#Logical-mathematical intelligence
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quitepossiblyknot · 8 months ago
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The neuroscience behind it... Wild...
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kathaelipwse · 2 months ago
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✧ Still Yours | H. Jisung
♡ Pairing: Han Jisung × Chubby!Reader
✧ Word Count: 12,208 words | Reading Time: 45-ish mins
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900+ Followers Special ♡
✦ Trope: Second Chance Romance | Ex-Classmates to Lovers | Slow Burn | Popular Jock x Bullied Girl | Non-Idol AU
✧ Warnings: Bullying (verbal abuse, fat-shaming), mentions of physical abuse, toxic family, emotional trauma, drinking, mild suggestiveness, language, angst with comfort, NO PROOF READING WAS DONE
♡ Synopsis: Back in high school, she was the chubby outcast—bullied, bruised, and abandoned—while Han Jisung was the untouchable jock who broke hearts and ignored them all… except hers. When life pulled them apart after a brutal misunderstanding, she vowed never to look back. Now, eight years later, she's a successful engineer—independent and guarded. But when fate throws them back together in the most unexpected boardroom, Jisung sees a second chance. And this time, he’s not letting go without a fight. ♡
✦ Author’s Note: For the ones who loved in silence and healed in shadows. This one’s for you. You are seen, and you are enough. ⋆彡
You were a walking paradox, a vibrant ember struggling to glow beneath a thick layer of societal soot. Chubby, they called you, their voices often laced with a disdain that never seemed to dull, each syllable a tiny pinprick against your already tender skin.
Yet, the softness of your frame held a surprising resilience, your cheeks often flushed with a healthy color that belied their cruel pronouncements, a testament to a spirit that refused to be entirely extinguished. Kindness flowed through you like an unseen current, a gentle offering of smiles even to the very faces that contorted with mockery at your approach, a quiet rebellion against the negativity that surrounded you.
And your mind? It was a sharp, agile thing, devouring knowledge with an insatiable hunger, your intelligence a quiet fire that burned brightly in the hushed corners of the library, a stark contrast to the dim view others seemed to have of you. You found solace in the intricate logic of mathematics, the sprawling narratives of classic literature, worlds where your physical form held no bearing on your worth.
But despite these inherent strengths, an invisible weight clung to you, a suffocating shroud woven from the stinging barbs of your classmates. "Hey, look, it's the walking sofa!" someone would bellow down the hallway, their friends erupting in laughter that felt like a physical shove, each jeer chipping away at the fragile foundation of your self-esteem.
"Bet she uses a GPS to find her own feet," another would sneer, their words echoing the insidious voice of self-doubt that sometimes whispered in your own head, a constant reminder of your perceived inadequacy. You learned to flinch inwardly, to brace yourself for the inevitable sting, to become as small and unobtrusive as possible, a shadow trying desperately to blend into the background noise of the school, your gaze fixed on the worn linoleum floor.
Your world had fractured years ago, the sharp edges never quite fitting back together after the sudden, gaping loss of your father. He had been your anchor, a warm, comforting presence whose booming laughter still echoed faintly in the quiet corners of your memory, a phantom sound that sometimes brought a bittersweet ache to your chest.
Now, he was a faded photograph on your bedside table, a silent observer of your increasingly solitary existence, a bittersweet reminder of a love that felt both impossibly distant and achingly present. Your mother, lost in her own labyrinth of grief, eventually found a fragile sort of peace in the arms of another man.
His arrival brought a polite, almost sterile atmosphere to your home, a subtle distance that grew between you and the woman who had once been your sun and moon. "He's a good man," she'd said once, her voice flat, devoid of the warmth you remembered, her eyes focused on some distant point. "He'll take care of us." But 'us' never truly included you in the same way anymore; you felt like a tolerated guest in a life that had moved on without you.
The real chill, however, the bone-deep, relentless cold, emanated from your aunt. After your mother's remarriage, you were sent to live with her, a woman whose lips seemed permanently pursed in disapproval, whose voice was a constant, low hum of criticism that eroded your spirit.
Her house was a place where joy seemed to wither and die, where every corner held the unspoken accusation of your inadequacy. "Are you going back for seconds?" she'd snap, her eyes narrowing with suspicion as you reached for another small portion of dinner. "Honestly, child, have you no self-control?
You'll never find a nice boy looking like that. You'll be alone forever." Meals were silent, tense affairs, punctuated only by the clinking of silverware and her pointed sighs. Chores were endless, thankless, and any small spark of happiness you managed to ignite was quickly doused by her sharp tongue and colder-than-ice gaze.
"Don't slouch," she'd bark across the living room, her voice like the crack of a whip. "Sit up straight. You look like a sack of potatoes. Honestly, the way you carry yourself…" Your home life became a toxic swamp of neglect and emotional abuse, a secret shame you carried like a lead weight in your stomach, a burden that made your steps heavy and your spirit weary.
"Honestly," she'd mutter under her breath as you did the dishes, the clatter of plates a poor substitute for conversation, "your mother always said you were a clumsy one. Just like her."
Across the bustling, often chaotic landscape of your high school moved Han Jisung. He was a figure carved from a different kind of coldness – a detached, almost arrogant aura that seemed to ripple outwards, creating a respectful distance.
A star athlete, his movements on the basketball court fluid and mesmerizing, he was the undisputed object of countless girls' affections. Their whispered yearnings followed him down the hallways like a persistent, hopeful breeze. "Did you see the way Jisung looked at me during practice?" you'd overhear one girl sigh to her friend, her voice dreamy.
"I swear, he totally wants to ask me to the homecoming dance." Yet, he remained aloof, a polite but firm "I'm not interested" the standard response to any lingering glances or hesitant advances. "Sorry," he'd say, his voice cool but not unkind, his gaze already drifting away, "I'm just really focused on the upcoming tournament. Got to keep my head in the game."
His eyes, sharp and intelligent, often held a distant amusement, a subtle disdain for the petty dramas and hormonal surges that defined the high school experience. "Honestly," he once said to his friend, a slight smirk playing on his lips as a group of girls giggled nearby, their attention clearly fixed on him, "they're all so… transparent." He was a world away from your own, a dazzling supernova you never dared to gaze at directly, knowing you were a mere speck of dust in his radiant orbit.
Yet, unbeknownst to you, in those fleeting moments between classes, or during the forced proximity of shared assemblies, his gaze would sometimes flick towards you. It wasn't a look of mockery or pity, but something… else. A quiet, almost clinical observation.
He noticed the way your shoulders would instinctively hunch when a group of popular kids approached, their laughter echoing in the confined space, the barely perceptible flinch in your eyes when the school bell shrieked through the corridors, the determined set of your jaw as you navigated the crowded lunchroom, your tray held like a fragile shield against the judging eyes.
He saw the way your fingers, often ink-stained from hours spent lost in the pages of a book, your refuge from the harsh realities of your life, would nervously twist the hem of your oversized sweater. Once, during a particularly brutal round of hallway taunts aimed your way, the words like sharp stones thrown with intent, he had paused, his usual easy stride faltering for a split second before he continued on, his expression unreadable, a flicker of something unidentifiable in his dark eyes.
One particularly bleak, rain-swept afternoon, the meager grocery money, carefully counted out and clutched in your sweaty palm, the lifeline that would hopefully stave off your aunt's wrath for another week, was snatched from you just outside the familiar fluorescent glow of the convenience store.
A gaggle of giggling, impeccably dressed girls, their faces bright with a casual cruelty that chilled you to the bone, had surrounded you like a pack of predators. "Well, well, well, look what we have here," the ringleader had sneered, her perfectly manicured nails reaching for your trembling hand.
"Going on a little snack run, tubby? Maybe stocking up for winter hibernation?" "Leave me alone," you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible above the drumming rain, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs.
"Oh, are you going to cry?" another one taunted, her eyes glinting with malicious amusement. "Maybe a few tears will wash away some of that… extra baggage." "What's this, enough for a diet soda?" the first girl said, snatching the crumpled bills from your grasp.
"Maybe you should try skipping a few meals, fatty," another added, their laughter echoing the hollowness that had become a constant companion in your stomach. "Yeah," a third chimed in, her voice dripping with false concern, "think of it as us doing you a favor. Helping you reach your… goals."
"Just give it back," you pleaded, tears welling in your eyes, blurring their cruel faces. "It's all I have. My aunt…" They just laughed harder, their cruelty a sharp, physical pain. "Too slow," the ringleader said, tucking the money into her designer bag with a smug smile. "Maybe next time you'll learn to run faster. Or maybe just stay home."
Fear, cold and sharp as shards of glass, pierced through you, rendering your legs heavy and unresponsive. Home, usually a place of quiet dread, now loomed like a monstrous shadow in the downpour. Without the groceries, without the flimsy excuse of running an errand, the prospect of facing your aunt's wrath was unbearable.
"Where have you been?" she'd likely snap, her eyes narrowing with suspicion, her voice laced with impatience. "And where are the groceries I asked for? Don't tell me you've dawdled again." You could already hear the accusations, the bitter recriminations, the inevitable lecture about your worthlessness.
You found yourself huddled beneath the inadequate shelter of a dusty shop awning, the relentless rain plastering strands of hair to your forehead, tears blurring your vision as they mingled with the raindrops tracing paths down your cheeks. "Great," you muttered to yourself, the despair a heavy weight in your chest.
"Just great. Now what?" You were stranded, caught in the cruel intersection of teenage malice and a desolate home life, with nowhere safe to turn. "What am I going to do?" you whispered into the storm, the question a pathetic plea carried away by the wind.
Then, through the grey curtain of rain, a figure emerged. Tall and lean, with the unmistakable swagger of the school's star athlete, Han Jisung paused beside you. His expensive black umbrella, large enough to shelter two, dripped steadily at the edges, a stark contrast to the cheap, flimsy one you usually carried.
He didn't say a word, didn't offer a platitude or a condescending remark. He simply extended the umbrella towards you, the silent gesture a stark contrast to the cacophony of cruel words you had just endured. For a fleeting moment, your fingers brushed against his as you hesitantly took the offered shelter, a surprising jolt of warmth in the pervasive cold.
He turned and walked away, disappearing back into the downpour as quickly and silently as he had appeared. "Hey," you called out after him, a confused question forming on your lips, a desperate need to understand his unexpected kindness, but he was already gone, swallowed by the rain.
Confused, a strange cocktail of gratitude and bewilderment churning within you, you watched his retreating figure. Why would he do that? you wondered, clutching the smooth handle of the umbrella, its expensive fabric a stark contrast to your own worn coat.
Just as you began to think it had been a fleeting act of detached charity, a moment of pity from someone who existed in a completely different stratosphere, he reappeared. This time, he held a small, clear plastic bag clutched in his hand. He stopped directly in front of you.
"Here," he said, his voice surprisingly quiet, almost a murmur, his gaze flicking around as if he didn't want to be seen. He wordlessly pressed the bag into your hand. Inside, nestled against the damp plastic, were crisp twenty-dollar bills.
His expression was unreadable, his dark eyes flickered over your face briefly, a fleeting acknowledgment of your distress. He simply nodded, a curt, almost imperceptible movement of his head. "Take it," he added, his gaze direct for a fleeting second, a hint of something unreadable in their depths. And then he turned and walked away again, melting back into the rainy afternoon, leaving you standing beneath his expensive umbrella, the unexpected kindness a heavy, almost unbelievable weight in your hand.
Your lips parted in stunned silence, a soft, disbelieving "thank you" escaping into the drumming rain, a whisper lost in the downpour. The twenty dollars felt like more than just money; it felt like a lifeline, a tiny, unexpected crack of light in the overwhelming darkness.
"Thank you," you repeated, a little louder this time, clutching the bag tightly, even though he was already gone. The warmth of the unexpected gesture spread through the chill of the rain, a small seed of hope planted in the barren landscape of your day. You wondered, just for a moment, if maybe, just maybe, you weren't entirely invisible after all.
The sleek, black umbrella, a stark contrast to the cheap, floral one you usually carried, became an unspoken, tangible link between your vastly different orbits. It stood sentinel in your locker, a silent testament to an act of unexpected kindness that replayed in your mind like a recurring dream.
The twenty dollars, carefully and sparingly used to replenish your stolen grocery money, felt like more than just currency; it was a symbol of a hand reaching out in the darkness, a small spark of hope in the overwhelming gloom. A hesitant "thank you" the next day in the crowded hallway, your voice barely a rustle of sound, was met with a curt nod from Jisung, his usual guarded expression firmly in place, his gaze already sweeping over the bustling student body. But something had subtly shifted, a nearly imperceptible crack in the icy façade he usually presented to the world.
It began with shared study sessions in the hushed sanctuary of the library. He never explicitly invited you, never uttered a direct request. Instead, he would simply appear at your usual corner table, a formidable stack of advanced calculus textbooks and meticulously organized notes in hand.
You, initially wary of his continued presence, found a surprising, almost unsettling comfort in his focused silence. He possessed an unexpected patience when you wrestled with a particularly convoluted equation, explaining complex concepts with a quiet clarity that your often-impatient teachers lacked.
"Think of it like this," he'd say, his brow furrowed in concentration as he sketched diagrams on scrap paper, his voice a low murmur that barely disturbed the quiet hum of the library. You, in turn, would sometimes help him navigate the labyrinthine prose of English literature, your insightful interpretations of symbolism and theme offering a perspective he, with his more analytical mind, hadn't considered.
"That's… actually a really interesting way to look at it," he'd admit, a flicker of genuine intellectual curiosity in his dark eyes. These sessions were mostly silent, punctuated by the rustling of turning pages and the soft scratching of pens against paper, but a fragile, unspoken camaraderie began to bloom in the shared pursuit of knowledge, a quiet understanding passing between you over highlighted passages and solved problems.
Then came the late-night texts, the glow of your phone screen illuminating your face in the darkness of your small room. It started with a simple, utilitarian "Need help with the assignment?" from his number, a question that sent a jolt of surprised apprehension through you.
Hesitantly, you replied with a terse "Maybe," and soon, short, academic queries about formulas and literary devices morphed into slightly longer exchanges about favorite books (his surprisingly leaning towards classic sci-fi, yours towards poignant coming-of-age stories), obscure indie music, and even, occasionally, fleeting, carefully worded glimpses into the mundane details of your respective days.
His texts were often clipped, punctuated by emojis that seemed oddly out of character for the school's notoriously aloof jock – a surprisingly expressive thumbs-up, a thoughtful pondering face – but there was a consistency to them, a quiet checking-in that you found yourself looking forward to, a small beacon in the often-lonely expanse of your evenings.
He stumbled upon your deep-seated passion for retro video games during one of your brief study breaks in the library, when you were idly scrolling through an old emulator on your battered phone, a nostalgic smile softening your features as pixelated spaceships whizzed across the screen.
To your surprise, a flicker of recognition crossed his usually impassive face. "That's 'Galactic Gladiators', right?" he'd asked, leaning closer, a genuine spark of interest momentarily eclipsing his usual reserve. "My older brother used to be obsessed with that game. I remember watching him play for hours."
This shared, unexpected connection, a bridge built on 8-bit nostalgia, led to clandestine gaming sessions at his sprawling, modern home on weekends. His house, with its sleek furniture and panoramic city views, was a stark, almost intimidating contrast to your cramped, perpetually shadowed one, but in the dimly lit, surprisingly comfortable game room, surrounded by the hypnotic glow of multiple screens and the cheerful cacophony of digital sound effects, you found a strange, unexpected sense of belonging.
He was surprisingly competitive, his fingers flying across the controller with practiced ease, but never condescending, and your laughter, a sound you rarely heard yourself make, would sometimes bubble up and fill the room, a light, joyful sound that felt foreign yet wonderfully liberating. "Nice move!" he'd grudgingly admit after you executed a particularly skillful maneuver, a rare smile gracing his lips.
Throughout these increasingly frequent interactions, Jisung remained a keen, almost unnervingly perceptive, silent observer. He noticed the almost imperceptible tremor in your hands when someone raised their voice, even in a casual classroom discussion.
He saw the fleeting shadow of anxiety that flickered in your eyes when he accidentally brushed your arm in the crowded hallway. He learned your instinctive aversion to sudden loud noises, the way your gaze would dart nervously towards any raised hand in a classroom, as if anticipating a blow.
He pieced together the fragmented clues of your unspoken traumas, the subtle anxieties that clung to you like a second skin, an invisible weight you carried in the slump of your shoulders. He never pried, never asked directly about your strained home life or the cruelties you endured within the school's social hierarchy, but his awareness grew, a quiet understanding that seemed to settle in his dark eyes whenever he looked at you, a silent acknowledgment of the battles you fought unseen.
One particularly unpleasant afternoon, as you were walking home from school, clutching your backpack straps tightly, a group of boisterous guys from the basketball team, emboldened by their perceived social superiority, started making crude, insensitive remarks.
"Hey, look, it's Beauty and the Beast!" one of them jeered, his voice dripping with a nasty sarcasm that made your stomach clench. "Guess who's Beauty?" another one chimed in, eliciting a round of snickers. You froze, your face flushing crimson with shame, your instinct to disappear into the nearest crack in the sidewalk overwhelming.
Before you could shrink away and endure their taunts in silence, Jisung, who had been walking a few discreet steps behind you, his presence unnoticed until that moment, moved with a sudden, terrifying speed. He closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, grabbing the loudest offender by the collar of his expensive sports jacket, his knuckles white with barely suppressed fury.
"Shut your fucking mouth," Jisung growled, his usual cool, detached demeanor replaced by a raw, furious intensity you had never witnessed before, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. The other guys, initially amused, backed away, their laughter dying in their throats, surprised and intimidated by his violent outburst. Jisung shoved the guy away, his eyes blazing with a protective anger.
"Don't you ever talk about her like that again. Do you understand me?" The guy, visibly shaken and surprised by the ferocity of Jisung's reaction, mumbled a hasty apology and hurried away with his equally stunned friends. Jisung turned to you, his chest heaving slightly, his expression softening infinitesimally, a hint of genuine concern in his dark eyes.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice low and surprisingly gentle. You could only nod mutely, your breath caught in your throat, the unexpected, fierce defense leaving you both shaken and strangely… protected, a warmth spreading through the cold knot of shame in your chest.
But the incident, as such things often do in the hothouse environment of high school, had significant repercussions. Whispers followed Jisung down the hallways now, laced with a different, more salacious kind of speculation. "Did you see him go after her like that?" someone murmured, their eyes wide with gossip.
"He's totally obsessed with that… chubby girl. What does he even see in her?" The rumors spread like wildfire, fueled by the public display of Jisung's anger and your continued, albeit still somewhat hesitant, proximity. "Jisung's into fatties," one particularly cruel comment, delivered with a deliberate, cutting edge, reached his ears in the crowded cafeteria during lunch.
The words, meant to be a public humiliation aimed at both of you, hit a raw nerve, igniting a fury within him that you had only glimpsed before. In a flash, Jisung was on his feet, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were bone-white.
He strode purposefully towards the group of guys who had been snickering, his eyes dark with a barely controlled rage. He grabbed the one who had spoken by the front of his shirt and slammed him against a nearby table, sending trays clattering and food scattering across the linoleum floor.
"Listen here, you piece of shit," Jisung snarled, his voice dangerously low but carrying through the stunned silence of the suddenly hushed cafeteria. "She isn't fat. She is chubby, and being chubby isn't inherently bad. She looks absolutely beautiful.
There is a fundamental difference between ignorance and deliberate malice. Educate yourself, you fucker." He punctuated his furious words with a sharp, brutal punch to the guy's jaw before his stunned friends could react and pull him away. The cafeteria buzzed with shocked whispers and a newfound, albeit grudging and often resentful, respect for Jisung's fierce, albeit violent, defense of you.
The rumors, however, persisted, twisting the narrative into something you increasingly dreaded. "Rich brat Jisung dating the school outcast," they whispered, their voices laced with a mixture of disbelief and disdain. "Probably just a phase. He'll get bored of her eventually and go back to the pretty, skinny girls."
These whispers, amplified by the dramatic incident in the cafeteria, inevitably reached the venomous ears of your aunt. The subtle shift in Jisung's behavior, the undeniable attention he was now paying you, confirmed her worst, most cynical suspicions.
"So," she hissed one evening as you were silently washing dishes after a particularly grueling day at school and an even more grueling dinner with her, her eyes narrowed with a predatory suspicion, "that rich boy has his claws in you now, hasn't he?" You flinched at the venom in her tone, the familiar sting of her judgment.
"He's just… a friend, Aunt," you mumbled, trying to keep your voice steady despite the tremor that ran through you. Her hand shot out with surprising speed, catching you across the face, the sharp crack echoing in the small, cramped kitchen. The physical pain was a familiar ache, but the accusation that followed cut far deeper. "Don't lie to me, you little gold digger!" she spat, her grip tightening on your arm like a vise.
"I knew it. I always knew you were after something. Trying to latch onto his money, aren't you? Just like your good-for-nothing mother!" Her words were like a toxic poison, seeping into the fragile sense of hope that had begun to tentatively bloom within you, twisting the unexpected kindness into something ugly and manipulative. The physical pain was nothing compared to the crushing weight of her accusations, her bitter, distorted perception of your burgeoning connection with Jisung.
The relentless rumors, your aunt's brutal abuse and her vile accusations, the gnawing fear of what others were saying about Jisung because of his association with you – it all became an unbearable weight, crushing the fragile shoots of hope that had dared to emerge.
The unexpected bridge you had started to build with Jisung felt like it was crumbling beneath your feet, the whispers and judgments like relentless waves eroding the foundation. In a desperate, self-preservationist attempt to protect yourself, to retreat back into the familiar, albeit agonizing, solitude, you made a drastic, heart-wrenching decision.
With trembling fingers, tears blurring your vision, you blocked Jisung's number on your old phone, severing the digital lifeline that had offered a sliver of connection. You deleted your text conversations, erasing the late-night exchanges that had brought you a fleeting sense of belonging, the digital echoes of his unexpected kindness now too painful to bear.
You started avoiding the library during your usual study times, the quiet corners now feeling like painful, empty reminders of his focused presence. When he tried to approach you in the crowded hallways, his usual aloofness replaced with a bewildered concern, his brow furrowed with worry and a silent question in his dark eyes, you would turn away, your heart aching with a silent scream of despair trapped in your throat, your gaze fixed resolutely on the opposite wall.
The umbrellas and game nights became distant, bittersweet memories, shrouded in a self-imposed silence, a shield you erected to protect your already battered heart from a world that seemed determined to misunderstand and hurt you.
The fragile connection, barely formed, snapped under the immense weight of fear, misunderstanding, and the crushing reality of your own deeply ingrained insecurities, leaving you alone again in the echoing silence of your own making, the black umbrella a stark, painful reminder of what could have been.
--
Eight years. An epoch in the fleeting landscape of youth, a span long enough for the seasons to cycle countless times, painting the world in vibrant hues of spring and summer, then stripping it bare with the stark beauty of autumn and winter.
Enough time for fledgling cities to evolve into sprawling, gleaming metropolises of steel and glass, their skylines perpetually reaching for the heavens, monuments to human ambition and progress.
And certainly enough time for the tentative bud of a high school connection, once so fragile and fraught with misunderstanding, to wither into a distant, almost dreamlike memory, its sharp edges softened by the relentless passage of time, its significance fading into the hazy recesses of the past, like a forgotten melody played on a broken instrument, its notes barely audible.
You were no longer the shrinking, self-conscious teenager haunted by the cruel whispers that echoed in the crowded hallways and the oppressive silence of a toxic home, a ghost in your own life. You had painstakingly, meticulously built a new life for yourself, brick by emotional brick, each one laid with the mortar of hard work, unwavering determination, and a fierce, almost defiant independence that had blossomed in the fertile ground of necessity, a shield against the vulnerabilities of the past.
The late nights spent poring over textbooks, the quiet dedication to mastering complex algorithms and intricate lines of code, the relentless pursuit of knowledge in the digital realm, had finally translated into a thriving career as a successful IT engineer in your early twenties.
You commanded respect in boardrooms, your innovative solutions were sought after by colleagues and superiors alike, and your code was elegant, efficient, a testament to the sharp, analytical mind that had always been your secret strength, a weapon against the insecurities that once threatened to consume you.
Your personal life, however, remained a carefully constructed fortress, its walls high and its gates firmly locked, guarded by years of ingrained caution and a deep-seated wariness of vulnerability. You lived alone in a sleek, minimalist apartment perched high above the city's relentless pulse, a sanctuary of your own making where silence was a welcome companion and your personal space was your own inviolable domain, a stark contrast to the chaotic, unpredictable environment of your adolescence. The panoramic city views from your floor-to-ceiling windows served as a constant reminder of how far you had come, a testament to your resilience.
Close friends were a concept that felt foreign, almost unnecessary, a potential source of pain you had learned to avoid, the risk of emotional entanglement outweighing the promise of genuine connection. The scars of the past ran deep, invisible but persistent, leaving you emotionally guarded, wary of any hint of intimacy, and proficient at maintaining a polite, professional distance from everyone you encountered. Trust was a precious currency you hoarded carefully, rarely spending it, its value inflated by the painful lessons etched into the fabric of your youth, lessons you had no intention of repeating.
One crisp autumn afternoon, the air carrying the melancholic scent of fallen leaves swirling in the city's canyons and the sharp, invigorating promise of a coming winter, you were hurrying down a busy downtown street during your lunch break. A mental checklist of errands – dry cleaning, a quick stop at the independent bookstore you frequented for its comforting smell of old paper and ink, and perhaps a decent cup of artisanal coffee from that new place around the corner – ran through your mind with the precision of a well-written algorithm, each task prioritized and scheduled.
Lost in the intricate logic of a particularly challenging debugging task you'd been wrestling with all morning, your mind still tracing the elusive error in the cascading lines of code, a phantom bug that seemed to shift and evade your every attempt to squash it, you rounded a sharp corner near a bustling, trendy coffee shop and collided with someone.
The unexpected impact sent a jolt through you and your sleek, state-of-the-art smartphone skittering across the textured pavement, its screen momentarily flashing a distorted image of your focused concentration before going dark, a small tragedy in your otherwise meticulously managed day.
"Oh, excuse me! I am so incredibly sorry," you murmured automatically, bending down to retrieve your device, your initial annoyance momentarily overshadowed by the awkwardness of the unexpected physical contact and the immediate fear of a cracked screen, a costly inconvenience in your otherwise meticulously ordered life.
As you straightened up, your eyes traveled upwards, drawn to the man you had bumped into. He was taller now, the lean frame of his youth filled out with a more mature breadth across his shoulders, the boyish angularity of his face softened by the passage of time into a subtly handsome countenance, etched with the faintest lines of experience around his eyes, lines that hinted at late nights and weighty decisions, a roadmap of the years that had passed.
Wire-framed glasses, a sophisticated touch you wouldn't have pictured on the often casually dressed teenager you remembered, perched on the bridge of his nose, framing intelligent, familiar eyes that widened almost imperceptibly in surprise, a fleeting flicker of recognition dancing within their depths, a spark that ignited a dormant ember within you, sending a surprising warmth through the chill autumn air.
His once meticulously styled, almost severe haircut now fell in a deliberately messy wave across his forehead, giving him a more approachable, less rigidly perfect appearance, a hint of artistic disarray that somehow softened the sharp edges of his undeniable success.
He wore an impeccably tailored wool coat, the dark charcoal fabric hinting at considerable expense and understated power, and held a steaming paper cup in one hand, the rich, dark aroma of freshly brewed, high-end espresso wafting in the cool air, a scent that somehow felt both vaguely familiar and entirely new, a marker of his evolved world.
A jolt of recognition, sharp and unexpected, shot through you, followed by a disorienting wave of a peculiar, almost unsettling familiarity that tugged at the frayed edges of your carefully constructed present, pulling you back to a time you had consciously tried to bury beneath layers of achievement and self-reliance. It couldn't be… could it possibly be? Han Jisung.
Older, undeniably more polished, radiating an aura of quiet confidence and understated power you hadn't witnessed in his teenage years, but the intense gaze that locked with yours, the almost imperceptible quirk of his lips as he registered your presence, was undeniably him.
Your immediate instinct was to disappear, to melt back into the anonymity of the lunchtime crowd, to pretend you hadn't seen him, hadn't felt that disconcerting flicker of recognition that sent a shiver down your spine, a ghost of a past you thought you had outrun finally catching up.
You offered a quick, generic "So sorry," and began to sidestep him, your mind racing, trying to reconcile the aloof, often sharp-edged teenager you remembered with the sophisticated, almost enigmatic man standing before you, a man who exuded an air of quiet authority and effortless charm.
"[Your Name]?" His voice, deeper now, a smooth baritone that resonated in a way the adolescent timbre never had, cutting through the surrounding cacophony of city noise like a familiar melody played on a new instrument, a familiar cadence that pulled at the frayed edges of a long-dormant memory. He said your full name, the way he used to all those years ago during those stolen, quiet moments in the library, a sound that sent a faint, unexpected tremor through you, a vibration that stirred something long dormant within your carefully guarded heart.
You froze, your carefully constructed composure momentarily faltering, the practiced indifference you wore like armor cracking under the unexpected weight of the encounter. You reluctantly met his gaze, a knot of unease tightening in your stomach, a strange mix of apprehension and a hesitant flicker of something akin to… curiosity? "Jisung?" you replied, the name feeling foreign and yet strangely resonant on your tongue after so many years of deliberate disuse, a whisper from a life you thought you had left behind.
A hesitant, almost shy smile touched his lips, a far cry from the cool detachment and occasional sardonic smirk you remembered from high school. "It's been a while," he said, his eyes studying you with an intensity that made you feel strangely exposed, as if he could see past the carefully constructed walls you had built around yourself, peering into the guarded spaces you rarely allowed anyone to glimpse. "You look… well. Successful."
Before you could formulate a polite refusal or an awkward attempt at small talk about the unpredictable autumn weather or the latest traffic snarl that had plagued your morning commute, he gestured vaguely towards the curb with his free hand. "My car's just around the corner. I'm actually heading in your general direction, I think, towards the financial district. Let me give you a ride back to your office. Save you the walk."
Suspicion, a familiar and unwelcome companion, immediately flared within you, its icy tendrils wrapping around your apprehension. Why? After all this time, after the abrupt and painful way your fragile connection had ended, leaving you feeling abandoned and misunderstood? What could he possibly want after eight long years of silence, years you had spent meticulously rebuilding your life without him, brick by painstaking brick?
You hesitated, weighing the awkwardness of accepting his unexpected offer against the even greater awkwardness of a prolonged conversation on a busy street, the risk of dredging up memories you had worked so diligently to bury beneath layers of professional success and emotional detachment.
There was a strange pull, however, an undeniable flicker of curiosity that you couldn't entirely ignore, a nagging question about the man he had become, the path his life had taken in the years since you last saw him. Against your better judgment, a small, almost imperceptible nod escaped you. "Okay," you said, your voice betraying a hint of your inner turmoil, the single word hanging in the air between you, heavy with unspoken history.
He led you not to a typical, anonymous sedan, but to a breathtakingly beautiful Pagani, its sleek, aerodynamic lines a testament to both artistry and engineering prowess, its low, guttural growl a subtle promise of immense power that vibrated through the very pavement beneath your feet.
The car turned heads as you approached, its presence a silent statement of wealth and refined taste, a world away from the battered jalopies that cluttered the high school parking lot of your memory. The passenger door swung open with a soft, almost theatrical whir, revealing luxurious leather seats that enveloped you in their rich embrace as you hesitantly settled inside, the scent of supple leather and something subtly, intoxicatingly expensive filling your senses, a stark contrast to the worn fabric of your old school backpack and the faint scent of your aunt's harsh cleaning supplies that still sometimes clung to your clothes.
The drive was short, punctuated by a strained, polite conversation about the unseasonably warm autumn weather and the general state of the city's ever-congested traffic, the mundane topics a flimsy shield against the unspoken questions that hung heavy in the air between you.
As he smoothly pulled up to your modern office building, its glass façade reflecting the crisp blue sky and the bustling energy of the city, a monument to your hard-won success, he mentioned the name of his investment firm, a brief, almost casual remark dropped into the otherwise stilted conversation as if discussing the morning's headlines. "Stratagem Capital," he said as you reached for the cool, brushed metal of the door handle, your fingers hesitating for a fraction of a second, a sudden premonition settling in your stomach.
"We're actually scheduled to have a rather important meeting with your company next week. Regarding a potential significant investment opportunity."
A sudden, chilling realization washed over you, cold and sharp as glacial ice, stealing your breath and sending a tremor of disbelief through you. "Stratagem Capital?" you repeated, your voice barely a whisper, the name echoing in the sudden silence of the car, a sound that resonated with an unexpected, almost ominous significance.
Your company, a promising tech startup you had poured your heart and soul into for the past few years, a testament to your resilience and your brilliance, had been working tirelessly for months, preparing meticulously crafted presentations, crunching complex financial projections that represented your team's collective hopes and dreams, pouring every ounce of energy and fragile optimism into securing a crucial investment that could catapult your small firm to the next level, finally allowing your innovative ideas to truly take flight and disrupt the industry.
The lead investor's name had been circulated amongst the senior staff, a prominent and highly respected figure in the tech industry, a name that carried significant weight, but in the whirlwind of deadlines and preparations, you hadn't paid it much attention beyond the professional implications, the potential for growth and validation.
You looked at Jisung, really looked at him, the tailored coat that spoke of power, the air of quiet confidence that radiated from him, the casual mention of multi-million dollar investments as if it were everyday conversation. The aloof, sometimes volatile jock of your past had metamorphosed into a powerful, influential man, a titan in the very industry you were striving to conquer.
And he was the investor. The key to your company's future, the man whose decision could make or break everything you had worked so hard to achieve, the man who now held your professional destiny in his hands. The unexpected, almost cruelly ironic twist hung in the air between you, thick with unspoken history, unresolved emotions, and the immense weight of a potentially very complicated, and possibly very high-stakes, future.
The past and the present had collided with a force that left you reeling, the comfortable distance you had cultivated shattered by the unexpected reappearance of a ghost from your past, a ghost who now held the keys to your future.
--
The meeting with Stratagem Capital the following week proceeded with an almost unnerving smoothness. You, as the lead engineer on the project, presented your team's innovative work with a calm professionalism that belied the turmoil churning within you. You fielded questions with clarity and precision, your deep understanding of the technology shining through.
Jisung, seated at the head of the table, listened intently, his gaze steady and focused, occasionally interjecting with insightful queries that demonstrated a genuine interest in your company's vision. There was a detached air to his professionalism, a stark contrast to the unexpected ride you had shared, making it almost seem like that encounter had been a figment of your imagination.
Yet, the occasional flicker of something familiar in his eyes, a brief, almost imperceptible softening of his expression when your gazes met, hinted at the complicated history that lay beneath the surface.
Weeks drifted by in a strange state of limbo. The investment from Stratagem Capital was still under consideration, a looming decision that hung over your company like a delicate balance. In the meantime, you found yourself running into Jisung with surprising frequency.
A silent acknowledgment in the building lobby, a shared elevator ride where neither of you spoke, the air thick with unspoken words and the weight of the past. Occasionally, their paths would cross outside the office, and he would offer you a ride home, a proposition you initially met with hesitant suspicion.
The first few times, the drives were stiff and awkward. Polite inquiries about work and the city filled the silence, careful conversations that skirted around the eight years of absence and the abrupt end of your high school connection.
You remained guarded, observing him with a cautious eye, trying to decipher his intentions. Was this mere politeness, a byproduct of your professional entanglement? Or was there something more beneath the surface?
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, a fragile sense of familiarity began to seep back into your interactions. The silences during the car rides became less strained, occasionally punctuated by a shared observation about a news report or a wry comment about the city's unpredictable traffic.
You found yourself, on a couple of particularly late nights at the office, accepting his offer of a ride without the initial surge of suspicion. There was a strange comfort in the shared journey, a sense of unexpected ease that surprised you.
Unbeknownst to you, Jisung had been meticulously piecing together the fragments of the past, recalling details from your brief time in high school. He remembered your quiet enthusiasm for a particular indie game, the way your eyes lit up when discussing a certain author, and, most surprisingly, he remembered your birthday.
A date that had somehow lodged itself in the recesses of his memory, a small, insignificant detail from a lifetime ago. As your birthday approached, he found himself making plans, a quiet dinner at a restaurant with a discreet, elegant ambiance, the perfect setting to finally ask you out, to see if the fragile connection rekindled by chance could blossom into something more.
Then, one afternoon, as you were leaving the office, he saw you standing outside, laughing with a male coworker. Your head was thrown back, your face radiant with genuine amusement, a carefree expression he hadn't witnessed on you in all the years he had known you, even in your brief moments of joy in high school.
A sharp, unexpected pang of jealousy, unfamiliar and unwelcome, clenched in his chest. The easy camaraderie you shared with this colleague, the effortless joy in your expression, stirred something possessive within him, a feeling he hadn't anticipated.
That evening, as you were packing up your things, preparing for the quiet solitude of your apartment, Jisung was waiting for you in the lobby. Instead of his usual quiet offer of a ride, he stood near the reception desk, his presence drawing the attention of several of your colleagues who were also leaving for the day.
He waited until your eyes met his across the bustling space, and then, his voice carrying with a newfound confidence that echoed through the lobby, he addressed you publicly. "Ms. [Your Last Name]," he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, his gaze holding yours. "Would you do me the honor of having dinner with me tomorrow night?"
All eyes in the lobby turned to you, a mixture of curiosity and speculation in their gazes. Caught completely off guard by the public invitation, a blush creeping up your neck, you felt a wave of awkwardness wash over you. The memories of the high school rumors, the sting of your aunt's accusations, flashed through your mind.
Yet, there was also a strange pull, a reluctant curiosity to see where this unexpected turn of events might lead. Under the scrutiny of your colleagues, their hushed whispers filling the sudden silence, you managed a hesitant, "Yes, Mr. Han. I would." The agreement felt both inevitable and incredibly awkward, a step back into a past you had tried so hard to leave behind, under the watchful eyes of your present.
-
A nervous energy, a fluttering anticipation you hadn't permitted yourself to feel in years, stirred within the carefully guarded chambers of your heart as you prepared for the unexpected dinner. You stood before your closet, a meticulously curated collection of professional attire in understated hues that spoke of competence and control, and sought something that felt both comfortable and hinted at the special occasion, a subtle rebellion against your usual reserved style, a quiet acknowledgment of the significance of the evening.
Your gaze finally settled on a cherry red top, a vibrant splash of color that always seemed to inject a bit of defiant joy into your spirit, a bold statement against the muted tones that often mirrored your inner landscape. You paired it with a denim skort, a touch of casual familiarity amidst the potential formality of the evening, a grounding element that reminded you of the woman you were beneath the polished exterior you presented to the world.
To elevate the look, you chose a pair of sleek cherry red heels, adding a confident lift to your stride and a subtle statement of intent, a silent assertion of your own worth. Finally, you adorned yourself with delicate gold jewelry – a slender necklace that rested at your collarbone, catching the light with a subtle shimmer that drew attention to the graceful curve of your neck, and elegant stud earrings that framed your face with a touch of understated grace, adding a hint of warmth to your otherwise cool demeanor.
The reflection staring back was a woman you had painstakingly built, piece by painstaking piece, strong and independent, a far cry from the invisible, shrinking girl of your past, a testament to your resilience and unwavering spirit.
A sharp, insistent knock echoed through the quiet of your apartment, a sound that both quickened your pulse and filled you with a sense of nervous anticipation. Taking a deep breath, a silent promise to yourself to simply relax and enjoy the evening, regardless of where it might lead, you opened the door to find Jisung standing there.
The black satin shirt he wore accentuated the broad expanse of his shoulders, the fabric catching the soft hallway light with a subtle, almost liquid sheen that hinted at a quiet luxury. The wire-framed glasses added an unexpected intellectual air to his already handsome features, making his sharp, intelligent eyes seem even more thoughtful and perceptive, and you couldn't help but notice how undeniably fine he looked, a refined elegance that was both familiar, a ghost of the intense, sometimes volatile boy you once knew, and entirely new, a testament to the years that had sculpted him into this composed, intriguing man.
The ride to the restaurant was initially filled with a nervous tension, a subtle undercurrent of awkwardness that mirrored your earlier encounters, the silence punctuated by the gentle hum of the Pagani's engine.
Polite conversation filled the gaps, careful inquiries about the day's events and the surprisingly mild autumn weather, neither of you quite venturing into the deeper, more turbulent waters of your shared history or the uncertain territory of the present.
You found yourself stealing glances at him, trying to reconcile the composed man beside you, radiating an air of quiet confidence, with the memory of the intense, sometimes volatile teenager who had defended you in the crowded school cafeteria.
The restaurant was perched on a rooftop, offering a breathtaking panorama of the city lights twinkling below like a million scattered diamonds on a velvet cloth. The ambiance was sophisticated and intimate, soft jazz music drifting through the air, the murmur of hushed conversations a gentle hum that created a sense of secluded elegance, a world away from the noisy chaos of your high school days.
The initial awkwardness during dinner slowly began to dissipate as the conversation drifted towards lighter topics – shared observations about the dazzling city skyline, a brief, surprisingly engaging discussion about a thought-provoking documentary you had both recently watched, revealing unexpected common interests that bridged the years.
Then, as the dessert arrived, a delicate chocolate torte adorned with a single, flickering candle, casting a warm glow on his face, Jisung's eyes met yours with a soft intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "Happy birthday, [Your Name]," he said, his voice a low, warm murmur that sent an unexpected shiver down your spine, a simple acknowledgment that held a weight of unspoken understanding.
He then presented you with a small, exquisitely wrapped box, the paper a deep, rich burgundy tied with a silver ribbon, the weight of it surprisingly substantial in your hand. Inside, nestled in soft, black velvet, was a heavy crystal perfume bottle, its facets catching the candlelight.
You lifted it, your breath catching in your throat. The delicate, floral and slightly musky scent that wafted upwards was instantly, achingly familiar, a nostalgic echo of your high school days, a fragrance you hadn't encountered in years, a scent that held within it the ghost of a younger, more vulnerable you.
And then you saw it – your name, [Your Name], elegantly and intricately carved into the smooth, cool glass of the bottle, a personal touch that resonated with a profound intimacy. A wave of emotion washed over you, a poignant mix of profound surprise and an unexpected tenderness that resonated deep within your carefully guarded heart.
He remembered. He remembered the small, seemingly insignificant detail of your favorite scent from a lifetime ago, a scent that evoked bittersweet memories of a time when simple pleasures held a greater significance, a time before the weight of the world had settled so heavily on your shoulders.
Tears welled in your eyes as you looked at him, a raw vulnerability exposed that you rarely allowed anyone to witness, a crack in the carefully constructed facade of your independence.
"Jisung," you began, your voice trembling slightly, the carefully constructed walls around your heart momentarily crumbling under the weight of his unexpected thoughtfulness and the poignant memories the perfume evoked. "This is… this is incredibly thoughtful. More than I could have ever expected. Thank you."
You paused, gathering your courage to voice the deeper turmoil that had plagued you for so long, the insecurities that still whispered in the quiet corners of your mind. "But… I need to be honest with you. I… I don't love myself. Not really. Not in the way someone should. And if I don't love myself, how can I possibly let anyone else truly love me? I'm… I'm afraid of that. Afraid of being hurt again, afraid of not being enough."
The confession hung in the air between you, heavy with years of unspoken pain, ingrained insecurity, and the deep-seated fear of repeating the hurts of the past, a truth you had carried like a secret burden.
He reached across the table, his larger hand gently covering yours, his touch warm and grounding, a silent reassurance that transcended words.
His gaze was earnest, unwavering, filled with a quiet understanding that surprised you with its depth, a knowing look that seemed to see past your carefully constructed defenses. "Then I'll wait," he said softly, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand, his eyes conveying a patience you hadn't anticipated, a steadfastness that offered a glimmer of hope.
"I'll wait until you do, [Your Name]. Because I know, deep down, the incredible woman you are, the strength and resilience you possess. And I believe you'll see it too, eventually. And when you do, whenever that may be, I'll still be here." His words were a balm to your wounded spirit, an unexpected promise of unwavering support and a profound belief in you that resonated deep within your heart, planting a tiny seed of hope in the barren landscape of your self-doubt, a fragile promise of a future you hadn't dared to imagine.
--
The rooftop dinner, bathed in the soft glow of city lights and punctuated by the raw vulnerability you had dared to share, marked a subtle but significant shift in the long, unspoken narrative between you and Jisung. The confession, the hesitant unveiling of your deepest insecurities, hung in the air not as a source of awkwardness or a point of retreat, but as a fragile, newly forged bridge spanning the chasm of years and misunderstandings.
In the weeks that followed, slow, deliberate progress began, like the tentative unfurling of a tightly closed bloom. A simple goodnight text evolved into a brief, thoughtful exchange the next day. A casual inquiry about the challenges of your workday led to a late-night phone call, the comfortable silence that occasionally fell between you gradually replacing the nervous tension and unspoken anxieties of the past.
He didn't push, didn't make demands or issue expectations. He simply offered his quiet, unwavering presence, a steady anchor in the sometimes-turbulent waters of your emotions, a silent reassurance that he wasn't going anywhere.
He would text a simple "How was your day?" or share an interesting article he thought you might find engaging, a small gesture that spoke volumes about his attentiveness. Occasionally, he would suggest a late-night study session, the pretense of academic pursuit now a comfortable backdrop for shared interests – a complex documentary that sparked a fascinating debate, a classic novel you had always intended to read but never found the time for, its pages becoming a shared landscape of discovery.
Slowly, tentatively, you began to lower the carefully constructed walls around your heart, brick by painstaking brick. You found a surprising comfort in his quiet understanding, the way he listened without judgment, his responses thoughtful and genuine, reflecting a depth of empathy you hadn't encountered before.
He learned your rhythms, the days you needed space to navigate the lingering shadows of your past, the evenings you might welcome a gentle distraction, a shared meal, or a quiet conversation. He even started suggesting you cook together at his spacious, modern apartment, his sleek kitchen a stark and welcoming contrast to the cramped, often tense atmosphere of the kitchen of your childhood.
These evenings were filled with a comfortable domesticity, the shared task of preparing a meal, the rhythmic chopping of vegetables, the simmering of sauces, becoming a silent language of growing intimacy and trust.
A year spun by, marked by the subtle shifts in the seasons and the more profound shifts within yourself. Jisung's unwavering patience and quiet, steadfast support had become an integral and comforting presence in your life, a constant source of gentle encouragement.
You found yourself laughing more freely, the sound echoing in your apartment without the familiar tinge of self-consciousness. Your steps felt lighter, your shoulders less burdened. The sharp edges of your emotional guardedness began to soften, replaced by a tentative sense of self-acceptance, a growing understanding of your own inherent worth.
You started looking at your reflection with a kinder, more forgiving eye, the critical voice within slowly quieting its relentless judgment. While the journey to fully loving yourself was an ongoing process, a path you were still navigating, you were undeniably more confident, more emotionally stable, the foundations of your well-being feeling stronger and more resilient than they ever had before.
Then, finally, came the day of the project launch, the culmination of months of intense work, sleepless nights, and unwavering dedication, the very project upon which Stratagem Capital's significant investment hinged. The atmosphere in the office was electric with a palpable mixture of nervous anticipation and focused energy, the air thick with the unspoken hopes and fears of your entire team.
You, as the lead engineer and the driving force behind the innovation, presented the final product with a quiet confidence that belied the subtle tremor of excitement within you, your voice steady and clear as you navigated the intricate technical details, your passion for the project shining through.
Everything went smoothly, the system performing flawlessly, its elegant functionality and groundbreaking capabilities impressing the stakeholders. A collective sigh of relief and a wave of triumphant exhaustion washed over your team as the launch was officially declared a resounding success, a testament to your collective hard work and vision.
That evening, a simple text message from Jisung arrived on your phone, the familiar name on the screen sending a warmth spreading through you: "Stratagem party tonight. Nexus. Consider it a celebration of a job well done."
It was a casual invitation, understated in its wording, but the underlying warmth and a hint of personal invitation were unmistakable, a quiet acknowledgment of your shared journey and your individual triumph. Hesitantly, a sense of nervous excitement fluttering in your stomach, you decided to go.
-
The invitation to Nexus arrived with a subtly possessive addendum from Jisung, delivered via a late-night text that vibrated with an unspoken intimacy: "Wear black. It suits you, highlights the fire in your eyes, and makes those cherry lips look like they're begging for a taste."
Trusting his quiet confidence and the undeniably suggestive compliment, you chose a sleek black dress. Its simple elegance skimmed your curves like a whispered promise, a silent statement of newfound comfort and a daring hint of burgeoning sensuality in your own skin.
The fabric flowed around you like liquid night, a stark contrast to the vibrant, almost defiant red of your birthday dinner, yet equally, if not more, captivating, a subtle promise of the woman you were slowly, deliberately unleashing.
At the club, "Nexus," Jisung's sleek and exclusive domain, the celebratory atmosphere was thick with the intoxicating blend of pulsating music, unrestrained laughter, and the expensive, heady aroma of designer perfume and celebratory spirits.
Your colleagues, flushed with the heady success of the project launch, their usual professional reserve dissolving with each shared bottle of champagne, were in high spirits, their inhibitions lowered to a dangerous degree. You found yourself drawn into their revelry, the offered glasses of the effervescent liquid, each accompanied by increasingly suggestive toasts to your team's brilliance and your own pivotal role, proving utterly irresistible in the face of their insistent camaraderie and playful shoves.
Your notoriously low tolerance for alcohol, a delicate secret you rarely shared, meant the celebratory drinks went to your head with thrilling speed, the edges of the room beginning to soften and sway, the bass of the music vibrating deep within your core, a physical manifestation of the delicious unraveling of your carefully controlled senses, igniting a reckless, intoxicating warmth that spread through your veins.
Soon, a giddy laughter, a sound that had been long suppressed beneath layers of self-consciousness and ingrained caution, bubbled up from within you, a lightness you hadn't experienced with such uninhibited abandon in years.
Encouraged by your tipsy colleagues, their cheers and suggestive winks egging you on, you found yourself on the dance floor, moving with a fluid, uninhibited grace that surprised even yourself, a joyous, almost primal release of pent-up tension and newfound confidence.
Through the shimmering haze of alcohol and flashing lights, your gaze locked with Jisung's across the crowded room.
He was watching you from the edge of the dance floor, leaning against a polished chrome pillar, a soft, almost possessive smile playing on his lips, his gaze dark, intense, and utterly unwavering, a silent observer who seemed to find a quiet amusement and a palpable, smoldering desire in your uncharacteristic abandon.
His eyes held a dark, knowing gleam that sent a shiver of raw anticipation dancing down your spine.
A sudden, deliciously wicked impulse, fueled by the alcohol's intoxicating loosening grip on your inhibitions and a burgeoning, undeniable, almost desperate affection for the man who watched you with such quiet intensity, overtook you with a thrilling recklessness.
With a playful shout that was almost a husky invitation, you weaved through the dancing crowd, a black-clad siren navigating the throng with an unexpected agility, reached Jisung, and, with a boldness that made your own heart pound, yanked him down by the collar of his dark, subtly shimmering silk shirt.
Your cherry-red lips crashed onto his in a kiss that was anything but demure, a rush of giddy affection, uninhibited desire, and a playful, teasing exploration of the boundaries that had long separated you. Your hands tangled in the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer until your bodies were pressed together, the kiss a heady mix of champagne-fueled impulsiveness and a genuine longing that had been slowly simmering beneath the surface for months, now boiling over.
You nipped playfully at his lower lip before deepening the kiss, your tongue darting out to tease his, a silent, brazen dare in your slightly inebriated state that made his breath hitch and a low groan rumble in his chest.
You punctuated the bold move by gently biting down on his lower lip, a playful yet possessive gesture, before tugging lightly, drawing a surprised, yet undeniably pleased, sound from him.
He recoiled slightly, a flicker of surprise widening his dark eyes before a gentle, yet firm, hand cupped your cheek, stilling your impulsive actions, his thumb stroking the soft skin beneath your ear with a tender possessiveness that sent a delicious thrill spiraling through you.
"Hey," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your swollen lips, a note of amused concern and a definite, husky undercurrent of arousal lacing his tone.
"Easy there, Ms. Y/L/N. Those cherry lips are getting a little… demanding, and you're swaying like a particularly lovely willow tree in a strong breeze. Though, I must admit," his gaze dropped to your lips, a dark heat flickering in his eyes, a predatory gleam that made your pulse quicken, "it's a rather… persuasive argument."
He carefully, yet reluctantly, disentangled himself, his arm remaining possessively around your waist, his touch a steady anchor in your suddenly unsteady world.
Gently but firmly, he steered you away from the pulsating crowd, his concern evident in his steady, unwavering gaze, though a hint of reluctant longing and a definite spark of desire still lingered in their depths.
He helped you into the cool, luxurious embrace of his Pagani, the soft leather a welcome contrast to the sudden heat that flushed your skin.
The ride back to your apartment was quiet, punctuated only by your occasional giggles and his soft, reassuring murmurs, his hand resting lightly on your thigh, his fingers occasionally flexing as if fighting a fierce internal battle against the urge to explore further.
As you fumbled with your door, the city lights blurring through the alcohol-induced haze, Jisung patiently guided your unsteady hand to the keypad.
You punched in the code '14092000', the familiar sequence a jumbled mess in your slightly inebriated mind, the numbers swimming before your eyes. Then, as the lock clicked open, the realization hit you with the force of a sudden downpour, a wave of unexpected warmth flooding through the alcoholic haze.
The numbers… they were his birthday. A small, intimate detail he had entrusted to you, a silent gesture of trust that spoke volumes about the depth of his feelings and the quiet intimacy you now shared, a secret language whispered in digits that now felt like a key to something much deeper.
Once inside your apartment, the lingering effects of the alcohol made you clumsy and endearingly unsteady, your movements a little too dramatic, your laughter a little too loud, each step a playful sway that threatened to send you tumbling.
As Jisung guided you towards your bedroom, his hand a firm, reassuring presence on your back, a wave of affection, amplified by the alcohol and the heady emotions of the evening, washed over you with an almost overwhelming intensity.
You turned to him, your movements slightly exaggerated, a playful glint in your eyes that hinted at mischief and a burgeoning, almost desperate desire. Reaching out, you tugged gently on his hand, pulling him down onto the edge of your bed with a soft giggle that bordered on a husky sigh.
You then proceeded to crawl onto the mattress, straddling his lap, your black dress riding up your thighs with a scandalous disregard for propriety, snuggling on top of him, your head resting comfortably against his chest, the steady, reassuring beat of his heart a comforting rhythm beneath your ear.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair, pulling him closer until your lips were mere inches apart, your breath mingling. "Jisung," you mumbled, your words slightly slurred but filled with a genuine warmth that radiated through you, "I think… no, I know… I love you. You're… you're so good to me. And you smell absolutely intoxicating," you added with a tipsy giggle, nuzzling closer and pressing a lingering, deliberately provocative kiss to the sensitive skin of his neck, your cherry-red lips leaving a faint, fleeting imprint.
You then repeated the playful bite on his lower lip, tugging gently and watching his eyes darken with a mixture of amusement and something far more primal.
A soft chuckle rumbled deep in his chest, vibrating against your ear, a sound filled with a tender amusement and a palpable, tightly leashed desire that made his muscles tense beneath you. He gently stroked your hair, his fingers tangling in the soft strands, his voice a heart-fluttering whisper against your temple, filled with a tender amusement and a quiet longing that mirrored your own, tinged with a hint of reluctant control.
"And I, [Your Name]," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, his arms tightening around your waist for a fleeting, possessive moment before relaxing, his gaze dark and intense as he looked down at you, his eyes lingering on your parted lips, then drifting down to where your hips subtly pressed against his.
"Am willing to wait until those beautiful, slightly tipsy words hold the same crystal clarity as the stars we saw painting the night sky. But darling," his voice dropped to a husky whisper that sent a shiver down your spine, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw with a feather-light touch that hinted at a barely suppressed hunger, "the waiting is becoming… an exquisite form of torture, especially with those tempting little nibbles."
He held you close, a silent battle raging within him, resisting the undeniable pull of the moment, respecting the vulnerability of your inebriated state, his own desire held firmly in check by a deeper, more profound affection and a gentlemanly restraint that spoke volumes about the depth of his character, even as his body betrayed a different, urgent story.
-- Next Morning
Sunlight stabbed at your eyelids, a brutal assault after the night's champagne-fueled escapades. A dull throb hammered behind your eyes, each pulse echoing the questionable decisions of the previous evening. You groaned, turning your face into the pillow, the lingering scent of expensive cologne a faint, comforting anchor in the sea of your queasy stomach. Slowly, reluctantly, you pried your eyes open, the unfamiliar surroundings of your bedroom coming into focus.
Then, the tantalizing aroma of sizzling bacon and something sweet, like pancakes, wafted from the kitchen, cutting through the fog of your hangover. You pushed yourself up, the black dress from the night before a crumpled heap on the floor. Padding barefoot towards the source of the enticing smell, you found Jisung standing at your stove, effortlessly flipping pancakes, a comfortable domesticity radiating from him that made your heart do a little flip of its own, despite your pounding head.
He turned as you entered, a knowing smirk playing on his lips, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Morning, sleepyhead," he greeted, his voice a low, teasing drawl. "Slept well? You were quite… enthusiastic last night. Though, I must say," he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms, his gaze lingering on your slightly disheveled state, "you have a surprising stamina for someone who claims a low tolerance. You seemed to enjoy our… deep and slow… activities. And if I recall correctly, there were some rather insistent requests for… more."
Panic flared in your chest, hot and sharp. Had you? The memories of last night were fragmented, a blurry montage of laughter, flashing lights, and a reckless boldness you barely recognized. Your cheeks flushed crimson. "We… we didn't… have… sex?" you stammered, your voice thick with sleep and dawning horror.
His smirk widened, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Relax, agassi," he chuckled, the sound warm and reassuring. "Just teasing. Though your attempts to straddle me were… memorable. And your whispered demands were… certainly noted. I got you safely tucked in. All innocent, I assure you. Mostly."
Relief washed over you in a dizzying wave, leaving you slightly breathless and acutely aware of the lingering heat in your cheeks. He moved towards you, his hands reaching out to frame your face, his thumbs gently stroking your temples. "Though," he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips, a familiar heat returning to his eyes, "that kiss in the club… and those little nibbles… those were definitely real. And rather… persuasive. You seemed to have a particular fondness for my lower lip."
Your brow furrowed, a wave of mortification washing over you. "I… I don't really remember…" you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper, your cheeks burning hotter.
He closed the distance between you, his gaze intense. He reached out, gently taking your hand, and walked you backwards until your spine met the cool surface of the wall. He placed a hand on either side of your head, effectively pinning you, a playful dominance in his stance. Leaning in close, his breath ghosting over your lips, he teased, "Those kisses were quite something, my tipsy darling. And those little bites… rather… possessive. Should I show you how you did it?"
To his surprise, instead of a denial, a hesitant nod escaped you, a flicker of curiosity overriding your embarrassment.
His eyes darkened, a spark of something primal igniting within them. He lowered his head, his lips brushing against yours, a tantalizing prelude. Then, you surged forward, your hands tangling in his hair, your mouth crashing onto his with a desperate, sober longing. This kiss was different, grounded in a clarity that the previous night lacked, a heartfelt confession in every touch. When you finally broke apart, your breath catching in your throat, you looked into his eyes, the hangover momentarily forgotten. "Jisung," you said, your voice clear and steady, the words carrying the weight of a year of quiet understanding and burgeoning love. "I do love you. I really do."
His gaze softened, a profound tenderness replacing the teasing glint. Without a word, he swept you off your feet, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist, and carried you to the kitchen counter, gently placing you on the cool surface amidst the tantalizing aroma of breakfast. His lips found yours again, this time with a fierce tenderness, a claiming kiss that spoke of shared desire and a love that had been patiently waiting. Hands explored, soft moans escaped your lips, the scent of bacon and pancakes mingling with the raw heat of your bodies. Finally, breathless and flushed, you broke apart, foreheads touching.
Han's voice, a low, husky whisper against your ear, sent a shiver down your spine. "I love you more, my love."
-- The End
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inanaincarneetinsidus · 1 year ago
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Random astrology observations (very shallow but fun ig)
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- Mercury conjunct sun in a chart gives very logical/mathematical intelligence you will find that the best student in the classroom always have this conjunction, the closest is the orb, the more pronounced are these qualities.
- Venus in exaltation gives deep thinking abilities and it is perfect for philosophy, think about philosophers like Kant, Plato (allegedly), Karl Marx. Or even scientists like Albert Einstein ( Venus in revati),all influenced our modern world in an unthinkable way.
-Jupiterians remind me of the perfect rennaissance man who is all-rounded excelling in every sphere of intelligence: you will find that they really have a deep love for education: absorbing information and utilizing it in everyday of their lives.
- Ketu people are so funny, the funniest imo like they are kind of lost and dgaf about people so they are really blunt and random it's just very comical
- Mars men are popular or rather notorious: they just have an effect on girls from what I observed: Chitra and Dhanista men most of the time. I know a Chitra sun guy that winks at you everytime you cross eyes with him lol, a dhanista sun and ascendant boy that I know had girls writing their snapchats all over his backpack in high-school also he would get purchased by them like they would form circles around him it was pretty funny to see
- Purva bhadrapada men are SASSY
- Rohini women are really sensitive about their appearance and love when people are jealous of them
- Venusians have a keen eye for aesthetics
- When it comes to writing poetry: Virgo people are simply the best : Uttara phalguni, Hasta and Chitra
- Ketu women are able to see through the illusions of life: especially ketu on the ascendant, their intuition is simply always right
- Having your sun in the 11th house makes you very likable, if it is not afflicted you will have a large circle of friends, be well known in your area.
- A lot of energy in the 12th house add an air of mystery on an individual it can really scare some people off: they can be excluded from their community, can be deemed as scary or weird
- If you want a venusian to like you : be pleasant, smell good, be funny, make them eat well, give out thoughtful gifts. Venus loves sensorial stimulation
- If you want to know what life direction you should be taking, look at your d9 and d60 charts
- Pisces women are in tune with their sexualities: they can loose their virginity at a really young age and are curious about this side of life
- Ashlesha people need to be careful about what they say: they grow up in really harsh environments so they internalize this harshness and sometimes they can really projects on others and hurt with their words for nothing kind of like a snake
Anyways I think that's all I will comeback with more astrology observations on more specific subjects.
Also be mindful, you can not analyze a chart without looking at it completely so these are not to be taken at the letter close, it can always differ depending on the chart: it is simply for entertainment.
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yummyrevivalfluid · 5 months ago
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Show Me How
Senku x Artists Reader Pt. 4
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A/n: Enjoy this Early Fic Friday post!
Word Count: 1,029
Warnings: Slightly suggestive thoughts! But there is no NSFW/SMUT
Tag List: @cchuisme @lovingyeet @markerelll @minimissmelody @74zix47 @xtfhtfrj @maria-trisha
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Are you into me, like I’m into you?
Your thoughts threatened to leave your lips. The very same lips that were brushing against Senku’s ear. Your bodies pressed against each other. Neither you nor Senku have made a single move. You weren’t sure how long you’d had his body pressed against yours.
Seconds? Minutes? You were afraid to break the silence. You didn’t want to pull away. You wanted to burrow your face in his neck. Mask yourself with his scent. You wanted him to be closer, intertwine your limbs with him. Press your lips against him, taste him. You wanted him.
 Do you wanna do the things I want to do with you?
You slowly eased your hand down from his eyes, allowing him the privilege to see you pressed against him. Staring down at you, with those very same eyes you told him not to. You allowed your hand to travel down to his chest, without much resistance, the positions were now reversed. Hovering over him, you were one move away. One move away from changing the dynamics between the two of you. Action or words…kiss or confession…Anything to tell him
I love you.
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There’s a scientific and logical explanation…
Senku kept repeating those words in his head. This sensation overwhelming him can be explained through science he reasoned. The heat radiating off his body is a biological response.  It’s just the body producing hormones…
With your body pressed against him, he couldn’t tell if your skin was burning against him, or if this entirely new sensation was making him flush, producing more heat than he could handle.
Was he flushed because he was fixated on the feeling of your fingers brushing against his lips? Was it the feeling of your chest pressed against his? Feeling your chest and rising for every breath you take. Hearing the faint rhythm of your heart. What would you do if he moved just slightly? Would you let your lips move against his skin and settle on his neck?
Adrenaline….
He can feel his heart beating out of his chest, he bet you could too. Especially with your hand pressing on his chest, pushing him down with ease.
Testosterone…
 He tried to rationalize his body’s response to yours.
Nothing unusual…These thoughts, it’s the testosterone…
…Pheromones…dopamine…norepinephrine…
He tried reasoning his feelings with science, because in his mind, love was not an option. Or maybe an option that he wasn’t aware of existed.
Senku was intelligent in the fields that required chemistry, biology, physics, mathematics, psychology and much more, but when it came to emotional intelligence…His emotional intelligence was as good as Taiju’s understanding of chemistry. If he couldn’t figure out that being your muse meant that you loved him, how is he going to understand his emotions towards you?
“Physics or Chemistry?” you asked quietly, slowly pulling away from him. Regretting your words as soon as they left your mouth. There was no turning back.
Those were the words you chose.
Not “I love you”.
Not “I like you”.
Not, “Can I kiss you?”
“I guess we can move onto physics…” Senku responded, getting up from the floor. Senku took his seat next to you, pulling out the physics questions he had prepared.
And just like that, you were both back to doing calculations. Both ignoring the burning question haunting your minds, what just happened?
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Days have passed since the incident, and although you didn’t act on your feelings or talked about what happened, the dynamics between the two of you shifted. You find yourself spending more time with Senku outside of studying together. Whenever one of your many clubs ended early, you found yourself at the school’s lab entrance.
“If you’re going to come in put some gloves on and goggles.” Senku said, not once turning around to look at who entered. He already knew it was you.
“Yeah…yeah…” you grabbed the box of gloves beside him and covered your hands. “It’s much more fun to get your hands dirty with your creation.” You were about to wander off in search of some goggles until you felt Senku’s hand on your waist, pulling you towards him.
“If you consider getting corrosive acid on your hands fun, then be my guest.” He said while looking at you, placing goggles over your face and adjusting the strap for you.
“This is why art is better.” You argued, following Senku to where his equipment was set up, standing beside him and awaiting his instructions.
“It’s opinions likes those that make you an Airhead.” Senku replied with a wicked smile. He knew exactly what buttons to push to get you to react. To get you to ramble, and to allow him to learn more about your art. Eventually he’ll figure out what it means to be your muse. He’ll just have to continue to study you and your art.
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At times you seek him out and other times he seeks you out.
“What are you drawing this time?” he asks as he approaches you from behind. He looks over your shoulder to see what you have in your sketchbook. “Nothing?”
 “Artist’s block,” you replied, moving slightly to make space for Senku to sit beside you. “All great artists get it eventually…”
“Are you calling yourself a great artist?” Senku teased, enjoying the annoyed face you gave him in response to his comment. He sat beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours. Sitting in silence until he spoke up again, “What about the moon?”
“Huh?” You looked up to the sky and searched for the moon. “What about the moon?”
“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked, forgetting the weight of the words until they slipped out. He turned to look at you, your eyes fixated on the moon. Hearing his question, you felt your blood rush to your face and your mind racing with thoughts. You kept silent, wondering if he knew the meaning behind his words. “And it’s like you always said…art is beautiful, you only create things that you find beautiful…your muses are your love…”
“Senku,” you said softly, turning to finally meet his gaze, “tell me how to reach the moon.”
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A/n: Did you guys get the analogy/metaphor I was trying to make at the end???? I wasn't sure if I executed it well...
Anyways....Can I get some feedback? How well do you feel like I transition scenes? I find it so difficult to do, any thoughts or tips?
How do yall feel about smut? Ya or nah?
AND FINALLY.....
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! LOVE YALL AND YOUR SUPPORT!
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kingdoms-and-empires · 1 month ago
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Finally, Cheris no longer has an Artbreeder portrait!!!
Cheris Mendrion (Painting): 
Daughter of Lord Robert, Imperial Governor of the Province of Beautrix.
The treatment suffered by her aunt has made her wary of courtship, and she prefers to be left alone to her art.
Many find themselves surprised once they become friends with her, as they soon discover her to be strong-willed and highly critical of imperial society.
She also possess talent in all things mathematical, which combined with her family, keeps her safe from disciplinary measures brought against her.
Reserved, independent, intelligent, and logical.
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blueteller · 10 months ago
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Do you know how smart Cale actually is? Like- what extent his intelligence can reach?
That's an interesting question! Let's take a look.
From what I know of IQ scores, anything above 120 puts you in top 10% of the population. So I easily see Kim Rok Soo!Cale belonging in that category; of >120 IQ. However, IQ had always felt a little vague to me. It's nice to have a number to put on a scale and all, but what does it actually mean in reality? Let's try this from a different angle.
Gardner's Multiple Intelligences model of divides talent into eight categories, plus one additional one:
Visual-spatial
Linguistic-verbal
Logical-mathematical
Body-kinesthetic
Musical
Interpersonal
Intrapersonal
Naturalistic
Existential
Why not try to measure him up against each one, as no person is actually intelligent in every way and not even a fictional character can excel in all of them (unless they're a Mary Sue or something lol).
Visual and spatial judgment stands for easy reading, writing, puzzles solving, recognizing patterns and analyzing charts well. I think Cale is definitely a pro in this category; he does loves reading and he's fantastic at analyzing data.
Linguistic-verbal is for remember written and spoken information, debates, giving persuasive speeches, ability to explain things and skilled at verbal humor. And while I constantly make fun of Cale for not being able to explain himself, he IS good at using the "glib tongue" and being persuasive, so I think he is very skilled in this category as well.
Logical-mathematical means having excellent problem-solving skills, the ability to come up with abstract ideas and conduct scientific experiments, as well as computing complex issues. Cale is an incredible strategist able to change his plans in an instant, so he is definitely a genius in this field.
Bodily-Kinesthetic Intelligence is a fun one, because I think it's the hardest one to judge, considering that he literally changed bodies. It of course stands for sports, dancing, craftmanship, physical coordination, and remembering better by practice rather than learning theory. Cale... does not like that. However, it doesn't mean he's BAD at it. If he was a genius in this field, however, I believe he would like it a bit more. Thus – I suspect he was average. In the past he was forced to exercise for the sake of survival, but once he was given the option of taking it easy, he quit instantly. He is capable, but does not have any particular predisposition for it.
Musical Intelligence drives me nuts, because we literally do not know, and I dearly wish I did. There was not a single mention of it in the whole series. As much as I want to believe in a cool headcanon of KRS being an unrealized musical genius... I think he was probably average or below average in this.
Interpersonal Intelligence stands for communication, conflict-solving, perception and the ability to forge connections with others. And while you might have some doubts about Cale, I say he IS a total pro in this. Those are all leadership skills, and Cale is one HELL of a great leader.
However...
Intrapersonal Intelligence is where Cale is severely lacking. It could be partially due to trauma, but I think at least some of it comes through his natural personality. It stands for introspection, self-reflection, the ability to understand one's motivation and general self-awareness; and that is Cale's biggest weakness, one that might actually cost him his slacker life dream in the end, due to all the misunderstandings he causes.
The last two, Naturalistic and Existential Intelligence types, are also not really Cale's forte. The first is for things like botany, biology, and zoology, paired with enjoyment of camping and hiking – none of which Cale actually does for pleasure, only because he has to. And yeah, farming is in that category too, but it's not like Cale is actually a real farmer just yet. And the second is for stuff like philosophy, considering how current actions influence future outcomes, the ability to see situations from an outside perspective and reflections into the meaning of life and death – and Cale is REALLY not interested in this type of self reflection.
Which leaves Cale with 4 types of intelligence he excels at, 2 which he is REALLY BAD at, 1 where he's below average and 1 he's probably average, with 1 left completely unknown.
Does this make Cale a genius? Pretty much, yes. Does it also make him stupid in very specific ways? VERY MUCH, YES.
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hog-facts · 12 days ago
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In the secluded, subterranean archives beneath the Bodleian Library at Oxford University, there exists a curious and uncatalogued section known only as "The Swine Scrolls." These are not, as one might imagine, books about pigs, but rather books by them—or so the legend goes among a handful of eccentric bibliophiles and rogue archivists.
The story dates back to the late 17th century, when a peculiar strain of "Oxon-Oink" hog was bred specifically for truffle hunting in the dense, ancient woodlands surrounding Oxford. These hogs, it was observed, displayed an unusual fascination with discarded parchment and ink. What began as a mere curiosity escalated when a particularly intelligent sow named Beatrice was discovered meticulously arranging torn pages into coherent, if fragmented, narratives using her snout and trotters.
Further experimentation by a reclusive scholar, Dr. Alistair Finch, revealed that Beatrice and her direct descendants possessed a latent, instinctual understanding of abstract symbols and sequences. Finch spent decades developing a complex system of "trotter-typing" using specially designed, oversized wooden blocks with incised letters and symbols, allowing the hogs to "write" by nudging the blocks into a sequence on prepared parchment.
The Swine Scrolls are the result: a collection of approximately two dozen bound volumes containing highly abstract, stream-of-consciousness narratives, often incorporating complex geometric patterns and what appear to be rudimentary mathematical equations. Scholars who have dared to examine them describe them as unsettlingly coherent, yet entirely alien in their logic, almost as if viewed through the mind of a non-human intelligence. Some believe them to be proto-poetry, others a unique form of philosophical treatise. The library, fearing ridicule or an academic scandal of unprecedented scale, has kept the Swine Scrolls a closely guarded secret, occasionally allowing only the most trusted and discreet researchers a brief, supervised glimpse into the profound, un deciphered thoughts of Oxford's most unlikely authors.
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sonic-the-hedgehog-2006 · 4 months ago
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GUN's decryption unit has presence in Soleanna, with the head of the unit, Frances, seeking to enlist local analysts in the military. After stating the "thinking work" is probably not Shadow's cup of tea given his apparent disposition for action-heavy missions, Shadow desires to "prove her wrong" by applying for the division.
After successfully completing the logic puzzles that follow, Frances begs for Shadow to join her team as with the tests results she estimates his IQ to be "about 200."
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In another town mission, a mathematician named Alfano claims to have "a higher IQ than the famous Einstein" and regards Shadow as someone who's "always using muscle, and not enough brain." When Shadow completes his set of mathematics puzzles, Alfano becomes surprised and admits Shadow's brain is shockingly impressive. This makes sense, as scholarly sources tend to estimate Einstein's IQ as ranging between 140-160 (though he never took an official test, despite having been alive during their standardization). This humorously creates a range in which Shadow's IQ could be even higher than Alfano's, assuming Alfano's IQ is not many deviations higher than the high-average for Einstein.
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Despite a proven accuracy on an individual level with low variance even in decade long control groups, IQ is often questioned as a quantifiable measure of "general intelligence." It is a score meant to measure relative understanding of academia and not definitive understanding, and does not measure broader forms of intelligence such as sociability and adaptiveness to a shifting median—things Shadow has been shown to struggle with, an example being his often portrayed lack of proficiency with modern computers (as in The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog and, to a lesser extent, Shadow the Hedgehog (2005)). That said, estimated proficiency in academia is regularly proven accurate based on IQ scoring above the median curve.
Shadow's IQ is over 6.5 deviations above the mean—a category often unnamed due to its rarity (though categorization is, again, often broad and inaccurate), and being within the 0.03 percentile (meaning Shadow's IQ range would be shared only by an estimated 2.4 million people on Earth). Worth noting is that—despite what could be assumed—medical studies show past instances of isolated memory loss don't affect a person's intelligence, general knowledge, awareness or attention span, but on occasion PTSD has been shown to cause decline in those categories listed (with no evidence of variability by the severity of trauma experienced).
The number for graduates specifically is difficult to find from scholarly sources, but students pursuing a PhD have an average IQ of 125. That said, and again, Shadow would still likely lack the general skills required to acquire such a degree in modern society.
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haroun31 · 4 months ago
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Down with the King (Y!Stanxeno xreader)
ACT II
Xeno remailed silent, observing your expression with a solemn look, however it wasn't difficult to catch it, the shine in his black pupils that betrayed his growing interest in you and your world "What do you say Gen? Do you sense any lie?"
Your breath hitched when, out of nowhere, a sweet laughter echoed through the whole room and two hands placed themselves on the back of your seat, scaring the shit out of you “My, oh my! What an interesting story! An unknown continent with such an advanced community? What a dream!” a new unknown man leaned closer behind you, popping his head near yours and flashing you a smile “Your majesty this sure does sound too good to be true!”
His eyes resembled those of a fox, a mark underneath his left run down his cheek like a tear. White and black locks entered your peripheral vision, making you instinctively lean away from the new boy. Not to mention, was he always behind you!?
“You are implying that they are lying?” Xeno lifted an eyebrow and you felt your blood run cold. Have they understood already that you just spat out bullshits?! Is this man a lie detector?! “Oh, no, no, my Majesty.” Gen laughed, leaning back “While they most likely just pumped this place with praises over praises I actually don’t think that they are lying about this. . .America” smirking, the man covered his mouth with a sleeve. “But if you are so suspicious why not put them under a test!”
Internally you let out a sigh of relief, feeling your hands clench and unclench from the stressful situation you were undergoing. “A test?” Xeno lifted an eyebrow, intrigued “Yes! A test your Majesty.” Gen repeated, making a blissful expression while making appear flowers hidden inside his sleeves. “Get to the point jester” Stanley grumbled, urging the mentalist to end this shit show.
“A scientific test” finally the young man got serious “Ask them something science related and make our dear Senku check its credibility. If they come from such an intelligent society then it's gonna be their knowledge. What is gonna be? Are they a true super human or simply an able liar?” The king reflected on his words before nodding his head “Alright, we can arrange that” then he shifted his attention to you “Have you heard my advisor? Why don’t you show me your science? Of course for safety reason you are not permitted to use any type of chemical nor tools so I guess you will have to amaze me with just your words”
Showing him your science? What is that supposed to mean? How can you exactly amaze a king with just your words, or more like, what are you gonna share to amaze him. Something easy to start, preferably nothing that could have been seen as witchcraft and that it can be easily proven without difficulty. But what to say, what to share?
Ideas kept coming in your mind and instantly being rejected. Something easy, something logical. Your eyes snapped around the room, searching for anything that could help you but nothing, apart from floreal decorations and swirls caught your attention. . .off topic but they sure remind you of the swirl of the Fibonacci sequence. . .wait–that’s right!
“The golden ratio. . .” before you could realize it, words slipped out of your mouth, attracting the attention of everyone inside the room. “The golden ratio?” Stanley repeated, taking out a cigarette and placing it inside his mouth “What the hell is that?” this made you lift an eyebrow. Do they not know of Fibonacci? Wasn’t he born around 1200 in Italy? Maybe the Devs didn’t know about him and therefore didn’t add his character inside the game. And you can use this to your advantage.
“Tell me, your Majesty, do you like mathematical quizzes?” Xeno lifted his eyebrow in curiosity but nodded nonetheless “Go on” Seeing that shine in his pupils made you feel bolder as you straighten your back and a smile made its way on your lips “My Majesty, a man put a pair of rabbits, a male and a female, in a large cage. How many pairs of rabbits will be produced in that cage in a year, if each month each pair produces one and only one new pair, consisting of a male and a female, that are fertile from the second month of life onwards? Assume that none of the rabbits die during the year.”
The king listened to your quiz, with great attention, and remained silent for a couple of seconds. You waited for his words, ready to continue with the explanation of the quiz, when his suddenly opened his mouth “The first month they will be two, as they are not yet fertilized, and so the second month, the third will be three, then in april they will be five, in may eight, in june thirteen, in july twenty-one, in august thirty-four, in september fifty-five, in october eighty-nine, in november one hundred and forty-four and in december two hundred and thirty-three”
You remained silent, completely baffled by this man's ability to count so quickly and without making any error. Christ! You make mistakes even when using the calculator! “So?” his voice snapped you out of your shock and you quickly shook your head to get back on track “Yea. . .yea that’s right. Ahem. As you can see the next number is found by adding up the two numbers before it” you explained and Xeno nodded his head “Quite the fun trick, I must admit. But I presume this is not all, isn’t it?” 
You shook your head, confirming his suspicions “Here comes the interesting part. Do you have paper and a pen? It will be required” once a maid entered the room and placed down the tools required you went forward “Please draw a cube 1x1. Then near it draw another one” he did as you instructed “See the two sides? Use them as the side of a 2x2 cube and draw it attached to the two first cubes. Then take the addition of the sides and draw another cubes, and so on and so on”
Xeno did so, until you stopped him at the fifth cube “Alright, then, from the very first cube, take the compass and draw a curve from one corner to the other, and so on to all the cubes” you watched as the familiar spiral started forming “Eheh, this, Your Majesty, is the golden ratio. It’s defined as a divine number and the ideal proportion you can find all around nature! Think about the shells, if you compare the two of them you will definitely see a resemblance.”
“The golden ratio is everywhere, in the horns of goats, in hurricanes, in shells, in the seeds of sunflowers. Its sequence is also seen in the number of flowers’ petals. Pay attention next time when walking around your garden. Each flower has exactly either three, five, eight, thirteen and so on petals. Look at the buildings proportions and compare them with the golden ratio. Humanity has always unconsciously leaned toward perfection and harmony”
Xeno remained silent, hanging on every word that exited your mouth, his eyes shining brighter than the stars in the sky. The way you were talking, the passion you were unconsciously displaying while sharing that precious knowledge, it was oh so endearing. It made something stir inside the king’s stomach, that fire that you had inside you, he wanted to see it turn into a blaze, turning everything to ashes. And more than anything, he wanted that knowledge himself, he wanted to make it his.
“Also you can observe a curious fact. When applying the following equation ϕ = a/b = (a + b)/a we can find how it always will result the same number that is gonna be 1.61. Try it if you don’t believe me, your Majesty” you ended up, slightly feeling out of breath after your whole speech and rant. You are not sure if this is gonna sway the king’s heart, after all the Fibonacci sequence is not the most incredible thing science found out but it’s still an interesting knowledge.
A slow clap of hands attracted your attention, shifting your eyes forward as they landed on Xeno, who slowly stood up “So math is also important in the artistic sector? My, how elegant! What an interesting piece of knowledge, my dear” he smirked, his claps slowly coming to an halt, his black eyes bore into yours, the previous shine now completely gone. A couple of seconds passed in pure silence before the king turned around toward his knight and leaned in to whisper something in his ear.
Stanley nodded his head in understanding, his golden eyes stopping on your form briefly as a smink strenched on his lips, making a shiver run down your spine. You have no clue what the king said but you hoped it wasn't anything bad.
Then he walked over you and placed a metal finger under your chin, lifting it up."Someone go and fetch a doctor to make them take a check up. Make sure none of their wounds is infected" his finger slid off as he turned on his heels and made his way out of the room "Make sure to get their mesurement and a lab coat for them" he addressed Senku who simply sighed "What about the assassination attempts?
"What assassination attempts?"
-☆-
"Darling let me bask in your presence for a while" -♡
(You can find the whole fic either on Quotev or Wattpad under the same name as the title!)
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wanderloveshater · 10 months ago
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Two smart guys with 80’s tech can only do so much. It took them years to make the portal, one that breaks down everytime it activates.
For Commander Peepers? He can make a portal in a quarter of that time that’s stable.
It wouldn’t break down and would be able to control the excess energy that emits from it.
Peepers is the perfect pawn for Bill. Socially outcast with a crippling insecurity about his height, the desire to be praised and hold power over others, painfully lonely with a brilliant mind- he mirrors Ford in this way. I believe one of the WOY crew members emphasized him being different from the watchdogs.
It’s so easy for Bill; what do we have here? A smart guy who builds evil planet-destroying devices? Handling complex machinery?
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He’s got a high IQ- misguided by his adoration for his stupid leader. The need for approval is crippling. So what can we do? Our little song and dance-
Bill’s experience speaks for itself. It would take very little effort, no questioning or anything- kind of boring, really.
Oh and Peepers has just been WAITING for someone to realize his true potential!
It’s all the same with Ford. He wants to feel special. The way Peepers would cling, claw, ride the high of the teensy bit of praise Hater gave him months ago…it makes Bill laugh. Such a sucker. A mathematically talented genius with more weaknesses than anyone can count.
So here we are, Peepers wants power. He wants respect. He wants to be seen. Bill promises Peepers a sense of social validation- to be adored- and eventually feared by his peers, and in extension, the galaxy. In return, Bill wants a portal- instead of spinning it as a “gateway for infinite knowledge of the universe” he can actually be a little more truthful. He’ll tell Peepers it can be used as an unstoppable weapon of destruction, better than what Major Threat had, better than what Lord Dominator had. The Peepers empire- I mean- The Hater empire would conquer the galaxy. Bill can come into this plane and they’ll rule everyone, side by side, Muse by Painter.
It’s a win win! Come on Peepers! Take the deal! When was the last time you played chess with someone that was actually smart enough to compete against you?
Infatuation: We saw how easy it was for Ford to be a Cipherholic. For many others to be. Peepers would unfortunately fall for his flattery. Under the assumption that Peepers is in love with Hater- (idolization if you wish) this prevents him from fully going evil, betraying everyone at once, I think.
But Peepers does get a little tired here and there putting up with Hater’s stupidity. Everyone’s stupidity, actually.
But Bill?
Bill has a lot of knowledge of the universe and intelligence.
Peepers would feel so intellectually stimulated by their conversations- likely about quantum theories, astrophysics, how stupid everyone is. There’s one thing Peepers has going on instead of Ford. Ford isn’t directly malicious or evil (besides the revenge fantasies), but Peepers is. He’d find Bill’s sadistic humor to be funnier than Ford ever did. Bill likes that.
Planting these seeds in Peeper’s brain- like the portal- Peepers would reach worship levels faster than Ford.
“I want to feel tall.”
“I’ll make you feel tall.”
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Possession: This one is funny to think about, Bill’s unhinged behavior is exponential. He uses his charisma to gain social approval with the watchdogs and Hater’s favor in Peepers’ body. He probably wouldn’t have to complete all the calculations that Ford needed help with- really the possession is just so Peepers is more likable.
Bill’s feelings: Peepers was the easiest pawn to entrance. Bill finds this rather boring. There’s nothing to sink his teeth into- nothing to tear. Just a hollow puppet. He isn’t weird enough for Bill to enjoy, he seems rather logical and put together. Sure he’s shorter than everyone but was he born with any extra features that makes him an anomaly? But he’s certainly the most efficient puppet, so he’s gotta keep that going.
Peepers would also catch Fiddleford and Ford’s mistakes with the portal’s code.
Sort of like, “Oh haha, whoever did this code is so stupid, have they considered their calculations would blow up the entire room?!”
Bill being Bill, filled with bitterness, would agree in tandem at first. “Haha YEAH my last guy wasn’t up to par!”
Before uh, Peepers gets carried away and Bill’s own complicated feelings about Ford arise.
“Seriously, have you seen this derivative answer?! A traffic cone could have done better-”
“That’s enough”
Ford: I don’t have a set story/timeline for these two in mind, but I would like to imagine Ford’s reaction. Being unable to stop the vicious cycle repeat chokes him. Warning Peepers and all, oh don’t fall for it, he’ll betray you, promise you a galaxy, yadda yadda…
But Peepers only hears that last part.
“My own galaxy…?”
“Yes, he’ll make you ‘one of them’ and promise ultimate power with no law or restrictions- everything you could dream of- but DO NOT fall for it!”
Peepers falls for it. Or rather embarasses himself- Bill does not care for Peepers in this way. He’d never offer this unless it was for gain, so what does Peepers do? Throw himself to Bill and the Henchmaniacs- pleading to be a part of them. All that results from that is being laughed out of the room. Doesn’t help that he's the shortest.
Peepers doesn’t fit in with the watchdogs, or even the crazy weirdos/freaks.
He is truly alone.
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jcmarchi · 5 months ago
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AlphaGeometry2: The AI That Outperforms Human Olympiad Champions in Geometry
New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/alphageometry2-the-ai-that-outperforms-human-olympiad-champions-in-geometry/
AlphaGeometry2: The AI That Outperforms Human Olympiad Champions in Geometry
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Artificial intelligence has long been trying to mimic human-like logical reasoning. While it has made massive progress in pattern recognition, abstract reasoning and symbolic deduction have remained tough challenges for AI. This limitation becomes especially evident when AI is being used for mathematical problem-solving, a discipline that has long been a testament to human cognitive abilities such as logical thinking, creativity, and deep understanding. Unlike other branches of mathematics that rely on formulas and algebraic manipulations, geometry is different. It requires not only structured, step-by-step reasoning but also the ability to recognize hidden relationships and the skill to construct extra elements for solving problems.
For a long time, these abilities were thought to be unique to humans. However, Google DeepMind has been working on developing AI that can solve these complex reasoning tasks. Last year, they introduced AlphaGeometry, an AI system that combines the predictive power of neural networks with the structured logic of symbolic reasoning to tackle complex geometry problems. This system made a significant impact by solving 54% of International Mathematical Olympiad (IMO) geometry problems to achieve performance at par with silver medalists. Recently, they took it even further with AlphaGeometry2, which achieved an incredible 84% solve rate to outperform an average IMO gold medalist.
In this article, we will explore key innovations that helped AlphaGeometry2 achieve this level of performance and what this development means for the future of AI in solving complex reasoning problems. But before diving into what makes AlphaGeometry2 special, it’s essential first to understand what AlphaGeometry is and how it works.
AlphaGeometry: Pioneering AI in Geometry Problem-Solving
AlphaGeometry is an AI system designed to solve complex geometry problems at the level of the IMO. It is basically a neuro-symbolic system that combines a neural language model with a symbolic deduction engine. The neural language model helps the system predict new geometric constructs, while symbolic AI applies formal logic to generate proofs. This setup allows AlphaGeometry to think more like a human by combining the pattern recognition capabilities of neural networks, which replicate intuitive human thinking, with the structured reasoning of formal logic, which mimics human deductive reasoning abilities. One of the key innovations in AlphaGeometry was how it generated training data. Instead of relying on human demonstrations, it created one billion random geometric diagrams and systematically derived relationships between points and lines. This process created a massive dataset of 100 million unique examples, helping the neural model predict functional geometric constructs and guiding the symbolic engine toward accurate solutions. This hybrid approach enabled AlphaGeometry to solve 25 out of 30 Olympiad geometry problems within standard competition time, closely matching the performance of top human competitors.
How AlphaGeometry2 Achieves Improved Performance
While AlphaGeometry was a breakthrough in AI-driven mathematical reasoning, it had certain limitations. It struggled with solving complex problems, lacked efficiency in handling a wide range of geometry challenges, and had limitations in problem coverage. To overcome these hurdles, AlphaGeometry2 introduces a series of significant improvements:
Expanding AI’s Ability to Understand More Complex Geometry Problems
One of the most significant improvements in AlphaGeometry2 is its ability to work with a broader range of geometry problems. The former AlphaGeometry struggled with issues that involved linear equations of angles, ratios, and distances, as well as those that required reasoning about moving points, lines, and circles. AlphaGeometry2 overcomes these limitations by introducing a more advanced language model that allows it to describe and analyze these complex problems. As a result, it can now tackle 88% of all IMO geometry problems from the last two decades, a significant increase from the previous 66%.
A Faster and More Efficient Problem-Solving Engine
Another key reason AlphaGeometry2 performs so well is its improved symbolic engine. This engine, which serves as the logical core of this system, has been enhanced in several ways. First, it is improved to work with a more refined set of problem-solving rules which makes it more effective and faster. Second, it can now recognize when different geometric constructs represent the same point in a problem, allowing it to reason more flexibly. Finally, the engine has been rewritten in C++ rather than Python, making it over 300 times faster than before. This speed boost allows AlphaGeometry2 to generate solutions more quickly and efficiently.
Training the AI with More Complex and Varied Geometry Problems
The effectiveness of AlphaGeometry2’s neural model comes from its extensive training in synthetic geometry problems. AlphaGeometry initially generated one billion random geometric diagrams to create 100 million unique training examples. AlphaGeometry2 takes this a step further by generating more extensive and more complex diagrams that include intricate geometric relationships. Additionally, it now incorporates problems that require the introduction of auxiliary constructions—newly defined points or lines that help solve a problem, allowing it to predict and generate more sophisticated solutions
Finding the Best Path to a Solution with Smarter Search Strategies
A key innovation of AlphaGeometry2 is its new search approach, called the Shared Knowledge Ensemble of Search Trees (SKEST). Unlike its predecessor, which relied on a basic search method, AlphaGeometry2 runs multiple searches in parallel, with each search learning from the others. This technique allows it to explore a broader range of possible solutions and significantly improves the AI’s ability to solve complex problems in a shorter amount of time.
Learning from a More Advanced Language Model
Another key factor behind AlphaGeometry2’s success is its adoption of Google’s Gemini model, a state-of-the-art AI model that has been trained on an even more extensive and more diverse set of mathematical problems. This new language model improves AlphaGeometry2’s ability to generate step-by-step solutions due to its improved chain-of-thought reasoning. Now, AlphaGeometry2 can approach the problems in a more structured way. By fine-tuning its predictions and learning from different types of problems, the system can now solve a much more significant percentage of Olympiad-level geometry questions.
Achieving Results That Surpass Human Olympiad Champions
Thanks to the above advancements, AlphaGeometry2 solves 42 out of 50 IMO geometry problems from 2000-2024, achieving an 84% success rate. These results surpass the performance of an average IMO gold medalist and set a new standard for AI-driven mathematical reasoning. Beyond its impressive performance, AlphaGeometry2 is also making strides in automating theorem proving, bringing us closer to AI systems that can not only solve geometry problems but also explain their reasoning in a way that humans can understand
The Future of AI in Mathematical Reasoning
The progress from AlphaGeometry to AlphaGeometry2 shows how AI is getting better at handling complex mathematical problems that require deep thinking, logic, and strategy. It also signifies that AI is no longer just about recognizing patterns—it can reason, make connections, and solve problems in ways that feel more like human-like logical reasoning.
AlphaGeometry2 also shows us what AI might be capable of in the future. Instead of just following instructions, AI could start exploring new mathematical ideas on its own and even help with scientific research. By combining neural networks with logical reasoning, AI might not just be a tool that can automate simple tasks but a qualified partner that helps expand human knowledge in fields that rely on critical thinking.
Could we be entering an era where AI proves theorems and makes new discoveries in physics, engineering, and biology? As AI shifts from brute-force calculations to more thoughtful problem-solving, we might be on the verge of a future where humans and AI work together to uncover ideas we never thought possible.
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graysoncritic · 1 year ago
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A (Negative) Analysis of Tom Taylor's Nightwing Run - Who is Dick Grayson?
Introduction Who is Dick Grayson? What Went Wrong? Dick's Characterization What Went Wrong? Barbara Gordon What Went Wrong? Bludhaven (Part 1, Part 2) What Went Wrong? Melinda Lin Grayson What Went Wrong? Bea Bennett What Went Wrong? Villains Conclusion Bibliography
When asked to describe Dick Grayson’s character, many will say he is good. He is Bruce Wayne’s light, the person he could have been had someone offered Bruce understanding and guidance after his trauma. Dick is a leader. A big brother. A mentor. He is someone people can look up to, someone others can trust. He is “The Heart of the DCU.”
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(Williamson, Joshua, writer. Sampere, Daniel; Herbert, Jack; Camuncoli, Giuseppe; Sandoval, Rafa, illustrators. Dawn of the DCU. Dark Crisis on Infinite Earth no. 7, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2022. pp. 28)
Characters, much like real people, are more than just a trait. Jason Todd is more than “angry.” Bruce Wayne is more than just “brooding.” Tim Drake is more than just “smart.” Characters are multidimensional. They have multiple facets, some of which may contradict one another because characters, just like people, are not created out of mathematical equations where two plus two always equals four. Humans are emotional. Their being is informed by past experiences, biology, culture. The intricate combination of these vastly different factors leads to inconsistency in rationality that may not always be logical. Dick being “good” does not mean that Dick can’t be angry, that he can’t make mistakes, or that he can’t lash out or be unreasonable, especially when stressed. Dick being “good” does not mean he can’t brood, does not mean he can’t be suspicious, nor does it mean he will always like everyone. Dick being “good” does not mean he can’t be his own worst enemy, that he can’t be calculative and strategic, that he always needs to be upbeat, or that he can’t be the most intelligent person in the room.
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(Grayson, Devin, writer. Zircher, Patch, illustrator. Slow Burn. Nightwing no 93, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2004. pp. 10-11)
Sam Humphries also demonstrated this during his brilliant story, The Untouchable. There, Dick’s relentless determination to save people from the Judge’s machinations grows so intense that it becomes self-destructive. The story demonstrates how Dick’s “goodness” comes from a form of toxic perfectionism that has been with him since he was a child — a perfectionism born of a low self-worth that eats at him from the inside out
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(Humphries, Sam, writer. Janson, Klaus; Campbell, Jamal, illustrators. Ruthless. Nightwing: Rebirth no. 37, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2018. pp. 08)
Even the 2003 animated series Teen Titans understood that in trying to catch the bad guy — almost always Slade Wilson in the case of that show — Dick could sometimes go too far.
Dick’s goodness causes him to see himself as a danger to not just his loved ones, but everyone who stands near him. He carries the world on his shoulders, taking the blame for every tragedy and seeing every death as a personal failure. When pushed to its worst, Dick’s goodness becomes an obsession which pushes others away, leading to isolation as Dick’s entire existence narrows down to accomplishing one specific goal. 
It is this reductive characterization of Dick – the idea that his one defining trait is that he is “good” – that leads many to misunderstand the appeal of his character. As I mentioned above, characters are multi-facet, and Dick is no exception. However, the ways in which Dick is multi-facet are very different from the ways in which most characters are multi-facet.
Please do not mistake what I am about to say by claiming these other characters are not complex. Or even that some of them might not subvert popular tropes. What I mean saying is that Dick’s complexity is demonstrated differently than what I believe most people are accustomed to.
For example, everyone knows Bruce Wayne keeps his feelings locked up inside. He compartmentalizes his emotions and his trauma in order to solve the puzzle put ahead of him. But everyone – characters and readers alike – understands Bruce is doing this. Everyone can tell that he is hiding something from others and keeping them at a distance. The reader is always aware of how Bruce’s trauma informs his actions, his interactions, and his thought process. 
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(Grayson, Devin; Barr, Mike W., writers. Davis, Alan; Robinson, Roger, illustrator. Procedure. Batman: Gotham Knights  no. 25, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2002. pp. 20)
Take, for instance, Part One of Murderer/Fugitive. Although a major source of tension from the story surrounds the question of Bruce’s innocence, there’s never any question in the minds of the reader and the character that Bruce is hiding something. Tim Drake questions whether Bruce truly did kill Vesper Child and is hiding his motive, while Dick is certain of Bruce’s innocence and instead believes Bruce is hiding his alibi or the clues that would help them find the real murderer. Barbara Gordon, for her part, wavers between the two, but like Tim, Dick, and the reader, she is certain of one thing: Bruce Wayne is hiding something from her, from them… From us.
Similarly, Jason Todd’s anger comes from a place of hurt and a place of love, from insecurities and a need to prove himself. But like Bruce, all of that is clear to see. His anger and his hurt are simple to understand. Please, do not mistake this for me claiming that Jason is not a complex character — instead, I’m stating that his temperament, his trauma, and his actions are so interlinked that they are clear for the reader to see. His character, while rich, is more accessible. It does not take a lot of effort to know that Jason is angry because of what was done to him. It is easy to see that he is hurt because he equates Bruce’s love to the Joker’s death, and therefore sees Bruce’s failure to avenge him “proof” that Bruce does not love him as a son. 
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(Winick, Judd, writer. Battle, Eric, illustrator. All They Do is Watch Us Kill: Part 3: It Only Hurts When I Laugh. Batman no. 650, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2006. pp. 13) Dick, on the other hand, does not wear his emotions, his motivations, or his goals on his sleeve. Dick keeps his secrets not by constructing an impenetrable wall like Bruce, but through misdirection. This is why those who are unfamiliar with Dick misinterpret him so much. They take what is on the surface at face value because they do not have the character history to serve as context to understand what lies beneath As a Dick Grayson fan (From this moment forward will be referred to as Dick Grayson Fan A) said “good Dick writers teach readers how to read him and bad Dick writers just have that surface level interpretation.” (I was actually talking to her about this idea and how I’m presenting it in this essay. The example I gave was one she suggested after I asked if she could think of good moments that exemplified this idea.)
As an example, we can look at this moment from Grayson, in which Dick sucks a lollipop while receiving a mission assignment. Someone who is not familiar with Dick and is looking at Dick and Helena’s interaction might be easily fooled into thinking that Dick is the pretty, strong, but annoyingly childish and slightly dumb male character who contrasts the serious, intelligent, and highly competent woman. The characters’ expressions, actions, and the onomatopoeias are certainly leaning into that familiar trope.
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(King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Janin, Mikel, illustrator. The Raid. Grayson no. 04, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014. pp. 02) However, Dick Grayson fans know that when it comes to the mission, Dick is as serious as Batman himself. Highly intelligent, Dick is considered to by many the world’s second greatest detective (there are many instances in canon when he is referred to as such), making him more than just a pretty face who knows how to fight (It should be noted that in this tweet, writer Tom King also ranks Dick as the second best fighter in the Bat Family). Furthermore, context matters. Dick is deep undercover throughout the duration of Grayson, and this scene is set shortly after the death of one of the agents of the organization Dick has infiltrated. In other words, Dick is in a highly stressful situation without allies to provide him with back-up or emotional support. 
His posturing in this scene, then, can be seen as an attempt to misguide and misdirect. He does not wish to let those around him – people he is not sure yet if he can trust – know the full extent of his capabilities or perceive any potential weaknesses in his value of human life. Positioning himself as the annoying and childish pretty boy who does not pay much attention to serious matters is a strategic choice that his fans readily pick up on.  
That is not to say that Dick’s smiles are all lies. Rather, Dick’s upbeat nature is a natural aspect of his personality that he will exaggerate depending on the setting in order to keep his privacy. He is a natural performer, a showman, and so he utilizes misdirection to his advantage. 
A classic example of Dick’s misdirection and how he is misinterpreted by others is how some would characterize him as an “attention seeker.” However, the term “attention seeker” has negative connotations as it implies someone who seeks the spotlight at the expense of others. 
That is the opposite of who Dick is. But that’s not Dick is. As a mentor, a leader, and an older brother, Dick will often invite others to join the conversation. He pays attention to what they say, he strategizes based on their needs. 
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(Johns, Geoff; Wolfman, Marv, writers. Nauck, Todd, illustrator.  The Brave and the Bold. Teen Titans no. 33, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2006. pp. 15)
Simply put, Dick is incredibly empathetic and always in tune with those around him. This is why he works so well as both a Bat and a Titan, and why his personality in each team is so distinct. As a Bat, Dick is often portrayed as cheerful, his bad puns are meant to cut the tension, the is the shoulder for his family to cry one; as a Titan, Dick is a leader, he is a strategist, he demands others take things seriously and will not tolerate slacking off, he is trying to instill good work ethics and ensure that the team dynamic stays in top shape. 
As JL Bell writes in their essay Success in Stasis: Dick Grayson’s Thirty Years as a Boy Wonder for the book Dick Grayson, Boy Wonder: Scholars and Creators on 75 years of Robin, Nightwing, and Batman explains, “in contrast to how Robin behaved with Batman. [Dick] is usually [the Titans’] serious leader.” (Bells, JL “Success in Stasis: Dick Grayson’s Thirty Years as a Boy Wonder.”Dick Grayson, Boy Wonder: Scholars and Creators on 75 years of Robin, Nightwing, and Batman edited by Kristen L. Geaman, McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers, 2015, pp. 22)
That is because Dick knows that when he is with his family, he needs to play one role, and when he is with his friends, he needs to play another. The Bats have their strengths, so Dick adjusts himself to play up on those strengths while also making up for its weakness. Same thing with the Titans. 
Mark Waid perfectly exemplifies Dick’s adaptability when portraying him in his World’s Finest (2022) and World’s Finest: Teen Titans (2023). There, Dick brings levity to his work with Batman and Superman, keeping an upbeat attitude while still taking the job seriously.
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(Waid, Mark, writer. Mora, Dan, illustrator. Manhunt. Batman/Superman: World’s Finest no. 14, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2023. pp. 07)
Yet, when he is with the Titans and feels the weight of leadership on his shoulders, he is more serious, being the one to get the Titans to focus on their objective, getting them to look at the big picture, while also making the most of their abilities as individuals and as a team.
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(Waid, Mark, writer. Mora, Dan, illustrator. Team Spirit. Batman/Superman: World’s Finest no. 08, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2022. pp. 05)
So yes, Dick is a performer, a showman, but he is not “attention seeking.” In fact, his use of misdirection illustrates that Dick is a very private person. And how could he not be? While it is true that Dick grew up in the circus, after his parents’ death, he went to live with Bruce, and in doing so, was put into an intense amount of public scrutiny. The murders of John and Mary Grayson happened on a literal stage with dozens of people watching. As a result, Dick’s very private tragedy became a spectacle.
After the death of Dick’s parents, Dick isn’t allowed to disappear into anonymity. He is not afforded privacy to grieve. He is taken in by Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s most famous playboy, billionaire, philanthropic who is also a bit of a selfish airhead (at least, that is how the public perceives him), and as a result, Dick is subjected to an immense amount of public scrutiny, not just from the media, but also from Gotham’s elites, and even his peers at school. Not only that, as Robin, the Boy Wonder and the first ever sidekick, Dick also is put on the spotlight while also being aware of the necessity of keeping secrets. 
As a result of having his tragedy broadcasted and having a new mission that requires secrecy, Dick becomes a very private person. He is not an open book; instead, he is meticulous about what he shares and he prevents people from looking at what is not of their business by using his showmanship.
Furthermore, Dick’s role as a performer who, as Joshua R Pangborn describes in his essay about the Robin costume, “experiences […] the full spectrum of emotions, each and every night, for the catharsis of others,” transforms him into a literal vehicle for emotional catharsis and empathy. (Pangborn, Joshua R “Fashioning Himself a Hero: Robin’s Costume and its Role in Shaping His Identity”Dick Grayson, Boy Wonder: Scholars and Creators on 75 years of Robin, Nightwing, and Batman edited by Kristen L. Geaman, McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers, 2015, pp. 42) In their essay, Bell argues that while Bruce Wayne embodied “the mid-century ideal of the American male,” who is always “in control of his feelings, not letting them overcome his judgment nor displaying them broadly,” Dick Grayson “can express deep emotions, not only his own but Bruce’s.” As such, Dick often acts as a sounding board for his family, friends, team, and romantic partners. As a performer, Dick embodies whatever persona is necessary to create a safe environment where others can process their emotions and achieve catharsis. (Bells, JL “Success in Stasis: Dick Grayson’s Thirty Years as a Boy Wonder.”Dick Grayson, Boy Wonder: Scholars and Creators on 75 years of Robin, Nightwing, and Batman edited by Kristen L. Geaman, McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers, 2015, pp. 12)
Dick's performance, then, comes not just from a desire for privacy but also from a deep place of empathy. It comes from a desire to help others work through their own stories. This is why he can step into other's narratives without overshadowing them. In fact, he’ll often elevate those characters by complimenting them and creating the circumstances needed for them to shine. As a performer, Dick is naturally adaptable and always willing to fill the role necessary to create the space required for others to work through their emotional needs.
But, as with everything, Dick’s performance is also a result of his destructive perfectionism. Dick equates “good” to “perfect.” He believes that he can only be wanted by Bruce if he is the perfect Robin, he can only be wanted by his friends if he is the perfect leader, he can only be wanted by his siblings if he is the perfect older brother, he can only be wanted by his partners if he is the perfect boyfriend. As Humphries’s The Untouchable demonstrates, because Dick was raised in an environment where failure could be fatal, he internalized these stakes to every aspect of his life. 
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(Humphries, Sam, writer. Janson, Klaus; Campbell, Jamal, illustrators. Ruthless. Nightwing: Rebirth no. 37, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2018.pp 20
And it doesn’t help that all of the people in Dick’s life do prove that assertion right. Everyone holds “the Heart of the DCU” to an impossible standard that, when Dick fails to live up to it, he is crucified and punished for it. If he tries to be perfect, he's told off for being the Golden Boy, but if he fails to be the Golden Boy, then he is told off because he let people down when they were relying on him. Ironically, this is done by characters in-universe real-world fans. As Dick Grayson Fan A pointed out in a discussion about depiction of Batman Family members killing their antagonists, “there's always this pressure to have Dick ~fall from grace~ and I do lowkey resent that. Dick should be allowed to be good, not punished for it.”  
This creates an environment where Dick constantly needs to maintain perfection in order to be in everyone’s good graces. Failure is not met with understanding and comfort, but with punishment. No one expects him to fail, no one likes when he fails, no one forgives him when he fails. That also means that Dick doesn’t feel safe opening up about his insecurities because to do so would mean “proving” he cannot stay on the pedestal he’s been put on. And so, he is forced to perform the role of a “perfect good guy” by using misdirection so people won’t abandon him for being human (this was said during a very interesting discussion and addressed both canon and fanfic writers. There’s a lot that can be said about Dick’s parentification and how that is viewed in the context of fandom. This is not the essay for it, and, to be perfectly honest, I’m not entirely sure I’m the best person to open said discussion).
Taylor does not portray Dick as someone with this many layers. Taylor’s Dick is perfect simply because he is good. He is the perfect friend, who is always happy to support others. He is Barbara Gordon’s perfect boyfriend. Dick is the perfect older brother, the perfect son, perfect model citizen. 
But by equating being “good” with being “perfect” without exploring the negative consequences that come from such pressures, Taylor robs Dick of the emotions that humanize him. In Taylor’s run, a good person will not be angry at their friends, will not be frustrated with their siblings, will never disagree with their romantic partner. This strips Dick of all of his nuances, and instead reduces him to a non-descriptive “everyman hero” with a limited emotional range whose only narrative purpose is to serve as a blank canvas for readers to project themselves into. 
Simply put, Taylor is uninterested in writing Dick as a character because he does not see value in Dick for who he is. Nightwing #105, which removes Dick from its story in order to allow its readers to “be Nightwing” illustrates how Taylor and DC at large only value Dick his connections, not for who he is.   
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(Chen, Jess [jesswchen]. “Tweet Message.” 18 March 2023, https://twitter.com/jesswchen/status/1636971185782259716?s=20.)
Be Dick, and you can be good friends with Superman! You can be Batman’s son! You can be Batgirl’s boyfriend! Robin’s big brother! Flash’s best friend! 
As a Dick Grayson fan, this feels insulting. I’m not saying Dick needs to be anyone’s favorite character, or that anyone even needs to like him. I’m not interested in dictating anyone’s taste. But to someone who loves Dick Grayson, it is insulting to think that those responsible for his stories fail to see his value. To Taylor, the person who, as the writer for both Nightwing and Titans, has the most control over Dick’s portrayal, Dick is nothing but a tool that will soon wear off its use. 
In treating Dick as such, Taylor and DC send a clear message to those of who love Dick, and that message is that the things that make Dick special, the things that made us love him, do not matter. 
For his near century long existence, Dick served as a stand in for those who feel othered in society. While I do not have the time to go into a gender studies and queer reading of Dick, it is notable that his character often spoke to many people who felt different. As Mary Borsellino’s 2006 essay “A lot like Robin if you close your eyes” Displacement of meaning in the Post-Modern Age explains:
The things which a Robin-like figure can contain, but which are cut off from being embodied by Robin himself, lose none of their importance simply because they are rejected by a restrictive, corporate-controlled status quo […] It's worth inspecting what was excised from Robin, and charting where these elements instead found articulation: in those from lower socioeconomic backgrounds; non-White people; young single parents; and HIV positive people. And, especially, girls and women (Borsellino, Mary “‘A lot like Robin if you close your eyes.’ Displacement of meaning in the Post-Modern Age,  2006)
While Borsellio’s essay focuses on the Robin mantle, as the creator of said mantle, such assertions can also be applied to Dick. In fact, Bell concurs with the idea that those who were othered have always took a preference to Dick when stating that “Robin’s status as the littlest guy in the fight increases the character’s appeal for some children, especially the ‘youngest and weakest.’” In other words, it is crucial to Dick’s character that he is not an “everyman hero.” He is not the hero of or beloved by the average individual, but rather by those who were ostracized by society.
Taylor’s writing exemplifies the “restrictive, corporate-controlled status quo” imposed by DC that Borsellino speaks of. His characterization is the manufactured image that removes Dick’s “socially deviant/rejected” qualities his fans loved about him so that he can be palatable to a more mainstream audience.  (Bells, JL “Success in Stasis: Dick Grayson’s Thirty Years as a Boy Wonder.”Dick Grayson, Boy Wonder: Scholars and Creators on 75 years of Robin, Nightwing, and Batman edited by Kristen L. Geaman, McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers, 2015, pp. 11)
This, of course, is not necessarily new. As Mason Downey argues in their 2015 essay In Defense of Dick Grayson: Objectification, Sexuality, and Subtext, DC has often struggled between leaning into the audience Dick has and wanting to erase any “othering” elements from his character. As they point out:
The more sexual and idealized Dick was allowed to become, the more attention he got from female and queer fans, the more the industry had to work to combat the past anxieties revolving around the character. This resulted in more and more heteronormative romances for Dick on the page. We can’t grant Wertham’s fears any legitimacy, we can’t make these stories “for girls.” Writers did so in a few ways, some obvious, some less so. On the page, we had Dick’s deflection of female sexuality that he was not in control of, and we had a level of emotional posturing with relationships he was in control of. We had moments where we saw him manipulating with or being manipulated by sex. There were editorial pushes to lean into Dick’s popularity with women and queer men coupled with the simultaneous desire to not acknowledge or grant legitimacy to the fanbase he found in those demographics. This translated to more sexualized poses. More pin-up style spreads. Multiple bait-and-switch wedding, marriage, and relationship teases which turned out to be fakeouts or got written out. Long strings of female side characters were introduced exclusively to be love interests. Off the page, we had more concrete examples. We saw a lack of merchandise and lack of representation of him in other forms of media. There was a pervasive hesitancy in broaching his existence outside of the spheres of already established fans. For example, Nolan’s The Dark Knight Rises featured Joseph Gordon-Levitt playing a character literally named Robin, who was invented for the film franchise rather than allowing Dick himself to exist in that cinematic universe. Dick Grayson is a character built upon one repeated mantra aimed at what eventually become two of his largest demographics, “Remember, this is not for you.”
(Downey, Mason “In Defense of Dick Grayson: Objectification, Sexuality, and Subtext” Women Write About Comics. December 2015)
What makes Taylor’s run unique is that in trying to have Dick tackle social issues such as homelessness and in trying to create a class commentary, Taylor attempts to create a progressive, albeit simplistic, veneer while erasing the important and “other-ing” aspects of Dick’s character that was so beloved by his fans. 
This, I believe, is one of the many explanations why many of those who praise Taylor run claim that this is the first Nightwing run they ever enjoyed, while many (though admittedly, not all) those who have been longtime Dick Grayson fans feel betrayed and frustrated by the way their beloved character is being handled. Dick is currently being appropriated into a more mainstream, palatable hero. He is being taken from those who loved him and being scrubbed clean to be suitable for an audience who could not appreciate him for what he was, only for how his connections could give them a wish fulfillment fantasy. As another Dick Grayson fan expressed:
I see no heart in [Taylor’s] work, only soulless marketing. He sells himself as something good and work on his perfect public image and everyone who disagrees is wrong and it gets on my nerves like nothing else. […] I wouldn't be as salt[y] if Taylor was genuinely trying to writing something good. I don't have the heart to [be salty] at someone working with passion, even if I don't like it.
(Henceforth referred to as Dick Grayson Fan B... This was actually said during a discussion in which we expressed how we wish we could be as excited about Taylor’s run as many others are.)
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glossypolaroidkisses · 6 months ago
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hi my love!! im excited to see what ur blog will contain hehe omg im so ecstatic that u commented that ur interested in the whole right brained reader thing hehe i js want to know ur thoughts on the relationship dynamic of having a more humanitarian reader who likes english, arts everything that's quite opposite to what luigi is like!!
hihi!! omg I’m SO excited too!! i already feel so welcomed!! ok this is so fun, buckle in!! bear with me!!
since luigi seems to be so analytical and anal with his thought processes (like you mentioned), i can see him pre-relationship being a bit skeptical while getting to know you; just because that’s not how his brain works. at the start he’d ask you so many questions. you’d have so many conversations that would give him better insight into your mind, to make sure you’re not just in la la land all the time. it’s giving, waiting for 3rd or 4th date to talk politics?… no. 1st date we’re talking about thoughts on religion, the afterlife, etc.
also, that’s not an insult to right brained/artistic ppl, I’m one of them (if you couldn’t tell lol)! i’ve been perceived as dumb(er than others) because I’m so driven by creativity, english and the arts (NOT scientific or mathematical at all). It's only once someone gets to know me better, that they learn how intelligent I am. right brain thinkers are more likely to be dismissed or overlooked, imo!
someone like luigi may not have been too surrounded by many right brain thinkers let alone dated them, and he would be so curious about what goes on in your mind.
obviously, you do develop a relationship and the dynamic would be adorable. you balance each other out! there may be some minor situations and misunderstandings where his strict, logical, rational self isn’t sure where you’re coming from; but he always listens to you explain your POV, and does come around to understand it. he’s very open minded, esp when it comes to you!
he loves your brain. i mean, he’s so fascinated by it. you find art, beauty, creativity and meaning in things that he could’ve never perceived in such a way. both of your brains work in different ways that are both so important.
whether you come to him about a situation all pouty, or do the opposite, acting stubborn and silent about it until he picks up on your mood shift, coming over to help you.. he’ll have a solution. he’d drop anything to brainstorm a way to help you solve your problems. for luigi, because of his logical problem solving, the solution is usually simple for him to come up with. but then you’re standing there with stars in your eyes like ‘wow luigi😍❤️ i would’ve never come up with that🤩 thank you so much😩’ and he’s just there, giddy, bc you make him feel so smart and useful. he’s so happy when he can help you in any way.
there will probably be a lot of funny moments trying to make decisions together. you might want to decide based on gut feeling, or your emotions, but he’ll be so analytical; thinking of every detail. for example, buying furniture together. you might be like “omg! this couch is such a cute colour, matches the vibe of our apartment and it feels so soft!” and luigi would be like “uhm… yeah! cute! but… (pulls out tape measure) it isn’t the correct dimensions, the fabric isn’t stain resistant, the cushion covers aren’t removable, and it isn’t well reviewed online….😅🥸”
if he’s not with you, he’ll take photos of things he sees while out-and-about, maybe exploring, and send them to you. or!!! when he comes home, he’ll be all excited to show you stuff he took pictures of, wondering what your perspective on it would be, how you would interpret it. he’ll go through the pictures with you and just listen to you gush over something artsy or interpretive, like if he saw graffiti he thought you’d find cool, a quote from a book or painting at a museum. idk!
if he goes book shopping for his own yk NON fiction books, he’ll always come back with a book or two for you. he’ll get home, probably make some sort of joke like “i just chose the book that had the most colourful cover”, when in reality he spent time at the bookstore looking through the books, reading so many back covers to choose one that he knows you’ll genuinely enjoy. or, he’ll just buy a book he remembers you mentioning you wanted in passing. even if he wouldn’t enjoy reading it, he enjoys knowing it brings you joy. and if you talk to him about a book you’re reading/read, he’ll listen as if it’s his favourite genre.
me personally, idk if it’s the eldest daughter in me, but i LOVE being taken care of + i think he’d enjoy feeling helpful. like if i was drawing on an app on my ipad and it crashed or something, i’d go running to him for help.. with anything technology related (even if i had an idea of how i could fix it myself) like heyyy my lil compsci problem solver.. help pls😇
overall, i think this dynamic is so sweet as long as you can both embrace each others differences and find that harmony. he would add more structure to your life while appreciating your perspective, and you’d add more spontaneity, empathy & creativity to his!
also idk if i touched enough on this, but this dynamic is literally a humanitarian power couple. like fighting for what’s right, with his brain and your heart!! best of both worlds for a well rounded perspective!! mwhahaha
thank you so much for submitting that! oh my god that was so much fun I’m not insane i promise (maybe a lil hehehe) it is literally 7 am i am going to sleep now. i just started responding to that ask and couldn’t stop. aaa love it!!
i hope you liked it!! don’t be afraid to give feedback, anyone! i loooovee requests like these!! keep em coming!! mwah
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slyandthefamilybook · 11 months ago
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...And here we come upon a problem as basic as the nature of knowledge itself: all of our prodigious cognitive and computational abilities are inadequate to a full comprehension of our complex world. As humans, we remain heavily dependent on certain tools of perception and conception that our cultural and biological heritages have taught us are useful. These tools–such as language, causal logic, religion, mathematics–are indeed powerful, but they are powerful precisely because they reduce complexity to intelligibility by projecting our mental concepts onto the world. One consequence of this is that our recognition of significance is always what some philosophers call "theory laden," meaning that it is shaped by what our theoretical framework and cognitive tools encourage us to recognize as meaningful. Anti-Judaism, as I have argued throughout this book, is precisely this: a powerful theoretical framework for making sense of the world.
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After all, no matter how overrepresented the Jews may have been among the European "bourgeoisie," they remained a tiny minority of that class. How could that tiny minority convincingly come to represent for so many the evolving evils of the capitalist world order? More broadly, how could untold millions of Europeans (and not only Germans) come to believe–or act as if they believed–the claims of the Nazis (and not only the Nazis) that Jews and their conspiracies so threatened the security of the world that they needed to be excluded, expelled, or exterminated? According to Horkheimer and Adorno, the liquidation of the Jews of Europe was not grounded in "reality." It took place in the vast gap between and explanatory framework ("anti-Semitism") that made satisfying sense of the world to a significant portion of its citizens, and the complexity of the world itself.
They set out to explore that gap in a philosophical history of modern thought they drafted in 1944 and later published as Dialectics of Enlightenment. Their final chapter, "Elements of Anti-Semitism: Limits of Enlightenment," suggested that what gave anti-Semitic ideas their power was not so much their relation to reality, but rather their exemption from reality checks–that is, from the critical testing to which so many other concepts were subjected. "What is pathological about anti-Semitism is not projective behavior as such, but the absence of reflection in it." In their terms, the problem is a heightened resistance to reflection about the gap between our ideas about Jews, Judaism, or Jewishness, and the complexity of the world. From their point of view, anti-Semitism provides adherents with a cognitive comfort: the fantasy that the gap between our understanding of the cosmos and its fearful complexity does not exist.
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...[A]cross several thousand years, myriad lands, and many different spheres of human activity, people have used ideas about Jews and Judaism to fashion the tools with which they construct the reality of their world. The goal of my project, like Horkeheimer and Adorno's, is to encourage reflection about our "projective behavior," that is, about the ways in which our deployment of concepts into and onto the world might generate "pathological" fantasies of Judaism. And my choice of method owes something to Auerbach's conviction that the study of a given moment, problem, or even a single word in the distant past can teach us something about a much longer history, extending even to our own.
Selected excerpts from Anti-Judaism: The Western Tradition (2013 Nirenberg, David)
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natimiles · 2 years ago
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LEVI IS A SMART COOKIE — HEADCANONS (AND APPRECIATION?)
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🐟 Let’s start stating the obvious: he is hella smart. He’s an Admiral, he had to study and work hard for it! He might be shy and socially awkward, but we can’t invalidate his entire personality just because he actually says “ROFL” out loud. A person (or demon, in this case) can be goofy and smart — one doesn’t cancel out the other.
🐟 That settled, here is what I think about it:
🐟 From strongest to weakest (and to make things easier), I’d rank his intelligences: visual-spatial, logical-mathematical, verbal-linguistic, naturalistic, bodily-kinesthetic, musical, intrapersonal and interpersonal.
🪸 Visual-spatial: he needs to be good at it if he’s gonna navigate. He barely leaves his room, but he’s got the whole Devildom mapped out in his head. He can walk blindfolded and still be able to arrive at RAD or anywhere he needs to go.
🪸 Logical-mathematical: he has an insanely good strategic mind. You think he’s an Admiral just because he’s one of the Seven Lords? He’s got serious skills in what he does, or it wouldn’t have worked out.
🪸 Verbal-linguistic: he might have a hard time speaking to new people, but he has good communication once he trusts you enough. He can be assertive when he needs to and, again, he has to be able to communicate when he’s commanding his crew. And he’s a really good writer.
🪸 Naturalistic: he loves animals! He looked at a giant snake and decided it was a good friend. He has Henry 2.0 for who knows how long and he takes such good care of him. For me, he loves the ocean, from both the Human and the Demon World. He is a sea serpent demon, so he can swim with all sorts of creatures, learning about them along the way. Sometimes, he even feels a connection to those deep-sea dwellers — living in the dark, solitary depths. (you’re welcome for the angst thought)
🪸 Bodily-kinesthetic: he has good coordination and no one can convince me otherwise. He likes to learn the choreographies of his favorite idols. I think he can learn it pretty fast, and he can teach it easily if you want to learn it too. Now you can dance together and it’s wholesome. Not to mention, he still is a demon and #3 in their power rank. He didn’t get that number randomly. Also, he can sew his own cosplays; he needs good coordination for sewing.
🪸 Musical: he learned about music for his pleasure. He is good at listening to the slight change in rhythm, so he knows exactly when to do a certain move when he’s dancing and all the cues when he’s singing. He will annoy you if you sing it 0.02 seconds earlier. He can play the keyboard and probably the drums.
🪸 Intrapersonal: his self-esteem is not good (we just need to help him a little), but I think he has a deep comprehension of himself. He knows what he likes and dislikes, how he’ll react when something happens and how to deal with his own outbursts. Understanding and putting it into practice, however, aren’t always the same, and that’s where emotions take the lead (hence why it’s intelligence #7). That’s when he summons Lotan.
🪸 Interpersonal: do I need to say something? I love my boy, but he has a hard time meeting new people and that's fine too.
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Masterlists
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kimyoonmiauthor · 4 months ago
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Writer tip: Repeating a character trait doesn't make it true.
"he/she/they were clever." said ad nauseum doesn't make it true. Prove it in the text, demonstrate it.
I mean you could tell me. And you could show me the university certificate, but it doesn't make it true and I won't believe you.
s/He was an inventor. Fine. He was an inventor, then demonstrate it in the text. Are they a one-trick pony and can't apply it after you introduce it? Then I think he stole the invention. He doesn't know how it works, can't demonstrate it being useful in other applications, can't figure out how to invent anything on the spot, has no mind of being an engineer. I don't believe you. Give me the mindset of the person.
The person was intelligent... again, demonstrate this is true in the text by them using words in context that makes them sound emotionally and intellectually intelligent. I'd be much more impressed if they were explaining fancy mathematical theory to a three year old using three-year old language than I would be them using long multi-syllabic words at random. That takes extra intelligence, to me. Fermat's Theorem AND be sensitive enough to get a Three year old's attention, hold it, and get the kid to understand. That's like intelligence on steroids.
It's not show or tell in this case, it's *actually put it into the text* instead of slamming me with the character trait over and over.
If I went around telling everyone every ten seconds I was smart, and I was clever, would you believe me? If I said I got into Yale, maybe you would wince and ask something like, Iunno, were you a nepo?
But if I told you I watched an episode of MacGyver and then broke apart a mechanical pencil for the spring and used some sticky tack to fix a screen door. That would lead some credence to how I was smart.
(BTW, he wasn't fixing a screen door in the episode).
If I told you I used dental floss to make a locking door open from the other side, you might believe me (It was a lunchroom push door. I'd gone to the dentist the previous day and had it in my pocket. I got sick of getting up for the door, so rigged it.)
BTW, this isn't a copy-paste moment, but to think up your own creative solutions to problems and try to borrow the mindset of everything can be fixed with duct tape, for example.
In another words, the more I demonstrate the logic, the mindset, then you'll start to believe me.
This person was creative. Still doesn't make it true. This person did avante garde paintings challenging colonialism and a dying planet using mixed mediums and trash, might tip those scales.
Frankly, I don't care if you tell me, or if you show me, just demonstrate it on the page it's true instead of repeating it over and over at me.
Go MacGyver with your engineer. Know your art movements for your artist. Know your pirouettes for your ballerinas. Pick up at least a fraction of the mindsets, so when Iunno, a computer engineer looks at someone saying the UX person told them that the program functions, but it doesn't actually work, it makes sense. (I saw a Japanese drama do this brilliantly, BTW, and I was delighted. On the flip side, I've seen people try to pass HTML and Javascript as "programming" especially badly formatted Javascript. I'm looking at you Square Space. WTF was with that badly formatted Javascript and calling that "programming". I may lack game, but seriously, that's not a good advertisement. Look, our program spits out terrible javascript and we don't know what programming and scripting is...) This is why the best writers are nerds. Wok Hei for your Chinese chef. I spent 3 hours looking up old waterwheels to get the engineering.
Again, don't use AI to get there, do the work and find an edge to play with. A gap. Because AI can't find gaps. A lot of professions have mindsets or varying mindsets. And if you capture that, you'll get ahead. Did I watch Cells at Work because doctors highly recommended the anime, yes I did. But I also picked up how doctors think.
BTW, dropping into process story structure for a little bit to demonstrate the impact or the brilliance of a chef, a painter, an engineer, etc usually tips people over the edge. It doesn't have to consume that long in the book either.
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