed travel"? Matter approaching lightspeed, or reaching or even exceeding lightspeed? The latter two are impossible according to current scientific consensus, btw. Or is she discussing a particular trick to get something from point A to point B in less time than it would take for light to cover that distance? There are papers discussing stuff like that, even if all the mechanisms are also thought to be impossible by consensus. And regardless of what she means by "lightspeed travel", what does she mean "theoretical possibility” of it? Like, genuinely, I have no clue. Is she speculating on whether or not it's possible? Is she speculating on the properties such travel would have? Is she proposing a theoretical method to do it? Is she doing something else entirely? The premise of the paper is too vague, is my point.

This worries me because… well, to put it bluntly, experts in related fields (such as mathematics) attempting to make cool sounding physics theories (such as a paper on the "theoretical possibility of lightspeed travel", whatever that means) which are completely wrong and nonsensical is a real, observable phenomenon in our world. Check out Angela Collier's "physics crackpots: a 'theory’” to find out more. And also check out the rest of her youtube channel it's great.

What Eva is doing with that paper honestly sounds remarkably close to what Angela describes there. In fact, let's check out whether or not Eva's hypothetical paper fits any of the four points Angela brings up to spot a crackpot theory.

1. “Addresses THE BIGGEST PROBLEMS in physics.”

By this, Angela means that the theory addresses a problem or topic that anyone with a passing interest in physics knows is a big deal. Things like dark matter, gravity, black holes, and yes, "lightspeed travel.” You're not going to see anyone with a crackpot theory on the equation of state of real gases or Eddy currents, because by the point you know what those things are in enough depth to be interested in them, you probably also know enough to determine what a good physics theory is and what isn't. Eva's paper fits this point, but that doesn't necessarily mean Eva is a crackpot physicist, right?

2 and 4. “Lacking mathematical rigor, experimental data, etc.” and “They are not physics theories”

I grouped these two because it's impossible for me to know whether Eva's paper would actually fit these points or not. She doesn't give enough details for me to say. I can tell you for sure it's not gonna have experimental data, but since it's theoretical physics, that's fine. So, we can maybe give her the benefit of the doubt? As long as she doesn't fit the last point too well maybe-

3. “Respond with anger, claim physics establishment has blacklisted them, cite Galileo/Einstein/etc."

Oh no.

Eva [1st FTE]: I could write a research paper on the theoretical possibility of lightspeed travel, but no one would care…

Oh no chat. She might actually be a crackpot physicist.

It doesn't help that her mentality in general is actually very in line with the mentality described in the Angela video mentioned above. That because she's a smart person (which she is; again, solved the damn Riemann hypothesis), she should be able to easily become recognized and respectable in any field she takes interest in. But that isn't how the world works. There's a reason people spend years of their life studying literature, physics, or mathematics, just to truly get a grasp of each discipline individually.

Ok, but, like, what's my point? Am I going to include her misunderstanding of the zeta function and the possibility of her being a "crackpot physicist” in any character analysis? No, of course not. You're very clearly meant to think Eva is genuinely skilled in every field she approaches, because this is a fangan and Ultimates can bend the limits of humanity to fit a narrative. I'm perfectly willing to accept that Eva solved the Riemann hypothesis, as you've seen throughout this post, even though I'd be highly skeptical of anyone making that same claim in the real world, "Ultimate” or not. The same way I'd accept that a fictional character of any kind could manage to accelerate a particle to exactly lightspeed, even though I'd immediately call bullshit if someone claimed to do it in real life. The standard for believability is different for fictional characters than real people, basically.

Really, when you boil it down, I only take issue with the things Eva says because I'm genuinely passionate about the topics she mentions, and because she gives enough details about her work for me to see the cracks in the writers’ knowledge of them. I'm assuming this is a common issue with any fangan that tries to really explain what being an "Ultimate” in a particular field entails, because no one is actually well versed enough in sixteen different talents to actually say that for sure. That's why Eva off-handedly mentioning that she solved the Riemann hypothesis is much more effective as a way to establish her skill than trying and failing to get her to actually explain the zeta function.

All in all, this is just a purely self-indulgent post for me to vent about issues I have with the way the writers tried to convey Eva's expertise. Feel free to completely ignore this for character analysis, because I sure will. I just needed to talk about it because I would explode if I didn't. Anyways, hope you enjoyed! If you made it this far, you deserve a function named specifically after you! See y-!

Oh right I almost forgot.

My Own Explanation of the Riemann Zeta Function Using the TTG Analogy

(Explained by someone with little more than Wikipedia access, take all this with a grain of salt)

Think of finding the zeroes of a function as a boss fight. You go up to them, and you cast a spell, generally in the form of a number, such that the function becomes zero when you cast it. For example, the Easy Function

f(x) = 2x - 6

can be defeated by casting “3”, since 2x3 - 6 = 0.

Every function also has a “domain”, which is a set of spells you can actually cast against it. For example, since 1/0 is undefined, the Medium Function g(x) = 1/x has a domain of all complex numbers except 0. Casting 0 against g has no effect. You need a special spell, “limit when x tends to infinity” (or negative infinity) to defeat it.

The zeta function is a Legendary Boss, defined by the infinite series ζ(s) = 1 + 1/2^s +1/3^s + …

(I changed p to s for a reason trust the process)

Many mathematicians had tried to defeat it before, but it seemed futile*. Its domain was thought to be all real numbers higher than 1 (they originally didn't think to use complex numbers against it), but no matter what number was picked, that first term was too powerful. Even casting “limit when s tends to infinity” only got zeta down to 1. Nothing in its domain seemed to work.

Until Riemann arrived.

The zeta function chuckled, thinking this one to be like all the many others before him. But the legendary mage Riemann had many a trick the zeta function hadn't seen before. Tricks to make make the domain of the function larger, so that new Number Spells could be cast against it. Where everyone else had only ever attempted to cast real numbers against this boss, he wouldn't be satisfied with that. Without warning, he cast the first of many powerful spells needed to do what needed to be done.

"Domain Expansion; Proof of Complexity"

Since you already knew this part, I'll skip the proof, but basically, Reimann quickly showed that the infinite series which defined the zeta function for real numbers higher than one actually worked for any complex number with a real component higher than one.

The zeta function was impressed, but unconcerned. It knew damn well there was still no spell in this new domain which could possibly defeat it. "Nice try, but I'm not scared of some imaginary unit” it claimed.

“I'm aware,” claimed Reimann. He raised his hands again, his mana swelling, and the zeta function frowned. “But you're mistaken if you think this is the end.”

Reimann looked at the Legendary Boss in front of him, and cast the following, powerful incantation, with the help of the runes described below.

"Domain Expansion; Analytic Continuation"

To truly defeat the zeta function, one must understand the concept of an analytic continuation. This is where I falter, for I myself don’t understand what the fuck that is. However, what I've been able to gather is that the function

𝜂(s) / (1 - 2/2ˆs) where 𝜂(s) = 1/1ˆs - 1/2ˆs + 1/3ˆs - …

is equal to the zeta function in the zeta function's domain, but is also defined outside of it. In particular, it's defined for any complex number with a positive real component, except for the points where

1 - 2/2ˆs = 0

(can't be dividing by zero after all!). That last thing excludes 1, for example.

Basically, think of the spell "Domain Expansion; Analytical Continuation” as a shapeshifting spell that transforms the zeta function from the previous definition:

ζ(s) = 1 + 1/2ˆs + 1/3ˆs + … for s complex numbers with a real component higher than 1.

to now being defined as:

ζ(s) = 𝜂(s) / (1 - 2/2ˆs) for the previously described new domain.

That way, its domain is expanded to include complex numbers with a real component between 0 and 1, aside from those where 2/2ˆs = 1.

But of course, Reimann wouldn't be satisfied with that. The next spell was simpler, but worthwhile nonetheless.

"Domain Expansion; Limiting Singularity Removal"

See, turns out, all the points "z” where the analytic continuation was undefined, other than 1, where removable singularities (I think? I don't actually know much about complex functions :v), which means the spell "limit when s tends to z” returns a finite number l. That way, you can define ζ(z) = l for all of these removable singularities, expanding the domain of the zeta function to all complex numbers with a positive real component, other than 1.

Don't worry if you don’t know what a limit is or you didn't follow this part, it's not too important for this. After all, that last spell didn't worry the zeta function. What had truly taken it aback was the analytic continuation, which suddenly exposed a few weak spots of the zeta function to the world. Now, Reimann could defeat it once and for all, as long as he found the right spell in the new domain.

However, the zeta function was a Legendary Boss for a reason. "Fancy tricks, but it won't be easy to find something to actually defeat me, you know,” it bluffed, hoping intimidation would work. Foolish hope.

"Oh, certainly,” Reimann agreed readily, smiling. The zeta function was confused for a moment, until it realized something horrifying.

Reimann's mana was swelling again. He wasn't done. And for the first time since it's run-in with Euler all those years back, the zeta function felt true fear.

“It won't just be easy,” Reimann smirked. “It will be trivial.”

"Domain Expansion; Functional Equation"

This is another point where the math is beyond me, but I'll try to explain. Basically, Reimann proved that that equality up there holds true as long as s is a complex number with a real component strictly higher than 0 and strictly lower than 1.

However, you'll notice that if you take s as a complex number with a real component equal to or lower than 0 (other than 0 itself), then the right side of the equation is actually well defined, because 1 - s is a complex number with a positive real component (and not equal to 1 unless s is exactly 0), meaning ζ(1 - s) is well defined. You also don't run into issues with any of the other factors of that equation, including the Gamma function (𝚪). What that means is that this equation can be used to extend the zeta function's domain to all complex numbers other than 0 and 1.

Think of this domain expansion as a shapeshifting curse. If you cast a complex number with a real component strictly higher than 0 (other than 1), then the zeta function defends by turning into either the analytic continuation from before:

ζ(s) = 𝜂(s) / (1 - 2/2ˆs)

or the limit for any values where 1 - 2/2ˆs.

Meanwhile, if you cast a number s with a real component equal to or lower than 0 (other than 0 itself), then the zeta function shapeshifts to be:

ζ(s) = 2ˆs 𝜋ˆ(s-1) sin(s𝜋/2) 𝚪(1-s) ζ(1-s)

The final step is yet another Domain Expansion; Limiting Singularity Removal on 0, where ζ(0) = -½. Again not really important for us.

In any case, Riemann had done it. Five consecutive domain expansions, so that the zeta function's domain now included all complex numbers except 1. The zeta function was on its last legs, all that was needed was the final touch. For the inexperienced, you might think finding a zero would still be difficult, but the truly expert mages among you might have already noticed the weak spot in the functional equation.

The sine function. A Common Enemy which goes to 0 whenever it's attacked by a whole number equipped with the Legendary Tier item 𝜋. And when a complex number with a negative real component is cast against the zeta function, sin(s𝜋/2) becomes one of the factors.

"You know what this means, don't you, zeta?” Riemann asked. And the zeta function couldn't muster a response before the legendary mage cast his final spell. "You lose.”

"Simple Spell; Negative Even Integer"

-2, -4, -8, etc. Any even integer s causes s/2 to be a whole number, so sin(s𝜋/2) goes to zero. And since it's multiplying everything else, the entire zeta function goes to zero. These negative even integers are known as the zeta function's "trivial zeroes", and because there are infinite negative even integers, it can be said that the zeta function has an infinite amount of zeroes.

However, just because the Riemann zeta function had been defeated, doesn't mean Reimann was satisfied. See, Riemann noticed that there were other values which could defeat the zeta function, and weren't negative even integers. These are the zeta function's non-trivial zeroes. And he noticed that all of these zeroes followed a pattern, so he tried to cast a Prophecy Spell.

A Prophecy Spell (or a theorem, in real math terms) is one that makes it so that, when certain conditions are met, something happens without fail. To cast a Prophecy Spell, you must prove it, which means using other prophecy spells, runes and unbreakable laws (axioms) to certify that it's a valid prophecy.

I'll give you an example in case you're not used to the concept of mathematical proof, and cast the Prophecy Spell “if b is a real number, then b0 = 0". To prove it, I'll use two axioms (these are the building blocks of mathematics, and don't need to be proven because they just Are).

1) 0 + c = c (0 is neutral to addition).

2) b(c + d) = bc + bd (Distributive Property)

Now, observe the following:

1) b(c + 0) = b(c + 0) [Trivially true.]

2) bc = bc + b0 [0's neutrality used on the left, distributive on the right]

3) 0 = b0 [Because bc = bc, you can nullify the terms]

I chose this because it happens to be the reason you can't divide by 0. Division is formally defined as multiplication with the reciprocal, so to divide by 0 you must first define its reciprocal 1/0. 1/0 would be defined as a number such that 0 x 1/0 = 1. But we just proved there's no real (or complex) number for which that can be true, so 1/0 isn't a number, thus is undefined.

In any case, now you know what's needed to cast a Prophecy Spell. However, Riemann couldn't finish the Prophecy spell about the non-trivial zeroes. He couldn't find proof or a counterexample to refute it. And so, his unfinished Prophecy Spell went down in history… as the Riemann Hypothesis.

“All non-trivial zeroes of the Riemann zeta function have a real component of exactly ½.”

Although it's been proven to hold true for trillions of non-trivial zeroes, it has never been properly proven or refuted, so the Riemann Hypothesis remains… unsolved.

God that was nerdy and cringy as hell. It was also super fun to write so I don't care :D

*Look, for the purpose of the post, I'm saying Riemann did all this shit and is the first one to find a value for which the zeta function becomes zero. This is likely not historically accurate. I'm just doing it so the explanation flows better. This should only be taken as an explanation of the function itself, and not the history behind it.

#p:eg #project: eden's garden #eva tsunaka #this post got way outta hand btw #it was supposed to be a silly little thing. like 1k words max #but then i blacked out and there were 5.7k words how did this happen #so very sorry to my mathphobic followers but i saw math in a fangan and got over excited #and then eva stabbed me in the back by getting Everything Wrong #i love her but oh my god this bothered me more than it should have #cw math #(?)

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tk-duveraun · 5 months ago

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Cw: some unintentional but really messed up transphobia on SY's part

Cumplane AU where they live in a modern with magic world and PIDW is presented as a historical fantasy power fantasy

SY is a magical teacher turned researcher turned homebody as his body deteriorates due to magical illness. But this means he very much knows how magic works and gets very heated in the comments making corrections.

(airplane desperately wanted to study extinct magical creatures but the specialized classes were too expensive)

SY is extra infuriated bc airplane knows so much about magical creatures and lost habitats but then turns them into set pieces for porn!

At one point, airplane posts an AN about how he's entering the lottery for non-magical people to be granted a wish. Most people get their houses fitted so they don't have to pay utilities or so that they're bigger on the inside, or link their lifespan to their beloved pet.

SY who is both rich and has connections sends airplane a private message asking what he wished for. SY is planning to leverage this into special chapters just about the setting.

Airplane knows that while SY is a hater, he's harmless. People have doxxed SY and he only went on insane copy pasta level rants about not talking online stuff too seriously. So airplane admits he put in for magical gender affirming transformation.

SY is extremely disappointed by airplane's lack of creativity and ambition with his wish and airplane, reasonably extremely offended, blocks him.

Airplane doesn't win the lottery and continues to post chapters as usual but leaves out any and all AN's because he's still reasonably hurt by it.

SY obliviously continues ranting as normal in the comments.

Only, a few weeks later, airplane gets contacted by this semi-underground group that does magical gender affirming transformations for free, sent his way none other than sy

SY wasn't meaning to be transphobic, he just thought airplane would ask for his cat to be made into a hulijing or something.

Anyway cue airplane trying to get in touch with sy and thank him but SY bring a brat bc airplane blocked him "for no reason"

Airplane, very reasonably, blows up at him about it. SY complains to his sister, who is just like "OMG you're so stupid"

Eventually they reconcile and meet up IRL, airplane learns how sick sy is and after hearing the details is like "...I swear I've heard of this before" and sy rolls his eyes bc he knows how rare his condition is, but they become "very good friends"

(airplane: I knew he was in the closet but wow

SY sister: I know right)

Airplane with his kind of sugar daddy starts up correspondence courses on the side and finally remembers where he heard about SY's illness before! It's a magical virus only carried by an extinct creature that most humans were immune to already, but guess whose family has a taxidermy of said magical beast in their main house

This information finally leads to a cure and SY's family make a huge ordeal about accepting their new son in law

"I'm not gay!"

Eye rolls

"We're not together!"

".........."

"we kind of are, bro"

SY makes a noise like a teakettle and stomps off.

#svsss #cumplane

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dreamwritesimagines · 4 days ago

Note

Yes! Maybe instead of “celebrating” as Hazel thought they would, Bucky is upset that she would say something like that in front of Birdie. Like I just found out the girl that I’ve had a crush on for such a long time finally broke up with her stupid boyfriend and you just humiliated me in front of her??? Are you serious?? At least that’s how I see it, I know he doesn’t play about Birdie at all and maybe he knows that Hazel was trying to hurt Birdie and that’s something you do not want to do…like at all lol

Oooh I'm so glad you brought this up darling! 😱🥰 Because I have so many ideas about it! 🩷 Thank you so much! 🥰

Bucky was definitely upset that Hazel said that in front of Birdie and it's so nice that you caught that little detail!

Okay so that scene and the way Bucky stole a look at Hazel when she said that was open to interpretation but I have a headcanon😏 And I'm going to ramble about it, I apologize in advance but I'm very curious what you guys will think of it asdfghjkl😂

So okay, in Bucky's perspective, that joke was in bad taste at the very least 😏 And that's one of the times we see the small signs of him growing up in the early 1900s and his family had money, aka he was raised in a very specific way.

(I read a blog post while researching Bucky's background, basically it said his family had a car during Great Depression, which was a big thing, he spent a lot of money -a lot in terms of 1940s- on a teddy bear, and also him having read the Hobbit the year it came out meant his father got the first edition for him from England because it wasn't printed in US until like a year later, which meant James Barnes Sr. could travel around and stuff during a financial crisis, so all those details together show that Barnes family had money, unlike Rogers)

Back to the topic, so Bucky was raised in a time where etiquette was a thing, and he had wealthy parents which also shows they would expect him to behave a certain way in society. And then he joined the military, and of course the soldiers didn't care about the strict manners or anything, there was a lot of vulgarity between them EXCEPT when it was in front of women, that was a big rule among them.

Bucky has adapted a lot, he knows the modern rules are different than 1940s but he still has some traces of those times that we will see flashes of😁

And, the kind of innuendo that Hazel made was usually -at most- between couples, not in front of a third party. That type of stuff had to be more "subtle" but Bucky was very much aware that all three of them knew exactly what Hazel was talking about. Hazel basically announced to Birdie that they would be having sex, which, he knows Birdie knows they do, but Hazel saying that -or more like boasting about it in front of Birdie who was basically on the verge of tears when she found out about them and stopped talking to him for two months?

He did not like that at all😈

So yeah that's my hc about that scene lolll😂

#declassified hc #bucky barnes

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urautismdiagnosis-wistie · 2 months ago

Note

what do you think the Octonauts like to do in their spare time?

thanks for the ask!

Sorry this took forever to answer i haven't been well recently but I'm doing better

I've talked about this on some different octonauts octo headcanons posts but ill make a nice neat list! These are a mix of Canon and headcanon <3

Barnacles:

he enjoys attempting to play the accordian, traditional inuit soap stone carving (not something he does often, most of his room carvings are from his childhood), using charcoal and oil pastels to paint scenery as a way to wind himself down(sometimes he'll do people but they don't look very good), sport competitions and exercising, and writing small short screenplays about the characters hes made for his carvings <3 the screenplays are usually very soft and light hearted or deeply sad.

Kwazii:

ok our undiagnosed adhd boy let's go: anything competitive or exciting! I'm talking chess (with inkling), ping pong, any type of sports competition, board games, card games-

He also has a hyperfixation on historic miniature model ships- and some modern too. Bro also LOVES to cook with the vegimals! (Even if his cooking skills are... debatable) hell often teach them (the kid friendly) version of the shanties he grew up with. Funnily enough he doesn't really share his shanties with the rest of the crew,not really...

He does enjoy girls night, esp with jewelry and claw care 💕 dashis been showing him movies and teaching him stuff about pop culture and land culture in general

Also he loves comics <3 and book kwazii enjoys long baths so I gave him a whole long self care routine.

Peso:

making stickers 🥰 playing his xylophone <3 reading all the gossip in his family group chat and trading it with dashi <3 watching inaccurate medical drama shows and making fun of them with dashi <3 knitting !!!💕 he likes to make little stuffed animals and scarves <3 also hats sometimes

He likes reading chiikawa (kwazii recommended the comic to him) and talking to his mom about their favorite romance dramas together

This last one isn't really a hobby but he does enjoy listening to pinto yap about whatever video game he's hyperfixated on lol

Dashi:

Ok speed run, yoga, photography, making tiny dumb video games with tweak (they once made one where its just the gup b and it was basically like flappy bird lol), ROOM DECOR AND PINTEREST BOARDS OH MY GOODNESS (my friend is like that lol I love it when she sends me her stuff), SURFING, BASKETBALL SHES SO COMPETITIVE IN EVERY SPORT, listening to horror podcasts and cursed pov asmr at night <3, talking with shellington about tiny random creature species!!! Also stimming <3

Tweak

: LEGOS(miniatures of the gups) 🗣 CLASSIC VIDEO GAMES( stuff like the og metroid and space invaders) 🗣 NOT SLEEPING (gurl ur room is a depression cave PLEASE get a bed frame PLEASE (dashi probably)) 🗣 GUPS GUPS GUPS she lives and breathes em baby if she's not working on a gup she's developing an idea- 🗣 she really likes cute baby animal videos 🗣 reading alternative fashion magazines 🗣 MONSTER TRUCK LEGO 🗣 dying hair with dashi occasionally (this entire post is so dashi filled loll) 🗣 LISTENING TO MUSIC 🗣🗣🗣

Shellington:

He breathes his hyperfixation about creature species. He and tweak and literally EVERYONE is SO autistic and/or nuerodivergent in some way. Anyways so I'm talking drawing sea creatures (hes a pretty good artist ngl, barnacles could take notes), researching them, comparing them, studying their biological abilities and the chemical components and possibilities of it- literally his entire job is just him having an autistic blast like good for him

But most of his free time is very much spent with the vegimals XD whether its playing with them, trying to teach them things, or just talking with them.

He also loves drawing hyper realistic animal drawings saying very very stupid silly puns. The vegimals internally react to them like dad jokes but they pretend they're very funny cuz hes SO. PROUD.

Inkling:

He enjoys doing very deep dives into topics, deep cleaning, chatting with min on video call, conducting psychological social and behavioral experiments on the octonauts, competing with kwazii and the other octonauts to challenge them (he slays),

Journaling, and even his actual job of organizing their discoveries and getting them ready for scientific peer review as well as handling all paper work sides of thibgs

He really enjoys spending time with thr other octonauts, they are ALL his children(in a "my fascinating lil creatures!! I must teach them and challenge them so that they can grow!) to him and he adores them all immensely. He likes to make photo albums with dashi.

He also enjoys not having bones because apparently when mammals and avians get old their bones hurt all the time??? So he's pretty happy about that ngl

the vegimals all have different interests: whether its having certain genres of media they gravitate too, different aspects of gardening they enjoy,or joining different octonauts in their own tasks! But they'll always love making their own songs and working together <3 also experimenting in recipes lol. A few will often join the other octonauts doing their own hobbies or try to do the hobbies they see the others doing. They are kids after all lol

This could mean tominnow joining peso and dashi while they watch their dramas, barrot being very excitable while playing video games with tweak, tunip learning how to play chess with the professor, grouber being a little princess and enjoying self care, coddish trying to learn how to sword fight with kwazii pretending to be a silly monster, or halibeet curled sleepilu next to inkling as he reads and explains what he's learning- and so on and on and on.

#octonauts #Octo headcanons #octonauts tweak #octonauts kwazii #octonauts captain barnacles #Octonauts dashi #Octonauts shellington #Octonauts peso #Octonauts professor inkling #Octonauts vegimals #Yap post

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smellingbats · 1 month ago

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2. therefore i am

⏾ professor! bruce wayne x student! reader

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

⏾ Last chapter

⏾ cw: 18+, slow burn, eventual smut, your professor is still hot…shocker, bruceiskindofadick, opposites attract

⏾ content: Your first meeting with Professor Wayne is off to a shaky start to say the least.

⏾ eek! I'm so excited for all the notes from last weeks chapter!! Thank you guys so so much for reading my first fic!! I'll eventually post one-shots as well, but for now I'm focusing on this. If anyone has interest in being tagged when I update, let me know. I'd be glad to do that!

It has been a week since Professor Wayne offered you the extra credit opportunity, and let’s just say that the research aspect isn’t going great. But, here you still are. Obsessing over what today’s meeting will look like and obsessing over the way your dress looked.

So stupid. You thought while you tugged your dress down to your sides. You figured it would be best to not dress in your usual attire. Which consisted mainly of whatever you dug out of your laundry pile that day. You give yourself one last look over and then glance at the time on your phone; it reads 2:07 PM.

“SHIT, I’m gonna be late!” You grab your bag and rush out the door, double-checking that you locked it because the apartment building you lived in was not the safest of places. The streets on the other hand, were far worse by comparison. The roads were still pretty torn up with man-sized potholes and cracks that made them undriveable, the surrounding buildings looked like they could crumble at a gust of wind, and the garbage left behind from the flood covered the sidewalks entirely. You had been promised real change, but it would most likely take years before you saw a difference in Gotham. For now though, you could settle for the shitiness. It’s something you’ve known your entire life, so what’s the harm in a few more years of waiting?

You eventually make it onto the crowded subway and immediately put your earbuds in to drown out everyone around you. The noise on the subway is always just too damn much for you to handle. You grab your phone out of your backpack and hit play on your playlist, sighing softly as you hold your backpack close to you. There was no way that today's meeting would go well, especially with the lack of peer reviewed articles. So far you only found two that weren’t already in the stack of papers Professor Wayne gave you. You can only assume that he will find this unacceptable, so you have to do something to distract him from the fact that you totally blew it.

Maybe I could just lie and say I had some more “stuff” come up this week so I couldn’t fully focus. No. You attended class all week, and besides he would probably see right through your lie. You haven’t personally experienced this, but he seemed to be the type. Like he could get anyone to cough up the truth with a simple look.

The subway comes to a stop and you squeeze your way through people to get off at your stop. You hop off the platform and quickly make your way up the stairs and to the street towards your University.

You eventually pass a cafe and come up with an even better plan. I’ll bring him coffee! Shit. I don’t know what he drinks…and I can’t email him either. He literally takes a million years to ever get back to anyone. You enter the shop and look at the time; 2:47. 13 minutes until you had to meet him. You knew you were cutting it close, but you couldn’t show up completely empty handed either. A peace offering of sorts would hopefully make him look past your fuck up. You glance up at the menu and panic after you realize you’re next in line. I’ll go with a latte to be safe. Everyone likes those. You order and before you know it you’re out of the cafe with 8 minutes to spare. You’d make it in time if you ran and didn’t eat shit on the way over.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

2:59 PM.

You made it on time! You’re huffing and puffing, and your hair is a mess but you made it. Before going in you are sure to make yourself presentable. You wouldn’t want the hottest professor on campus to see you look like a hot mess. He was too particular to settle for anything less than perfection.

You shakily open the door, immediately feeling yourself overwhelmed with butterflies in your stomach and chest. Was this a terrible idea? Probably! But it was far too late to go back now.

There sat Professor Wayne, perfectly composed as he leaned back in his chair reading today's newspaper. Gods, he even makes reading the paper look sexy. How can such a grandfatherly act look so perfect?! You shake away the thought, feeling slightly ashamed of how shamelessly you thought of him. He was your professor for heaven's sake! You glance at one of the headlines; WOMAN STABBED ON SUBWAY BETWEEN PARK AND 5TH BARELY ESCAPES WITH HER LIFE. Unfortunately, this was nothing new for the citizens of Gotham, especially the female presenting ones. You consider yourself lucky that you��ve never experienced anything too terrible on the subway.

“(Y/N).” He glances at his watch and then back to you, his expression unreadable. “I almost thought you lost your way.” Professor Wayne folds the newspaper carefully and places it in its designated spot on his desk.

You stand awkwardly for a second before setting down his latte, your heart exploding from anxiety. “Ha ha. Very funny. I am actually right on time sir.”

He makes a disapproving tut and straightens his posture, staring straight into your eyes. “Early is on time, on time is late, and late is unacceptable.”

Before you can help it, you involuntarily scowl. Now that was definitely something a grandpa would say. “I was unaware of that rule. It won’t happen again.” Great, what a wonderful first impression you’ve made. Smooth move (y/n) smooth move.

“Obviously.” Your professor wordlessly motions towards the seat in front of him, ignoring your scowl.

You hadn’t noticed how bare his office was until today. He had no pictures, posters, or even one of the university's dumb infographics about getting therapy. You couldn’t imagine Professor Wayne in therapy. He’d probably spend the whole time with that smug look on his face. Ugh, his stupid handsome jawline with his stunning blue eyes. Not now, he’s literally standing right in front of me. Quickly, you take a seat in the tiny uncomfortable chair, making sure to push his latte directly in front of him. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be offended by the gesture.

Professor Wayne’s eyes flicker to the latte, but only for a moment before they return to his now lit up monitor. He looked…unimpressed to say the least. “I don’t drink latte’s. But your gesture has been noted.”

Dick.

Instead of letting him win this one, you give him your best fake smile and fish your tiny file out of your bag. “I know it’s not much, but I think I’m off to a good start Professor. I figured we’d go over the requirements for the paper itself. Like, the minimum amount of citations, the format, the length, and the content itself.”

“If you expect that to take up most of our time today then you’re sorely mistaken.” Your professor states, still looking emotionless. “I have already assigned you the project on Canvas, did you not see it?” Fuck. “No, I’m sorry I didn’t see it. I swear I check-” “Take this time to look it over then, it’s alright.” He says with an almost caring look in his eyes, maybe a part of him did have some empathy.

The next hour and a half is filled with many more awkward silences and more ‘quirky’ remarks from Professor Wayne. You're not convinced that you’ll even get a good grade on something that is literally for extra credit. The part of you that is hopeful that you may be able to pass is spurred on by your dirty little crush on him. Could you be more cliché? You kind of liked being in his inner bubble, even if he had built about five brick walls around himself. Maybe one day you’d be able to get a peek through one of them. Somewhere under that hard exterior is a person. But what kind of person? You were dying to know.

After another long awkward silence, Professor Wayne’s voice interrupts your thoughts. “Let’s meet in one of the library’s study rooms next week. I’d like to show you how to do proper research. With a subject this new, you can’t get away with your research solely being from online articles. I will email you with more details within the next few days.”

You pause for a moment, realizing that this was your cue to get out of his office. “Alright. I will see you next week then. On time.” You add the last part while you finish packing up your things.

When you look up again, you see the smallest smirk on the corner of his lips. “Have a good weekend Professor Wayne.”

“You as well. Oh and (y/n).” You stop in your tracks and look over your shoulder in the doorway.

“You did some good work today. Keep it up.”

A small smile creeps across your face along with an ever so slight blush across the bridge of your nose. "Thank you Professor Wayne." Internally, your stomach was doing backflips. Another compliment? You could get used to this.

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