#ca chan can't science

[scary-senpai]

Idk. I went back to working on Collateral Damage after writing it almost killed me. The fic is about Garou at the dojo/takes place pre-canon and for the sake of my sanity I locked the draft in a box for over a year. I am going to put this draft out in the aether and then gnaw on furniture or something.

Content consideration: All the angst; T for Trashmouth, death of parents, literally everyone is made out of red flags, pervasive ennui I guess. Sadness. Abuse of commas and metaphor? Too much Charanko for that literally nobody asked for, and yet. Gratuitous creative license vis-a-vis the way the sunlight falls onto the dojo during the scene in which Bang and Garou meet and making some far-fetched assumptions about what that might mean. I don’t actually know how sunlight works. I don’t actually know how anything works. Writing this fic has probably given me an aneurysm but I don’t think it’s contagious. As far as I know all my betas are still alive, just busy. I kind of edited this but mostly I screamed into the void

“You need to tell me shit like this, you know.”

Garou squinting into his phone, turning the camera to a makeshift mirror. Fresh from the shower, his damp hair hangs tangled across his face. Ashen, waxen, and hollow-eyed, Garou tugs at his gi, running a hand over crumpled fabric that will not smooth for him.

Charanko looks down, hopelessly lost in the room they share. Yet again, they are the last students to leave the dorms. Their classmates are already long gone, warming up, stretching, waiting patiently for class to start.

Garou doesn’t seem to care. He can get away with being late.

“Have you seen my fucking face?” Garou continues. “I look like shit.”

Charanko only knows what not to do—refrain from offering any sort of consolation, or encouragement, or words of concern. He cannot say anything that implies Garou might be weak, because Garou is not weak—in fact, Garou's strength is all he has.

“It's like I got hit by a goddamn bus or something,” Garou says. “All week. Can't sleep. Can't...” The words catch in his throat. “Can't anything,” he says at last, running his fingers through his hair, tugging as they snag on the tangles.

Charanko keeps his breathing cool and even. But before he even opens his mouth, Garou silences him.

All it takes is a single, menacing glance to sever this attempted concern. Charanko's comments fall to the floor, unspoken, mingling with all the dust and the dirty laundry, and everything else condemned to hiding in plain sight. All the while, Garou’s eyes burn with a faraway flame—a spark as easily kindled as it is extinguished.

————-

It’s dawn, but the light is elsewhere. This morning, Garou and Charanko walk together in the darkness, just as they have been doing every morning, since they began sharing the same room.

Somewhere above them, the unseen sun has already started its regular, ritual creep along the eastern side of the mountain. Day is breaking somewhere, or so they’ve been led to believe—Bang's campus, nestled on the western precipice, is both sheltered and obscured by the summit, and the stony cliffs that cast the dojo in their shadow.

In the distance, they can hear their classmates begin their drills. The sounds ring out from the dojo and echo through the harsh and hollow scenery—students laboring beneath blood-red rays that have yet to reach them, waiting for a light they cannot see. 

Outside, the darkness is languidly lifting. Charanko watches the sky above fade from jet-black nothing to solemn hues of funereal blue—a sorry palette of bruises, ash, and incense smoke that colors as much as it reveals.

The world, like Garou, is in bad shape today: dark, harsh, and unforgiving, with harsh contours whittled by cold. The spring storms have culled all the petals from their boughs, and the surrounding trees shiver their miserable little branches, their limbs cutting reticulate fissures through gray and sodden skies. 

“I can't take much more of this,” Garou says.

It’s unclear to whom Garou is speaking, if anyone at all. But he’s stopped walking, and he leans his weight into a fallen branch until it snaps, loud enough to make a point.

“You know, my dad would have been 36 today.”

Garou is unforthcoming with details, but from time to time, he lets things slip. Now that they’ve been spending more time together, Charanko is more attentive to these clues, these little hints spring up like new growth from dead ground:

My father wanted me to finish school.

He never once came to a tournament.

He never once saw me fight.

It’s not all his fault, I guess, but fuck—

Garou raises his eyes to the roiling sky, dark clouds backlit by strained light. He stopped walking a long time ago. Maybe he’s waiting for Charanko to catch up, maybe he’s lost in thought. It’s certainly a scene.

Spring in the mountains is mercurial and distant; there’s always more bad weather ahead. Last night's storm spared them, but there’s always more, there’s always something.

Garou grips the cellphone in his hand. Five fingers grip the scratched and battered plastic, five fingers white and rigid, impossibly cold.

“I just want my dead mom to call me once in awhile,” Garou says, staring intently at his feet, at the broken pieces beneath them. “Is that too much to ask?”

Charanko is, as always, lost for words. What to make of this strange boy—this visibly exhausted child, who has dragged himself out of bed, into the showers, and now to class—and for what, exactly? To strike down Charanko's concerns with one breath and then sputter out confessions in the next?

He settles for a murmur and a silent nod. I heard you, Garou. I’m here.

But Charanko, of course, says none of this aloud; Garou is tasked with breaking his own silence.

“I know, I know,” Garou sighs, almost sounding like himself. “No phones in class.”

Garou slowly lifts his head to reveal his features, the wide smile that cuts across his face like an open wound.

“Get the fuck inside, Charanko. It’s gonna rain any minute.”

Already Garou’s laughing, back to normal, or whatever he can pass for it.

[octazumi]

About

Japanese: 鈴木 和泉 (スズキ・カズミ) (Suzuki Kazumi) English: Kazumi Suzuki (カズミ・スズキ） Nicknames: Harbor porpoise-chan (nezumi-iruka-chan) (Floyd), Monsieur introverti (Rook) (Idk French so I hope the grammar for that is right lmfao)

Date of Birth: September 4 (Virgo) Age: 16 (1st year)

Dorm: Octavinelle Class: Class A (No.9) Club: In the Mountain Lovers Club, but also frequently pops in to the Science Club if they're doing something fun. Best Subject: Biology and Alchemy Worst Subject: Swimming Favorite Subject: Animal Languages

Gender: Male (Trans FtM, technically genderfluid but he rarely has female days anymore) Pronouns: He/him or they/them (prefers he/him though) Orientation: Pansexual

Homeland: Land of Pyroxene Species: Human

Languages: English (fluent), Spanish (learning), Japanese (basically fluent) Height: 165 cm (5'5) Dominant Hand: Right (throws objects with either hand)

Hobbies: Watching anime, singing Pet peeves: People who walk slower than him Favorite Food: Ice cream or Japanese sweets Least Favorite Food: Any type of seafood Talent: Procrastination

Overview:

Kazumi is a quiet individual that is often seen out and about rather than focusing on his studies. People either forget he exists or are friendly with him.

Appearance:

Kazumi is a boy of average height, with short black hair that is in an undercut style. He neatly puts himself together in his dorm uniform, disliking it when others have on their uniforms sloppily. He often is seen fixing others' uniforms and scolding them - after all, they wouldn't want to get yelled at by the tweels, Azul, or Riddle, would they? That would be embarrassing.

Personality:

Kazumi is a very calm person, preferring to stop fights rather than instigate them. However, he shouldn't be trusted to always stop fights as he is amused by chaos and will let things go on as long as they aren't too dangerous.

He is very caring, though, liking to help others and make sure they're okay. Still, he isn't a teacher's pet, and wouldn't report much to the teachers (unless it is actually dangerous).

He dislikes studying, and can be seen wandering in to different clubs due to him trying to procrastinate.

Powers:

He isn't super strong, preferring to be in the background and offer support. His magic is mostly fire magic (which is interesting as he's in Octavinelle). He enjoys fire magic the most so he often neglects the other magic types.

Signature Spell:

He hasn't figured out a signature spell yet.

Physical Power:

He is good at kicking. That's about it. He is pretty weak in all other aspects, and often gets yelled at by Vargas. He can't swim (which is fun again as he is in Octavinelle). He tries to avoid as much water as possible.

Background:

He came from a modest background, and was a gifted student (although he got worse at school as he got older). He's honestly stunned that he was able to get into Night Raven College. Although his grades are pretty good, he often does everything last minute.

Family:

He gets along fairly well with his family, but keeps a certain distance; they didn't accept him when he came out as genderfluid or trans (or pansexual, for that matter) so he isn't super happy to get in contact with them. However, he adores his dog, and would talk for hours about him if he could.

Likes:

Sweets, animals, manga/anime, learning new languages, being online, Azul Ashengrotto.

Dislikes:

Spiders, swimming, being forced to do work, not having electronics/Wi-Fi.

Extra:

His nickname from Floyd is Harbor porpoise-chan（ネズミイルカちゃん (nezumi-iruka)) because they are shy (similar to Kazumi) and are mostly seen in groups of two or three. Kazumi only has a handful of friends that he is himself with, often putting up a false front in front of others so he doesn't get hurt. In addition, these creatures are known to be highly sensitive to noise; Kazumi is pretty sensitive as well, and he tends to not stay at parties for too long (and if he does, staying as far away as possible from the speakers as he can, especially if he doesn't enjoy the music). He also tends to be wary and doesn't approach new or strange people/things, similar to a harbor porpoise not approaching boats.

He often pops into the Light Music Club's practices to listen (he enjoys music) and tries to give helpful tips.

He also likes to take care of the horses for the horse-riding club (he loves animals) but he rarely has time. When he does take care of them, he is often seen talking or even singing to them.

Sometimes he walks with Malleus for the Gargoyle Research Society when they're walking the same way.

Kazumi sometimes skips around campus. He's gotten yelled at more times than he can count. He finds it fun though so- (he tries to do it in secret).

He can often be seen with earbuds in and listening to songs. He quickly turns the songs off though (and he won't tell you what music he was listening to most of the time).

[scary-senpai]

I don't know if you can answer the question, so sorry to bother you! Saitama can resist antimatter? If yes, why?

Hey!! Thank you so much for the ask. I am grateful that you thought of me, so no worries, you are definitely not a bother 🥰and I’ll do my utmost to answer to the best of my ability.

Short answer: Saitama has some epic level plot armor, and this plot armor is impervious to antimatter. If a definitive Villain!Saitama exists, Villain!Saitama is probably composed of antimatter.

Regular! Saitama probably keeps some antimatter in an brittle Tupperware container shoved at the back of his pantry. Saitama wholeheartedly believes it is coffee beans. Genos knows better. Dr Kuseno is very concerned.

Longer answer: full disclosure, the “Ca-chan can’t science” tag exists for a reason. Hard science (especially physics and chemistry) was never my thing. I can, however, answer this from the perspective of a writer with an above-average grasp on the laws of comedy.

In my experience, there are two types of storytellers:

“Physics calls the shots” — these folks tend to orient their stories within the laws of existing reality, and may have pre-existing expertise in that particular area.

plot calls the shots, physics bends to my narrative will.” — I don’t want to say we’re BS-ing it, but kind of. I fall into this category and for what it’s worth…I always try to bullshit from a place of utmost playfulness and love, which usually requires at least some passing understanding of the source material—or some really witty word play. (“Air ‘n’ space museum?!? But there’s no air in space!”)

As always, there exists a Secret Third Option: “i, the author, started with one strategy, but I have made compromises due to editorial pressure / time constraints / sudden lack of fucks.” Sudden lack of fucks is a real problem, because Creating is Hard

When plotting comedic scenes, there’s this idea of a “game” played by characters within their universe. We (the audience) get a sense of the rules of the game, so we can guess at what we think will happen (Wyle Coyote is unlikely to nab the roadrunner, for example, just like Charlie Brown will probably never kick that football), but a good writer will still be able to surprise the audience, even if we think we know where the scene is going. I love ONE’s work for that reason—you find some great examples within OPM and Mob Psycho, especially with characters like Saitama.

Anyway, a common game is that Saitama encounters something that would be dangerous or deadly to most people—like magma in Orochi’s layer—and he turns it into a dalliance, essentially. Scorching hot lava becomes a spa, an interplanetary excursion are nothing more than a game of hopscotch… you get the idea. And the converse is also true—Saitama can’t swat a single mosquito! But he can vanquish the super strong Mosquito Girl.

But once a pattern has been established, there has to be a very good reason for the author to subvert the rules they’ve laid out, especially in a situation like OPM where those rules are not only foundational to the plot but also definitive to the brand—like the emotional climax of the Monster Association arc. It doesn’t matter if Saitama is invincible, because he loves someone that is, well, vincible.

Anyway, maybe Saitama is vulnerable to antimatter… but there would likely have to be a good narrative reason, not just “antimatter is an impossibly powerful weapon.” These kind of powerscaling questions are interesting but I’ve never gotten the sense that they were a central part of the narrative; victory in the OPM-verse is defined by intentions and what’s in your heart. That’s just my take, though—I can’t claim to know what anyone is thinking.

[scary-senpai]

Due to ADHD chaos brain, I have the bad habit of forgetting to add my own dang punchlines back into drafts. I am always tickled when they end up more morbid than I expect/remember:

“I invested minimal effort and energy depicting the reindeer as the entire team will be vaporized within 4.26 thousandths of a second.”

Extended argument is here.

Me: Boyfriend. I need your help with this chapter.

Boyfriend: okay.

Me: okay so in my fic Genos has done the calculations and he determines Santa will need 214,200 reindeer to deliver his stockpile of presents to all good children on Christmas… which is a lot of reindeer to draw on a white board, so I had him scientific notation instead

Boyfriend: that’s not how that works, but continue

Me: would I write it like this?

Boyfriend: more like this

Boyfriend: but really, you shouldn’t be doodling pictures of reindeer, you should be using the variable “R”

Me: “R” for “Reindeer”?

Boyfriend: no

[scary-senpai]

They say 'write for yourself,' and so here's Genos and Garou arguing about the mathematics of Christmas.

...I don't know, I just think they're neat. :D In any case, I am glad to be getting into the spirit of @wanpanmas 2022 and also finally my fic from Wanpanmas 2021.

Not yet beta read, there may be science errors because I usually have my boyfriend fact-check my jokes.

“Alright,” Garou sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Tell me exactly what I’m looking at.”

The whiteboard was literally painful to look at. Shining more brightly than fresh-fallen snow (and with a nasty glare to match), it was as large as a wide-screen television. Scrawled across the surface in tiny, meticulous strokes of blue ink were countless symbols, numbers, and letters—calculations, Garou guessed. Not that he could make heads or tales of it.

As far as Garou was concerned, the whole mess may as well be ancient hieroglyphs—overwhelming, incomprehensible remnants from an entirely different world. And that’s how he felt, standing beside Genos in the kitchen—as if they were from two entirely different civilizations, separated by time, possibly even space.

“These are the comprehensive mathematics of your so-called ‘Santa,’” Genos explained. “Figure two billion adolescents currently in existence, and roughly 15% observe Christmas. For simplicity’s sake, we will ignore the complexities of mixed-faith households, as well as the existence of Orthodox Christmas.”

“Uh-huh.”

Garou rubbed his eyes, dizzy with all the facts and figures swirling behind them.

“On average, one can expect to find roughly 3.5 children in every home—wait, Garou, why are you laughing?”

“I’m not.”

Garou was, actually, although he sensed he shouldn’t be… snickering as he envisioned a family of three full children and one half child standing side by side.

“Alright,” Genos continued. “Postulating 3.5 children per home, let’s assume that at least one child can expect gifts from Santa. In the interest of time, we will sidestep any philosophical discourse regarding the nature of ‘good,’ of which there are many—“

“Yeah, ‘moral dessert’ and whatnot,” Garou muttered. “The hell’s that?”

“A reindeer.”

Garou eyed the four-legged stick figure with what seemed like antennae (or possibly horns). A jumble of shapes—mostly squares and circles—appeared linked to the thing.

It almost, almost looked like a reindeer.

“Does Santa have eight of those?”

“Taking into account the gifts and the sleigh, Santa has a payload of 321,300 tons, not including Santa,” Genos said plainly, as if this were common knowledge and Garou already understood what these numbers meant.

“…and?”

“Presupposing the existence of exceptionally gifted reindeer, Santa would require no less than 214,200 to support the weight of his payload. In order to conserve resources, I have augmented my sketches with scientific notation.”

Genos pulled a napkin from his front pocket and snapped it with all the flourish of a picador.

“‘Back-of-the-napkin calculations’,” Garou grumbled. “Of course.”

“In order to frequent all 91.8 million qualified dwellings within the requisite 31-hour timeframe, Santa must accelerate to 650 miles per second—roughly 3,000 times the speed of sound. Moving at this unthinkable speed, with this inconceivable payload would generate enormous air resistance,” Genos continued, pausing for a breath he did not need to take. “Not unlike a spaceship re-entering the atmosphere, for example.”

“Uh-huh.”

“As I am sure you’re aware, hundreds of meteors breach our planet’s atmosphere and fall towards the earth itself,” Genos continued, “yet only a handful will actually complete their journey. The remainder burn up upon re-entry, which means—“

Genos snapped the napkin again, showing off the drawing on the other side: a rotund stick figure with a strange, triangular hat, that was (painfully, unfortunately) on fire.

“In conclusion,” Genos declared, “if Santa once existed, he does no longer—due to rampant population growth and the spread of Christianity.”

(the primary source of the santa calculations is here: http://www.comedycorner.org/5.html)

here's a silly drawing of Genos' reindeer. when it comes to illustrations, Garou thinks he can do it better, but he also understands now is not the time to try.

[scary-senpai]

Also, for those of you following the "Ca-Chan Can't Science" saga (how does Overgrown Rover's vision work?), here's the scene where Rover ends up in a blindfold. It's actually Reigen doing the blindfolding (not Garou), but the end result is the same. They are on a mission to clear the neighborhood of the terrifying snow monsters (that Garou created)--for a price, of course. In this AU Garou and Saitama are co-parenting Rover although Garou is much better at it tbh.

“The hell did you do to my dog?!?”

“For the last time, it’s a disguise—“

“—what’s he supposed to be, a fucking pirate or something? This is bullshit!”

Rover watched this absurd confrontation, alert and attentive (but not as alarmed as his master). The guard dog observed with less-than-usual efficiency, as black fabric scraps obscured two of his six eyes, obscuring roughly 33.3333% of his vision.

“No, he’s still a dog,” Reigen replied, scooping Rover into his arms. “Just not your dog… isn’t that right, boy? You’ve never seen this guy before in your life?”

Rover yapped affirmatively and licked Reigen’s face. Garou grabbed his dog back and stared into Rover’s face, squinting, giving this new get-up a second look.

The pup wore a homemade eye-patch, fashioned from faux sheepskin. Synthetic, woolly, and machine-washable, the shade and texture perfectly matched Rover’s coat. Even the elastic band was practically invisible, camouflaged by like colors and a creative combover on Reigen’s part.

Salt Guy had a commendable eye for detail, that was for sure.

Anyway, Mumen Rider might be Incognito Gojo Satoru, but Overgrown Rover certainly is not.

[scary-senpai]

Uncle-in-law, going on about Science Things: I’m just saying, when it comes to renewable energy… the wind is unreliable. the sun is unreliable. but we can predict the tides—

Me: for now. until somebody steals the moon.

Uncle-in-law: valid point. have you considered working for NASA?

Cousin: nice weather we’re having, eh?

Uncle-in-law (whom I am meeting for the first time ever): I was disappointed. I drove two hours and not once did I see a car stuck in a snow bank

Cousin’s spouse: it’s just a thing my dad and I like to do, help cars stuck in snow banks

[something something four-wheel drive something something]

Me: have you considered doing the opposite? like pulling them into the snow bank so you can pull them out again

Uncle-in-law: I like how you think

[scary-senpai]

I am glad Boyfriend is always willing to indulge my silly science questions:

Overgrown Rover has six eyes and I’m trying to figure out how his perception would change if Garou someone were to hypothetically put a blindfold on 2 of them, and once again Gojo Satoru ruins everything:

Anyway, help a girl out. The alternative is reading about spiders, which might actually be worse.

[scary-senpai]

Brother: who the hell steals the moon?

Me: aliens

Brother: but like why though? out of spite?

Me: like as a prank. they don’t know any better. their planet has plenty of space rocks in its orbit, they assume Earth can spare one.

Brother: I guess it’s true. We’re not exactly made of moons.

Cousin: nice weather we’re having, eh?

Uncle-in-law (whom I am meeting for the first time ever): I was disappointed. I drove two hours and not once did I see a car stuck in a snow bank

Cousin’s spouse: it’s just a thing my dad and I like to do, help cars stuck in snow banks

[something something four-wheel drive something something]

Me: have you considered doing the opposite? like pulling them into the snow bank so you can pull them out again

Uncle-in-law: I like how you think