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odileeclipse · 2 days ago

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In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 30

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You leaned over the table with an intensity that rivaled pre-exam week, ink smudged on your fingertips and the edge of your sleeve. Parchment covered in hasty scrawl sat in front of you, each paragraph dripping with formal logic, magical ethics, a dash of heartfelt plea, and a surprising amount of literary flourish.

You slid the page toward Chai Latte Cookie first. “Alright. I need you to… Chai-ify it. Make it poetic or profound or something.”

Chai, practically vibrating with glee, took the parchment in both hands. “Oh, yes. Let me just elevate this rhetoric.”

She pulled a quill from behind her ear like she’d been waiting for this moment her whole life. “I’m going to add a line about the transformation of truth through form. And maybe a metaphor about moonlight as mutable identity.”

Hazelnut Biscotti stared at her. “Do you even know what that means?”

“No,” Chai said, flourishing her quill. “But it sounds so convincing.”

You chuckled as she scribbled. “Make sure it still sounds like me though. I don’t want him to think I was possessed mid-sentence.”

Chai looked up with a grin. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it your voice. Just slightly more dramatic.”

After she was satisfied, you passed the updated version across the table to Earl Grey Cookie.

He scanned it with surgical precision, eyes flicking left to right, pausing only to make corrections with his fountain pen that seemed designed to make every edit sting with dignity.

“Your thesis is strong,” he murmured. “But tighten the second paragraph. You’re leaning too much into emotional leverage. Balance it with academic precedent.”

“You say that like he isn’t already emotionally compromised,” you muttered.

Earl didn’t look up. “All the more reason to prove you’re serious.”

He handed it off with a final flick. “The final paragraph is surprisingly elegant. That must’ve been Chai.”

“Thank you,” she said sweetly, twirling a strand of her hair.

Then it was Hazelnut’s turn.

You slid the parchment over, watching as he read through it at a pace both cautious and skeptical. He frowned at a few spots but said nothing until the end.

Finally, he leaned back and scratched his chin. “Alright… it’s convincing.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Hazelnut shrugged. “I don’t know if it’ll work, but if someone handed me a scroll like this, I’d be too impressed to say no. It’s half spell theory, half love letter to magical curiosity.”

“That’s the vibe I was going for,” you said, relieved.

Earl nodded. “Then I’d say it’s ready.”

You looked down at the page revised, refined, and full of lines like

Let this transformation not be a spectacle, but a symbol that even truth, immutable and enduring, has the capacity for grace in change.

…Yeah. You were definitely not getting out of this without compromising some dignity.

Chai grinned. “So… when are you giving it to him?”

You swallowed.

“Tomorrow.”

Your friends exchanged glances.

“Stars help him,” Hazelnut said dryly.

“Stars help you,” Chai added, practically glowing. “Because if he says yes… I need to be there.”

You covered your face with both hands, already regretting everything.

But also?

Kind of excited.

You peeked through your fingers, face still buried in your hands, and muttered, “I think he’d be a lot less convinced if there were an audience.”

Chai immediately gasped, clutching her chest in mock offense. “You’re not going to let me witness history?”

“Do you want him to say yes or turn into mist and vanish?” you deadpanned, lifting your head.

Hazelnut Biscotti chuckled. “They have a point.”

“Exactly!” You gestured toward him. “If I walk in there with all three of you breathing down his neck from the doorway, he’s going to think it’s a prank or some kind of social experiment.”

Earl Grey sipped his tea calmly. “It is a social experiment. But your hypothesis requires solitude.”

Chai groaned dramatically. “Fine. But if he does it if you have to tell me everything.”

“I will write a report. With citations.”

Chai brightened instantly. “Deal.”

Hazelnut smirked. “Just don’t die from embarrassment when you hand it to him.”

You nodded slowly, lips pressed into a line. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take… for science.”

Earl Grey tilted his head. “And unhinged curiosity.”

“And possibly love,” Chai added with a wink.

You groaned. “I hate it here.”

They all laughed, and Chai nudged your arm affectionately, you couldn’t help but smile again, nervous, yes, but genuinely excited.

Because the scroll in your bag might just be your most ambitious experiment yet. You twirled your spoon slowly in your cup, watching the last of the honey swirl into your tea before lifting your gaze, more hesitant than before.

The parchment containing your “essay” sat folded neatly in your bag, safe and final. But the laughter had settled, and the buzz of the dining hall had faded into the quiet hum of content students and clinking cutlery. For a moment, your thoughts shifted somewhere else somewhere more uncertain.

“…Hey,” you said softly, glancing around the table. “Can I ask something kind of serious?”

Chai leaned forward immediately. “Of course.”

Hazelnut Biscotti looked up mid-sip, nodding once.

But your eyes turned to Earl Grey Cookie.

“Do you think this is… love?” you asked carefully. “And I don’t mean that in a sad way I’m not trying to self-deprecate. I just… I’ve been thinking about it. A lot.”

Earl Grey froze mid-reach for his napkin, caught completely off guard for what might’ve been the first time ever.

You continued before he could speak. “I mean, how do you know if it’s too soon? Like, maybe it’s just care. Or affection. Or something like love but not really it.”

He stared at you, brows furrowing slightly not in judgment, but in rare, genuine contemplation.

You gestured vaguely in the air, trying to explain. “I’m not unhappy. We’re… partners now, I think. He hasn’t said anything overly poetic since, which is weirdly comforting. It’s not grand gestures or dramatic confessions, just… quiet. Natural. Like we’re two close friends who occasionally kiss and study theory together. And that feels normal. But should it?”

The table was silent now your friends watching, not with pity, but with care. No one laughed or brushed it off.

“I just… don’t know if it’s supposed to feel like more. Or maybe it’s supposed to feel like this. Like something calm. Familiar. Comfortable. And I don’t know if that’s love or something else.”

You turned back to Earl Grey, eyes steady. “You always give me the most concise answers. So. Do you know what love feels like?”

He was quiet for a long moment.

Then, slowly, he set his napkin aside.

“I think,” he said, voice softer than usual, “that love doesn’t always announce itself with fanfare. Sometimes, it grows in quiet hours and shared routines. Sometimes it’s loud. Sometimes it’s gentle. But in all its forms, it’s not about how much it feels like something.”

He looked at you directly.

“It’s about whether it makes you more yourself. Whether you feel safer, more curious, more seen. Not just when it’s easy, but also when it’s hard. When you're not at your best. If someone still chooses to understand you in those moments, even when it would be easier not to… that might be love.”

You blinked, lips parting slightly.

Earl leaned back again, adjusting his sleeve. “But even then, love is not static. It changes. Grows. What it feels like now may not be what it feels like in a year.”

Chai exhaled, leaning her chin on her palm. “That was… beautiful.”

Hazelnut frowned a little. “I mean, yeah. I guess I agree.”

You sat there, letting his words settle in the space between your ribs.

Not an answer. But maybe something better.

A starting point. You stared at Earl Grey Cookie, the words he had just spoken echoing in your chest like a soft chime struck in the heart of a quiet cathedral. For a moment, you forgot to breathe.

“Earl…” you murmured, eyes wide, “how did you word that so beautifully?”

He didn’t meet your gaze.

Instead, he stared off slightly to the side, eyes fixed on nothing in particular, a distant look creeping into his normally unreadable expression. The tea in his cup had long since cooled, but his fingers remained wrapped around it like a tether to the present.

“…I thought once I felt it,” he said, his voice low not quite guarded, but measured.

Not for your sake.

For his.

You felt your heart still, your own breath quieter now as his words unraveled something more vulnerable than you had expected.

“Of course love changes,” he continued, almost to himself. “That’s what makes it so impossible to define. It grows, recedes, reshapes… But I know what it is.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was reverent.

Chai, for once, didn’t fill the space with teasing. She just watched him with the same awe-struck softness you felt creeping into your own chest.

Hazelnut Biscotti lowered his gaze slightly, respectful.

You didn’t ask who it had been. You didn’t have to. Somewhere between the distance in his voice and the strength in his words… you knew the answer wasn’t meant to be named.

It just was.

And that was enough.

You smiled gently at him, not pressing further.

“Thank you,” you said.

He nodded once, composed again, the moment sealed away behind his usual mask but not gone.

Not forgotten.

And somehow… it made the question in your heart feel a little less impossible. The conversation had drifted, as all good ones did softly, like mist curling away from morning tea.

No dramatic shifts. No clean cuts between topics or time. Just shared laughter, the slow stacking of empty plates, the warmth of familiarity, and the comfort of being surrounded by those who knew when to speak and when to simply be.

Somewhere between Earl Grey’s quiet reflection and Hazelnut’s reluctant second dessert, the sun had dipped low, casting golden light across the dining hall’s stone archways. The air had taken on that dimmer, cooler quality that meant class hours had long passed, and free time had become scarce once more.

The anticipation of tomorrow left a sour taste in your mouth. You didn’t think anything bad would come out of it but who knows. The next day was like any other and the hours seemed to slip away from you. Even during lunch, you were absent, caught up in your thoughts that seemed endless. Of course, that didn’t go unnoticed by your friends, which is why Chai insisted they drop you off with the sage himself. Something about ‘Knights can’t go without their steeds”.

And now, here you were.

The halls of the Scholar’s Wing were quiet again, washed in lantern light and the faint rustling of ancient banners. You stood before the carved door you knew too well, parchment scroll clutched in both hands like it was sacred, dangerous, or perhaps… deeply personal.

Chai Latte Cookie bounced on her heels beside you, practically glowing. “Okay, so remember shoulders back, voice steady, don’t crumple the scroll in panic”

“I won’t,” you muttered, eyes locked on the door. “Probably.”

Hazelnut Biscotti raised an eyebrow. “If he doesn’t agree, I’ll eat the dining hall’s jelly meatloaf for a week.”

Earl Grey Cookie offered a dignified nod. “You’ve edited it thoroughly. It’s a compelling argument.”

Chai smiled softly, squeezing your arm. “And it’s very you. If he says no… it’s not because it’s not good. It just means he’s being cryptic and annoying. You’ve got this.”

You took a slow breath, nodding. “Right.”

This wasn’t just an essay.

It was your most current fascination with him. One that started with curiosity, twisted into wonder, and now shimmered somewhere on the horizon between truth and vulnerability.

You weren’t sure what he’d say.

But you were ready to find out.

You turned toward the door.

Looked towards your friends for courage.

And knocked three times.

You heard his voice from the other side of the door smooth, composed, as always.

“Come in.”

You stepped through the threshold before your nerves had the chance to revolt, before your heart could second-guess the weight of the scroll in your hands or the practiced way you had folded it three times to make it feel more formal than it was. You moved past the threshold, into the warm glow of parchment and starlight that always seemed to fill his office.

Shadow Milk Cookie looked up from his notes, one hand still curled around a quill, the other resting near an open book. His gaze lifted to you, curious but not unkind his expression expectant.

But before he could say anything, you moved.

With every ounce of the determination your friends had just poured into you, you strode forward and held out the scroll between both hands.

He blinked.

Your expression was steady. Unflinching.

Like you were handing him something that could very well decide the future of magic itself.

He set his quill down with slow precision and took the scroll from your hands. The parchment barely made a sound between your fingers, but in your chest, your heart thudded like it echoed across stone halls.

Then, without a word, you turned on your heel.

And marched to the chair across from his desk.

But instead of sitting, you bent down and grabbed the legs of the chair with both hands.

You began to drag.

The wood groaned in protest as you struggled to maneuver it around the polished corner of the desk and just as you were halfway through gritting your teeth and about to commit to dragging it all the way-

It moved.

Soundlessly. Cleanly. As though the stone beneath it had turned to air.

You blinked. Your hands hovered in the air for a moment before you looked up.

Shadow Milk Cookie stood beside his desk now, parchment scroll in one hand, a long-suffering sigh escaping through his nose.

He didn’t say a word.

You offered a grin and settled into the chair now neatly aligned beside his, shoulder-to-shoulder. “Thank you. You're getting faster at that.”

“I was trying to save the floor.”

“I was trying to make a point,” you replied, folding your hands with faux dignity. “That this is a co-investigator level interaction.”

He arched a brow, gaze lowering to the scroll.

You nudged him slightly with your elbow. “Now read it carefully. Every word. Analyze it like it’s critical spell theory. This is very important.”

He looked at you again, eyes narrowing slightly with a glimmer of suspicion. “For science, I assume?”

“Exactly,” you said solemnly. “For science.”

He exhaled softly.

Then, without another word, he began to unroll the scroll.

You sat beside him, doing your best to appear calm, collected, and completely unaware of the fact that you were sitting next to the most unreadable person in the entire Academy with a ticking time bomb of magical curiosity in his hands.

This was fine.

You were fine.

You just… might pass out a little.

But for science? Worth it. You folded your hands in your lap to stop yourself from fidgeting, but it didn’t help much. Your knee still bounced the smallest bit, your shoulders tense despite your best efforts.

There was something deeply embarrassing about having someone read your work always had been. Even when it wasn’t personal.

Even when it was just a simple analysis on mana circuits or historical transmutations, there was always that flicker of vulnerability. That tiny voice whispering, What if it’s not good enough? What if they think it’s silly?

But this?

This wasn’t just coursework.

This was you asking the Sage of Truth to shapeshift.

This was every spiraling thought and late-night curiosity packed neatly into metaphors, magic theory, and if you were being honest at least two and a half emotionally compromised flourishes courtesy of Chai Latte Cookie.

And he was reading it.

Right next to you.

His eyes moved slowly down the page, calm and steady. His posture unchanged, expression unreadable. Not a twitch of an eyebrow. Not a quirk of his lips. Just the soft rustle of parchment as he unrolled a bit more, and the occasional pause that made your heart leap into your throat.

You tried to steal a glance at his face just a peek.

But there was nothing.

Not disapproval. Not amusement. Just… silence.

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how loud your own thoughts were. Every second felt like it stretched too long, too wide.

Still, you waited.

Because despite the silence, despite the burn of embarrassment crawling up your neck… you wanted him to see it.

Because this wasn’t just for science.

This was yours.

And right now, that had to be enough. You waited.

Not the impatient kind of waiting, the fidgeting, time-checking, foot-tapping sort but the quiet, breath-held kind. The kind of stillness that only happened when something delicate was unfolding, and you didn’t want to move in case it shattered.

You could feel your own heartbeat in your throat as he reached the end of the scroll. His eyes lingered on the final line Chai’s idea, something about “truth reshaping itself not to deceive, but to reveal what curiosity dares to ask.” It felt too dramatic when you wrote it. It still did now.

And then he looked at you.

He didn’t speak right away.

Just regarded you with that steady, deep gaze mismatched eyes so calm they made the silence feel like part of the conversation.

You braced yourself.

“This is…” He paused, folding the parchment carefully with deliberate hands. “Remarkably structured.”

You blinked. “Wait structured?” You knew it was but to hear it from him was another thing.

“A logical progression. Efficient use of magical precedent. Clear intent.” He placed the scroll down on the desk with reverence, as though it were a thesis submitted to a higher council.

You stared at him, unblinking. “That’s all you got from it?”

He turned to you fully now, his expression softening just slightly.

“And charming,” he added.

Your heart skipped.

“I did read every word. Including the parts where you tried to convince me this was purely academic,” he said, lips curling just faintly.

You opened your mouth to object but he held up a hand.

“No need to deny it. I appreciate the effort. And the… scholarly fervor.” He leaned back a little in his chair, gaze thoughtful. “You’ve always been curious. But this kind of curiosity is… different. More personal.”

You looked down, fingers twitching in your lap. “Well, yeah. I guess… I just wanted to see. To know. It’s not like I’d publish a paper on it or anything.”

“I know,” he said gently. “And I am not dismissing the request.”

Your head snapped up. “Wait, really?”

His smile was small. But it was real.

“I’m merely considering my terms.”

You gawked. “Terms?”

He tilted his head slightly. “Surely, you didn’t expect something like this to be without cost.”

You blinked. “Are you saying I have to pay you to shapeshift?”

“Not in gold,” he mused. “But perhaps in kind. One trade of curiosity for another.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Immensely.”

You huffed, slouching in your seat. “I can’t believe you’re making this into a negotiation.”

He raised a brow. “It’s what scholars do.”

You exhaled sharply… but a smile tugged at the corner of your lips despite yourself.

“Fine,” you said. “But I want it noted that this began with you withholding cosmic-level shapeshifting powers and me just wanting to observe.”

“And now,” he said softly, “we’re here. At the edge of something new.”

You stared at him for a long, quiet beat.

And, just beneath your breath, you said, “I can live with that.”

You leaned in a little, eyes narrowing not with suspicion, but with the kind of sharpened curiosity that always surfaced when he dangled something just out of reach. It was like he’d placed a rare tome on the top shelf and was waiting to see if you’d dare climb for it.

“…Alright,” you said, voice low but certain. “What are your terms?”

Shadow Milk Cookie looked almost too pleased. Not smug. Not condescending. Just… quietly, profoundly satisfied, like he’d known you would ask from the moment you handed him the scroll.

He folded his hands atop the parchment, his expression measured but still touched with that unreadable warmth that always seemed to creep in when he thought you weren’t looking.

“My terms,” he repeated slowly, “are quite simple.”

You raised a brow. “Simple for you or for me?”

He inclined his head, ignoring the jab entirely.

“One; You must allow me to ask a question of equal weight.”

You blinked. “That’s… vague.”

“Precisely,” he said, tone maddeningly light. “You may not know when I’ll ask. Or what it will be.”

“So you’re setting a trap.”

“I’m offering balance.”

You gave him a long look. “Fine. One mysterious, possibly ominous question to be determined later. What else?”

“Two…” He reached for a quill, idly spinning it between his fingers. “You must promise not to run.”

Your brow furrowed slightly. “Why would I run?”

He glanced at you not with teasing, not with challenge. Just… something steadier. Something deeper.

“Because,” he said softly, “when truth is given form, it often changes the one who sought it.”

You held his gaze for a moment, and something in your chest tightened just a little.

Still, you nodded. “Okay. I won’t run.”

He considered you, as if weighing whether to believe you.

Then, slowly, he nodded once in return.

“That’s it?” you asked, your voice quiet now. “Just those two things?”

“Is that not enough?”

You hesitated then exhaled.

“…No. It’s fair.”

He said nothing for a moment.

Then leaned in just slightly, voice barely above a whisper.

“Then the terms are accepted.”

And somewhere, beneath all the words exchanged between you, a quiet agreement settled. Not signed in ink or blood but in trust.

And maybe something a little closer to wonder. You stared at him, your curiosity prickling again, even sharper now that you’d agreed to his cryptic little bargain.

“…What is it you wish to know?” you asked, voice steady but soft. “If I’m agreeing to answer one question of equal weight… then what is it you’re so eager to ask?”

You expected him to deflect. Maybe lean back in his chair, say something evasive like in time or you’ll know when it matters. Maybe arch a brow and smirk like he so often did when you wandered too close to truths he wasn’t ready to name.

But he didn’t.

He just watched you.

And then

“I don’t know yet,” he said.

That stopped you.

You blinked. “You… don’t know?”

He shook his head, slow and honest. “Not yet. But I will.”

You tilted your head, wary. “That’s a little unnerving.”

“I could lie,” he offered, lips curling slightly.

“Please don’t. You’re the last person I need lying to me.”

“I wouldn’t,” he said quietly. “Not to you.”

You sat back, the weight of that truth settling into your chest like something warm and strangely grounding. There was no game here. No dramatic setup. Just honesty clear, rare, and a little too vulnerable if you thought about it for too long.

You looked down at your hands, thumbs brushing over each other.

“And when you do figure out the question?”

“I’ll ask it.”

“And I’ll have to answer.”

His voice was barely above a whisper. “Yes.”

You met his gaze again, your pulse thrumming in your ears. “I hope it’s something good.”

“It will be,” he said, and somehow it felt like a promise not of comfort or safety, but of knowing. Of being seen in a way that went past observation and into belief.

You nodded once.

And sat there beside him, heart full of stars and questions. You rested your elbow on the desk, cheek in your hand, still watching him carefully half wary, half fascinated. The scroll between you was no longer just a scroll. It was a pact. One sealed with curiosity and trust, and maybe a little too much emotional investment for your comfort.

“…So,” you said slowly, eyes narrowing, “does that mean I’ll only get to see you shapeshift after you ask your mysterious life-altering question?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he took his time of course he did fingers trailing lightly along the edge of the parchment, as if rereading your words in silence.

You waited, trying not to fidget.

Eventually, he spoke, voice calm. “That depends.”

“On?”

His eyes met yours, something unreadable flickering behind them.

“On whether I think you’re ready to see me like that.”

Your breath hitched.

“…Like what?” you asked, the words coming out softer than you meant them to.

He tilted his head, gaze unwavering. “As something unfamiliar. As something outside the image you’ve grown used to.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the gravity in his tone.

“I don’t want to unsettle you,” he added, more gently now. “That’s not the point of this. You asked out of curiosity. But if I do this, if I show you a version of myself that’s entirely unlike what you’ve known… I want you to understand it’s still me. That the truth doesn’t vanish just because the form changes.”

You swallowed, your voice barely audible. “I would still know you.”

He watched you a moment longer, as if searching for the depth of your certainty.

Then, finally, he nodded. “Then no. You will not have to wait until I ask the question.”

Your heart fluttered.

“But,” he added, with a glint of amusement now dancing at the edges of his lips, “I reserve the right to make you wait just long enough to drive you mildly mad.”

You groaned, slumping forward with your forehead on the desk. “I knew there was a catch.”

His chuckle rippled through the air like warm silk.

And somehow, the idea of waiting didn’t seem so terrible after all. You lifted your head off the desk just enough to glare at him, squinting like you were trying to set his robes on fire with sheer willpower.

“You’re being unfair,” you declared, pointing an accusing finger at him. “I put together a well-researched, carefully-worded, academically sound paper with citations, by the way and you’re going to tease me? After all that?”

Shadow Milk Cookie, ever composed, simply raised an eyebrow, lips threatening the faintest smirk. “You also included a metaphor about truth wearing earrings.”

“Poetic license!” you snapped. “Chai said it was evocative.”

“It was certainly something.”

You groaned, slumping dramatically back into your seat with your arms folded. “I deserve better.”

He leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying himself far too much. “You believe scholarly diligence should be rewarded with spectacle.”

“Yes,” you grumbled. “I believe me being very nice, very respectful, and putting my soul into that scroll means I should absolutely get to see you shapeshift, like, today. Or now. Or, better yet yesterday.”

He watched you silently for a moment, a trace of that fond, unreadable amusement still hovering in his eyes.

“You truly are relentless when you want something,” he said finally.

“I’m a scholar,” you said, lifting your chin. “It’s my job to question the universe. And also… you.”

“Then you’ve succeeded.” He set the scroll aside, folding his hands. “The universe is duly questioned.”

“And?”

“And I never said no,” he murmured, voice low and deliberately maddening.

You narrowed your eyes. “You are enjoying this.”

“Immensely.”

You let out another sigh and leaned back against the chair, arms still crossed. “I’m going to file an academic grievance.”

“I’ll be sure to grade it personally.”

You shot him a look, but you were already smiling again, despite yourself.

Because as much as he was teasing you he hadn’t said no.

And that, more than anything, meant it was only a matter of time. You glanced sideways at him, still slouched in your chair, your arms crossed in a dramatic show of indignation. But after a beat after the laughter had softened and his smirk still lingered you let the question slip.

“…What if we run out of time?”

You said it lightly, jokingly, like it was just another thing to throw into the endless back-and-forth between you. Like you were still riding the high of teasing him. Like it didn’t matter.

But he didn’t laugh.

He didn’t even smile.

The silence that followed was subtle, but immediate.

He turned his head toward you fully now, the low golden lamplight casting a soft shadow across the edge of his face. His expression wasn’t unreadable not this time. It was something else.

Still.

Quiet.

Serious.

“Then I will regret,” he said slowly, “not showing you sooner.”

Your breath caught, the shift in atmosphere pulling the words right out of your chest. The weight of his voice was different now, not sharp, not heavy, but true. Like something ancient being spoken for the first time in a very long time.

“I may live longer,” he went on, his gaze unwavering, “but that doesn’t mean I am exempt from time. Or from what it takes.”

You sat up straighter.

“…Takes?”

He nodded once. “Patience. Intention. Restraint. All things I wield because I have to because I must maintain control. Because if I give in to every impulse, then I become no different than the truths I’ve warned others about: overwhelming. Dangerous. Absolute.”

You swallowed.

He looked down briefly, folding his hands together again. “But if I ever did run out of time… I would rather be remembered by you as known, than as a mystery you never had the chance to understand.”

The quiet between you stretched. It wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was reverent.

You blinked slowly, the weight of his words settling in your chest like a stone dropped in still water.

“…You’re not a mystery,” you said softly.

He looked at you.

“Not to me,” you added, quieter now. “Not anymore.” This of course was a lie but it felt right to say.

He exhaled slowly, gaze warm and distant at once. “Then perhaps time is not the thing we should fear.”

You stared at him for a moment longer, unsure of what to say. What could be said, really?

So instead, you whispered “Then don’t wait too long.” The weight of the moment lingered in the air between you soft, thick, impossible to ignore.

His words still echoed in your chest. “Then I will regret not showing you sooner.” And the way he said it not with drama, but with sincerity lodged somewhere too close to your heart for comfort.

Which was exactly why you did what you always did.

You reached over, grabbed the scroll you’d painstakingly written and edited with your friends’ help, and waved it in the air dramatically.

“Well,” you said, voice suddenly bright, “if you do run out of time, I’m keeping this and publishing it under ‘Unfulfilled Magical Requests and the Tragedy of Teasing Professors.’ Subtitle; Why Saying ‘Maybe’ Is Emotional Warfare.”

He blinked, visibly caught off guard for a second not at the words, but at the sharp shift.

And then, as expected, he exhaled a quiet sound that might’ve been a laugh. Barely there. But real.

Your tone only got more theatrical. “I’ll submit it to the Academy archive. It’ll become required reading in Magical Ethics courses. You’ll go down in history as the Sage of Selective Silence.”

He arched a brow, amused again, watching you with that knowing gaze of his the one that always saw a little too much.

“You always do this,” he murmured, not unkindly.

You froze mid-rant. “Do what?”

“When emotions get too close.” He tilted his head, gently, like he was observing you the way one observes the stars curious, fascinated, never quite needing to name what they are.

“You run. Not with your feet. But with your words.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Fumbled. “I… I don’t run. I sidestep. Gracefully.”

He gave you that faint, insufferable smile. “You deflect.”

You threw your arms up. “Okay, fine, I deflect. But I do it charmingly.”

“And with purpose,” he said softly. “I’m not blaming you.”

That shut you up again.

Just for a second.

You looked away, hands lowering to your lap.

“I just…” you mumbled, “I’m not always sure how to hold things like that. The big stuff. It doesn’t sit right in my chest. It… gets too quiet. Too real. So if I make it lighter, I can breathe again.”

There was no judgment in his silence.

Only understanding.

“I’ll let you know,” he said, “before I show you.”

You looked up.

“Before I shift,” he clarified. “So that you’re not caught by something too heavy.”

You smiled, soft and crooked. “See? That’s why you’re the best mentor-slash-possibly-more-than-that-but-we’re-still-not-labelling-it.”

He chuckled under his breath.

And just like that, the weight in the room eased dissolved into something warmer, lighter.

Exactly how you liked it. He let the quiet linger a moment longer, eyes still on you not dissecting, not calculating, just… aware. Then, with a soft exhale, he leaned back slightly and tapped a nearby stack of parchment with the edge of his finger, drawing the moment to a gentle close.

“But,” he said, voice smoothing back into his usual scholar’s tone cool, calm, gently chiding, “as much as I enjoy doing nothing with you…”

You raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Thanks. So romantic.”

He ignored the comment entirely. “...Your academics come first.”

You groaned, already slumping in your seat. “Nooooo.”

“Yes,” he said with a little more firmness now. “Your finals are approaching. You will need to revise elemental stabilization matrices, temporal layering, and the ethics of magical application Professor Almond Custard’s section in particular will be weighed heavily.”

You tried to groan louder, but he continued smoothly.

“You should also be prepared to interpret dream-sequence transcriptions and disprove flawed magical constructs. There will be case studies. And likely, one open-ended essay.”

“Can’t I just write about how emotionally repressed you are and pass with extra credit?” you muttered under your breath.

He didn’t miss a beat. “Only if you can do so with proper citations.”

You let your head thunk against the back of the chair dramatically. “I miss when this was about shapeshifting.”

He smirked. “This is about preparing you for the world beyond me.”

You blinked, then squinted at him. “That… sounded way more ominous than you meant it to.”

He gave a small, amused nod. “Possibly.”

Still half-draped across the chair, you sighed loudly but turned your head to glance at him from the corner of your eye. “Fine. Academics first.”

His voice softened just slightly again, enough to make it linger. “Always.”

You looked away, smiling faintly.

Always… but maybe not forever. And just like that, the mood shifted not in the jarring way, but with the smooth precision of turning a page in a very familiar book.

He began going over the foundational elements again: temporal layering and how unstable weaves behave when disrupted by external magical sources, the difference between intention-led spellcraft and reflexive casting, how to analyze illusory magic without being misled by form.

You sat up straighter, less slouch and more scholar now, drawn into the rhythm of it. It wasn’t like lecture. It was quieter. Closer. The kind of exchange where your thoughts could unravel safely where you could be wrong, get messy, ask without embarrassment.

He would correct you, sure, but never harshly.

You got through the key points on stabilizing enchantments, and you were halfway through the philosophy behind magical ethics debating the fine line between intention and consequence when something in your brain clicked into place.

“Oh! Wait!” you straightened suddenly, eyes brightening. “That reminds me of something Almond Custard said last week during lecture, about layered intention in temporal folds! I thought it was going to be boring, but it wasn’t it was actually kind of brilliant”

He paused mid-note, already familiar with your tone. “Go on.”

“Okay, so,” you said, already talking with your hands, “he was going on about the theory that when you perform a time-anchored spell, the intent you embed in it doesn't just affect the spell in that moment, it actually reverberates backward into the framework of the spell. It influences how the spell began forming even before you consciously made it! Isn’t that wild? Like, magic reaching backwards through your own process of thought!”

You barely registered that he’d stopped writing and was now watching you just listening.

“So technically, that means spells are always a little bit alive, right? Not just in how they act, but in how they echo. Which also made me think, what about spells that go wrong because the caster’s intent wasn’t stable to begin with? Not because they didn’t mean to do it right, but because their emotions were split? Can you even fix that if it’s embedded into the foundation of the magic before you even consciously realize it?”

You leaned forward, completely lost in your own spiraling fascination now. “And then I wondered does that mean if someone has really conflicting emotions, they’re always casting unstable magic? And what if the magic responds by changing in ways we don’t even detect because the system we use to measure it doesn’t account for the emotional resonance inp”

“You memorized all of this?” he asked, quietly.

You blinked mid-ramble, realizing you hadn’t taken a breath in quite some time. “Uh. Yeah? Sort of. Not intentionally. I just thought it was really cool, and I kept thinking about it, and then suddenly I was writing notes in the margin of my spellbook and-”

He nodded slowly.

You hesitated, glancing at him.

He was smiling.

Not his usual, teasing sort of smile. Not even the fond one he sometimes wore when you said something accidentally poetic.

This was softer. Subtler.

So you took a breath. Sat back.

And kept going. You didn’t mean to keep going.

You really didn’t.

But once the words started, once the thought had begun to spill forward, there was no stopping it. The idea kept unraveling, tugging at every half-formed theory you’d scribbled in the margins of your notebook, every late-night thought you hadn’t been able to let go of. And he just sat there, quietly, without so much as a breath of interruption.

“-and I mean, if magical intention does retroactively shape a spell’s formation, then that would explain why some spells collapse even when the mechanics are perfect, right? Because the caster isn’t emotionally consistent. So the spell reflects that instability, and maybe that’s why certain enchantments degrade faster in emotionally charged environments especially in collaborative spellcasting! Because two people means two layers of intent, and if they’re not aligned, then the foundation is compromised before it even stabilizes-"

You paused only to breathe, your hands gesturing in sweeping arcs as your brain tumbled faster than your words could follow.

"and what if that’s why ancient spells needed entire rituals to stabilize emotional intent? Like, not just precision of word or motion, but the actual state of the person casting. They knew it, right? That the heart informs the spell just as much as the incantation? What if that’s what we’re missing in modern instruction-”

You stopped.

Not because you’d run out of thoughts, stars, you had so many more but because you finally noticed the silence again. The kind that meant you were being watched, and not just watched, but heard.

You turned.

He hadn’t moved.

Shadow Milk Cookie sat beside you, one arm resting on the desk, the other relaxed in his lap. His expression wasn’t the usual calm, unreadable veil you’d grown used to.

He looked…

Content.

Not the fleeting contentment that came from a good book or a solved problem. No, it was something deeper. Something that settled quietly into the space between you. As if he had been waiting not for you to stop talking, but simply to be there while you did.

Not once had he tried to redirect you. Not once had he told you to focus or stay on topic.

He had let you speak. Let you spill, without judgment, without impatience. Just listened, as though every spiraling tangent was worthy of his time.

And when your voice finally trailed off, breathless and wide-eyed, he simply said “You’ve thought about this deeply.”

You flushed, suddenly self-conscious now that the adrenaline had burned off. “yeah. Sorry. I know I talk too much sometimes. When something gets stuck in my head, it stays there until I-”

“I know.”

You blinked.

He looked at you again, gaze unwavering.

“And I’m glad you shared it with me.”

The words hit soft, but true like all his truths did. Not loud. Not showy.

But deep enough to echo.

And for a moment, you forgot the embarrassment entirely.

Because being heard like that?

That felt like magic too. You shifted in your seat, your fingers idly tracing the edge of the desk as your thoughts, still fired up from your last tangent, began to circle back to something else you hadn’t planned on bringing up. You hesitated but only for a second.

“So… um.” You glanced at him. “Not that I was looking for your papers specifically, but I-sort of ran into a few. On purpose.”

His brow lifted slightly. “On purpose?”

“Not in a weird way!” you said quickly. “I just… yours were the most detailed. They cited things no one else did, and you reference primary sources everyone else avoids because they’re obscure or out of translation. So I kind of... leaned toward them. That’s all.”

He said nothing, but the corners of his mouth tugged in the faintest way that suggested he was either amused, flattered, or both.

You cleared your throat and pushed forward. “One of them the one on emotionally synchronized casting you mentioned that intention and magical efficiency increase when the spellcaster’s emotional state aligns with the elemental resonance of the spell being cast. I wanted to ask what you meant in the part where you talked about ‘harmonic temperance as a conduit of magical fidelity’ because I kind of get it, but also kind of didn’t. I think you were saying the more regulated the emotion, the stronger the anchor, but…”

You trailed off, looking at him expectantly.

He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepling. “That’s a fair interpretation. But it’s less about regulation and more about clarity. If you’re angry and know you’re angry, and the spell is born of that emotion, it’s clearer than if you’re conflicted and trying to hide that anger while casting.”

You nodded, thoughtful. “Right. That makes sense. And I actually tried it.”

He blinked. “You what?”

The words tumbled out before you could stop them. “I tried using the same spell basic levitation but in different moods. I kept everything else consistent. Stance, intent, recitation speed. But one time I did it while I was really upset. Another time when I was focused. Another time when I was… not thrilled but not miserable. Just a little sad.”

He stared at you now, expression unreadable again but in the way that meant he was definitely reading everything.

“And I know I probably shouldn’t have,” you added quickly, panic creeping into your tone as you waved your hands. “I mean, I know it’s unstable casting while upset is basically asking for backlash. I didn’t do anything dangerous, I swear! But I just… wanted to see. I kept it small. Nothing got flung across the room! Just… you know. Some unexpected hover-jitters.”

You winced. “I forgot I didn’t want to tell you.”

His gaze didn’t waver.

“I mean, I know you’re going to say it was reckless and dumb and you’d be right but-”

“I’m not angry.”

You froze mid-babble.

“…You’re not?”

He shook his head, voice calm. “Curious. And mildly exasperated.”

You exhaled in relief. “Oh. That’s fine.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Fine?”

“I’ve lived with exasperation before. I can handle that.”

He let out a slow breath and leaned forward, resting one elbow on the desk as he studied you.

“You shouldn’t test unstable casting conditions without supervision,” he said, “but your observation was not without merit. And your control, evidently, was sufficient.”

“…So you’re not going to scold me?”

“Oh, I absolutely will.” His voice was sharp, but his expression softened again. “But later. For now…”

He tilted his head slightly.

“Tell me what else you found.”

And just like that, you forgot you were supposed to be nervous.

Because there was something about the way he said it quiet, steady, and open that reminded you this wasn’t just your curiosity anymore.

It was shared.

So you did.

You told him everything. Of course, it didn’t last.

The moment the last of your excited words trailed off, the Sage of Truth went perfectly still. Too still.

You knew that stillness. You recognized it.

It was the calm before the storm, not the shouting kind, but the quieter, more dangerous kind. The kind that came with controlled words and an expression that said, You’re lucky I like you, because otherwise this would be a formal disciplinary hearing.

He closed the parchment he had been idly referencing, set it aside, and laced his fingers together on the desk in front of him.

“I want to be very clear,” he began, his voice calm too calm. “You’re telling me you willingly cast spells while emotionally compromised. Alone. Repeatedly. Without consulting anyone. Without recording your safeguards. Without a controlled environment. And without protective wards.”

You blinked. “...Okay when you say it like that-”

“Because that is exactly how I’m going to say it,” he interrupted, expression firm. “Do you know how many recorded magical accidents come from spells cast in a state of emotional instability?”

You slumped slightly. “Yes.”

“Do you know how often those spells backfire in ways that don’t harm the caster, but others around them?”

“Yes.”

“Then why-”

“I had wards!” you insisted. “Not strong ones, but I was careful! I picked a classroom no one was using! I triple-checked the threshold sigils!”

He gave you that look again the one that felt like he was peeling back every layer of your argument in silence.

And you did what you always did when confronted by well-earned disappointment.

You tuned him out.

Not fully. Not rudely. You just… let your focus drift. You knew the consequences. You knew it had been risky. You weren’t proud of it. You didn’t regret it either, but you knew it wasn’t something he could condone.

Still, as he went on listing magical theory, emotional resonance thresholds, the dangers of internal misalignment you found yourself staring at the edge of his desk, at the way his fingers moved when he spoke, the way his voice dipped not with anger, but worry.

That’s what stung most.

The fact that beneath the precise scolding and the well-structured warnings, what you heard clearest was: you could have been hurt.

“…And if anything had gone wrong,” he said, at last finishing, “do you think I would have forgiven myself?”

Your head lifted at that, a little startled.

He hadn’t raised his voice. But the weight behind those words that got your attention.

You blinked slowly.

“…No,” you said, a little quieter. “I guess not.”

His shoulders eased slightly, just enough to suggest he hadn’t even realized they’d tensed.

He looked at you. And now his tone was soft. Controlled. But not cold.

“Next time,” he said, “you don’t do it alone.”

You nodded, subdued now, guilt settling in with a quiet sort of ache. “Okay.”

He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair, exhaling through his nose like you’d aged him a century.

You offered a tentative smile. “You done?”

“For now.”

You smirked faintly. “You sure?”

“I could assign a research essay on magical misfires.”

You gasped. “Cruelty.”

He didn’t smile.

But his eyes did. You had barely begun to relax sinking ever so slightly into your chair with that tentative sense of okay, he’s done, I survived when you heard him shift.

Not a dramatic shift.

Just a quiet repositioning of his posture, the slight realignment of his spine, the way he folded his hands again with renewed purpose.

Oh no.

You straightened instantly. “Wait there’s more?”

He didn’t even blink. “Yes.”

You groaned. “But you just said-”

“I said I was done for now. That ‘now’ has passed.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he was already on a roll.

“You treat magic like it’s something pliable,” he said calmly. “Something that will always bend around your curiosity. But it doesn’t bend. Not without cost. The difference between exploration and recklessness lies in preparation. You know better.”

You winced slightly, eyes darting away. “It was just levitation-”

“It could have been anything.”

You sighed and leaned your cheek on your hand, muttering under your breath, “Truth doesn’t punish the seeker for being curious. It simply demands they be prepared.”

He paused.

A long pause.

You slowly looked up at him.

His expression was flat. Deadpan.

“…Did you just quote me at me?” he asked.

You tried very hard not to smile. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”

“Oh, I noticed.”

You gave him your best innocent blink. “You’re the one who said it.”

“And you’re using it to dodge accountability.”

“I’m using it to highlight that I was seeking knowledge with intention and poetic integrity.”

He stared at you.

You gave him a small, helpless shrug. “For science?”

“...You are infuriating,” he said, and somehow despite the words his voice was so fond it made your stomach flip.

You grinned. “You say that like it’s a surprise.”

“I keep hoping it won’t be,” he muttered.

And then, because you were shameless: “You said hope was an enduring trait of scholars.”

He gave a slow exhale, leaned back in his chair, and covered his face with one hand.

“…Stars preserve me.” You watched as he pinched the bridge of his nose, fingers pressed lightly to his temple like you were the cause of every headache he’d ever had past, present, and hypothetical future. The silence stretched long enough that you dared to hope.

“...So,” you said, lifting your chin, daring to test the waters, “are you done lecturing me now?”

His hand dropped.

He gave you a look. The kind that should’ve turned you to stone if magical eye-rolling were a real curse. “No,” he said flatly.

You groaned. “Come on-”

But he was already on his feet, pacing behind his desk now not dramatically, not angrily. Just with that purposeful stride he got when his thoughts were lining up like dominoes ready to fall.

“You cast unsupervised magic while emotionally compromised,” he began, holding up one finger. “In an unsecured setting,” another finger “without proper safeguards or documentation-”

“I had thresholds-”

“without proper safeguards,” he repeated, louder this time, “and you withheld that information from me until it accidentally slipped during a completely unrelated tangent.”

You huffed. “I wasn’t trying to hide it! I just… didn’t want to hear the lecture!”

“Then why would you remind me to keep going?” he demanded, clearly bewildered by your logic.

“Because I thought we reached the natural conclusion!”

“There is no natural conclusion when you treat magic like an emotional experiment and use yourself as the test subject!”

“I was safe!”

“You were lucky!” His voice was sharper now, not loud but edged. It cut more because it wasn’t fury. It was something closer to fear, pressed down into composure. “Luck is not a framework. It is not a shield. It is not something I want you relying on. You-”

He stopped.

Just for a moment.

Then, much quieter, under his breath but loud enough for you to hear:

“Stars, I could’ve lost you.”

You froze.

But he didn’t let the weight linger this time.

He turned back toward you, more composed now, drawing in a breath that steadied him like it had steadied you so many times before.

“I’m lecturing you,” he said, “because I care.”

He crossed his arms, the motion calm, firm. “Because you’re not just a scholar. You’re my scholar. And if anything happened to you because of something preventable because you pushed too far, too fast, without thinking I wouldn’t just be furious. I would be devastated.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

Because he wasn’t being dramatic. Or manipulative. Or even theatrical.

He was being honest.

And that somehow hurt more than any scolding could have.

“…Okay,” you said softly, after a beat.

And you meant it this time.

He watched you for a moment longer, his jaw tight but slowly, his shoulders eased.

Still, he wasn’t quite done.

“You’ll come to me next time,” he said, voice even. “If you want to experiment. If something upsets you. If you need supervision. Or help. Or… anything.”

You nodded again, smaller. “I will.”

He exhaled.

Then sat back down beside you.

“…Good.”

And for a few seconds, neither of you said a word.

You just sat there. Both a little overwhelmed. Both still holding onto the edges of something fragile. The rest of the tutoring session passed with a kind of soft, deliberate quiet.

You returned to the notes event manipulation, cross-channel mana resonance, comparative theory between willed enchantments and reflexive charmcraft. Nothing too complicated. Nothing too simple. Just enough to fill the space between you, to let things settle without pressing too hard on what had just been said.

He explained things clearly, as he always did. You asked your questions, less playful now, but no less curious. He corrected your diagrams with gentle precision, sometimes conjuring a flicker of light to demonstrate, other times just guiding your hand across the page.

It all felt normal.

Mostly.

But not entirely.

The echoes of his words from earlier still clung to the edges of your awareness. Not in a sharp or stinging way but like the faint warmth of a fire that had already burned through its most dangerous heat. That lingering feeling of something having mattered.

And you knew he felt it too.

Because even though he returned to his composed rhythm, he didn’t move quite the same. He sat a little closer than usual. Watched you a little longer between your thoughts. And when your brow furrowed at one particularly dense passage, his hand came to rest gently on the edge of your parchment steadying, grounding without comment.

By the time you reached the end of the session, you’d covered more than you expected to. You’d understood more than you thought you would.

And yet, underneath it all, that earlier moment still pulsed.

As if some invisible line between you had been redrawn.

Not a boundary crossed.

But something acknowledged.

As you gathered your notes and slid them back into your bag, he said nothing but you could feel his gaze on you again.

You glanced up at him, offering a small, tired smile.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” you said quietly.

He inclined his head. “And I didn’t mean to overwhelm you.”

You stood, slinging your bag over your shoulder, and looked toward the door. Then back to him.

“I guess we’re even.”

He didn’t smile, not really.

But the look he gave you then the soft glint in his eyes, the way his head tilted just so, like he was considering something precious was more than enough.

“Until next time,” he murmured.

You nodded once.

And left with more than just your notes. By the time you made it to dinner, the smell of baked cheese rolls and grilled rosemary vegetables hit you like a sigh of relief.

The hall was already buzzing with familiar chatter, forks clinking, laughter echoing between rows of stone pillars and there, in your usual corner, sat your friends. Chai Latte Cookie was already waving frantically the moment she spotted you, nearly knocking over her cup of tea in the process.

“You’re late,” she said the moment you dropped into the seat beside her. “We were this close to staging a recovery mission. Again.”

Earl Grey Cookie looked up from his notes, though his expression betrayed only mild concern. “You missed the raspberry lemonade. It went fast.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, across from you, handed you a roll before you even asked. “Rough tutoring session?” You sighed, resting your arms on the table. “You have no idea.”

A/N So apparently this didn't get posted I clicked post now yesterday night but I checked my page and it's not there... So late upload MY BAD GUYS

also I just want to note there is no reason why mc would run my thinking for why I did that is just because he's making sure to cover all his bases because quite honestly the reasoning he provides isn't great if I'm being honest.

Also just completed my first work week woohoo!!!

anyways...

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥

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mrhitech · 1 day ago

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This argument becomes a lot less convincing when you remember that the law is "you can't carry objects between different private properties on Shabbat (sabbath)" and the definitely-not-a-loophole is "aha but what if we ritually designate everything as public property but only for the purpose of this one commandment"

Davar Acher, one of our most famous stories is one in which God coming down himself and declaring what the spirit of the law is, and the rabbis being like "nuh-uh that's not what you wrote in the Torah so we're going to do that instead".

Judaism is absolutely meant to ritualize rule-following for some unknowable divine purpose. Or at the very least, it was. Certain modern denominations do reject this idea in favor of a more community-focused faith (which is commendable, and I admire it as an Atheist Jew even if I decline to participate).

However, these loopholes predate this particular flavor of Judaism, so the fact that it retroactively changes their meanings does not mean that they aren't loopholes.

There's this really frustrating goyish idea that Jews are always finding "loopholes" or "tricks" to violate the "spirit of the law" when it comes to observing Jewish law. No, they're following Jewish law. All ways in which one can follow the law are equally "in the spirit of the law" because the law's purpose is to be followed. The idea that finding easier ways to observe religious rules means "tricking" god or doing something otherwise shameful is reflective of Christian philosophy. Suffering is not virtuous in Judaism. Penance is not the purpose of Jewish law. Judaism is meant to enrich the current lives of its community, not ritualize hardship for some unknowable divine purpose.

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jaeyuniism · 2 days ago

Text

when words fail

taesan x fem!reader (self insert lowk)

summary: a new job at the convenience store introduces you to a love you never thought you would find :3

wc : 4.9k

friday nights are usually your designated nights. you enjoy spending time cuddled up in your bedroom, duvet draped over your body while you watch your favorite kpop band perform on your laptop screen.

despite being unable to see them live, the feeling is electric—unreal, even. but those nights of solace are no longer, and all because you decided to get a job. it isn’t easy finding a place suitable to your taste, but you manage to find one at the convenience store on the corner of your street, a place you frequent.

of course you don’t choose to get a job out of the blue, there’s an underlying reason. that being your desire to see your favorite band in concert. though watching through the screen is enjoyable, the feeling of seeing them live is unmatched.

listening to their heavenly vocals, seeing their elaborate and skilled dance moves along with their angelically crafted faces in person? you’d be a fool to turn down a chance at experiencing that.

that’s why you’re standing in the doorway of the convenience store, application in hand as the owner, an older man with graying hair, leads you inside the store. “come, come!” he ushers you in warmly, a gentle smile on his face.

“i’m sure you got the email about getting the job already.”

you nod, following closely behind as he leads you to the register. the register that changes the course of your experience at your new job, and all because of one boy.

he’s gorgeous. extremely tall and sharp featured with high cheekbones and the cutest pouty lips. his face holds no expression, but his eyes, his eyes speak to you more than you believe he ever could.

“ah, this is taesan!” your manager introduces excitedly, ushering the boy to come out from the counter. he complies, steadily making his way out until he’s in front of you.

“taesan, this is yn. she’s the new employee i was telling you about.”

you bow, to which he reciprocates, before offering your hand out for a handshake. he glances down, slightly surprised, before taking your hand in his own. his hand is soft, but you can feel the slight callouses—a testament of hard work.

“nice to meet you.” he says, voice silky smooth and full of honey. this job is only supposed to be a means of getting money, but your introduction to taesan makes you second guess your intentions.

would it be all that bad to find romance if you were still making money?

“i’m hoping you can start soon. i know it’s short notice, but can you come in tomorrow?”

“definitely,” you reassure him, offering a small smile. your manager thanks you, before leading you around the backroom where the employees stay. all the while, you find it hard to keep your eyes off of taesan.

he’s just so captivating.

you’re in for a lot of trouble.

–

the next day, you begrudgingly roll out of bed an hour earlier than usual. yes, having money is exciting, but your beauty sleep will always be more important. nonetheless, you make it to the store in just the knick of time, quickly greeting a bored looking taesan who lazily nods in acknowledgment.

“morning,” you mumble, bowing quickly, before disappearing into the back room. taesan’s eyes follow your figure, a slight quirk of the corner of his lips making an appearance at your disheveled semblance.

“rough morning?” he asks when you finally emerge from the room, hands hurriedly tying the straps of your apron behind your back. you nod, brushing your hair out of your face before joining him at the register.

he just chuckles, and holds his hand out. you tilt your head in confusion.

“huh?”

“phone.” he says simply, brows raising expectantly.

you pout, muttering under your breath as you dig in your pocket to hand him your phone. then he laughs, a genuine laugh, and it makes you look up at him, and the sight makes your breath hitch.

he’s even cuter when he smiles.

“i’m just messing with you. i’m supposed to be training you today though. are you ready?” he leans against the counter, eyes never leaving your face.

you nod, speechless, to which he claps his hands together.

“alright, first up i’ll teach you about the register.”

training goes relatively smoothly, as smooth as it can go, with a few blips here and there. he teaches you the ins and outs of using the register, including all of the shortcuts he’s managed to create since working there.

he also goes over how to take inventory (something so tedious it quickly becomes your least favorite task), and of course what he likes to call “standard” customer service skills. though to you, the skills are a lot more than just the bare minimum.

taesan is impossible to ignore. he’s extremely kind to the customers, speaking lightheartedly to them as if it’s second nature. it’s obvious to you that he’s grown a reputation around the store, judging by how receptive customers both young and old are to him.

it’s kind of endearing to watch.

“you’re good at that,” you comment once rush hour ends. he shrugs, picking a piece of lint from off of his apron. “it gets easier when you get used to it.” you nod, continuing to wipe down the counter.

the sun has already begun to set by now, the moon illuminating brightly, casting dark shadows along the sidewalk. you look through the window, huffing at the sight. today goes by quicker than you expect.

if every work day is like today, you wouldn’t mind having a job at all. especially with eye candy like taesan.

“ah, almost forgot,” he says suddenly, weaving past you and toward the shelves. you watch him, confused, when he motions for you to follow him. “forgot what?”

“another shortcut.” he says matter-of-factly, leading you to the 3 layered carts filled with crates of what you assume to be merchandise.

“i was going to teach you tomorrow, but doing it like this makes it so much easier.”

“doing what like what?” you ask, bewildered.

“stocking, duh?” he says as he crouches down to lift a box of merchandise from the cart. you nod in understanding, grabbing a box of your own. but what you don’t realize is that convenience store snacks can be so heavy, and you nearly topple over at the mere weight of the box.

“what’s in this, bricks?” he chuckles at your expense, plopping the box he holds down to assist you with yours. you thank him, heading over to the aisle that corresponds with the box.

“it’s pretty self-explanatory, just make sure you arrange them neatly or the owner gets mad. doing it the night before makes your job so much easier.” he explains, crossing his arms, his body leaning against the shelf.

“i’ll help you today, but most days we split up the work.”

you nod, shooting him a thumbs up, turning to get to work. stocking is pretty easy, and it quickly becomes your favorite task. taesan is right about everything being relatively simple— all you have to do is find the correct spot and organize it in a neat way, something you enjoy doing anyway.

in fact, you enjoy it so much you secretly wish you could rearrange all the shelves, but you don’t get paid enough for that. everything goes smoothly until it’s time for you to reach the dreaded top shelf.

you click your tongue, turning to see if there’s a stool nearby, but there isn’t. so being the ever independent girl you are, you figure out a way to reach the top shelf—for the most part.

brilliantly, tossing the bowls of ramen on the shelf seems to be working perfectly. they even manage to align themselves correctly, something you chalk up to divine intervention. but as you near the front of the row of ramen, it gets more difficult.

you huff, shifting on your tippy toes, hands stretching as far as they can to slide the final bowl of buldak on the shelf, but you’re just short of it.

then, warmth.

the feeling of something—someone—coming up behind you makes your body grow slack, your weight shifting back to your heels as taesan’s hand grabs the cup from your hand, effortlessly sliding it into place.

you feel your breath catch in your throat, cheeks warming at the feeling of his body so close to yours, but the feeling only lasts a second. he dusts his hands off, placing them on his hips with a sigh.

“next time, ask for help.” he says simply, as if he hasn’t almost just given you a heart attack. you feel like a freak for reading into it, but how could you not? your oddly attractive new coworker just comes up behind you and helps you reach the top shelf.

it’s like something straight out of a drama. “whatever.” you stumble over your words, hiding your face as you quickly walk over to the backroom. taesan watches you, a perplexed look on his face, before shrugging.

–

for the next few weeks, you consistently go to work, and things run smoothly. customers start to warm up to you, the tasks become muscle memory, and the job isn’t too tiring, so you still have enough time to have a social life outside of it.

needless to say, getting this job is a blessing.

as for taesan, he’s still his usual polite self, but he’s sort of closed off, you notice. at first it kind of bothers you, but you chalk it up to him being an introvert. plus, it’s better this way.

who knows how fast you would fold if a friendship bloomed between the two of you.

but after a while of smooth sailing, taesan starts growing increasingly agitated at the unspoken awkwardness that seems to loom between the two of you. yeah, you’re friendly—sometimes even having small conversations here and there—but there’s still this odd feeling of tension. heavy, yet unserious at the same time.

it’s driving him insane.

so he does what any other logical person would do: he decides to confront you about it.

the first time taesan tries to bring it up, it doesn’t go too well. in truth, it just makes things even more awkward than they were.

“yn?” he calls for you one day while you’re busy restocking the shelves.

you pause, dusting off your apron and walking toward him.

“yeah?”

“is everything… okay between us?” and the way he says it—hesitant and soft—makes it so hard for you not to believe there’s a double meaning behind his words. makes it hard to believe he doesn’t mean something else by it. but as delusional as you are about your favorite band, you know the difference between fantasy and reality.

and this is reality. taesan doesn’t mean anything by it. “of course, why?” you chuckle to ease the awkwardness. he just scratches the back of his head, nodding before motioning for you to go back to work.

after that, you make sure to keep extra distance from him. whenever he’s talking to a customer, you hide on the opposite side of the store so he can’t pull you into the conversation.

during breaks, you insist on eating after him just so you won’t be alone with him in the breakroom.

but taesan isn’t stupid. he notices, and it bothers him. but he doesn’t know if he’s reading too much into it. maybe you have a reason, or maybe it really is just all in his head.

he won’t know for sure unless he tests it—so he does.

“yn, i need your help with the register!”

you quickly jog up to him, slipping behind the counter to assist.

“what’s up?”

he hums, tapping a few random buttons, hoping you won’t notice his blatant acting. “i keep getting stuck on this screen when i try to exit.”

you look up at him, confused, tapping a few buttons before the register returns to its original screen. “how do you not know this? you’ve been working here longer than me,” you tease, turning to head back to your task.

“wait,” he suddenly says, reaching a hand out to stop you. you glance down at his hovering hand before he quickly retracts it, motioning for you to come back.

“there’s this thing too,” he says, inching closer to where you stand in front of the register. and you, being you, notice this, and begin to scoot further and further away from him.

“what thing?” you accidentally stutter, forehead creasing in embarrassment. you hadn’t meant to show your nervousness, it just happens.

“this.” he taps a random button on the screen, attempting to lean in closer to you again. this time, you take a full step back, nervously giggling at your sudden closeness.

this time, there’s no mistaking it. you deliberately take a step away from him when he moves close to you, and he wants to know why. so he moves again. then you move again—away from him.

the two of you play this little dance until he has you backed against the wall, your hands raised in surrender. it doesn’t help that he refuses to break eye contact the entire time.

“what are you doing?” you ask, your voice coming out as a squeak.

he doesn’t say anything. his eyes continue to bore into your face, engraving every feature of yours into his memory.

then, finally: “why do you act so awkward around me?”

you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding when he steps back, arms crossing. you shrug, trying to wave him off, trying to pretend han taesan didn’t just have you cornered against the wall.

that you hadn’t just seen his gorgeously carved face up close—too close.

“i don’t. it’s just my personality.”

but taesan doesn’t buy it. instead, he scoffs, muttering something under his breath, still refusing to let it go.

“well if we’re going to be coworkers we need to be comfortable with each other. let’s spend our lunch break together.” he insists, leaving no room for refusal.

you sputter, blinking in confusion while he nudges you from behind the counter. “now get back to stocking.”

—

when lunchtime rolls around, your nerves are on ten. taesan closes the store, flipping the open sign to closed, leaving you absolutely no options for escape.

you know it’s ridiculous to be this nervous about sharing lunch with him, but it’s impossible not to be—especially when he looks like that, when he looks at you like that. like you’re the only person in the world.

you touch your finger to your lips, tracing them—a nervous habit you’ve picked up. taesan finally enters the backroom, two bowls of steaming ramen in hand as he sets one down in front of you.

“alright, let’s get to know each other.”

you snort at the way he says it, like it’s a mission that has to be completed. that earns you a slight smile from him, and in that moment, you wish you were a comedian just so you could see that radiant smile every day.

“ask me any question, i don’t bite,” he adds, picking up his chopsticks. you nod in thought, swirling the noodles in your bowl before mustering up the courage to speak.

“when did you start working here?”

“i started a year or two ago, in my first year of university,” he answers, taking a big bite of his ramen. you take one of your own, humming in understanding.

“university? how old are you, and what are you studying?”

“i’m twenty, and i’m studying music production.” you don’t miss the way his eyes seem to twinkle at the topic of music—it’s kind of cute.

“enough about me. what about you?”

you cover your mouth as you chew, freezing at the sudden question.

“me? what do you want to know?”

“everything you asked me.”

you hum, setting your bowl down. “i’m eighteen, i’m in my first year of university, and i’m studying math.”

he gasps, making a dramatic face of disgust. “math? who does that to themselves?”

you smile, rolling your eyes. “intelligent people.”

the two of you keep eating and chatting, and the more time you spend with him, the more you realize how much you enjoy just being around him. maybe avoiding him hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

“oh, i’ve been meaning to ask,” he says suddenly, just as the conversation begins to wind down. “is there any particular reason you got a job?”

you pause, a ghost of a smile tugging at your lips. you’ve got two options: lie and say it’s for tuition, or be honest. judging by the way he’s looking at you, option one sounds appealing—but for some reason, you can’t bring yourself to lie.

“don’t laugh at me…” you start, hanging your head in shame.

he laughs before you even get the words out. “i won’t, i won’t.”

you exhale, shutting your eyes. “i’m saving up to fund my obsession with this boy band,” you finally admit.

taesan puffs his cheeks, a terrible attempt at holding in his laugh, but it bursts out all at once. “you only got a job for kpop?” he sputters between laughs, hunched over in his chair.

“that’s some serious dedication,” he teases, once he’s caught his breath and sips his water.

“see, this is why i didn’t want to tell you,” you whine, fiddling with the cap of your water bottle. he shrugs, clearly not serious.

“i’m just teasing you. what group is it?”

“it’s this band called boynextdoor,” you say, already pulling out your phone to show him a song. he hums, feigning interest. if he’s being honest, the idea of a kpop group you’re obsessed with doesn’t exactly excite him, but if pretending to care makes you happy—he’ll do it in a heartbeat.

he hums along as you scroll through photos of them littered across your pinterest board, explaining the lore of the group. “they sound alright,” he comments, trying to sound casual.

“alright? they’re more than alright! let me show you their newest album!”

–

for the next few weeks, you and taesan grow closer—a lot closer than you intended or imagined. spending lunch breaks together becomes part of your daily routine, and if you’re honest, you look forward to them every single day.

taesan also gets much more comfortable around you, which means the teasing starts. relentless teasing. he constantly pokes fun at how your cheeks puff up when you eat, how your voice goes an octave higher when talking to older customers, or how you have this oddly specific system for organizing shelves.

of course, you cherish this new bond between the two of you. but the more time you spend together, the more your crush grows. at first, it was just physical attraction—but now, after actually getting to know him, it’s worse. or better. depending on how you look at it.

he’s sweet. he’s thoughtful. and he’s stupidly talented. falling for him was inevitable, and honestly, you can’t even blame yourself. but you’re not going to act on it. that would just make things weird, so instead—you set boundaries.

invisible boundaries that taesan seems determined to ignore.

he’s surprisingly touchy. always resting his hand on your shoulder, hovering near your waist when he brushes past, placing his palm lightly on your lower back if you’re in his way.

he also makes weird comments sometimes—calls you cute, slips in random compliments like it’s nothing. it’s confusing. he’s confusing. and impossible to gauge. still, you brush off the moments, chalking them up to his personality. until today.

today was supposed to be a normal day. rush hour ended early, which meant the store was quiet. quiet enough for you to pull out your phone and fangirl over your favorite group, who just so happened to be performing live tonight. the timing was awful—their set landed during the last hour of your shift—but with no customers, you had more than enough time to indulge.

taesan’s off sweeping the floor, music blaring through his earbuds, completely unaware as you prop your phone up against the register and clap your hands like a kid on christmas. the live starts, and you’re already grinning at the comment section flooding in.

“yn, i finished—” he pauses, catching the pure joy on your face. he’s never seen you look this animated before. it’s… kinda cute.

“what are you doing?” he asks, eyes flicking to your phone.

“my favorite group performs tonight!” you practically squeal, looking up at him with genuine excitement.

he hums, sets the broom aside, and walks over, arms crossed as he leans in slightly to see your screen.

“that’s what’s got you this worked up?” he teases. normally, your heart would flutter at how close he’s standing, but you’re too focused on the angels on your screen to care.

taesan glances sideways at you, a weird twinge of irritation rising in his chest. he doesn’t get what’s so great about these guys. hell, you haven’t even looked at him since they came on.

then, it happens.

you squeal—loudly—as one of the members lifts his shirt to flash his abs. taesan squints at the screen, scoffing.

“did you see that? he just showed us his abs! oh my gosh, they’re glorious! if i could see that in person…” you gush, completely in your own world, rambling about how unreal it’d be to see them live.

taesan rolls his eyes. “they’re not that cool. anybody can have abs.”

“tch, not just anybody. look at you, for example.” you shoot back without missing a beat, eyes still locked on the performance.

he frowns—actually frowns—at how easily you dismiss him. he knows you’re joking, but something about your total lack of attention gets under his skin.

“oh yeah? you want to bet?” he says suddenly, leaning in even closer.

you wave him off, still replaying your favorite part of the performance. “yeah right—”

“how am i supposed to show you if you won’t even look at me?”

you scoff, finally turning to give him a piece of your mind—but stop cold when you see what’s in front of you.

taesan’s hands are gripping the hem of his shirt, lifting it just enough to reveal a sliver of his abs.

“what are you doing?! stop!” you squeak, immediately turning away, flustered out of your mind.

he laughs—really laughs—smoothing down his shirt like he didn’t just flash you.

“i’m taking fifteen,” you mumble, cheeks burning as you practically sprint to the backroom. you fan your face, glaring at the sound of his laughter echoing from the front.

you cannot believe he just did that.

but taesan? oh, he’s smug. leaning against the counter with a smile tugging at his lips, proud of himself for successfully pulling your attention off your beloved boy band—and back onto him.

–

later that night, your face is buried in your pillow, a poor attempt at self-suffocation. no matter how hard you try to erase the image from your mind, that moment with taesan plays over and over like a broken record.

he makes it so hard not to like him.

you scream into your pillow, fists pounding the mattress, when a notification sounds from your phone. confused, you reach over, mouth falling open at taesan’s name flashing on your screen.

taesan: what’s so great about boynextdoor anyway? anyone could do what they do you: are you seriously still on that? taesan: yes, you were going crazy over them you: yeah, bc they’re amazing. they can sing, dance, rap plus their beauty is hard to find taesan: not really you: yes really taesan: who’s cuter me or them? you: stop asking weird questions

(read 11:09 pm)

you sigh, dropping your phone back onto your pillow. the more you think about it, the more delusional you feel about the chance taesan might actually like you back.

come to think of it, he’s been acting weirder than usual lately—complimenting you more, always finding reasons to be close, even now asking questions about what you think of him.

of course you think taesan is cuter, but you’d never tell him that. that would just make everything awkward.

then, another notification.

this time, it’s a voice message from him. your breath catches as your finger hovers over the play button.

you press play—and immediately regret it.

it’s taesan singing, his voice steady and smooth, filled with emotion. of course, he chose a song from your favorite group.

and just as the message ends, you hear his voice—low, sleepy—

“goodnight yn.”

–

work is unbearable. things between you two are awkward, and it’s mostly your fault. you absolutely refuse to make eye contact with him, and when you can, you avoid him. taesan looks slightly confused by the sudden change in your attitude.

the two of you had made so much progress — only for it to unravel in exactly one day. he isn’t going to let that slide.

“yn,” he hums, as you pretend to be busy wiping down the counter.

“yn,” he says again, more urgently this time. you exhale and finally tear your eyes away from the counter to look at him.

“yes, taesan?”

“why are you being weird again?”

you wish you could slap him for asking such a stupid question, but you’ve learned by now that taesan is just naturally oblivious. any girl in your position would avoid him after the stunt he pulled yesterday.

it’s hard to believe he’s even asking.

taesan tilts his head, genuine confusion written across his face as he waits for an answer.

“are you serious?” you scoff lightly, turning back to resume wiping.

taesan huffs, annoyed, and inches closer. you freeze, hand still pressed against the damp cloth.

“is it because of yesterday?” his voice is teasing as he leans in again, and in that moment you briefly consider whether physical violence would be so bad. you step back, holding your hand out to create distance between you.

“you’re being weird…” you mutter, eyes darting everywhere but his.

taesan’s brows knit in frustration. he’s starting to feel bad — you look so uncomfortable, and that wasn’t his intention at all. he thought the feeling was mutual.

“i’m sorry if i made you uncomfortable,” he says quietly, kicking at dust on the floor. you blink, looking up at him in surprise.

“no, no, i’m not uncomfortable, it’s just…” you trail off, searching for the words.

taesan gives you a moment, then grows impatient. he tilts his head again, leaning closer so you can see his face. your breath catches as you fight the urge to meet his eyes, but it’s no use.

“just…?” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper.

that’s your breaking point.

taesan keeps doing things — the skinship, the voice messages, the random compliments. it’s driving you insane. not the actions themselves, but the fact that he does it so mindlessly.

taesan doesn’t actually like you. he’s just being himself, and that’s what bothers you. you thought it’d be okay at first — accepting his teasing — but it’s become unbearable. your feelings for him are unbearable.

you have to put an end to it.

but before you can speak, your tears say it for you. they pool in your eyes, and you blink furiously, trying to hold them back.

“oh, wait, yn, are you okay?” he suddenly steps back, concern written all over his face. you shake your head, sniffling as you wipe the tears from your cheeks.

“i’m fine, i just… just stop teasing me before i think you’re serious.” your voice cracks, your bottom lip trembling as you finally say the words you’ve been avoiding.

taesan’s eyes widen in shock as he watches you cry, unsure what to do. he isn’t good at moments like this — and making you cry was never his intention. what did you mean, you thought he wasn’t serious? he was serious.

“wait, i’m sorry if i’ve been confusing you but i am serious,” he stumbles over his words, eyes closing in frustration as he tries to find the right way to say it. but you don’t hear any of it — your shoulders only shake harder, tears spilling over.

you don’t even know why you’re crying. you’re not usually emotional, but now the waterworks won’t stop no matter what he says.

“it’s fine. i think i just need a minute.”

you sniffle again, turning toward the breakroom. but just then, taesan moves — finally finding the courage to act. to prove he’s serious about you, that he always has been.

his arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you into his chest. your eyes widen as your arms instinctively circle his wrists. he rests his neck in the crook of yours, breath warm and tickling your collarbone.

“i am serious about you, yn. i just tease you because i like you so much.” his voice is low and gentle, the scent of his cologne warm and comforting as he hugs you tighter.

then he pulls back, turning you gently to face him. his hands stay on your shoulders as he says:

“i like you, yn.”

his hands find their way to your cheeks, cupping them as he pulls you in for a brief peck on the corner of your lips. somehow, that small gesture was more intimate — more romantic — than a kiss on the lips could have ever been.

your tears fall again as you bury your face in his shirt, fist limply punching his shoulder.

“i like you too, stupid,” you say between sniffles.

taesan smiles, rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“i know you do.”

you punch him again, earning a small laugh.

“don’t be so confusing next time.”

taesan just smiles, pressing his lips against the crown of your head.

“i promise.”

m.list

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sightseertrespasser · 13 hours ago

Note

Could I request a lore dump about Rung (almost typed him as rune which is funny lmao) in Odds of Survival? He has the weird memory thing going on, is he Primus in this world? Does he know? What are his thoughts on Jazz, considering how he reacted to Jazz definitely not having met him before?

Rung is certainly an interesting fellow.

Within the context of Odds Of Survival, Rung is not the creator of cybertron itself but was the first cybertronian to emerge.

Co-opting this ask to also explain a little about where Cybertronians come from.

The simple version is: the planet itself is weird as balls.

All life on Cybertron (minus Cold Constructs) come into being by emerging from Hot Spots, molten pools of raw metals and a shit load of potential energy. All living beings on Cybertron contain a spark and require energon to function. Energon functioning similarly to water for organic life plus the added benefit of supplying necessary calories.

Sparks can naturally occur throughout the planet and remain inert until surrounded by an adequate amount of malleable metal. They are very delicate and until the advent of modern technology, could not be handled without being destroyed (with one exception).

So why does Cybertron produce life?

Is the entire planet some kind of factory left running without reason? Did some long gone eldritch society design it that way? Is god real but just for giant robot aliens? Is Cybertron itself some kind of hive Queen and all cybertronians it produces are non-reproductive drone workers?

There is no rational truth I can produce that will not fundamentally change the genre of the story, so we’re gonna go with the funny option of “shit just happens sometimes”.

So where does Rung/Primus fit into that?

Pulling a bit from his wiki page, Rung has three strange abilities going on, consistent with other Cybertronians having special powers or Outlier capabilities:

1) He can recover from pretty much any form of damage (kinda needs that to still be around).

2) He is plagued by the Information Creep curse, so that any cybertronian that meets him will eventually forget him.

3) He can craft spark crystals.

Rung was the first sentient mech to emerge from a Hot Spot. After quite awhile, more mechs like him emerged and by virtue of getting there first, he got to show them around.

Waaay further down the line, after cybertronians started doing the who “civilization thing”, Rung figured out how to make spark crystals, and by extension the first Cold Constructed mechs.

In the modern day, it’s both possible and common with enough resources and expertise to make spark crystals on a factory scale. Rung doesn’t want or need to make anymore people so it’s not ability he’s even thought about for several hundred million years.

Rung knows about Primus, but it genuinely hasn’t occurred to him that those churches are talking about him.

Primus is described as this great and powerful being, whose been there since the beginning of all life on the planet. Supposedly, Primus created the first sentient mechs.

“Sure”, Rung thinks to himself. “I know pretty much every mech that’s ever been created, but that’s not divine knowledge. I’ve just, actually physically met them. And I didn’t make the first cybertronians, I was just the first to make more cybertronians.”

“Must be a different guy.”

Rungs greatest trick is that by virtue of having been around the entire time, there aren’t a ton of mechs he hasn’t encountered in some shape or form. Though it’s far from impossible, especially if they’re a new build.

Meeting Jazz was certainly a surprise. Bluestreak had already spread the news that Prowl had brought back an alien, so it wasn’t hard to guess who this wall crawling stranger was supposed to be.

After actually meeting Jazz however, Rung briefly thought Prowl was wrong. That Jazz was a cybertronian, just a very new one. It’s all about familiarity.

So when Jazz remembered Rungs name on the first try without issue, the psychiatrist had the very sudden realization he’d played scavenger hunt with an emotionally distressed, incredibly dangerous, wall crawling “holy shit that was an ACTUAL ACTUAL goddamn alien” alien.

He’s processed it now.

#asks #worldbuilding #tf mecha universe

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siloupy · 1 day ago

Text

i have been working on this for a few days now but they are all done . all my designs so far for pin through all the seasons

(because she has been through a lot ... #1 situation haver)

i have lots of thoughts so this is getting put under a read more cause this post might get long

bfdi/season 1

very cutie patootie i think ...... so silly

FUCK ASS BOB . its a pivotal trans experience you see the fuckass bob and you know theyre gonna get so transgender with it eventually. LOL

shes kept her natural hair color up to this point but that most definitely is gonna change later

if youve seen my other pin related posts you know i make a whole thing out of the jacket ...... shes very sentimental about it its very dear to her because shes had it for as long as she can remember (during this season LOL). as of right now its a bit too big for her but the longer that she keeps it and loves it she starts to grow into it <3

hrmmm unsure of what else to say about this one. shes cutesy

bfdia/season 2

lot going on here Hi

I SEE A LOT OF HUMANIZATIONS OF PIN THAT GIVE HER THIS LIKE . super alternative fashion style and stuff. AND IT IS VERY COOL. but like i never really thought it fit her very well if that makes sense ??? like i never really saw it as being very in character but like maybe im just doopid

THAT BEING SAID THOUGH if she were to try and go into any of that now would be the time. i included like a little tiny bit of it. shes experimenting with a lot of stuff she dyes her hair a bit shes having fun and playing

early bfdia pin makes me so sad lowkey like she was so excited and she was so ready to have fun

then ummmm the horrors. you guys all know the horrors weve all seen em

i really like the interpretation of pin's mechy stuff as a wheelchair its very lovely to me

lowkey inspired by @/clarissasbakery 's bfdia pin design (peak) in the sense of like ..... her being all disheveled and shit at this point like shes going through it bad rn. no time to gaf about all that right now yk.

JACKET IS GONE . ive posted about it before back when likeeee i think around when bfdia 19 came out. but like my whole interpretation is that she gave it to coiny before the bfdia 18 challenge since that challenge was at night and probably colder and whatever. and its like this huge thing that she trusts him with it. and then everything immediately goes to shit HAHAHAHHA but coiny has it at this point and keeps it for a while because going to give it back means actually confronting the problems and why would he ever do that right

subject to change a bit based on how the rest of bfdia goes :) ooouu im SO SCARED ABOUT IT SOMEONE SAVE ME!!!!!!!!!!!

idfb/season 3 (VERY SUBJECT TO CHANGE/UPDATE SINCE WE DONT KNOW MUCH ABOUT THIS YET)

i really hope they also come back to this im very intrigued by it

ive mentioned it a couple of times but my hc for pin is that theyre genderqueer :)) any pronouns user but i thiiiink she/her still Mainly just because shes used to them. but like all pronouns are good and cool and awesome

ANYWAYS . this is the time they start figuring all that out i think ..... I SAY THIS LIKE ITS JUST ME HAVING THESE IDEAS me and junofriend scurried around with this hc together a LOT. BUT yeah idfb is when i think pin would be exploring that :) not preoccupied with Losing It in bfdia anymore so he can actually put some thought into that HAHAHA . relearning how to be a well adjusted person again and getting a little transgender with it in the process

im probably nonbinary but ive got a competition to win so idrc about all that right now. LMAOOOO

they cut and bleached their hair aaaaaall by themself. and it looks like shit. <3. again another pivotal transgender experience it simply had to happen

starts using a cane after having to figure out how to walk and stuff again :) ofc coiny helps her with some of that too (and all of the drawings ive seen of that specific thing are SO dear to me) but she has that too

inspired a little bit by some random person's outfit i saw in passing . LMFAO i thought it was cute

bfb/season 4

also maybe subject to change a little bit depending on how idfb goes/if that happens :)

the jacket has been returned :)) and fixed up a bit (this was like. what. 7 years at least of having it after all)

theyre still trying to figure out some stuff appearance wise.....she cleaned up her hairstyle a bit and is letting it grow back in its natural color but still experimenting with keeping it shorter

i LOVE. LOVE LOVE LOVE IT SO MUCH when people have pin and coiny have something like that together that theyre matching ive seen it a few times and i think it is the loveliest little thing in the world. they have the little matching necklaces (which i also included in my last drawing of them together that i posted)

outfit generally reflects him being a bit more reserved and stuff than before ... gotta gain that confidence back throughout the season she gets there eventually

tpot/season 5/current day

JOYPILLED !!!!!!!

during this time he starts getting SO silly with it again in terms of like. presentation and stuff. having fun and playing. hair is getting FULLY dyed again. bringing back some of the piercings. got little pins on the jacket now. having so much fun

in general is just a lot more confident in how they express themself and it brings me so much joy

the cane comes back out occasionally when shes having a particularly bad day and needs to use it again. its got a tiny little bit of decorations now :)

IDK WHAT ELSE TO SAY BUT SHES SOOOOO SILLY

OK thats all i have ........ this thang been Plaguing my mind as of late

#soupy art #my art #battle for dream island #bfdi #pin bfdi #object shows #osc #had a lot of fun w these :)))) pin bfdi i love you dearly #i hope u guys also like these

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marxalittle · 2 days ago

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dangit I don’t have the link to hand but after the invention of photography I wanna say either Alexander I or II (if so, one of the last things he ever did) commissioned a photographic study of his empire, sending a camera crew from the western border with what was probably not Poland again at that point all the way out to Vladivostok and all points north and south in between. they brought back these amazing images of all the people they could find in every distant region, from Old Believers to the many, many Asian peoples who had up until then essentially been administrative abstractions to Moscow and Petersburg: and all of these were Russians. beautiful photos, by the way.

because the USSR did not change imperial Russia’s territorial ambitions and Russification policy but merely inherited and expanded it, in some cases after the revolution those people became members of their SSR [Region/Territory/Designator] and ultimately remained Russian. since the collapse of the USSR, some of those regions have become independent, but culturally many remain Russian in the fashion they had been for centuries, because the heritage of several hundred years of being part of a culture and polity don’t go away with rebranding; others remain part of the Russian Federation, aka the recapitulation of Russia’s imperial ambitions, and are therefore by definition Russian.

it’s the most territorially large country on the planet and more than half of it is in, by any standard, Asia. the stereotypical blonde northern Slav population (btw, loads of Slavs are brunettes and not just southern Slavs either, just putting that out there) is most likely in the minority in Russia, but they inhabit the cities closest to and best known by the West, so they dominate the Western understanding of Russia. this is something, btw, which the Slavic Russians are in no hurry to change, partly because of several hundred years of being desperate for the West to like them, partially bc of the aforementioned Russification, which if you don’t know is the (cough cough genocidal) cultural project of subsuming all ethnic identities, starting with all Slavs (see pan-Slavism, 19th century) and expanding to all ethnic groups within territory controlled or claimed by Russia, into the Russian identity, erasing cultural linguistic religious etc differences and replacing them with a Moscow-Petersburg (not even Nizhny Novgorod, smdh) ratified concept of the Russian (white, blonde, etc).

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aba-daba-dooo · 17 hours ago

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Is Psych Copaganda? a long, rambling essay by me (a media and fandom scholar)

TLDR: Sometimes. Copaganda is ubiquitous with entertainment media, but Psych does have moments of self-awareness and benefits from being extremely fictional. I think its your call as an individual to decide where it lands on the propaganda spectrum.

To call something propaganda is messy by default. There’s a lot to consider when it comes to intent: is this being done with the purpose of persuading an audience, promoting a particular viewpoint, or influencing public opinion. These definitions most often apply to the news media and what information is presented to the public, but it does also come in the form of entertainment media. Look at anti-communist cartoons produced in the 1940s, or at Marvel comics being designed to get people to buy war bonds or sign up for the military. It’s intentional. That's what makes it propaganda and not just misinformation. Already, we're in a weird spot for procedural television shows.

It’s no secret that procedural television comes from a long line of copaganda. It goes back to Dragnet (1951-1959). It was specifically made in response to prior media depicting the police as foolish and unhelpful (think Sherlock Holmes), and the public working with the police less and less because of that. So Dragnet (which was a Disney product by the way) was created to show a competent officer to help get white folks to work with the police again. That is copaganda in its purest form.

Of course, people found the show entertaining. So what happened? Other studios began producing procedural dramas for the cash. And they stayed popular. People like mysteries where the bad guy is always punished accordingly and the heroes are reliable and trustworthy– with the exception of those “few bad eggs”. But many of these shows aren’t being produced with the intent of changing public opinion the way Dragnet was. They just fit the formula.

I think that’s copaganda by proxy. It’s not on purpose but because we’re operating with a system that was designed to make people believe the police are good, that’s what ended up happening. These are your Law and Orders, Miami Vice, Hawaii Five-O, etc. Brooklyn 99 is a weird one because while it's a workplace comedy before it is a cop show, there are times where it is totally tone deaf and really falls into the good cop bad cop binary.

But I’m here to talk about Psych and the consultant procedural. I like the consultant procedural because it harkens back to the Sherlock Holmes era where the police need some random silly guy to do their job for them because they're too dumb to do it on their own: Castle, The Mentalist, Sherlock (BBC), Elementary, High Potential, etc. But they are, at their core, procedurals and they still get the by proxy treatment. It’s not copaganda on purpose, but it shows how copaganda is ubiquitous with entertainment media. Even shows that aren’t focused on police still fall into this category because that’s how media creators are trained. If something works, don’t fix it.

So why is Psych weird?

In some ways, it is totally copaganda. There are episodes like Lassie Did A Bad Bad Thing and You Can’t Handle This Episode that fall into that “few bad eggs” category. It raises up the main characters who are police as well intentioned, while everyone else in the para-military world is open to suspicion. It creates some paranoia for the audience that keeps things interesting. But it perpetuates a myth that the police aren’t a systemic operation based on oppression. And sure, Shawn and Gus are there to save the day because they technically aren’t cops. But they still work closely with the cops and always hand their criminals over to the faulty justice system at the end. That’s the formula created by decades of procedural media– and thereby is copaganda by default.

Lassie is a problem too. He’s a weird little freak and I love him, but the trope of a gun toting cop who is desperate to shoot someone leaves a pretty bad taste in my mouth (accurate as it may be to real life). And while he mellows out significantly thanks to Shawn’s friendship, there are times where I think it's too much. If he were real, I wouldn’t trust him at all. Henry is the same way, and training Shawn to be a police officer from birth shows how he has drunk the copaganda kool-aid. The glorification of violence by some of the characters is used for humorous purposes, but there’s honestly nothing funny about it.

But here’s where I think things get a little complicated. Because Psych has some moments of self-awareness that predate the larger, public conversation around copaganda. Obviously, Shawn’s refusal to be a police officer and decision to subsequently break the law in the name of real justice is iffy at times. But he harkens back to the old days of making the police look like idiots. He takes their money and reminds them that they’re foolish. He commits crimes under their noses every single day and no one is the wiser. It does not bode well for the police’s image.

There are multiple times where Gus expresses hesitation about working with police because he is Black. It’s subtle, as we’re talking 2006-2014 and the conversation surrounding police brutality was upheld majority by the Black community (and falling on deaf ears), but it's there. A Black man criticizing the police on television. Shawn is able to use his whiteness and extend it to Gus, which is a complicated thing on its own, but I do think that James Roday Rodriguez having to hide that he is half Mexican from the industry introduces layers to this. According to the Psych podcast, James and Dulé Hill were intentional in their references to racism in the show. When Psych wants to challenge the traditional narrative about police, it does. And let’s talk about how Shawn and Gus regularly stick up for the little guy. Where Juliet and Lassiter easily dismiss people because of their prior criminal history, Shawn and Gus give everyone equal standing. Sometimes they’re deceived, but they don’t let it influence their future cases. Sometimes their vigilante justice thing goes a little too far, hence violating people’s rights and privacy. Still, I appreciate their passion for doing the right thing simply because it is right. Psych is very interested in showing both sides of the procedural drama and letting the audience make moral decisions for themselves.

So is Psych copaganda? Erm. Sometimes. I’ve heard it both ways.

But I think it's also important to note that this is fiction. Extreme fiction. Psych is wild and easily divorces itself from reality. It wants to remind you constantly of genre tropes and play up how ridiculous this all is. In the same way that I can enjoy media about literal murderers and say “it’s a good thing this is just pretend otherwise that would be really fucked up” I think I can extend the same grace to Psych. It’s pretend. It knows it's pretend. It knows this isn’t how the real world works. I know the real cops are bad (but I have the luxury of a media degree and cultural awareness-- not everyone does), and these guys aren't real. So I can suspend my disbelief long enough to watch this funny lil bisexual man cause problems on purpose.

#psych #psych tv #psych usa #psych 2006 #shawn spencer #burton guster #this is not my best writing because i just hurled words around but i hope it gets my basic thoughts across

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loopyboom666 · 1 day ago

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NIGHTSTAR vs I AM NOT STARFIRE

CHAPTER 1: Designs

Okay, let's begin with this.

Mandy

I have NO problem with a fat character. I am definitely not fatphobic, so anyone worried about that, don't worry, hehe <3

My problem with her design... is that she DOESN'T look like Starfire's daughter. Not her skin, not her eyes, not the SHAPE of her eyes, not her nose, her hair (her natural hair neither), NOTHING. I don't buy that the only thing that stick on her genetics was the hair and the eye colors. The color hair doesn't help, cause it looks even more unnatural than her dyed hair. Whenever I see Starfire and Mandy on the same panel, either arguing or just being, I feel the self-insert of the author, which makes me feel a bit uncomfortable...

And I'm not even talking about Mandy not looking like the og Starfire, I mean, not even the comic's Starfire:

The style was ok. It wasn't the best, but considering it was a YA novel, it fits fine.

(BUT, OK, IDC IN WHAT STYLE YOU DRAW HIM, WHY DOES HE LOOK LIKE... THAT????

YES, THE BUTTCHEEKS, WHAT'S UP WITH THAT 😭😭😭?)

Nightstar

What can I say about Nightstar that isn't just... perfect???

She's a perfect combination of both her parents. Starfire's skin was yellow, and Nightwing was melon color (white human color). She was a perfect mix. Hers was a human color, unlike her mother's, but still had the hues of her mother's skin. Kingdom come as proof:

Another thing. Yes, her eyes ARE green like her mom's, but they're tire like her dad's. And her nose isn't exactly like her mom's. Her mom's is button type, while hers is between snub and Nubian, which is the perfect center between her mom's and dad's type of nose. And maybe the cherry on top are the eyebrows (daddy's eyebrows)

I don't know how to explain to you how she's so alike her mom, but still has her dad's features (AND LOTS) which I find perfect. That's why Nightstar is the perfect design for a dickkory child.

POINTS: NIGHTSTAR - 1 ; I AM NOT STARFIRE - 0

CHAPTER 0: INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER 2: PARENTAL ISSUES

CHAPTER 3: LOVE INTEREST

CHAPTER 4: VILLAIN WHO ISN'T AN ANTAGONIST

CHAPTER 5: MAIN CHARACTER

CHAPTER 6: OVERALL PLOT

*THIS LIST IS OPEN TO CHANGE

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snw-faatuatua · 2 days ago

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🄾🄷🄰🄽🄰

•

Pulled an all nighter out of nowhere WOW- the remake really made me appreciate the original even more so- the storyline is beautifully written with such love and care.

So I decided to do my own spin on their designs— I didn’t change Nani’s design, since she’s PERFECT, love that woman I see so much of myself in her at my age now 🥹 - just toned down the color palette and tweaked her face to fit my style and gave her a bangle, because cmon, you’re not an island girl if you don’t have at least one bangle.

Lilo I definitely worked on the most to highlight her quirky rambunctious personality and gave her a more realistic outfit— I reminisced outfits I would wear at her age in the early 2000s- turned her dress into a shirt and gave her a jean skirt, because I imagine she goes through a lot of clothes and Nani opts for jeans since they are sturdy— I thought adding stitches and patches was a perfect touch because I can see Nani having to repair her clothes and Lilo trying to learn along side her.

Stitch obv I didn’t have to change either just tweaked for my style— ngl his design is a little tricky ;w; but I love it when hes grumpy hehe

Which version do you prefer more? Give me your hot takes 👀

#lilo and stitch #lilo pelekai #nani pelekai #lilo and nani #lilo and stitch the movie #Disney #disney lilo and stitch #lilo and stitch fanart #Hawaiian #Polynesian #pasifika

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candycornfieldcookie · 1 hour ago

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*stumbles into the room covered in blood, now with a brand new sideblog* SO THAT ESC UPDATE. HUH

The Eternal Sugar Follow-Up: Buried, Corruption and Possibly Lonely

Remember the days when I had to wrack my brain just to come up with one singular TMA fear to assign to Eternal Sugar? A lot can change in a couple months, I guess.

Obviously everything I said about the Web still holds up, I'd say even more than before. I consider that her primary Fear, and if I was forced to pick one it'd probably be that. But as we all know, the lines dividing the different Fears are hazy at best. They all blend in some way.

So let's get the easy stuff out of the way first, because the Buried now has tangible evidence and is no longer a stretch! Yay!

We've found out that Sugar keeps some members of her Garden imprisoned in jars, in which they enter an eternal slumber. She seems to view this as giving them a well-earned rest, and not - you know - trapping them in enclosed spaces and placing them into a coma. We will be revisiting that point later.

Going back to the metaphorical side of things, if I didn't mention Sugar encouraging her denizens to "bury" their true nature, I definitely should have, and now we have even more substantial examples of this. Specifically in Sugarfly and Pavlova. Sugarfly's wings are literally buried under layers of syrup, encased like a sticky chrysalis and unable to be used, and Pavlova buries his true self as well, trapped in an 'innocent' childlike form and not being allowed to grow up.

I think that's enough to qualify the Buried, so... what of the Corruption?

The answer to that is the Corruption fits so perfectly with Eternal Sugar's whole deal that I cannot believe I didn't notice it before. I'd say it fits her more than Mystic Flour.

Let's break this down:

The Corruption is frequently characterised as unhealthy, codependent and/or controlling love. A type of love that can and will destroy a person, something wonderful becoming a destructive force. This is exactly the kind of twisted love that Sugar feels for her denizens - her prisoners. She truly believed she's keeping them safe by locking them away from the outside world, from danger, from pain, as long as she keeps them beside her.

Speaking of something wonderful turning destructive, let's talk about Sugarfly's wish, and how Eternal Sugar allows one's worst qualities to blossom. Sugarfly is implied to be deeply insecure, believing her old wings to be dull and ugly, and herself unlovable as a result - and instead of helping her overcome this insecurity, Eternal Sugar gives her the wings she thought she wanted, robbing her of the gift of flight she had. Sugar turned this innocent wish for beauty and love into an active detriment - something about that feels very Corruption to me.

The overlap between the Corruption and the Web is one I find super interesting, and as I view it, the main thing that exists in that overlap is the concept of hive-minds. Mind controlling spores and such things. And since the "sweet scent" in the air of the Garden that sticks to you and attracts monsters when you try to leave is also literally confirmed to control people's minds, I'm counting that for both Web and Corruption.

On the subject of the literal, the whole design of the Garden fits in with the Corruption's theme pretty well imo. Appearing idyllic and beautiful at a glance, but the closer you look, the more uncanny/unsettling details you notice. I'm also counting that for the Stranger, as the uncanny is what it's all about (though it is more of a motif).

And finally, I present a question.

Is she an Avatar of the Lonely... or is she just lonely?

Because "Don't leave" is very clearly a desperate plea not to be alone. Sugar is terrified of the loss of control, of course, but it's more than that - she's terrified of the things she loves leaving her behind, not needing her. Choosing the danger and risk of reality over her flawless paradise. She doesn't want to be alone, and when this becomes close to reality and her calm facade has shattered, she is willing to destroy her perfect paradise and herself along with it.

BUT

I don't think she embodies the Lonely. In order to embody a Fear, you have to spread it - not just experience it. And Eternal Sugar is attempting to eradicate her own loneliness, exactly the opposite. She pushes it away, pushes it down, clings to all her beloved denizens so tightly it's suffocating.

I think she's just lonely. Lowercase L.

Oh - real quick before I close out this post. The way Sugar describes the other Beasts while trying to convince Hollyberry to stay is fascinating to me - but specifically one line stick out for the purposes of this post.

"In the end, only silence will remain."

...Hmm. Putting a pin in that until October.

because my brain won’t ever ever ever let me enjoy something without linking it to something else:

crk nation what do we think. I am ready + willing to explain all of these placements

#crk #cookie run kingdom #crk analysis #eternal sugar cookie #tma #tma fears #silent salt cookie

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cryingatwindermerepeaks · 11 hours ago

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Some ideas on what their main bathroom looks like. I would love a mood board of what you see it as.

There’s lots of decals on the walls, or it’s painted a fun color

Playful/cute/childs bath mat rug

TONS of bath toys. Tai tries to keep them organized but Van and Mel have other plans

Lots of fun smelling and tear free soaps and shampoos

Maybe they have to be locked up because certain littles like to “make potions”

Fun hair ties and clips, mostly for Lottie Jackie and Mari

Bin of period products, highly organized again by Tai

Locked up cleaning supplies

Lots of baby wipes used specifically for accidents

Maybe there’s a baby gate mostly for when Lottie crawls off

Their designated sick bowl, kept in one of the only unlocked cabinets in case anyone needs it

Extra pull ups, which tai had organized by size until Mari had a tantrum when she was given one of Mel’s “boy ones” in the middle of the night. Now they’re organized by “boy and girl” by Jackie and Mari. Tai is working on it.

🐨

Ahhh love this, hope you enjoyed the moodboard! are some thoughts below the cut:

- so many colours! They try to keep the bathroom as light and childish as possible because a lot of the time the little’s can struggle being in there - needing help washing, or changing or doing their hair themselves can feel a bit embarrassing and so it’s important the bathroom is as enjoyable as positive otherwise.

- There are so many bath toys it’s actually becoming a problem. They also definitely a bunch of have bath crayons and bath bombs.

- A lot of the bathroom drawers are locked - I’d imagine there aren’t actually any cleaning products in this bathroom just incase, but almost everything is locked just in case: period supplies, extra soaps, wipes and spare toilet paper. The exceptions to this are the sick bowl and the pull-ups. The pull-ups aren’t locked to try and encourage littles who are too embarrassed to ask for help with accidents to just take one without needing a grown up to get it for them.

- The organisation of said pull-ups is definitely a source of contention. Eventually they end up being organised by design. Especially after a very teary Mel told Van she wanted a butterfly one because she wasn’t a boy and Mari said the dinosaur ones were for boys.

- So many different coloured hair accessories! Everyone has their own stuff in their rooms for when they are big, but in the bathroom there are lots of coloured hair ties and clips. Everyone - even Nat - gets excited over picking out the colour of their hair tie.

- They have their toothbrushes organised in cups with different characters as well as their names on it. They used to just have names but Van sometimes struggled with reading the names and so now they have both.

- They have a two minute timer for tooth brushing, and Van also has a special chart to tick off when she’s brushed her teeth otherwise she’d forget.

- they have lots and lots of towels in cool colours, and heaps of hooded ones which are always the favourites.

#safe and sound agere au #sfw agere #fandom agere #age regression #yellowjackets agere #yellowjackets age regression

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unfreezableoats · 7 hours ago

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First set of BFDI/S1 Gjinkas

I tried to design them with early 2010s/late 2000s fashion in mind but also like. Ehhhh not really if I'm being honest. These are definitely up to change btw they're just suppost to be concept designs

Also hi osc tumblr

#bfdi #bfdi gijinka #osc art #osc community #battle for dream island #osc gjinka #If you point out any anatomy mistakes I will eat 7 hats #flower bfdi #bfdi spongy #bfdi blocky #bfdi woody #bfdi pin #bfdi needle #bfdi humanized #human design

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kaolin029 · 2 days ago

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Soma's skin tone throughout Black Butler: A Bengali Perspective

First of all…

I’m totally open to critique! I’d love to chat about this. :]

I’m Bengali (Bangladeshi). I’m specifically Bengali-British, and I’m a similar age to Soma, so Soma represents me in multiple ways.

It’s obviously very important that we discuss Soma’s representation, as with any character or feature of a piece of media, but Soma is from Bengal, is Hindu, and is living in Victorian England. These people are not often represented in media—especially in Japanese anime—so we all know that it’s important to get Soma right. So, a discussion is due.

Please keep in mind that certain areas including Bengal have a very complicated history surrounding ethnicities, religions, and politics, involving genocides and mass rape that I honestly really would have liked to not think about. What I’m saying is that it’s really important to please know what you’re talking about.

Hex codes

First of all, it’s very obvious that the colour used to render Soma’s skin has a lighter value. You don’t have to show hex code values. I don’t think anyone saying that the value of Soma’s skin hasn’t increased has a valid argument. It is the reason for and the social context of the change in value that we should be discussing here, not the fact of the change itself.

Furthermore, you say that Soma’s undertone changes. This is true, but it has little to do with Soma’s skin becoming lighter or darker. Your argument is about the tone (or value), which is the lightness/darkness, of Soma’s skin changing. Undertones refer to hue, and subtle changes, such as those in skin, have little effect on the tone of skin.

Definitions

Secondly, I don’t think that’s what “white knighting” means. From my understanding, “white knighting” is when a person defends another person whose demographic they do not belong to, when doing so is unnecessary and/or unwanted. For example, a man speaking for a woman when the woman would prefer to speak for herself. I don’t think a person defending Square Enix for their choice of drawing Soma’s skin lighter counts as “white knighting.” It doesn’t count as “boot licking” in most cases, either. I think that’s a narrow-minded view that only minimises the perception and value of voices that belong to people who actually want to discuss these topics with you.

Thirdly, I’d like to know your definition of “whitewashing.” To me, to whitewash a person is to portray them as white, whether through their appearance or the portrayal of their culture, when doing so is inappropriate and erases their actual heritage. For example, if someone draws and writes a character who is and looks ethnically Chinese in a way that makes them look like they’re ethnically Polish—e.g. with a pinker skin tone; with different facial features; with a home life more similar to that of a Polish person than a Chinese person, etc. Additionally, if I, a Bangladeshi person, didn’t know what handesh is, my family would probably call me whitewashed, so that’s another definition I know of.

From my understanding, Soma’s skin being drawn lighter isn't whitewashing, because the producers/character designers aren’t trying to make him look more white and less Bengali. They’re Japanese, so if they were trying to make Soma look less Bengali, it would probably be because they want to make him look more Japanese. Therefore, I don’t think “whitewashing” is even the right word to use for your argument in the first place. A more accurate word would be “colourism,” but please correct me if I’m wrong. And even then, I don’t agree with you on colourism being the reason behind the change. Soma has always had a mid-tone skin colour, closer to that of his portrayal in the Public School Arc anime than of his portrayal in previous anime seasons.

Soma’s canon skin tone in the manga

In Yana Toboso’s illustrations—which are the most accurate depictions Soma we have—Soma has a more middling skin tone. See below:

1. Soma on the front cover of Volume 16.

2. Soma in a more recent illustration celebrating 100 manga Chapters. I've included Grell to represent an English woman's skin tone for reference. Please also consider aerial perspective, as Soma and Agni are further away from the point-of-view "camera" than Grell.

3. Soma on a GFantasy magazine cover. I’ve included Ciel, similarly for reference purposes.

Again, I’m Bengali. I consider this a good example of what ONE of the many skin tones our people have could look like.

Soma’s skin tone: early anime vs. recent adaptation

If we compare these to your own chosen images of Soma (and a couple of my own):

4, 5, 6. Screenshots of the scenes from which your three original images of Soma originate.

7, 8. Soma, next to Maurice and Edgar, and Soma and Cheslock. Cheslock's face is in shadow while Soma's faces the light of the fire.

Soma’s skin tone in the Public School Arc anime is very accurate to his canon skin tone. The anime is portraying its source material with accuracy, and thereby respecting the original artform and the artistic will of the author. This is something to celebrate.

If anything, Soma’s skin looks slightly darker in your chosen images of Public School Arc compared to Toboso’s illustrations above. Soma’s skin tone in the Public School Arc anime is also a good portrayal of one possible Bengali skin tone.

So, where is the disparity?

9. Soma from Black Butler Season 1

Compared to his skin tone in Toboso’s illustrations, Soma’s skin was rendered with a much different colour in the first few seasons of the Black Butler anime. His skin tone is noticeably darker than his canon skin tone, and has a slightly more yellow undertone. This is an inaccurate depiction of Soma. From my experiences, I predict it comes from bias surrounding Indian people’s skin tones only ever being very dark. But, as we know, Indian people, including Bengali people, have skin tones ranging from very light to very dark.

This all leads to questions of how much should stay the same from the anime/change to fit the manga. I think this is the real question. And I think a person could argue either way and their opinion would be valid. In my opinion, I hate how the producers of the Kuroshitsuji anime chose to deviate from the manga in the early seasons in terms of plot-important details. e.g. Grell saying that she can tell Sebastian who killed Ciel’s parents when she didn’t say this in the manga. I wish they had stuck more closely to the source material, because what we got simply doesn’t make sense in canon. I also know many people share this view. Contrastingly, some Kuroshitsuji fans would prefer if they had deviated from the manga and stuck to how the anime portrayed Sebastian’s eyes as red-brown, compared to Yana Toboso’s depiction/description of Sebastian with tea-brown eyes and the Public School Arc’s/Emerald Witch Arc’s depiction of him with more amber eyes. These opinions are all valid, and can be argued for. Personally, I’m of the opinion that the anime adaptation of someone’s art should be recreated faithfully. This shows respect for the artist and their art in its original form, and reduced the likelihood of incongruencies causing confusion for fans of the work.

Soma’s skin tone in the early anime adaptation is not a bad portrayal of Bengali people’s skin tones. I know people who have Soma’s darker anime-only skin tone. However, it is a shame that it was changed from its canon counterpart for no reason, or—as is more likely—for reasons of racist ignorance towards Indian skin colours. I can think of no valid reason to change Soma’s skin tone in an anime adaptation to be darker than canon. If there are any reasons at all, then they must be reasons of racist ignorance. I’m sure that you will agree that colourism is a horrible thing when it is directed either way.

Therefore, I believe support or preference of Soma’s non-canon, darker skin tone—intentionally or unintentionally, in good faith or in bad faith—is in support of possible racist stereotypes of Indian people that belonged to Soma’s first character designers for the anime. Thus, I think that supporting this non-canon skin tone of Soma’s is unethical, and the changing of Soma’s skin tone from canon in the first place is even more so.

Pinterest comments

Next, I want to briefly mention the comments on Pinterest that you responded to. I won’t support or refute them, because all of them argue their points poorly. I will say, though, that, yes, contrary to your statement (“yes the anime is brighter - that shouldnt change someones skin colour”), skin colour does change as much in real life people as Soma’s does in the Public School Arc anime. I have about the same skin colour as Soma and I, as well as others, can vouch that exposure to light can make a world of a difference in how your skin is perceived. This is because of sub-surface scattering. Sometimes, I look in my bedroom mirror, and I have dark skin. Then I take a 5-minute nap and look at myself in my bathroom mirror, and all of a sudden, I’m white-passing. In conclusion, yes. Skin tones can change that much depending on lighting, colour relativity, and many other factors. I can’t comment on how your skin behaves, as you’re Black-Irish and I can’t say for sure that your skin behaves in a way representative of how ours does, but this is reality for many Indian people’s skin. I hope you take this in good faith as an opportunity to educate yourself a bit.

Your citations

When you say, “crazy that i feel the need to cite why racism is bad…” you don’t need to, for the majority of people reading. Most people know why racism is bad. Please excuse my conjecture, but I think your argument should be why Soma’s skin tone change is/isn’t racist in the first place. The fact of racism being bad has nothing to do with your argument. If this was a light-hearted, meaningless joke, then I’m sorry for misunderstanding.

Additionally, “crazy that i feel the need to cite why racism is bad[…]” and the following, “[…]go read a book:” can come off as patronising. I politely ask and advise that you maintain civility and seriousness when talking about topics like colourism, so that people take your view seriously and so that you come off as in good faith. This subject is very important to me. Reading your original post, I feel offended that I am being dismissed as a “bootlicker” who doesn’t understand why racism is bad and doesn’t read (i.e. is wilfully uneducated).

Speaking of reading. May I ask what your cited sources have to do with our subject? Your sources:

https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/0486613419873229 This paper is about the silence of US economists surrounding systemic racism affecting Black people in the US, and widening the racial wealth gap in the US. It doesn’t seem to have anything to do with the topic of your discussion. The word “whitewashing” is used in this paper to describe the silence about racism against Black people, and its discreet favouring of white people, in US economics.

https://doi.org/10.11588/xarep.00000349 This article is about the diminishing of Bhutanese culture with the increasing prevalence of American media. The word “whitewashing” is used in this paper to describe the substitution of Bhutanese social behaviours and trends with non-Bhutanese culture. I don’t see what this has to do with anything we are discussing.

https://doi.org/10.1080/01419870.2012.692802 This paper is about the racism and privilege of Hungarian and Romanian people immigrating to the UK in recent years. I also don’t see how this is relevant at all.

I think that, next time, it may be useful to explain why each source is significant to your point. I would even recommend in-text citations.

Agni

I don’t see how it’s a problem that Agni and Soma have slightly different skin tones in the Public School Arc anime. In fact, it is a positive thing to see a variation of Indian skin tones through the depiction of Soma and Agni. I think that Agni, here, is also a good portrayal of one of the skin tones Indian people may have.

In fact, if we compare Soma and Agni's depictions throughout the series:

10. Soma on the cover of Volume 16 again, and Agni on the cover of Volume 26.

11. Soma and Agni in the 100 Chapter illustration again.

12. Soma and Agni side-by-side in manga Chapter 66.

13. Agni and Soma side-by-side in manga Chapter 85.

Agni consistently has darker skin than Soma in full colour illustrations and in monochrome manga panels. It appears that this detail was overlooked by production staff for the Season 1 Black Butler anime, but was added back in for the recent adaptation. Agni's skin colour in the Public School Arc anime is proportionally darker than Soma's as is portrayed in the source material. Again, this is something to celebrate. It seems that the new production staff paid attention to the character designs, including subtle variations in skin tones, of these characters, and made changes accordingly. This displays an appreciation of and care for the author's work, and shows that the skin tones of Bengali people can vary. Therefore, Agni being slightly darker than Soma is positive representation, not something to criticise.

Soma becoming “less visually Indian,” and orientalism

Soma’s ethnic features in the manga (facial feature shapes and sizes, skin tone, body type, etc.) stay very consistent beyond stylistic changes which apply equally to every character and are unrelated to ethnicity.

When you say, “less visually Indian,” you seem to specifically refer to his wearing traditional Indian clothes less frequently. Soma is Indian regardless of what clothes he wears. If Soma wears non-traditional clothes, he is still Indian. I wear non-traditional clothes on a daily basis. This does not make me less Indian. Clothes have nothing to do with a person appearing to be their ethnicity. This is a non-problem.

I don't even think that this comes under one of the "whitewashing" definitions that I myself gave above, because although Soma in Blue Cult Arc is wearing clothes from a non-Indian culture, this doesn't erase his heritage in any way.

I'm honestly struggling to understand what point you’re trying to make here, especially with your mentioning orientalism. Orientalism is almost entirely irrelevant to Soma wearing a pop star-inspired outfit. I would call it orientalism if Soma were portrayed as worshipping the Goddess Kali, reading the Qur’an during namaz, wearing a Fez, and having grown up speaking primarily Tamil.

The expectation that Indians always wear traditional clothing is racist. If this was your argument, then I ask you politely to please educate yourself.

"Underrepresented majority"

When you say, “I really dont think its right to toy about with a characters skin tone like this especially for such an (imo) underrepresented group considering how much of a global majority they are,” whether a group of people is a majority or minority has nothing to do with how deserving they are of good representation. Everyone deserves to be represented in media, someplace, somehow.

Furthermore, I think that wanting Soma and Agni’s skin colours to be changed to their non-canon counterparts simply for your own "nostalgic" feelings falls under “toying with characters’ skin tones.”

In your reblog, you also say that you feel it is important for people with dark skin tones to feel represented in the media they watch. I feel the same way, because that is simply indisputably moralistic, and possibly also because I am darker skinned. However, it is unacceptable to imply that we should provide representation to certain people by taking it away from other people. To darken Soma’s skin and to keep it darker than his canon skin tone is taking away representation for people with his canon skin tone, whose representation in media is undoubtedly equally important. Therefore, I think the best option in our case is to keep Soma’s and Agni’s skin tones in congruence with their canon skin tones, which will grant respect to the original work, and bring representation for people who identify with Soma and Agni. Although, it would have been even better if their skin tones were never changed from canon in the first place.

Your skin tone

14. A screenshot of your comment on your skin tone compared to Soma's in Public School Arc.

I hope that, after all of this, it has gotten through to you that I’m taking your argument seriously and in good faith. I respect you and your wish to improve the state of representation for Indian/Bengali people. It means a lot to me that you care about this, so I thank you.

However, I need you to understand the severity of what you have said in the above screenshot of your reblog, so please forgive me if I sound rude, but I am angry with you.

You think that Soma, as a Bengali person, should have darker skin than you, as a Black-Irish person. This comment of yours is the type of comment that the third Pinterest user in your original post was talking about.

Your response to them was: “This one is basically calling the old version of Soma racist? i can barely tell honestly.” You should be able to tell. This is important to our entire discussion. This is important to Indian people. If you don’t understand this much, then you should not be speaking for us.

The belief that Indians must be very dark-skinned is racist. And it is harmful to us. Indian people have a vast range of skin colours. You should know that, especially as an anthropology student, and someone trying to be an ally to us. There is no such thing as being “too light” or “too dark” as an Indian/Bengali person in this context. No Indian is “not dark enough compared to another race/ethnicity.” By saying this, you are invalidating people with Soma’s skin tone. You are invalidating people who “aren’t the right skin colour.” I have Soma’s skin colour. You are invalidating me. This take is honestly shameful and I hope that you don’t truly believe this. Please educate yourself and choose your language more carefully next time.

I can’t believe you said something as dismissive as, “I can barely tell, honestly” to something as real and abhorrent as colourism against Indians. How do you not know of this issue? How do you not understand this issue?

Going forward…

Please use your platform to uplift the voices of people of the minority Soma belongs to, instead of speaking for us. As you say, you’re not an expert on this.

There are many valid opinions on this topic belonging to Bengali people, and it’s important to empower them, otherwise it can come off as a person speaking over us instead of with us.

Thank you for reading to the end my long response. It had a lot of information but I hope it was useful.

If you have any questions, please DM me and I'll try my best to get back to you. It's a very busy time for me and, due to personal circumstances, I can't guarantee that I'll be able to respond. I hope you understand.

Have a nice day.

A (not so) breif rant on Prince Somas skin tone

Im tired of seeing people in the comments of pinterest white nighting square enix and boot licking because theyre just grateful we got more seasons

They have actively chosen to white wash the main character of colour in kuroshitsuji for literally no good reason

dont believe that hes actually been made lighter?

have some hex codes

old seasons:

new seasons:

(i took these from the cheek of the above image to avoid shading, i used the top ones which i thought were actually the most generous)

i feel like were all smart enough to agree that those are not the same colour, and that while your skin can get lighter and darker from sun exposure or lack there of(aka being in the uk for a few years) the undertone of your skin cannot change that drastically (see the blue value in the hex codes, naturally, i am assuming Soma isnt using self tanner because that is ridiculous)

dont believe me that people are saying this?

lemme respond to them

Excuse me what does VA have to do with the fact that he’s objectively paler? yes the anime is brighter - that shouldnt change someones skin colour

isnt your “prob” because youre not impacted by racism bro. were complaining about something important bootlicker. im sorry that your favourite anime can be impacted by racism, welcome to the world sweet summer child.

This one is basically calling the old version of Soma racist? i can barely tell honestly. but it raises an interesting point. Soma is of a higher caste -

Obviously, he is a prince. Im not about to whitesplain the victorian contemporary Indian caste system to you- if youre reading this you have access to the internet do your own research and listen to Indian voices. but the implication of him being made too dark originally is an interesting point. im not sure i agree but its atleast not completely senseless

either way no one should straight up change a characters skin tone like that for no narritive or good reason idc.

and too these two

i took the liberty of checking O!ciels skin tones using hex:

skin (especially paler skin) reflects light, which is why i look super pale outside when i wear black in the bright sun versus when im in the stark light of my all white bathroom and i genuinely look a different race -im not denying skin tone can be flexible (see grid 2 of the hex image, hes in quite dark lighting)

but just look at how consistent it is

im sure you could find screen grabs that make o!ciel look red/green/not consistently white but across seasons he is consistently a pale little victorian boy

i didnt cherry pick these images either, i stole them of pinterest (i am not taking credit but im not giving it either for anonymity sake)

its not just lighting, its not just a new animation style, and the funny thing about micro aggressions is that they dont change if we dont address them and say its wrong.

crazy that i feel the need to cite why racism is bad but fuck it here we are go read a book:

Whitewashing Capitalism: Mainstream Economics’ Resounding Silence on Race and Racism. http://doi.org/10.1177/0486613419873229

Media and Public Culture: Media Whitewashing https://doi.org/10.11588/xarep.00000349

The uses of racism: whitewashing new Europeans in the UK https://doi.org/10.1080/01419870.2012.692802

(and theyre all free access, no excuses for racists)

i promise you it is this deep, and yes i refuse to spell check

i had more i wanted to share cause im aware im not the first to discuss this, but tumblr has a ten image limit so alas i might have to make another post

#kuroshitsuji #soma asman kadar #yapping

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