#but also he has vast doubts of his ability to give thoughtful gifts and assumes rather wrongly that he doesn't understand their tastes

[inundatae]

calling back to an old post i made about neuvillette not being one to often accept gifts as it can compromise his reputation as the impartial iudex.

for that very same reason, neuvillette does not often give gifts either. for important officials a signed card from the office of the chief justice might be sent. otherwise a select number of individuals can perhaps expect something sent to them via courier. only a very, very select handful can expect something personally delivered.

his gifts are often practical and if one didn't know neuvillette then perceived as cold and utilitarian. pens, sheaves of expensive paper, organizers.

paradoxically, while to the outsider neuvillette only has a sparse number of people to gift give to, his shopping list also numbers close to the upper hundreds.

[aminiatureworld]

Enigmatic Feelings

Characters: Albedo, Diluc, Xiao, Zhongli, gn!reader

Word Count: 5,544

Warnings: None

Premise: Love is a potent force. And sometimes little things take on larger meanings, especially when one party is unaware of them.

In which the reader’s s/o is jealous

Author’s Note: This trope is 100% my guilty pleasure. I hope I did it justice.

I also realized while writing this that all these characters have the emotional understanding of a teaspoon, but they’re trying their best, so that’s what counts.

Albedo

Albedo was many things. A great alchemist, a man of secrets, a weapon with which one might someday bring destruction. He was even a lover, albeit an unpracticed one. But what he was not was emotional. Or so he thought.

Of course Albedo knew what jealousy was, knew the sort of stupidity that people could fall into when altogether too infatuated with their own love. But just because one knows what jealousy is does not mean one must fall prey to such things. Or so Albedo assumed.

It was the fourth day in a row that a knight had approached your door. Friedrich was his name, and he was doing a stellar job at capturing your attention, and pulling on emotions that Albedo had long told himself he didn’t contain.

Today the flower was a Windwheel Aster, swaying this way and that in the pocket of space between your two hands. You were smiling at it, or rather at Friedrich, brightly, fingers mere moments away from Friedrich as you went to claim the fourth flower this week. Though the was nothing necessarily untoward in Friedrich’s movements, and Albedo would much rather a person of integrity be attempting to woo you, even if the idea itself turned knots in his stomach; nevertheless it still left a bad taste in the alchemist’s mouth, and a worry in his heart that he was not so immune to jealousy as he’d previous assumed.

“Thank you!” You spoke to Friedrich, giving one last wave before walking back over to Albedo. “Albedo look! It’s a Windwheel Aster. It’s very nice of Friedrich to give me one, maybe I can use it, or maybe it’ll be helpful for your experiments?”

“Yes, thank you. I, I think you should keep it.”

As much as Albedo wanted to take the flower and throw it in the incinerator, he couldn’t bring himself to shatter the smile on your face. No matter how dearly it cost him to see you smile down once more at the delicate red petals. And no matter how much it haunted him the rest of the day to imagine you, face framed by a smile, a bouquet of a random knight’s making in your hands.

That knight as Albedo put away the Bunsen burners and the graduated cylinders he kept his mind preoccupied by thoughts of you. Surely he had to tell you his feelings, for if not they would keep building in his chest; building and building until one day he erupted, with you in the line of fire rather than the knight who was creating this whole dilemma, perhaps even unwittingly. Though Albedo had never been in a relationship before he knew stories. Weren’t books full of those kinds of moments? Men, women, people, all of them running over one another in their misunderstanding, in their overwhelming guilt.

No, he wouldn’t turn out like that, wouldn’t let the two of you be hurt in such a way. He had to tell you. Had to make you understand how much his chest constricted when he saw you carrying the gifts of others, had to let it be known before he lost control of these emotions. After all, wasn’t that what happened with emotions? They grow and grow and one day they spill over. And Albedo never wanted these emotions to spill over. No matter the cost.

“May I tell you something?”

The sunlight was streaming through the laboratory windows, the air warm enough that Sucrose had tied up her hair during her shift. And yet Albedo felt cold, oh so cold. He was going to tell you today. He hadn’t been able to tell you three days ago, nor two days ago, nor yesterday. And now the bouquet of flowers that occupied a tiny glass on the windowsill felt quite large indeed. Today would be day eight if Friedrich showed up at lunchtime, and before that Albedo would tell you.

“Of course you can Albedo, I’m all ears!”

You turned around, a soft smile once more spreading across your face. Putting down the pencil you’d been holding you leaned back against the lab table. Albedo took in a deep breath. He could do this. He would do this. He had to do this. No matter what, today. Today, he would do this.

“I-I’m jealous.” The words hung in the air for a moment, as if not understood.

“Jealous?” You tilted your head slightly, worry making your smile slip. “Albedo, jealous of what?”

“Of Friedrich, of you and Friedrich, or rather, I mean, of Friedrich giving you flowers.” Albedo paused, words tangling in his mouth, tripping on each other in an attempt to be understood. What if this was a mistake.

“Albedo,” you shook you head softly, walking over to cup your partner’s face, “I promise that there’s nothing in it. The flowers are lovely, of course, but nothing in this world could replace or stem my love for you. You have nothing to worry about.”

“I know,” Albedo replied hurriedly, worried still that he might be misunderstood, “I’m not trying to accuse you of anything, or say that I doubt you. My love, I will never doubt you. I just, I just feel so uncomfortable when he brings you flowers. It feels like, like I don’t know; it feels like I’m being poisoned, suddenly and all at once. And I don’t want it to affect the way I act towards you. So, so I wanted to tell you. You don’t have to stop, if those flowers make you happy then that’s what matters. But, but I just wanted to tell you.”

You said nothing, staring into Albedo’s eyes, gaze piercing through the alchemist. It was always that way with you. How you managed to destroy the control he thought he had, the wall he’d erected between himself and humanity. How you made him feel unsure and fallible and whole. And, just as before, now your gaze softened and you shook your head, your smile a balm for the raw unfamiliarity of putting together emotions.

“It’s okay Albedo, I’m glad you told me. Just like my emotions matter to you, I’d rather not see you unhappy. To be honest, I just never saw Friedrich’s actions in the way that he probably meant them. We all struggle with our feelings sometimes, I do just like you. Just as long as well tell each other, all will be well. Alright?”

“Yes. Thank you. I don’t know what I do without you.”

“Well you’ll never have to find out, so it doesn’t matter!”

There was no eighth flower that day, at least not one that was successfully given. Albedo supposed that he could pity Friedrich, but in reality he felt nothing but relief. The emotions that had left such a bad taste in his mouth seemed so far away now, for there was you, only you. It would only ever be you for him, and the days in which you said the same thing of him Albedo felt as if he could truly be happy, and truly acknowledge the emotions that swirled inside him, the love for you so great it spilled over into a vast ocean.

 Diluc

Diluc found most merchants loathsome, something perhaps not entirely fair considering his own status as a mover of goods.

Still, merchants in general were an unlikeable bunch. Prone to complacency and greed, this elite circle was comprised of people who thought of little than of ways to line their pockets anew. It disgusted Diluc and as he stood there, watching as a man who had enough jewelry on his body to weigh down a pack mule and a smile that made one want to run in the other direction, throw compliments and boasts your way, the winery owner was reminded about all that was wrong with the world in which he worked.

“So your goal is to attempt to find a route through which we might trade our wine in Inazuma?” You repeated the words the man had just spoken, expression skeptical. “As much as it would mean good business to begin another trade route, I believe the border restrictions will cause no little difficulty.”

“Restrictions such as those are nothing for a man like me.” The merchant smile once more and Diluc felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up. “I have the ability to wave past such an issue. Indeed with the right price I believe I could expand your network to include all of the seven major lands, if you haven’t been trading internationally.”

“Thank you for your offer.” You replied, too focused on the work in front of you to notice the merchant’s roving sort of gaze. “I’ll see what Master Diluc has to say. However I warn you, as much as international exports are important for a growing trade, smuggling wine into locked countries will do little good. Especially considering what the damage could do to this winery’s reputation if such a thing was found out.”

“Don’t worry, I assure you my methods are completely secure. In fact, if you’d like to discuss it in more depth, I do believe that I may be able to enlighten you over a meal.”

“Perhaps, although Master Diluc would certainly have to be there.” You smiled slightly, and Diluc wondered for a moment if you were being purposefully oblivious or simply didn’t notice the meaning behind the merchant’s words.

“I will be back tomorrow, perhaps you’ll have an answer then?”

“I’m sure I will.” You replied, smiling as the two of you shook hands. As the merchant walked out of the winery your smile morphed into a sort of smirk and you looked up towards the balcony of the second floor.

“You can come out now Diluc, I know you’re there.”

Diluc couldn’t help but smile at those words, he truly couldn’t get anything past you. Hurrying down the stairs he swept you up in his arms, sighing slightly into your neck as you tightened the embrace.

“Ever so observant, my darling.”

“I know that you’d never let a transaction or a business conversation take place without your knowledge.” There was a playfulness to your voice, coming from the knowledge that you were utterly correct. “Still, you could’ve come downstairs you know. I don’t think that anyone would need to believe that you were going through your ‘very important paperwork, and lurking around is your night job.’”

“It seemed somehow wrong to suddenly appear in front of you two and derail the conversation.” Diluc drew away and placed a soft kiss on the tip of your nose, chuckling when you immediately wrinkled it. “Especially since you were doing so well on your own.”

“Oh he’s just like the rest of them,” you sighed, “altogether a bit too full of themselves.”

“Especially in this one’s case.” Diluc said, finally letting a scowl cross his face.

“What do you mean?”

The look on your face was one of innocence and confusion, and for a moment Diluc felt his thoughts stammer, as he realized that you truly were unaware of the way that the merchant was looking at you, unaware of the manner which caused Diluc even now to continue to press his hand gently against your lower back. If you didn’t notice it, then surely Diluc was overreacting, surely there was no reason for his heart to stutter and his stomach to drop. Surely there was no reason, and surely he shouldn’t tell you.

“Nothing at all, I just didn’t like his face.” He hurried now to reply, realizing how odd his pause must’ve seemed. “Will you be accepting his proposal for a business dinner?”

“I’m not sure. I suppose it couldn’t hurt. And then it might be a good venue for the two of you to talk. Since you find him especially ghastly, I think a more public meeting might be easier.”

“Perhaps, but I don’t think that invitation was meant for me.” Diluc replied, before realizing his gaffe and falling silent.

“What? What do you mean of course it’s meant for you. I mean you are the owner of the Winery. Who else would it be for?”

“For, for you my darling. Why else would he ask you in such a way?” Diluc tried to keep the acid out of his words. It wasn’t your fault after all. It wasn’t your fault that some louche was asking after you.

“But I’m not the one in charge.” You furrowed your brow. “I can’t make the final decision. And I won’t allow him to attempt to bypass getting your permission either.”

“My darling, I, I think he meant it a different way.”

“What way?”

Diluc sighed, capitulating quickly to his want to tell you. Even if it was perhaps selfish of him, he was never truly good at keeping his feelings masked away, at least in a way that didn’t result in him completely shutting down. And you meant to much to him than for Diluc to try and lie to you.

“You see, I think he was attempting to ask you on a more romantic sort of dinner.”

“What?”

Your reaction was immediate, your expression quickly turning into one of shock and then of disgust. Letting out a groan you buried your face into the front of Diluc’s coat, eliciting a short laugh from its owner.

“Why? I… I… Even if I weren’t in love with you I’d never go out to dinner with him.”

“I don’t think he would appreciate the sentiment.”

“Diluc.” You let out another groan, shaking your head as if to rid yourself of the thought. “Archons, ugh thank you for telling me. I, disgusting.”

Diluc said nothing, simply tightening the hold of his arms around you. Though your reaction was certainly justifiable he knew there was something more behind them, and he felt grateful for your consideration. Though he knew that would always have been your reaction, it didn’t stop the pressure that ha been building in his chest, the thoughts that screamed what if, what if, what if. What if there is something better than you.

“Hey, are you alright?” You voice drifted up through the fabric of Diluc coat. He smiled, relaxing his grasp around you and pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head.

“I will be. May I hold you a little longer?”

“Of course. You’re the only one for me, you know.”

“And you for me. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Those words, though so small, were somehow enough.

 Xiao

The new guest at the inn had been speaking to you for quite some time. That was Xiao’s first observation. The second was that you didn’t seem to mind. The third was that for some reason he suddenly felt incredibly irritated.

It was a beautiful evening, the kind that would’ve normally had you and Xiao sitting on the roof together, fingers entwined, the silence of nature cushioning the two of your from the outside world. It was a ritual, something that Xiao had come to rely on, had come to almost sanctify. Yet here he was, sitting on one of the thicker branches of the trees that dotted the outside of the Inn, trying desperately to quench the anger that bloomed in his chest as he watched you and the guest talk the minutes away.

Perhaps the worst part was that you didn’t seem to mind. Instead of pulling the conversation towards a close, you seemed perfectly content to keep talking, smiling brightly and quickly answering the questions of this uninvited guest. Normally Xiao didn’t care about , or rather didn’t keep track of, the people you spoke to. Of course you would have friends, would have people that mattered to you. Just because Xiao had disconnected himself from humanity didn’t mean that you had to. So why was he so angry?

His patience ran out when the guest reached for your hand. Sidling next to you as fast as he could Xiao peeled off his invisibility, enjoying the shock that registered across the uninvited guest’s face as he moved his hand back. Reaching to entwine his hand with yours Xiao shifted his gaze towards your face. Shock was painted into your expression, but there was also something else, a glimmer of happiness or of satisfaction. Somehow it unnerved Xiao, and he focused instead on the task at hand, whatever that task was.

“It’s getting late.”

“Oh, of course.” Turning back to the guest you smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but perhaps we’ll speak again some other time?”

“Gladly!” The man’s face lit up, before Xiao’s glaring left him scampering down the steps.

“Xiao, is something wrong?” The question was so genuine, without any sense of knowing more than you let. Unfortunately the question was also unanswerable.

“It’s late. We should go.” Xiao gestured towards the roof, hoping the reminder would flush the question out of your head.

“You’re right, I suppose it is getting late. And we wouldn’t want to waste such a wonderful evening.” You smiled. And yet somehow Xiao felt unplacated. He was happy, wasn’t he? So why, why did the question hang in the air, and why did the discontent remain?

The next day was a lazy one, as Xiao waited for you to be done with work. More than usual he missed you, and he wished that the hours would go faster, so he might be able to once more enjoy your presence, to banish the discontent that he still felt, evening after an hour spent wholly in your company.

Eventually the sun made its descent from the heavens, and Xiao pulled himself once more to the perch on the tree he’d taken the night before. Gazing down at the balcony he saw the familiar figure of the unwanted guest, and a stab of anger flashed through him. This was made all the worse by your entrance, and the fact you once more stopped to make time for this intruder.

The man was just as insufferable as before, full of jokes that Xiao didn’t understand and words that though praising of you felt somewhat hollow, almost insulting. You laughed along to these jokes, smiled at these odd compliments. And when the man asked if you might be willing to talk more over some sort of meal you merely smiled.

Xiao, however, found the whole ordeal unbearable. Why should this person be asking all these things, be prying you with words of intimacy and familiarity. Had he not arrived yesterday? Was he not an utter stranger? Confusion mixed with irritation in Xiao’s head, and he found it difficult to hold on to the stony reason he’d built up. What was going on? What was this terrible feeling of anger and want? He couldn’t understand human ways. Less could he understand why they should have any sort of effect on him.

Still he had to do something. Had to do anything. Swooping down once more Xiao began the same charade. This time, however, the man merely jumped, and for all his glaring Xiao couldn’t dislodge the guest from his place on the balcony.

“It’s late.”

“Ah it is. Are you hungry?” He asked, addressing you once more.

“I’m not at all, but Xiao’s right. It is late. If you haven’t eaten yet then perhaps you should. Smiley Yanxiao is quite strict about his rest.”

“Ah, then perhaps you’re right. Still, why not join me? You can tell me your name, and we can talk a little more about the things you do.”

“You don’t even know their name.” Xiao spat out the sentence, barely able to contain the odd sort of irritation that still spun around him. He asked you all those questions, said all those words of praise, all without knowing your name. It felt somehow dehumanizing, somehow… wrong.

“I would be glad to learn it.” The man smiled.

Xiao simply shook his head. He needed to leave. It was becoming too much again, and the last thing Xiao wanted was for a stranger to see him this way, see him unsure and confused and not a little frightened of these alien emotions. Glaring at the man one more time Xiao scooped you up. Ignoring the surprised shriek that you let out he shot up into the sky, moving towards the familiar sanctuary of Jueyen Karst, deeply grateful that the guest, whatever he could do, could never fly.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” You asked, barely giving Xiao the time to set you down onto one of Liyue’s sloping peaks before asking him the one question he couldn’t answer.

“Nothing.”

“Well it’s certainly not nothing. You’re being awfully rude to that guest, and I can’t understand why. Usually you don’t really care about those sorts of things. So something must be wrong, and I want to know what it is.”

A pause.

“Please.”

“I can’t.” It was all Xiao could say, the only thing that would truly encompass the truth, because in truth he couldn’t. He himself didn’t understand it.

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“My chest hurts.”

“What?” Immediately your face shifted into one of worry, and you placed a soft hand over Xiao’s heart. Somehow the gesture was calming, and Xiao closed his eyes, enjoying the receding of the hot bands that had just been restricting him.

“My chest hurt when I saw you with that, that guest. My chest hurt and I felt angry. That’s what’s wrong. My chest hurt, but now it doesn’t; and I don’t understand it.”

There was a pause, and Xiao studied the expressions on your face, watched as they shifted from worry to confusion to caution.

“Xiao, is it possible you were jealous?”

“No.” The idea was somehow insulting.

“It’s alright to be jealous Xiao. It just means you care about someone very much. You don’t have to just dismiss it like that. I want to make sure that you’re alright, so please be honest. Is it possible you were jealous?”

Xiao let another gap form in the conversation, trying to figure out how to answer. The suggestion felt demeaning, felt as if he somehow had no control over himself, no trust of you. And yet it somehow made sense, and even as he shook his head he found himself letting out a different answer.

“I don’t know.”

“It’s okay if you don’t. I know that new emotions can be frightening, can be difficult to deal with. But Xiao, I’ll always love you. It doesn’t matter who else I meet or what else happens in my life. I love you the way that a bird loves the sky. You’re a part of my life I could never lose. So even if this isn’t jealousy, even if I’m wrong, I still want to let you know. I love you.”

Xiao sighed, a smile finally gracing his lips, the pain in his chest finally melting away. What did he ever do to deserve such a person as you, he would never know. He wished he could repeat those words back to you word for word, wished that he could explain that his love for you was all encompassing, had seeped through the cracks of his existence and his life. He wished he could form together the words necessary to convey his love for you. Even if it was impossible he still wished it.

So instead he leaned over towards you. Letting out a gentle sigh he brought his lips to yours, reveling in the soft sensation of your mouth against his, reveling in the way you leaned against him, bringing you arm up to his neck, letting out a soft breath of contentment as the two of you disconnected.

You didn’t ask him anything else, and for the rest of the evening you two sat on the grass, watching the fireflies dance around you as you leaned against one another.

Perhaps Xiao didn’t yet understand the extent to which he loved you, the emotions that had now risen up, given life by the love you’d poured into the adeptus. Perhaps he didn’t understand this yet, but he knew that all would be well. For with you all that irritation seemed so far away, as if it belonged to a Xiao of yesterday. Because here and now you two were together, breathing in the same mutual contentment, the same mutual trust, the same mutual love. And that present was more important than any jealousy could be.

 Zhongli

Looking back on the matter Zhongli admitted that maybe pretending the problem didn’t exist was probably not the best solution.

It was only that you two had seemed so oddly content in talking, so, compatible, that Zhongli couldn’t help but feel a twinge of discontent, a tension that spread through his jaw and down to his stomach. He didn’t quite understand the nature of the emotion that now spread over him, but he did understand that it was connected to the bond that was now forming between you and the vendor in front of you.

“Dearest one.” He spoke softly, walking over to where you now stood.

“Oh, Zhongli!” Your face lit up as usual, and the ex-archon felt a piece of him uncoil. At least some things seemed to be unchanging, just as wonderful today as they had been the day before.

“I’ve been looking for you. I know you spoke of wanting to learn more about the nature of Cor Lapis, and the tea shop has been offering a new brew. Perhaps we could share a drink?”

“Oh that sounds lovely!” Turning around towards the vendor you smiled gently. “I’m sorry, I’ll have to try that lovely soup you were speaking of some other time.”

“Not at all!” The vendor’s smile was good natured, and Zhongli didn’t understand why he nevertheless felt a twinge of uncertainty. “I look forward to it. I hope you two have a nice day, and we’ll talk about it more later.”

Though the stall receded into the distance as the two of you turned the corner, Zhongli couldn’t help but let the moment run through his mind once more, finding it as sore to think about as a bruise might be to the touch.

“That vendor? Oh they’re new on the scene.” You smiled, taking a sip of tea.

The tea house was as calming as ever, the noises of the outside a distant song, and the hushed whispers inside adding to the intimate atmosphere. Zhongli normally loved to sit here, drinking cup after cup of tea, watching as the people came and went about their business, immersed in a small fragment of Liyue life. Now, however, he found he couldn’t stop thinking about the vendor. If he closed his eyes he could still remember their face, and the way yours was lit up while they were talking to you.

“Their name is Eli.” You continued on, oblivious to the way Zhongli’s hand tightened around his teacup. “They said that they set up shop maybe… two weeks ago? It hasn’t been a very long time, and they’re still struggling a bit. I hope that they’ll be able to get their business off the ground, who knew that street food was such a cutthroat world.”

“The city of Liyue is full of people who might make their way in the world, doing whatever they can. Perhaps it is unsurprising that competition is second nature to Liyue’s citizens.” Zhongli replied, hoping his tone wasn’t too curt. If it was you didn’t seem to mind, nodding softly in agreement.

“Speaking of Liyue and stories, perhaps you would like to tell me the story you were going to tell? I very much doubt that Cor Lapis is the blood of Morax.”

“How humans love to spin their stories.” Zhongli chuckled.

But even as he began to speak of jewels and pressure and the minerals that lay deep beneath the earth a bit of him was still preoccupied by the vendor’s easy words and your smiling face.

The next time he ran into you with the vendor the pit in his stomach had only gotten heavier. Standing a little ways away he let the conversation between the two of you flow in and out his ear, frown slipping deeper the more he heard.

“I cannot believe that your stall nearly caught fire on your first day! How unlucky.”

“Even worse that I didn’t know who to try and tell about it. If I had known you were part of the Guild then I would’ve asked you.”

“Well next time there are troubles you can just send a message to the Adventurer’s Guild. We can’t have our citizens being injured on our watch.”

“You sound like true heroes. I wish I could do the sorts of things you did. Your commissions sound fascinating! I would love to see how you go about your day some time.”

“Really it’s nothing, most days it’s quite boring really, just like any other job. Still, it’s nice to know that people have an interest in what we do.”

“Oh certainly! I find what you do very interest– ”

“My dearest one!” Zhongli called out, unable to continue listening to the conversation, feeling somewhat guilty and certainly upset. You turned slightly, smile brightening as you saw your partner.

“Zhongli! So sorry that I didn’t meet you outside your office, I must’ve lost track of the time. Eli here was telling me all about their first days at work.”

“I’m sorry that I got out late. I hope that you did not have to wait awhile.”

“Oh not at all Zhongli, like I said I’ve just been standing here. You don’t need to feel bad at all!”

“I’m glad. Perhaps now we can go?”

Zhongli attempted to smile, but it felt a lot more like a grimace. You stared at him, face the picture of confusion. Taking a step forward you glanced one more time at Eli, shrugging apologetically. Before any more words could be passed between the two of you Zhongli grabbed onto your hand. Walking quite quickly he didn’t let go until the two of you were at your apartment and he could finally breathe again.

“Zhongli, what’s the matter with you?” You asked, closing the apartment door behind you. Walking back towards Zhongli, who stood there silently, you let your hands rest lightly on his shoulders. “You can tell me you know, I can tell you’re unhappy.”

“I have a confession.” Zhongli started, feeling somehow compelled to reveal his thoughts, as if keeping them locked away would only be dangerous.

“Yes?”

“I, I did not like the way that the vendor spoke to you.”

“Eli? But they were perfectly nice.”

“I do not mean that they were rude. They were perfectly cordial. I mean, when the two of you were speaking, I, I felt uncomfortable. It was as if there was a barrier between us in that moment. I, I did not like it.”

“Oh Zhongli.” You breathed out, an indulgent smile on your face.

Reaching up you planted fleeting kisses on the archon’s face, peppering his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, touch featherlight. It was a familiar gesture, one of comfort, one used in darker nights, when shadows dotted the periphery of Zhongli’s vision.

“Zhongli, I assume you know what jealousy is?”

“I know the term and what it means. I admit I am not personally familiar with the concept.”

“Well I am, so let me tell you. What you experienced, that was jealousy, plain and simple. I know it’s very uncomfortable. Jealousy can be such a messy feeling, it sticks everywhere. But it’s also normal. So you don’t need to worry. I promise that nothing will happen, and I promise that these feelings would go away. I also promise that I love you very much, so even if you feel these emotions, you don’t have to worry.”

“How could I ever worry about you?” Zhongli murmured, wrapping his arms around you, basking in your proximity.

The apology only came in the evening, after words and kisses and love had hung long enough in the air to dull the feelings that Zhongli had been carrying around. Now he lay there next to you, chin resting gently on your head, suddenly realizing that he’d most likely acted quite rudely.

“I’m sorry I ignored Eli.”

“I’m sure they’ll understand.” You murmured. “Though I’m not actually sure what got you riled up about them.”

“You are also a bit oblivious dearest one,” Zhongli let out a soft laugh, “it seems they were quite taken with you.”

“Were they?” You asked, tone betraying your surprise. You paused for a moment, as if trying to replay your interactions. “I never noticed. To be honest, I don’t think I could ever notice, not when I have you.”

“Thank you.” Zhongli whispered, oddly overcome by the confession.

As he lay awake, carding gentle fingers through your hair and listening to the even breaths of your sleeping form he pondered just how lucky he was. Precious gems might come from pressure and earth and chance. But you were more precious than all of them. And he’d never forget that.

[silkling]

Au prompts

No rush, just throwin some thoughts out

I really like your falsely accused au, any more of that would be consumed as if it were the finest chocolate

(More g1 ish) Prowl is SpecOps in some way not just a strat-tac mech (love me some BAMF Prowl)

Prowl has a secret identity, and his pseudonym is that of a reknown orchestral composer. Meanwhile Jazz thinks Prowl knows jack sh*t about music....maybe Prowl writes him a symphony as a surprise anniversary (could be bonding or maybe a post war milestone) gift? (This is indulgent fluff of mine that i think about but never actually write XD)

No worries, friend! The falsely accused AU will return soon! I’m debating whether I should make a long fic for the next reveal or keep it short like I did the first one. I plan to have things in this AU change the canon at large, so prepare for that. :P

As for your other prompts, how about I mash ‘em together? :D

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Prowl hadn’t always been involved in battle tactics. When he’d come online, he had realized that his tac-net was good for organizing and structuring and controlling anything large and complicated. Most bots assumed that meant a battlefield, or something else to that degree. It was why he’d initially joined the Praxus Enforcer Corps. He had excelled there, and his tac-net had helped him cut crime rates down to a tiny fraction of what they’d once been. But…after he’d done that, and his programs and procedures were in place and settled, things had calmed and he’d had nothing to do. He had hated it. So, in an effort to break up the monotony, he’d gone to view an orchestra performance. After that, he’d been hooked. He’d watched the conductor control and guide the flow of the music and the musicians, and his processor had roared to life.

The next day, he’d handed in his formal resignation from the Enforcers, and had been allowed to leave with full honors. His Chief knew he hadn’t been happy, knew he’d been stagnating. Highwire had only wished him luck before she’d sent him off. Then, Prowl had devoted himself to music. He learned all he could, and slowly, agonizingly slowly, he’d managed to work his way from a music writer, to a small time musician, to a small time conductor. And then he had had his first show as a proper orchestra conductor, small and non-essential as it was, and his tac-net had settled and quieted, it’s systems purring as it allowed him to direct the flow of the orchestra with perfect precision. He hadn’t known at the time, but his show had been watched by one of the most well-known and oldest conductors on Cybertron. After his show, Treble had approached him and introduced himself, and offered to take Prowl on as a protege.

He had agreed, and his next show had been bigger. He’d written the music himself, the orchestra he was conducting was much larger, and Treble had used his vast influence to promote it. That was the first time he’s taken to the stage as Baton. He had decided shortly after he’d begun training under Treble that he didn’t want to use his real name when on stage. He enjoyed his privacy, and if all of Cybertron knew Prowl as a conductor he wouldn’t get much peace. So, on stage, he was Baton, and as Baton he also used a temporary paint to change his colors and used some fabric to drape over shoulders and hips. It was enough to disguise him.

And to his delight, his first show had been a massive hit. His tac-net had enjoyed this even more, the larger scale giving him more to work with, more to control and direct, and he reveled in it. Then, after the show, Treble had revealed to the audience that Baton had written all the music that had been played that night, and with that single performance his career was set. Over the following vorns, he’d grown more and more popular, and he’d eventually finished his tutelage under Treble. As time passed, he’d quickly become the most well known conductor on Cybertron. His orchestra had grown too, and had become known as the largest on the planet. Prowl, or rather Baton, led a orchestra of over a thousand mechs and femmes through songs he himself wrote. He had loved every minute of it.

Prowl wasn’t an emotional mech. In fact, emotion was something he struggled with. He thrived on order and structure, and emotions were not organized or structured, but music…music was. And music was also emotional. Through music, he had been able to give his emotions the order and structure he desperately needed in order to express them properly. Prowl had loved his life as Baton. It wasn’t grand, and he didn’t serve much of a higher purpose, but he brought joy to his orchestra, and to his audience, and for him that was enough.

But then…the whispers started. Now, Prowl wasn’t a fool. Most mechs who hadn’t been involved in the inner workings of Cybertron would claim that Megatron had risen from practically nothing and started the war on on his own. He knew that wasn’t true. Megatron had risen from a well-established foundation, a foundation that had built itself long before he gunmetal warlord had even given thought to revolution and war. No, the war had started millennia before the rise of the Decepticons. It had started on the quiet whispers among the lower castes, it had started on the stirrings of the beaten down and the starving. It had started at the rising tide of outrage and horror in face of the Senate’s cruel and extreme punishments for any tiny hit to their authority. It had started in the discontent at the tighter and tighter stranglehold the Senate had began to employ as they grabbed for and more power for themselves, and more and more of the mechs in lower society suffered and died. No, the war didn’t start with Megatron. Megatron was merely the catalyst. If he hadn’t come along and done what he had, Prowl had no doubts that a full scale revolt would have occurred. The fuel for the war had already soaked into the roots of Cybertron. Megatron had only been the spark that lit the blaze,

Prowl had heard the whispers, the growing discontent. He’d seen how the civil unrest got worse with each passing stellar cycle. He knew it was only a matter of time before something in his life changed again. So, when Covert approached him, he hadn’t been surprised. She told him she was the head of an independent group of Special Ops bots, unaffiliated with any political group and who worked only to keep Cybertron as a whole safe and stable. They weren’t much liked by the Senate, since they were not under any mech’s control, but the Senate also couldn’t do anything about them since, apparently, the group had been operating as they had since before the Senate itself had even existed. Covert had told him she’d seen some of his shows, seen the way he directed the orchestra, and she had dug in and found his public records as Prowl. She’d read about what he’d done as an Enforcer, had read about what information there was available on his tac-net, and realized she needed him. She told him that the civil unrest was growing worse, that things were even more dire than they appeared on the surface. That she wanted him to join her, to train him as an agent and a spy, and she wanted him to use his tac-net and his other abilities to help keep Cybertron safe.

Prowl had floundered. He understood why she was doing it. His logic centers agreed that her points were sound, that it would be best for everyone’s future if he went with her. His tac-net ran probability outcomes, spitting out percentages at him of what would happen if he accepted her offer, what would happen if he didn’t, what would happen if the unrest grew to proper war and what would happen if war could not be contained or controlled. The numbers weren’t good. His logic centers had screamed even louder at him to accept. His emotional cortex had protested. He didn’t want to leave his orchestra, his music. But…he was needed. As much as he loved what he was now…he couldn’t let others suffer if he had a way to help. So, with a heavy spark, he had taken her hand.

The next day had come, and Prowl had announced to the world as Baton that he was temporarily leaving the music scene. Baton was having issues with his health, and until they were resolved he would not write music or conduct again. And so with the well-wishes of fans and his musicians alike, Baton faded into the background of Prowl’s spark, and Operative had taken his place. Once again, he had had to disguise himself. This time, he’d taken more permanent measures, a dark blue visor and a battle mask that covered the lower half of his face. A radical paint change, and even alterations to his armor itself to make him sleeker and slimmer. Covert herself had trained him, and shortly thereafter he had gone on his first mission. Prowl had found he had a natural aptitude for spy work. He was small, quick, and stealthy, and he had a knack for processing, deconstructing, and disseminating information. It didn’t take long for him to become known as one of the most accomplished SpecOps agents on the planet. It also wasn’t long before he took his first life. He still remembered that mech’s face. It haunted him, in ways his subsequent kills didn’t. After that, he had also been sent on the occasional assassination, though his work as a spy always came first.

And then, just has he had predicted…war.

It had erupted swiftly and violently, and it wasn’t long before his unit had been forced to make a choice. Most of the agents had allowed themselves to be folded into the ranks of Autobot SpecOps. Prowl, or rather Operative, had not. He had continued to act independently, knowing that if he joined the Autobots officially and his affiliation was known in the event of possible capture by Decepticons, it would make things worse, so he’d remained officially neutral. Though, most of his work had been for the benefit of Cybertron’s neutrals and civilians, with information tossed to the Autobots occasionally.

It was his acting in this way that allowed him to prevent a larger tragedy from occurring in Praxus. He had had to fight Soundwave to get to the information, and he’d taken out all the mech’s cassettes and shattered his optics in the resulting fight, and he had managed to get the information about the attack on his home city. He hadn’t been able to stop it, but he’d sent the information along with a warning ahead to the city itself and to the Autobots. It had allowed Praxus to evacuate all its Youth Centers and even a fair amount of its civilian citizens before the city was destroyed. He hadn’t been able to save his home from being razed to the ground, but his actions had saved the next generation of Praxus’s children.

It was shortly after that that Covert, now head of Autobot SpecOps, had approached him again. The head of the Autobot Tactical Division had recently been offlined, and the faction was starting to buckle and struggle in their fights. Prowl had known what he had to do. So, once more, Operative had retreated to the shadows of his spark, and Prowl had stepped forward as himself for the first time since his days as an Enforcer. Covert had taken him directly to the Prime, where she’d laid out his life story and explained the situation. Together, the three of the, had created two files for him. One, that detailed his life as Prowl and as an Enforcer, and everything he’d accomplished as one, which would be open for public access. The other, which contained the life he’d lived and the things he’d done as Operative, would only be a accessible to Prime and himself, and the head of SpecOps with previous permission from the Prowl of Optimus. Baton would not be put into any files at his request, since at the time he’d been a civilian. He wanted to keep his happiest times to himself.

And then, Covert had been offlined in a mission, and her second in command had taken her place. That was when Prowl had met Jazz. Their initial meeting had been….less than stellar.

(“So, yer the head of Tactics? Gotta say, I’m surprised an Enforcer managed to do anythin’ worth much to a military group like this one. Didn’t think workin’ petty criminals on the streets would translate to bein’ able to lead proper soldiers.”

Rage, quick and burning.

“And I am surprised a mech as carefree as yourself is capable of leading a group like SpecOps. Doesn’t that require delicacy?”)

After that, their relationship had been…rocky. It didn’t help that Jazz couldn’t access Prowl’s sealed file. Not that the mech necessarily knew the file was about Prowl, he just knew it involved the tactician in some way. Still, it had taken them a few vorns before they’d been able to patch up their relationship and work things out. And after that point…things had simply grown. Prowl had come to realize that Jazz was an easy mech to get along with. He was pleasant and adaptable, and he didn’t push beyond the Praxian’s comfort zone. He was also fiercely intelligent, and Prowl had been delighted to learn that the saboteur was actually a rather brilliant tactician in his own right. In fact, because Jazz understood emotions and the inner workings of a bots’s mind better than Prowl, it wasn’t uncommon for him to go to the Polyhexian for advice on his plans if he felt it was needed. It was also why he never took it too personally if Jazz ever criticized his proposed plans in meetings.

Things had kept moving forward, and forward, until…

(“Ya look real pretty under the stars, there, Prowler.”

“I believe I told you not to call me that.”

A frame, settling next to him.

“Ain’t gonna stop me, mech.”

“No, I suppose not.”

Silence, then a breath.

“Can I kiss ya, Prowl?”

More silence. A huff, and a smile.

“I would like that very much, Jazz.”)

Their relationship had taken work. They had been friends first, which certainly helped, but they were both mechs of secrets. Jazz’s secrets were a byproduct of his work, and Prowl’s a byproduct of his life. It had taken time for them to accept and understand that some such secrets are okay. Eventually, they had worked it out, and their bond had only grown. Prowl was startled at just how easy it was to love Jazz, just how easy it was to give his spark to the other mech and not fear it being hurt. Jazz was…a soft lover. He was gentle and doting and so tender it almost made Prowl ache. One of his favorite things was curling up into Jazz’s chest, the spy’s hands smoothing over his doorwings as they simply enjoyed each other’s closeness and affection.

It was peaceful. A type of peace he hadn’t known since before Operative. Perhaps, one he’d never really known at all. They were strong together, with Prowl as the Autobot SIC and Jazz the TIC. They had the trust of their Prime, and the respect of their soldiers. The Decepticons hadn’t had the upper hand in centuries. So, their next step was only logical, given how rare joy was in these days, and how little they knew of the certainty of their own future.

(“My Spark and your spark, forever as one.”

“Bonded together, until the stars wink out and the world collapses.”

“In this life and the next, I am yours, as you are mine.”

“For all of eternity, I shall remain at your side, and you shall remain at mine.”)

They bonded. Under the eyes of Optimus and with the approval of their Prime, they bound their very sparks, tying themselves together for the rest of time. They had asked to keep the information secret. Only the Officers on Optimus’s personal team knew. And so that way they stayed, until the war forced them from their home. Prowl hadn’t ever expected to wake, after the crash. But he did. And Jazz, too. Everyone had. So, the war continued, only now it was on a small organic planet rich with energon. Prowl was only slightly surprised that the scale and brutality of the war was much, much less here.

But then….things went wrong. They had been on Earth for several of the planet’s years when the DJD had come. Apparently, they were only there to drop off a traitor for Megatron to deal with. But then Tarn had decided he wanted to do his Lord one more favor, and…Jazz’s team had been captured on a supply run. The rest of the base quickly gave up hope. No one wanted to fight the DJD, and even if they did no one was sure there was even anything left of their comrades to rescue. Prowl knew, though. He still felt the echo of Jazz’s spark brushing his.

So, for the first time in mega-cycles…Operative roared to the forefront. Prowl returned to the room he shared with Jazz, opening the secret compartment behind his desk that not even Jazz had been aware off. In it, was everything he needed to become Operative again, as well as anything he had kept that had to do with Operative as a whole. He removed the visor from its case, clicking it onto his face, and his battle mask slid out in three pieces from the armor at his chin and cheeks to cover his mouth and nose. He grabbed the pain from the small compartment, covering his current colors in quick, sure movements. Then, he put everything back and retreated to the shadows, leaving the base and driving off.

He knew where the DJD’s ship was. He knew how they operated. They wouldn’t take Jazz’s team to Megatron until they had worthwhile information to go along with it. He also knew that Tarn was the only one who was on board, having done preliminary probing earlier that day. Now, it was time to act. He drove in silence, until he finally arrived at his location. It didn’t take him long to find a way into the ship. It was one of the external vents, usually used for pumping contaminated air out of the ship. If he was careful, he could force it open and sneak in.

Once he had entered the ship, he stuck to corners and shadows, doorwings angled upwards and sensors dialed up to their max in order to pick up the minute charge that signaled where any cameras were. Using that, the was able to avoid detection, until he got to the brig. He saw the team there, but more importantly, Jazz was there. They were all a little roughed up, and he knew he had to hurry. He had already sent a short message back to base informing them of his mission and telling them to come for retrieval. He knew he’d get into some trouble for his rogue actions, but at the moment he didn’t care.

Looking over the team, he realized his initial plan wouldn’t work. He had hoped to sneak them back through the ship, but they were all injured in some manner or another and he could tell they wouldn’t be able to pull their processors together enough to be as stealthy as they needed to be. Which left Plan B. Explosives. He pulled one of his favorite explosive disks from his subspace, setting the timer and sticking it to the far wall of the brig. He activated it, then hurried to open the cell door. At his reveal, three sets of tired optics locked onto him. Immediately, recognition flickered. They knew Operative from the stories, even if none of them had ever met him in person. He was a SpecOps legend, after all.

He gestured quickly, making a motion to where the explosive was ticking, and hurried in to help Jazz up. He was the most injured of the three, and Mirage quickly moved to his other side to help keep the saboteur steady. The four mech group hurried as fast as they were able out of the cell, and the explosive went off. It took out the ship wall, and then they were dragging themselves to freedom. The impact with the ground was rough, and he knew their time was limited. Tarn would be coming to investigate soon, and he had to buy time until the retrieval team arrived. He managed to get the three SpecOps mechs settled against a large boulder, just as he heard heavy pede steps approaching behind him.

He straightened, turning around and lifting his gaze to meet Tarn optics-to-visor.

“So,” Tarn hummed, tilting his head. “The fabled Operative makes his return. You know, it was always assumed you’d perished before the war left Cybertron.” He said smoothly.

He said nothing, expression unreadable behind mask and visor. His posture gave nothing away, either. Under the light of the sun, his deep blue and burnt copper colors seemed to absorb the light. His wings were held at a neutral angle, though they were tilted just so to pick up any signals or changes in the air. His hands were folded behind his back, and he merely stared at the larger mech in front of him.

There was a long beat of silence, and then it was broken by the sound of approaching engines.

Neither mech looked away.

He heard the sound of transformation behind him, and heard Ironhide’s gruff voice speaking to the three downed Autobots. It was as he heard movement indicating they were being pulled away that Tarn finally shifted. It drew the attention of the retrieval team, who up to that point had been more focused on getting their comrades to safety and had been ignoring the SpecOps mechs attempts to make them look at the other two bots present. He could feel the static of Ironhide’s surprise on his doorwing sensors, and he heard Hound let out a frazzled exclamation of surprise.

“Who-“ Ironhide’s began, but Jazz was the one who cut him off.

“Operative. That’s Operative.”

“Who?”

“The greatest spy Cybertron has ever known.” Tarn said, voice oily and dark. “Responsible for revealing Senator Crankshaft’s illegal activities, for breaking up the slave trading ring in Uraya, and most known for stealing the information from the Decepticons that allowed Praxus to save its Sparklings and Younglings.”

There was silence, before Trailbreaker’s voice could be heard. “Holy scrap, one mech did all that?”

“That, and much, much more.” Jazz spoke, voice rough. “Operative is a legend, ‘Hide. And he may not be one of ours, but he is on our side.”

At that, he merely dipped his head in acknowledgment of his bonded’s words. He still didn’t remove his gaze from Tarn.

“Well, and enlightening as this was,” Tarn spoke, taking a step towards the Autobots. “I’d like my prisoners back now, though I certainly wouldn’t mind bringing more Autobot helms to my Lord.” he all but purred, one servo lifting.

It was then that he moved. The Praxian flared his wings, and the armor in his back shifted and made way for hidden boosters. They flared to life, and he sped forward faster than anyone could react, grabbing a length of metal wire from his sub space as he blurred towards Tarn. He snatched the ‘Con’s wrist, dropping his weight down to force Tarn over, and as he moved he slid between the larger mech’s legs while looping the wire around the caught wrist. In the same movement, he slammed his other elbow into the back of Tarn’s knee, forcing it to buckle, and then he twisted and threw his weight, tossing the purple mech to the ground with a heavy, hard impact.

Before he could move, he was rolling on his heels, a wrist flicking and sending a sharp knife into his palm from the sheath hidden in his forearm, and he used the hand still holding the wire to quickly loop the rest of its length around Tarn’s neck. Hand freed, he grabbed the arm the Decepticon was trying to use to get up, twisting it and forcing him onto his front with one arm trapped under his own weight, and pressed a knee to his spinal strut. He finished it by pressing the tip of the sharp blade to the back of Tarn’s head, right into a chink in the heavy armor and against the fragile protoform underneath. Like this, it would be all to easy to force the blade forward and straight into Tarn’s processor. It would kill him in an instant, and it was a maneuver he could pull off before Tarn would be able to throw him off, since positioned like he was, he could feel every shift and tense in the larger mech’s frame. The whole thing had taken barley 10 seconds.

“You will be taking no prisoners today.” he said tonelessly. “You will leave. I will not hesitate to offline your should you attempt otherwise.”

There was silence, and then a low chuckle rose from the trapped ‘Con. “My, I am surprised. It’s been a long time since I’ve been so soundly beaten. It seemed rumors of your skill weren’t exaggerated. Though, what can I expect, from the mech who offlined Sentinel Prime?”

He pressed the knife down harder, engine rumbling in warning as he tried to ignore the gasps from the Autobots behind them.

Tarn clearly got the message. “Alright, little mech. I’m leaving.” he agreed.

He stayed where he was for only a moment, then shifted off the larger mech. As Tarn stood, the blade flashed around him to slice through the wire, and then Operative was moving away.

“Go.” the spy stated, voice cold.

Tarn only chuckled once more, turning a speculative look on to the group in front him, before he boarded his ship. A few moments later, it took off.

“Did you really offline Sentinel Prime?” It was Hound.

He turned, then tilted his head. “I did.”

“Why?” Mirage’s voice was rough, his tone demanding.

“Sentinel was corrupt.” To everyone’s surprise, it was Jazz who spoke. “He not only was aware of the Senate’s actions before the war, he approved and even took part himself. He let the power of the Matrix and the Primacy go to his helm, and he stopped protectin’ and leadin’ Cybertron like he should’ve.” he rasped. “Prime told me. He said Sentinel’s death wasn’t the tragedy the media made it out to be. The Matrix showed him some o’ the stuff the old mech did, and apparently it would be enough to disgust even the Unmaker himself.”

There was shocked silence, and Trailbreaker’s voice was weak. “Seriously?”

“Sentinel Prime was not a true Prime. He was chosen by the Senate and by the Prime before him, not by the Matrix. Before Optimus Prime, there had not been a true Prime since the last of the Thirteen.” Operative revealed.

“How do you know that?” Mirage demanded.

His question was met with a stony silence.

The Towers mech bristled, looking ready to say something else, and then Ironhide’s cleared his throat. “Right. Well. We gotta get these guys back to base.” He turned to the Praxian. “What about you?”

“My mission is done. I will take my leave now.” he said. Then paused. “You will find your second in command back at your base.” And then he slipped backwards into the shadows of a nearby cliff and was gone.

“Wait, how the Pit did he even know it was Prowl who’s missing and sent that message?”

“It’s Operative, Hound.” Skids, the final member of the missing team, sounded tired as he spoke. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he knows every Autobot and Deception secret.”

========================

Back at base, the missing team had been patched up and were recovering in the medbay. It was midnight, and Mirage and Skids were deep in recharge. Jazz was not. He was waiting. Soon, a mech slipped from the shadows, blue and copper colors had changed to black and white, and the visor and mask were both gone. Jazz turned to stare are his bondmate approached, his optics unreadable behind his visor.

“So.” he murmured. “Yer Operative. I’m guessing that’s what’s in that file you never let me get into. Did Covert know?”

“She was the one who recruited me.” Prowl answered. His spark felt heavy and he couldn’t meet Jazz’s gaze. “I’m sorry.”

Jazz hummed, going quiet. “Not gonna lie, Prowler. I’m a little hurt.” he sighed. “But…I get it.” Prowl turned startled optics to his mate. “I’m SpecOps too, remember? I know how important secrets are. Plus, I can understand why you wouldn’t say anythin’. The war needs Prowl the tactician, not Operative the spy.” he mused. “Sure, Operative would help big time, but the Autobots can survive without him, we can’t survive without you, Prowl.”

The Praxian was quiet for a moment, and then his doorwings slumped in relief and he reached out to curl his hand around Jazz’s fingers. “I’m relieved. I was worried you would wish to have nothing to do with me.” he whispered.

Jazz softened. His visor slid away, revealing shining, open optics. “Never, lover.” he purred. “‘Until the stars wink out and the world collapses’, remember? Now pull up a chair and sit. I get the feelin’ you need the closeness as much as I do.”

Prowl did just as Jazz asked, once he’d gotten settled, he folded one arm on the edge of the medical berth, resting his helm on it and once more curling the fingers of his other hand into Jazz’s.

That night, the two bonded mechs recharged just like that, assured once more of their love and devotion for one another.

========================

A couple weeks later, and Jazz had been released from the medbay, given strict orders to finish his recovery in his room. He was on medical leave until such time that Ratchet said otherwise. Prowl had an plan, though. The anniversary of their bonding was today, and he knew his mate loved music of all kinds. He was ready to share his final and more treasured secret with the spy. But he wanted to do more than just tell him the truth. He wanted to show Jazz exactly how much he meant to him. He had a plan for that. He had spent the past many, many days writing a piece of music for the first time since he’d been forced to leave his life as Baton behind. Once he’d finished, he’d just needed a way to play it.

He didn’t have a Cybertronian orchestra, and the few Cybertronian instruments available wouldn’t be enough for a piece of this scale, which left…an Earth orchestra. And luckily for him, he knew exactly what do to. A couple years back, Prowl had rescued a famous human conductor, and had offered him a ride to his home. It was on the way he’d ended up revealing he too had once been a conductor, as his spark had been aching to reminisce with someone who understood, and the two had bonded. Zachary, the human, had been ecstatic when he learned that Prowl wrote his own music. He had told that Autobot that if he ever wrote something again, he would be glad and honored to have his orchestra play it.

Prowl had taken him up on the offer the moment he’d finished piece. They had organized it, and Prowl had even written in a piece for a Cybertronian instrument to be included, which he himself would play. It had taken days of practice but Zachary, the orchestra, and Prowl had managed to play the full song. It wasn’t anything like a Cybertronian symphony, but…Prowl had a feeling Jazz would love it all the same. They’d recorded the full piece for Prowl to take with him, and the Autobot had promised to write Zachary a song as well when the human had come to him after the performance, teary eyed and awed.

Now, it was the morning of their anniversary, and Prowl rose first. He had to get to work, but he knew Jazz was still bed bound. He simply wrote quick note, and left his gift on Jazz’s bedside before leaving. All day, his processor raced and raced. Would Jazz like the gift? Would he recognize that it was a Baton piece even if the instrumentation was different? Did he even know who Baton was? For once, Prowl found his work to be lacking, and by the time he was heading back to their room that night his logic center and emotional cortex were clashing horribly.

The door to his room opened as he stopped in front of it, and closed when he stepped inside. Immediately, blue optics slid to the form on the berth. Jazz was staring at him, visor gone and gaze intense. The mech slowly shifted out of the berth, and Prowl was frozen where he stood. Jazz approached him, and then he pulled the Praxian into a hard kiss.

When they separated several moments later, Jazz’s voice shook. “Did you know,” he whispered. “That Baton was my first crush? I saw his first performance, before his name was known to the public and before Treble took him under wing. I’ve loved him ever since. When he took a break, and then the war happened, I always figured he’d been offlined.” he whispered. “Then I met you.” he grinned, his expression so open and adoring it made Prowl’s spark ache. “And you became my first true love.” he leaned in to kiss his mate fiercely more before pulling back. “You know what that means, my spark?”

“What?” Prowl asked, voice soft.

“It means,” He purred. “That I’ve always loved you, since the moment I first saw you, even if I didn’t know you were you.”

Prowl blinked, then laughed, staticky and relieved. “You liked the music, then?” he asked. He hoped Jazz understood what he had been saying with the symphony. He’d written it from the spark.

Jazz just grinned, kissing him firmly once more before dragging him back to the berth. “It was perfect, lover. Just perfect.” he smiled. He got them both settled on the berth, tucked in close to one another. “And Prowl?”

“Hm?”

“I love you too.”

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Stormlight Archive Epigraphs (8) - The Unmade

These are mainly from Oathbringer Part 4 (excerpts from Hessi’s Mythica), but some are from other epigraph sections. I’m organizing them into general information and information on each of the 9 specific Unmade.

Notes below include small spoilers for pre-released chapters of Rhythm of War, as well as for the other books.

This is the last of the epigraph posts for the first three books! Hopefully these will be helpful for me when I’m reading Rhythm of War.

The Unmade are:

- 3 intelligent, with personalities: Yelig-nar (Blightwind; confers forms of power on Listeners/Singers), Sja-anat (corrupts spren), Re-Shephir (The Midnight Mother; creates shadow-monsters in imitation of living things)

- 3 mindless: Nergaoul (The Thrill), Moelach (causes ‘death rattles’, visions of the future by the dying), Ashertmarn (The Heart of the Revel)

- 3 we know little about: Ba-Ado-Mishram, Chemoarish (The Dustmother), Dai-Gonarthis (The Black Fisher)

The Unmade, in General

My research into the Unmade has convinced me that these things were not simply “spirits of the void” or “nine shadows who moved in the night.” They were each a specific kind of spren, endowed with vast powers. - Mythica, p3

I have done my best to separate fact from fiction, but the two blend like mixing paint when the Voidbringers are involved. Each of the Unmade has a dozen names, and the powers ascribed to them range from the fanciful to the terrifying. - Mythica, p4

I should point out that although many personalities and motives are ascribed to them, I’m convinced that the Unmade were still spren. As such, they were as much manifestations of concepts or divine forces as they were individuals. - Mythica, p7

The most important point I wish to make is that the Unmade are still among us. I realize this will be contentious, as much of the lore surrounding them is intertwined with theology. However, it is clear to me that some of their effects are common in the world - and we simply treat them as we would the manifestations of other spren. - Mythica, p12

The Unmade are a deviation, a flair, a conundrum that may not be worth your time. You cannot help but think of them. They are fascinating. Many are mindless. Like the spren of human emotions, only much more nasty. I do believe a few can think, however. - Taravangian’s Diagram, Book of the 2nd Desk Drawer: paragraph 14.

Yelig-nar (Blightwind)

Yelig-nar, called Blightwind, was one that could speak like a man, though his voice was often accompanied by the wails of those he consumed.

- The Unmade were obviously fabrications of folklore. Curiously, most were not considered individuals, but instead personifications of kinds of destruction. This quote is from Traxil, line 33, considered a primary source, though I doubt its authenticity. (Jasnah Kholin’s notes)

Traxil mentions Yelig-nar, named Blightwind, in an oft-cited quote. Though Jasnah Kholin has famously called its accuracy into question, I believe it. -Mythica, p26

Yelig-nar had great powers, perhaps the powers of all Surges compounded into one. He could transform any Voidbringer into an extremely dangerous enemy. Curiously, three legends I found mention swallowing a gemstone to engage this process. - Mythica, p27.

Yelig-nar is said to consume souls, but I can’t find a specific explanation. I’m uncertain this lore is correct. - Mythica, p51

Sja-anat (corrupts spren): present in Kholinar in OB

Of the Unmade, Sja-anat was most feared by the Radiants. They spoke extensively of her ability to corrupt spren, though only “lesser” spren - whatever that means. - Mythica, p89

I would assume that ‘lesser’ spren means, ‘not the type of spren that Radiants bind’. If so, the corruption of Renarin’s spren indicates that Sja-anat has either overcome this limitation, or it never actually existed.

Lore suggested leaving a city if the spren there start acting strangely. Curiously, Sja-anat was often regarded as an individual, when others - like Moelach or Ashertmarn - were seen as forces. - Mythica, p90

One is almost certainly a traitor to the others. - Taravangian’s Diagram, Book of the 2nd Desk Drawer: paragraph 27

This is commonly assumed to be in reference to the Unmade, due to being in the same location in the Diagram as Taravangian’s other thoughts on the Unmade.  It is also commonly assumed to be Sja-anat; the pre-released chapters of ROW confirm that that is the case.

I don’t trust this at all.  Even if Sja-anat is pursuing different goals from the other Unmade (to the extent that the mindless ones can be said to be pursuing ‘goals’), I highly doubt that her goals are in line with the best interests of either humanity or the Listeners/Singers. She might be attempting to corrupt additional Radiant spren? (Alternatively, maybe her ‘corrupted’ spren correspond to ones that would bind Listeners/Singers? But that seems less likely; I think it’s more likely that there are still some original ‘Singer-based’ spren - i.e., based on Singer rather than human ideas - that will bond with Singers.) Anyway, ROW will focus heavily on spren, so we’ll probably see more about this.

Re-Shephir (The Midnight Mother): driven out of Urithiru by Shallan, OB

Re-Shephir, the Midnight Mother, is another Unmade who appears to have been destroyed at Aharietiam. - Mythica, p250

The Midnight Mother created monsters of shadow and oil, dark imitations of creatures she saw or consumed. Their description matches no spren I can find in modern literature.- Mythica, p252

Re-Shephir, the Midnight Mother, giving birth to abominations with her essence so dark, so terrible, so consuming. She is here! She watches me die! - Dated Shashabev, 1173, 8 seconds pre-death. Subject: a dark-eyed dockworker in his forties, father of three.

Dalinar’s first vision in TWOK (Chapter 19) features shadow-monsters in the shape of dogs that I think are most likely attributable to Re-Shephir.

Nergaoul (The Thrill): various locations; captured as of OB

Nergaoul was known for driving forces into a battle rage, lending them great ferocity. Curiously, he did this to both sides of a conflict, Voidbringer and human. This seems common of the less self-aware spren. - Mythica, p121

I am convinced that Nergaoul is still active on Roshar. The accounts of the Alethi “Thrill” of battle align too well with ancient records - including the visions of red mist and dying creatures. - Mythica, p140

Ashertmarn (The Heart of the Revel): present in Kholinar in OB

Ashertmarn, the Heart of the Revel, is the final of the three great mindless Unmade. His gift to men is not prophecy or battle focus, but a lust for indulgence. Indeed, the great debauchery recorded from the court of Bayala in 480 - which led to dynastic collapse - might be attributable to the influence of Ashertmarn. - Mythica, p203

Moelach (causes ‘death rattles’): various locations

Moelach is very similar to Nergaoul, though instead of inspiring a battle rage, he supposedly granted visions of the future. In this, lore and theology align. Seeing the future originates with the Unmade, and is from the enemy. - Mythica, p143

Moelach was said to grant visions of the future at different times - but most commonly at the transition point between realms. When a soul was nearing the Tranquiline Halls. - Mythica, p144

Many cultures speak of the so-called Death Rattles that sometimes overtake people as they die. Tradition ascribes them to the Almighty, but I find too many to be seemingly prophetic. This will be my most contentious assertion I am sure, but I think these are the effects of Moelach persisting in our current times. Proof is easy to provide: the effect is regionalized, and tends to move across Roshar. This is the roving of the Unmade. - Mythica, p170

There is one you will watch. Though all of them have some relevance to precognition, Moelach is one of the most powerful in this regard. His touch seeps into a soul as it breaks apart from the body, creatung manifestations powered by the spark of death itself. But no, this is a distraction. Deviation. Kingship. We must discuss the nature of kingship. - Taravangian’s Diagram, Book of the 2nd desk drawer: paragraph 15

Ba-Ado-Mishram

I find Ba-Ado-Mishram to be the most interesting of the Unmade. She is said to have been keen of mind, a highprincess among the enemy forces, their commander during some of the Desolations. I do not know how this relates to the ancient god of the enemy, named Odium. - Mythica, p224

There is very little information about Ba-Ado-Mishram in more modern times. I can only assume she, unlike many of them, returned to Damnation or was destroyed during Aharietiam. - Mythica, p226

Ba-Ado-Mishram has somehow Connected with the parsh people, as Odium once did. She provides Voidlight and facilitates forms of power. Our strike team is going to imprison her. - From drawer 30-20, fourth emerald [Truthwatcher]

This is very interesting, as it indicates that it was the imprisonment of Ba-Ado-Mishram that effectively lobotomized the Singers into the parsh. It also indicates that she, not just Yelig-nar, can confer forms of power.

Chemoarish (The Dustmother)

Chemoarish, the Dustmother, has some of the most varied lore surrounding her. The wealth of it makes sorting lies from truths extremely difficult. I do believe she is not the Nightwatcher, contrary to what some stories claim. - Mythica, p231

Dai-Gonarthis (The Black Fisher)

It will not take a careful reader to ascertain I have listed only eight of the Unmade here. Lore is confident that there were nine, an unholy number, asymmetrical and often associated with the enemy. - Mythica, p266

I am certain there are nine Unmade. There are many legends and names that I could have misinterpreted, conflating two Unmade into one. In the next section, I will discuss my theories on this. - Mythica, p266

If I’m correct and my research true, then the question remains. Who is the ninth Unmade? Is it truly Dai-Gonarthis? If so, could their actions have actually caused the complete destruction of Aimia? - Mythica, p307

Let me no longer hurt! Let me no longer weep! Dai-Gonarthis! The Black Fisher holds my sorrow and consumes it! - Tanatesach, 1173, 28 second pre-death. A darkeyed female street juggler. Note similarity to sample 1172-89.

This interests me particularly. Kaladin’s chapter with Moash was focused on the desire not to feel pain, suffering, and loss any more.  If Dai-Gonarthis is associated with ‘giving up’ sorrow in the same way that Odium tempted people in OB (including Moash) with giving up responsibility for their actions, Dai-Gonarthis could play a large role in Kaladin’s arc in ROW.

But none of that gives any indication of how a spren could be powerful enough to destroy a large island! Very curious about Aimia.

[ikesenlemonadestandstories]

Barriers

I present to you Kinesis: Chapter 8, please feel free to look for all previous and future chapters on my Master List and under the “Kinesis” tag :) Love you all!

Warnings: Kenshin do you need more of a warning?

[MC]

Barriers

“That’s not funny, and you know it.” You didn’t even blink when Mitsuhide put his hands on your shoulders. This is what he was known for, or at least what you knew him for. 

“Well, I’m glad you don’t find it funny because I certainly wasn’t trying to be.” Mitsuhide gave your shoulders a squeeze before swiveling you to face a very serious looking Nobunaga.

“Why? This has bad idea written all over it.” You sighed, crossing your arms as you stared him down. “You want me, the one with amnesia, the one who was just released from the hospital a few weeks ago to start and lead a new section of the rebellion while also looking for a man that I can assume I’ve never met before?”

“Precisely Little Mouse.” Mitsuhide got in as a nervous murmur began to take hold of the crowd. “Nobody recognizes you. General Gael deemed you some poor wench himself, so I’m certain that’s already reflected in whatever public record they made up for you. This means that you pose zero threat, there is no reason to bar you from entering Larkspur.”

“That means (YN) has certain freedoms that most of us are not privy to anymore,” The man addressed as Shingen spoke up, uncrossing his legs as he leaned forward, his elbows now resting on the table. “While that all checks out, what can you say of (YN)’s combat skills? You can’t just throw such a wonderful gift from the heavens into a hostile situation with no way to defend themselves.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. Our little Fireball over here disarmed both Hideyoshi and Mitsunari while simultaneously fending off Masamune and Ieyasu fresh out of the hospital and without a weapon of their own. I’d say they’re plenty capable.” Nobunaga smirked. 

“Again, just because you think I’m capable doesn’t mean this is a good idea.” You added, waving your hands as your brow creased out of concern. 

“I don’t know about that. It’s hard to find people who talk to Nobunaga like you do, you can see Hideyoshi’s agony from over here. I’d say that makes you at least a candidate of consideration.” Masamune chuckled as he winked, blinked? “Besides, you’ve got claws Kitten, no reason to doubt yourself.”

“Not doubting myself, just this plan.” Defeated, you leaned back in your chair. “This is ridiculous.”

“I agree, enough chatter.” The man who had been introduced as Kenshin stood, and before you could blink his sword was drawn, and he was charging at you. 

Gods! I’m being attacked again? What is wrong with these people? It only took a second, without a thought to spare, you moved on instinct. Barely dodging Kenshin's first strike as the sword lodged itself in the plush part of the chair where your head had just been. Planting both hands on the armrests, you swung your legs up and locked them around Kenshin’s neck before swinging them up and over towards the left. 

Kenshin was laid out on the ground just long enough for you to register the moment of surprise on his face before a smile you really didn’t like took over. Not good! A crackle of electricity formed in his hand and just like that he was armed again. Really? Lightning sword? Why? Why you? 

You ran towards the opposite wall, hoping to put some space between the two of you. Hoping the distance would let you get a better feel for the situation and yourself. Yes, you were fatigued but not like last time. Feeling bold, you concentrated on the burn you had felt before you passed out, happy when you didn’t feel weak as the sensation grew. 

It started in your chest, traveling to your hands as fast as Kenshin was running at you. The burn turned to pressure that was building and fighting for an outlet. Unable to release the attack you tried again, but this time black spots now filled your vision as the pressure grew intolerable.Thankfully Sasuke, Kenshin’s supposed traveling companion, intervened.  

“That’s quite enough,” Sasuke said through gritted teeth as he deflected two more of Kenshin’s blows. “(YN) appears to be quite capable. Shall we end this demonstration while we still can?”

“Fine, I was growing bored anyway.” Kenshin grunted as he wandered back towards his seat. “You did okay enough.”

“After seeing all of that, though, I do believe I agree with Sir Oda. You are, at the very least able to defend yourself. You may also greatly benefit from seeing Master Kennyo.” Sasuke nodded through his analysis. 

“And what about that last encounter makes you think that?” You said through a heavy exhale.

“Just now you tried to use magic, but it stopped, am I correct?” Sasuke stared at you, and you froze. 

“Yes? How did you know.” Something unsettling churned in your gut as the hair on the back of your neck stood on end. 

“I have done extensive research in the Arcane Realm. Being able to utilize an Arcane ability myself, it seemed only natural for me to explore and better research where my magic comes from.” Sasuke pushed his glasses up his nose as he took his seat beside Kenshin. “In doing such I’ve become privy to certain flows of energy, yours stopped just before Kenshin could strike.”

“So what if it did. I did just get out of the hospital, maybe my body just needs more time to recuperate.” Your body was just tired, that had to be why it wasn’t working right? Magic was a give and take sort of thing, you just weren’t physically well enough to use it. At least that’s what you had originally thought. 

“On the contrary, I believe you have a plug, a barrier of sorts.” The room fell silent. “Master Kennyo has a vast knowledge of such things, seeing as he can freely travel between the two realms. At the very least he may be able to help you use some of your magic. At best? You could expect to get your memory back.”

[hyunjin-writes]

prince!minhyuk

minhyuk as a prince,, hold on let me just let that concept sink in for a moment

yes, he’d be that sunny and cheery prince, pretty much brighting up the palace with his presence

is he the type to wish everyone, including the workers and even potted plants a good morning?? yeah pretty much

but even when he’s often time seen as the cheery and happy-go-lucky type of prince,

he would still have certain times where the smile and the warmth in his eyes are gone, and is replaced with somewhat colder and more curt look instead

but these face only appears whenever he’s talking to one of the ministers or he’s in the royal meetings

because he’s well aware how his happy-go-lucky attitude could come out as a wrong impression to some people

especially after he himself even overheard some of the ministers questioning his ability to lead the country because he’s always so cheeky and cheery,,, - does he even know when to be serious and when to drop the happy attitude down a little? or so they said

in which, minhyuk, a prince that had only recently turned legal and was taught the ropes on leading and becoming a better leader, was fully capable on doing so

listen - he may be young and seems reckless but he knows his limits just perfectly fine

which was why after hearing that, he was  hurt, of course, but he also took that as a challenge to prove himself that he’s better then how they doubts him to be

and you,,, you’re his private tutor,,

you’re the same age with him so at some level between your tutoring and little conversations between, minhyuk, being the typical friendly sunshine he is, he suggested for you to drop the honorifics and just call him casually, like how friends usually call each other

,,,,in which you refuse at first because it’s the prince we’re talking about here??? like calling the prince, the future leader of your country by his first name?? with no “your majesty” or whatever??? sounds like you want to be beheaded

but minhyuk just waves it off, saying: well then, maybe you could just drop the honorifics whenever we’re alone?

you: i-,,, i dont know, your majest-

minhyuk: :(((( come on, i don’t have much friends to begin with. what’s so hard with just calling me minhyuk?

the prince was just so,,, relentless and keeps on pestering you to call him by “minhyuk” and you’re just - “ok fine! alright minhyuk, i’ll do it!”

you could bet that minhyuk have the brightest grin ever when you agreed and you just [sigh] at how easily persuaded you are

and after that,,, somehow instead of just dropping the honorifics, you and minhyuk had gotten closer to a whole new level

soon enough the two of you are not only student and tutor, but you’re also close enough to be considered as his best friend, the one who he finds whenever he have problems or just want to talk about stuffs other than academics

at some point, you could even say that you know him, your country’s crowned prince like the back of your hand

like how you know how much he hates cucumber and how sometimes he’d sneakily drop the cucumbers that royal cook!kihyun puts in the dinner into a potted plant nearby

you: WHY would you even put cucumbers in the plants pot it’s not like they could eat it????

minhyuk: i’m just giving the plant more green since they hardly see the sunlight to get enough photosynthesis!!!

you: oh my GOD THATS NOT HOW IT WORKS U FOO-

you also know how fond he is with the colour yellow,,and how much he suits the colour yellow too

there was one time that you bought him a yellow cap when you went for a short trip abroad and when he got them, bodyguard!shownu told you that he refuses to take it off for almost a whole week,,, even when he’s literally walking around the palace or even when he knows that his outfit doesn’t match with the cap but

he!!! doesnt care!!! because it’s a gift from you and it’s yellow!!! literally two of his favorite things combined why would he let some petty things like fashion get to him!!!

in which when he said this, you blushed a little and little butterflies appear in your stomach because you?? being his favorite people?? sounds kind of impossible but there he is, staring at the simple cap you gave him with so much awe that you just,, djfhjhfjd

but like i said earlier, you know minhyuk like the back of your hand,  so you’re well  aware whenever he’s feeling down but always trying to cover it up and shrug it off whenever you question him about it

which, most of the time never works because he’s always so cheery and happy,, so when something’s bothering him, its just. so. obvious.

that is why when you walk into the royal library for one of your weekly study & tutor session and you didn’t see his usual bright beaming smile, you knew something was wrong

you threw bodyguard!shownu at the corner a questioning look, and he could only give a small smile and shrug his shoulder that leaves you even more curious,, and worried

the two of you tried to go on with the class like normal, but with how obviously unfocused he is at whatever you’re saying, you know that you can’t let this slide or sweep it under the rug like you always did

because you know that behind that happy and cheery facade he always puts on, there’s a young boy who pretty much holds a whole country’s problem and future on his shoulder

people always assumes that he has it easy as a prince

all he got to do is dress fancily and make sure to show his face at some public event,,

maybe attend one or two royal meetings,,, but he doesn’t really need to understand anything because lmao he’s the prince, he doesn’t need to do any work lmao

and with his cheery attitude, people always assume what they thought was right

but that’s where they’re wrong.

he could have a burden about a whole country’s problem and yet he’d still give you the brightest smile and ask you if you’re having a great day and tries to cheer you up if you’re not,,,

“damn it minhyuk.” you shut your book close and just, look at him as he looks up at you, eyes dazed and clearly unfocused “you’re not even listening to me,,,”

“...oh! sorry i’m just a little off today i’m so sor-”

“don’t apologize. stop apologizing.” you stop him before moving from sitting infront of him to sitting right beside him, your knees bumping into each other

“instead, i want you to tell me what’s bothering you.”

he blinks at you a few time before he open his mouth, and you can already see that’s he’s going to shrug it off again before you go

“no no no, don’t give me that ‘i’m okay, it’s just some little problem’ bull on me. you could be knowing that you’re gonna be crowned king soon and yet tell me that nothing’s wrong.”

as soon as you said that minhyuk lets out a small gasp and go: you already know about that? b-but how??

you: ??what do you mean we all know that you’re gonna be crowned king one day but like it’s not like that day is gonna be now.................ohmygod

seeing minhyuk’s wide eyes and clearly panic and fear written all over it,,, you just realize that what you said earlier is what’s going to happen,,,,,

“......,,,...you’re gonna be crowned king,,, soon?”

“i mean,, yeah they’re planning me to get on the throne by next year,,, it’s still a long time but,, i was expecting it in 5 years or something but Clearly my father have other ideas”

he rolled his eyes playfully but,,,,

“are you okay?” as you reach out to hold his hand, giving is assuring squeeze and rubs with your thumb

minhyuk squeezes your hand back before sighing: “i mean,, i’m still not ready yet but i bet that even if i’m gonna be crowned king in 5 years and not next year, i’d still tell you i’m not ready,,, so i’ll be okay, i guess?”

giving him a small smile, you bump your legs with him playfully before saying, “hey, whatever happens i’m gonna be here with you, you know that right?”

“mhmmm you’re gonna be beside me even when i’m going up the throne, right?”

“you bet i am. you can’t get rid of me so easily, mister.”

the two of you laughs and it echoes around the vast and empty library, but when he gives your hand another squeeze, you know that you’re ready to give your best friend your ultimate support and love as he prepares to be the crowned king,,,

and maybe,,,, maybe along the way the two of you would realize that there’s more between the two of you,,,, instead of just staying as friends,,,

but you know,,,,,, i’ll just save that for later or something    ;)

[sin-n-city]

Ignited: Hablas español?

Ignited Chapter 5:  Hablas español?

Pairing: Dan Howell/ Phil Lester and PJ Liguori/ Chris Kendall

Rating: M

Warnings: Swearing and eventual fluff/smutt

Word Count: 2,734

Summary: AU superpowers. The lights has been there for as long as Dan can remember. It’s apart of him and he can’t help but love the light. But sometimes the burning and itching under his skin won’t leave until it shines bright and illuminates the sky.

Dan’s life changes forever when he is trust into a world of magic and mystery inside the walls of the Nova Institute for the Exceptionally Gifted and Talented. Dan Howell/Phil Lester, PJ Liguori/ Chris Kendall.

Notes: Don’t mind me, I think I’m funny with my chapter titles C:

Link to Masterlist

“Seriously, will you take one of these?” Chris announces, shoving his shoes off and making himself comfortable next to Dan on the couch. He places a rather large pot plant, filled with some kind of fern on the coffee table in front of them. “They’re everywhere, you should see our dorm. It’s like a greenhouse.”

Now that he has seen PJ’s abilities, it explains why there were a relatively large number of pot plants littered throughout the dorm. It also explains why one day the kitchen was basically empty and the next there was a fern taking up half the bench space by the window.

“How do you keep getting inside?” Dan asks, because he can almost count on two hands the amount of times Chris has randomly been in his room without supervision. Which is a scary concept. Not only for privacy reasons, but more along the lines of eating all the food in the pantry and pranking reasons. There is also the trying to avoid everyone as much as humanly possible reason. Which Chris is making even more difficult than anyone could ever imagine. Between the three of them, it’s almost impossible.

Chris leans over, taking the remote and flicking it to another channel. “PJ has a spare key.”

At least that explains it.

“So, a little birdy told me that you kicked butt during your first practical. Minus the actual physical kicking. And correct me if I’m wrong but also the butt thing as well. Also the little birdy was PJ.” Chris fixes up his fringe, sinking down onto the couch pillows. “I’m not really sure what he actually said. His T-shirt had ridden up a bit and I got a little distracted. It’s not easy when your roommate is that attractive. I’d say we should swap but who are we kidding. We don’t want to change.”

Dan goes to agree, because okay, he will admit to himself that Phil is attractive. It’s an obvious statement. Like saying the grass is green. Or at least that’s what he’ll roll with. Obvious.

Then it dawns on him, that not only has Chris implied that he finds PJ attractive -like he didn't on a regular basis- but also that Dan thinks Phil is attractive.

Which he is, but Chris isn’t allowed to know that.

“Better than having you for a roommate,” Dan jokes, to try and ease the conversation away from its previous place.

Chris shoves him, knocking Dan slightly to the right. “Hey. I’m offended. I’ll have you know I make excellent roommate material.”

Snickering Dan argues. “I’ve already heard you singing in the shower from here. There is no way that I want to be any closer than that then I already am.”

Chris doesn’t say anything for a minute. Suddenly, he repeats Dan’s previous sentence in exact pitch, tone. Dan winces a little as hear ear’s it. Because hearing his voice coming from Chris’ mouth is just creepy.

“That’s fucking weird, Chris.”

Chris just laughs, picking himself up from the couch and making his way over towards the fridge, a habit that is becoming way too common. It’s times like this were Dan wish’s he had any other ability then controlling light.

Right now, telekinesis would be fantastic.

--

The door slamming shut should probably be the first indicator to something wrong. It takes Dan a few moments to process that Phil isn’t walking past and greeting Dan like usual, or attempting to make conversation. He hasn’t offered him a drink or situated himself on the couch.

He glances up as he finally hears footsteps, elongated and somewhat uneven. Phil glances at him, and Dan sees it. The bright shine in his eyes are gone. His usual pale skin is different, it’s worn, exhausted, an unnatural shade that doesn’t suit.

“Are you okay?” Dan asks, which is stupid because right now, Phil is looking uncharacterized. He looks unwell.

Phil’s voice is a little strained. He lowers himself onto the corner of the couch, sitting down and closing his eyes. “Yeah, I think I just over-worked myself in training.”

Dan can feel the worry build within him. Phil genuinely looks sick, in every sense of the word.“Maybe we should take you to the hospital wing? I can ask Chris and PJ to give me a hand. It won’t take long for them to come round.”

He is up off the couch in a matter of seconds, ready to get assistance.

Phil laughs, it sounds exhausted, nothing like what Dan has heard before. He waves his hand, as a gesture for Dan to calm down. “No, but I’m pretty sure I over-exerted myself. Sugar and sleep’s the only thing that will fix it.”

Frowning, Dan turns. He vaguely remember reading something in his textbook about blood sugar and energy in relation to abilities. Apparently Nova’s burn through a higher amount of calories when they use their powers. And therefore need a higher energy intake. Which is why the kitchen is basically always open. Biting his lip he changes course, shuffling through the kitchen pantries until he finds the stash of chocolate and lollies Phil keeps himself on the top shelf. He grabs a coke can, opening it and bringing it over to the other male as quickly as he can.

“Thanks,” Phil mutters. Voice almost as weak as his laugh was before. Dan can see his hand shake a little as he grips the can, before bringing it to his lips. He drinks it as quickly as possible, and Dan waste no time, ripping the packet of lollies open and pouring a handful into Phil’s palm.

He watches Phil chew the lollies silently. The physical look of tiredness is still present. He isn’t sure how quickly it should all disappear. He is a little worried Phil might faint. He looks weak. Phil leans his head back against the couch cushions, his eyes close and he lets out a loud sigh.

Not sure what to do, Dan watches. It occurs to him that maybe he should just ignore Phil’s advice and go and grab Chris and PJ anyway. He is sure that PJ would at least have a better idea of what to do, considering he has been here for a longer period of time.

Finally Phil opens his eyes. “I think I’ll head to bed.”

He pushes himself up, a little more unbalanced than usual. Before Dan knows what he is doing, he is by Phil’s side, arm wrapped around the other male's side, hoisting him up and anchoring them both. His mind wonders, what was Phil even doing to get him in such a state in the first place?

“You sure about this?” Dan asks, as he feels Phil lean into him for support. Nothing major, but just a little bit of pressure.

“Yeah,” Phil assures, “I’ll be fine by morning. This isn’t the first time it’s happened.”

Taking a deep breath to himself, Dan just nods. He steps forward, Phil following in suit. They go slowly, and only pause momentarily to open the bedroom door. Dan stop’s as they reach the bed, a bit unsure. He freezes for a moment, because what is he supposed to do? Phil is fully clothed and Dan doubts that will be comfortable to sleep in. Phil shifts, turning and plunking himself down on the bed. It creaks a bit under the sudden weight.

“Do you, uh- are you okay sleeping in your clothes?” Dan asks, with slight hesitation.

Phil nods, too tired to argue. He know’s Phil is generally opts for Pajama pants and a T-shirt. Dan can feel a sense of relief fill him, and he tries to ignore his flushed cheeks. Blocking out any unnecessary thoughts, because this is so not the right time.

Phil pulls the blankets up, covering himself. Dan watches his blue eyes close, and he goes still.

Taking a few steps back as quietly as possible, Dan turns back towards the lounge. He grabs the packet of lollies and fills up a glass of water, taking it back towards the bed. He places it next to Phil, on the bedside table. He watches Phil for a few more moments, convincing himself that things are going to be alright.

It’s textbook material. Lots of rest, lots of sugar. He knows things will be fine. But that still doesn’t stop the worry from lingering in his chest.

He turns back around, taking another step towards the door, grabbing his earphones situated on the end of his bed. Phil needs some decent rest. At least he can still watch someone on his laptop and keep the silence.

“Thank you, Dan.”

It’s barely a whisper. Dan turns back around, the blue of Phil’s tired orbs looking directly at him.

Heart racing, Dan responds. “Anytime.”

-

“Your joining us for dinner today, right?” Phil asks, he looks genuinely excited. Dan’s not exactly sure why, but he guesses that after the events of last night, he assumes that things might be better between them.

And he’s not wrong. Dan can feel the shield he’d been trying to put up slip. Just thinking about the events of last night fills him with worry. It shouldn’t, but he can’t help it. So it will be easier, if he just accepts Phil’s friendship and ignores any other feelings the might possibly be stirring. Sure, he’s attractive. But that’s where it ends.

“Yeah, alright.” Dan agrees and he swears Phil has the brightest smile he has ever seen. A vast improvement on the other night, that’s for sure.

“Great!” Phil comments, he stands in the door. Opening it so Dan can follow him out. “Chris said he will walk over with us. PJ is planning on meeting us down there. He had some work to do in the library.”

The make their way to the dorm beside them, only having to knock once before Chris opens up. He looks a little surprised at first, eyes looking between both Dan and Phil. His look changes, into something suspiciously like a smirk. As soon as Phil turns around to head towards the corredor, Chris gives him another look. Eyebrows moving up and down.

He nudges Dan, elbow poking him sharp in the side. Dan shoots him a look, nudging him back and pointedly ignoring any other looks that Chris shoots him. They walk to the dining room with relatively easy conversation. Dan’s only half worried Chris will say something mortifying. He doesn’t though, and thankfully they make it towards one of the many long tables without incident. He glances around, eye’s taking in the room. Sure he’s been here a few times, but it never fails to amaze him. Most of the school is gorgeous and this room is no exception.

It’s filled with long, oak tables, with matching chairs. They almost look antique and are far more comfortable than they appear. The ceiling however, is definitely the best part. It is representative of the night sky. Stars fill out a void of dark blue, shining and twinkling above them. The first time he saw it, he had literally stopped in his tracks. Eventually PJ had informed him that there was a student who could make artwork move. He designed the ceiling several years ago, and every night, it literally shines.

“Good, it’s hamburger night.”

Before Dan has time to process, Chris is off, loading fries into his plate to go with his favourite burger combination.

Following Chris’s footsteps, Dan makes his own way over. Loading his own plate up and topping it with abundance of sauce. He stops by the drink machine, grabbing a bottle of ice-tea to go with his meal.

Unlike any other school he has ever been to, the food here is actually tasty. And offers a variety. Including an entire salad section. He shoves some of the tabooli on his plate, heading over to find that not only Chris and Phil there, but PJ as well.

PJ’s voice is hushed as he speaks. Dan frowns as he takes his seat. He hasn’t known PJ for that long, but he hasn’t seen him look worried before.

“So what, she just fainted in the middle of class?” Phil asks. He looks a little worried too.

PJ nods, confirming whatever that means.

“Who are we talking about?”Dan asks.

“Daniele, one of the students in PJ’s art class. She passed out during the session this afternoon. Apparently they had to take her to the hospital wing. But she hasn’t woken up.”

The news flashes back to the experience with Phil the other night. He glances at Phil, who is too waiting for PJ to finish his story.

Chris picks up his burger, shoving it into his mouth. Ït takes a few second for Dan to actually figure out what he’s saying, amongst his mouthful of food. “Do they know why?

Shaking his head, PJ continued. “Not sure. They have no idea. I mean, she was looking pretty unwell the past few days. She even fell asleep in one of our classes. It could possibly be over-exhaustion. It’s odd though, sure students have fainted but generally after some rest and sugar and calories they are fine again.”

“What is her ability? She’s not with any of us in her practicals, is she? I haven’t even seen her in any merging class, either.”

“She’s a technopath, apparently not that advanced. She’s more a subset, can’t really control it, but she can communicate with it.”

“You can hear technology?” Dan asks. He probably shouldn’t be surprised, there are students here that do the impossible on a regular basis.

“Yeah, I’m not really sure how she did it either. But I guess no one except me know how to make plants grow. It’s the same sort of concept I’d assume.”

Phil takes a sip from his drink, removing some unwanted onion from the inside of his food. “I guess so.”

Thankfully, Dan has never managed to experience anything like what Phil went though. It’s not that common, but over use of abilities is a serious thing. I student is permitted rest until full recovery, regardless of school or any other activities. Usually, they don’t get sent to the hospital wing. And if they do, it’s nothing more than fluids through and IV to help them through it. Or so Dan’s read.

“So, as an unrelated topic. Who is in for a movie night? It’s Friday and I think we should end the night on a good note. ” Chris asks, dipping his fries into a mixture of tomato sauce and mustard. “We’ve got some of the newer movies downloaded. Or we could do some x-men. I wouldn’t mind having an oogle at Jennifer Lawrence.”

“Chris,” PJ comments. “You have literally watched Day’s of Future’s Past 5 times since we’ve got here.”

“We can watch First-Class then.”Chris retorts.

“We’ve watched that twice already.”

Chris shrugs. “That would be because it’s not as good. Honestly we could find a version of x-men apocalypse. It’s arguably the best one. Not any fantastic torrents yet though, I’ve already tried. Did find a good version from Spain though. How’s everyone’s Spanish?”

Phil laughs, hand over his mouth until he swallows his food. “Sometimes I think it’s like talking to a brick wall.”

“Pretty sure it’s worse.” PJ jokes and Chris looks at them. Sending them both a pointed look, mockingly.

“Please, I saw Dan’s screen saver. I know he feels it too.”

Dan can feel his cheeks glowing a slight shade of pink. “Spanish ain’t going to work. I know literally nothing. Except for the word Churro. And at no point do they even say that in the movie.”

“I’m pretty sure the origin of Churros is actually portuguese.” PJ corrects, earning a shrug from both Phil and Dan.

Chris shoves the remainder of his food into his mouth. Finishing up his drink soon after.

“Excellent, we all have room for improvement.”

He walks off back towards the hamburgers. Grabbing a take away container and shoving what Dan assumes is no less than three burgers inside. He glances at both Phil and PJ, each with matching looks on their faces.

There is more than just a small part of him worried that this is actually going to happen.

-

It’s almost embarrassing to admit, but by the end of the night Dan can say approximately fifteen words.

[ahopkins1965]

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4 Reasons Skin Color Doesn't Matter to God (and it Shouldn't Matter to You)

Bible / Bible Study / Topical Studies / 4 Reasons Skin Color Doesn't Matter to God (and it Shouldn't Matter to You)

Kristen Terrette | Crosswalk.com Contributing Writer

Saturday, May 30, 2020

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The gospel of Jesus Christ is Good News for everyone. So Christians, those who've accepted Jesus' free gift of salvation, hold no preconceived notions about different groups of people. We're not judgmental, or racist, or prejudiced against people who look different. Right?

I challenge us to spend one day intentionally recognizing our first thought about every person we come across. When we pass those who don't look like us in a parking lot, car, or on an elevator, what thought pops into our heads? This small test will effectively point out where our prejudices are. I know, because it showed me mine. Without a doubt, I believed:

the Gospel was for all

and also that I wasn't a part of the problem with racial divides

But I was.

I fight predetermined perceptions every day, challenging labels I've placed on people without even knowing it. We all have them. Stereotypes and judgments based on appearance are everywhere and usually begin at a very young age because of our upbringing and environment.

I hope to do my part in stopping this in future generations, because God doesn't care about skin colors and here are four reasons why:

1. God never mentions a group's skin color in the Bible.

Yes, you read that right. Check it out for yourselves. People groups are identified by where they're from geographically, their language, or their family line, but never by the color of their skin. God never makes mistakes, so I can only assume this is intentional and strategic. He never wanted us to classify groups of people by the amount of pigmentation in their skin. We did that all on our own, even going so far as listing either black or white as options on standardized tests.

A person's complexion is only mentioned a few times, and even then these are cosmetic characteristics and do not indicate God's favoritism or cursing on them. An example is the term “ruddy” which is used to describe Esau, David, and Solomon. Ruddy is reddish in tone, meaning healthy, fresh, or clear in appearance, but it is also used to indicate the tanning of skin. In my opinion, this only lends more credibility to the idea that God doesn’t care about skin colors, because a tan appearance falls right in the middle of our human skin color ranges of very fair or white to very dark or black.

Solomon tells of his love, an individual, not a group, as being dark, and yet this refers to the darkening of skin that occurs from sun exposure, which happens to every type of skin pigmentation. “White” is used to describe someone with leprosy, and “bronze” is used to describe Jesus in the book of Revelation.

It’s embarrassing, really, that we've made a cosmetic feature, much like that of a powder or eye shadow, a dividing factor instead of looking to the Bible's example and not caring about this at all.

2. God loves diversity.

There are between 25,000 and 35,000 genes in every human cell and up to forty trillion cells in the human body! Somewhere between 100 to 378 genes are involved in the production of melanin—the pigment responsible for skin color. Even when we use the highest number, it is tiny compared to the amount of genes in every cell. And this same melanin also determines our hair and eye color. God, in His perfectness, put together a formula, so small it can only be realized under high efficiency microscopes, just to create variety in His prized creation. It was no accident He orchestrated us in such a way that every human is unique. He programmed the genes from which all our variations come within Adam and Eve, the first humans. This was what He wanted.

So all ethnic identities—every shade—highlights God’s desire for beauty in diversity. The light brown skin of the Native, Hispanic, Latino, or Middle Eastern cultures? Yes. The dark brown of North African cultures? Yes. The fair skinned Norwegian or Japanese cultures? Yes.

Every ethnicity is the beautiful handiwork of God’s creative mind. His abundance of creativity pushes beyond our human understanding. His very character is creative, so He cannot go against it. Diversity is God being His creative self, showing off to the world. A variety of skin colors gives Him glory for the vastness of His imagination! And we don’t have to look solely at humans to see evidence of this. Diversity is found in all of His creation. Trees. Flowers. Birds. Horses. Dogs. All glorify God. So variety, in skin color and all throughout the earth, should be celebrated.

3. We were created in God's image.

You know the verse. “So God created mankind is his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.” Genesis 1:27

Everyone has an image. Social media is a relatively new way we display this to the world. If I want to be viewed as a devoted mother, I could show images of me making a homecooked meal, toting kids to various practices, or watching their extracurricular activities on Facebook. If I want to be depicted as a godly woman, I may share blog articles on my Savior, or post a pic on Twitter of me attending church. If I wanted to show off an image of wealth, I could post pictures of my expensive clothes and handbags, or the affluent resorts where I’d vacationed on Instagram. Now, these are random images we could attempt to project, but this concept has helped me understand this verse more accurately.

Mankind is made in the image of God. So what’s God’s image? We can go on and on about this, and I am no theologian, but I do know God is all loving, moral, creative, and reasonable. He has a perfect will, intellect, and emotions. He has authority and dominion over all. So if we reflect His image, then we, too, have these things at some level. Humans are able to love, make moral choices, think creatively, and use reason to evaluate decisions. We also have free will in deciding how we live. We are intelligent and have feelings. We also hold authority over the creatures and other living things on earth.

All people are given this capacity. Our skin color does not determine your ability to reflect God’s image. 2 Corinthians 3:18 says, “And we all, who with unveiled faces contemplate the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his image with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.” So as we mature, we’re to continue reflecting more and more of Christ’s image by the way we live, and our skin colors don’t limit this. No one is disqualified of this special blessing.

4. God includes all parts of the world in His salvation work.

“And they sang a new song, saying: ‘You are worthy to take the scroll and to open its seals, because you were slain, and with your blood you purchased for God[,] persons from every tribe and language and people and nation.” Revelation 5:9

This verse is a vision where the “elders” and “living creatures” bow down and sing praise to the slain and resurrected Lamb (Jesus). Does it amaze you, as it does me, the lengths at which He went to include all here? God could have simply said, persons from “everywhere.” But, no. He specifically uses ways we categorize people by referring to “every tribe and language and people and nation.” He wanted to cover all in His Kingdom work. No one is beyond His reach.

And there are many more verses where God includes all. Colossians 3:11 states, “Here there is no Gentile or Jew, circumcised or uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave or free, but Christ is all, and is in all.” And Romans 10:12 says, “For there is no difference between Jew and Gentile—the same Lord is Lord of all and richly blesses all who call on him, for, ‘Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.’”

And notice what He leaves out. He does not categorize any of these groups by their skin color. Why? Because He loves every one the same. He made each beautiful and unique according to His infinite creative mind. As Christ-followers, we are called to be like Jesus, so we must work diligently to fight against labeling people by the color of their skin. Can you help to do your part while I work to do mine? Our following generations will be better for it if we do.

Photo Credit: ©Getty Images

Kristen Terrette cherishes her Southern roots and lives forty-five minutes outside of Atlanta, GA. She served as a Children's Ministry Director for many years, and with the support of her husband and two children, she now stays home writing Christian fiction and non-fiction. She's passionate about storytelling and helping people take their next steps in their relationship with Jesus. She also serves on the women's leadership team at her local church and writes for Wholly Loved Ministries. You can check out her novels and articles at www.kristenterrette.com.

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[lakegrimstonerpg]

“Beware of my bark, for my bite is vicious.”

» ABOUT

NAME: Raina Hale AGE: Twenty Nine POWER: Canine Physiology OCCUPATION: Guard TOWN: Grimstone Park

» HISTORY

Living up to expectations is something that Raina is all too familiar with. Most importantly, the expectation of her power coinciding with her personality has been a defining factor throughout her life. Canine Physiology suggests two sides of a coin: the loyal, loving housedog and the vicious, beast-like wolf. Raina will embody both depending on the circumstances – she can be any and all in between given the right place and the right time.  Her mood was a prominent factor in the discovery of her power, actually and that idea still prevails to this day. Her first look at life as a canine was when she was only ten years old. Raina was a young girl living under the roof of her godfather, James; her parents had died tragically when she was seven years old and she had been under his care ever since. The most important addition to the household however was her godfather’s dog – a chocolate Labrador that no one had a bad word to say about. Its death was hard on James and because of the tight-knit family they’d come to have, Raina found herself willing him to cheer up. This came at the price of her first transformation; from human into a housedog much like the one that they’d lost.

After the first incident, Raina thought she must have been dreaming, or making something up. She managed to keep the fact that she was the dog that had come back to visit James — the omen that things would be okay as he’d put it – to herself. These instances however began happening more frequently throughout puberty and it was harder to deny that she was in fact gifted with something unique. She had the spirit of a wolf and the attitude of the loyal, playful dog. These were not gifts that Raina had an easy time accepting however, she knew herself that not one other person she knew had these special abilities and so she had to be abnormal. Something must have been wrong.  Looking to many texts and even religions for answers, Raina came up short. That was until the government turned up at her door. They never did reveal how they found out about her hidden ability, but she’d always assumed that the government had eyes everywhere – that had always been her suspected answer.

She was seventeen when she was taken to Lake Grimstone, a place littered with people sharing a common factor with her; they were also gifted. James had tried to reason with the government, but no good could ever come of that. Giving up a life that she loved and cherished, the rock father figure in her life after her parents’ untimely deaths, wasn’t something that Raina was all too enthusiastic about doing. However she also knew that she needed some answers, more than could be given to her without going to Lake Grimstone. No doubt she could have run, but she didn’t see the benefits that would have given her. And during her time at Grimstone Park she came to see that being uprooted from the world you knew and placed in a place existing of the unknown wasn’t as bad as it sounded. Information and answers, though not vast were provided here. She could no longer deem herself as abnormal because, in Grimstone Park, she was the norm. Only a few years after her initial arrival on the island did Raina become a guard – training in self defense and martial arts (courtesy of James’ tendency to be overprotective) beforehand made training for the position easier. Years down the line, she’s built herself a life and a home, something that may not have been possible outside of Grimstone Park for fear of her gift.

» CONNECTIONS

DAMIEN HALE - Raina’s husband, the person she is building that new life with. She loves him and supports him, just as he supports her.

OLIVER WEST - It’s obvious to Raina that Oliver is a troubled boy, and though she doesn’t know what’s troubling him, she has every intention of helping him work through it.

KRISTEN PARRISH - Raina and Kristen are friends, not super close, but the sort that can always pick up where they left off.

Raina Hale is an OPEN character and is portrayed by Medallion Rahimi whose FC is SEMI-NEGOTIABLE.