#but its also not all stormclouds either

[volfoss]

talia deserved betterrrrr

[bonefall]

personally voted stormcherry for the simple reason of stormcloud being my blorbo from my shows (books). when i first read abt him in bramblestars storm i LOVED him. he rotates in my brain when i think abt canon thunderclan and im. so absolutely mad they do nothing with him. when he briefly appears i get so happy. when he showed up and spoke in squirrelflights hope? i went nuts. and BB's version of him is just so fun!

and i just think their dynamic would be a little fun. its one of the few tropes i like (headstrong partner with chill partner) and i trust you to do the pairing justice (aka make it. realistic with its ups and downs!)

I'm surprised StormCherry is so popular! I wasn't expecting it to be the second most voted on option. We're all desperate for the background characters to get actual development, aren't we

Don't worry though, if it's not Moonpaw, I'm still keeping my eye out for getting the two of them a litter at some point. I will not accept canon if either one of them dies, consider the both of them to have Certified BB Immunity from canon horseshit and also a coupon for Free Babies.

Sources of potential future kits (If Moonpaw StormCherry doesn't happen);

Molewhisker is dead in BB; if he ever has canon kits, Cherryfall will get them instead.

If Cherryfall OR Stormcloud have kits, they'll have them in BB too

I still have Leafshade, Eaglewing, and Honeyfur on standby. Honeyfur could make an interesting StormCherry kitten, being named for her aunt Honeysnake.

So yeah. I've got your backs out there. If you were only voting StormCherry because you want them to have SOME kits, that will come with or without Moonpaw being their baby, I promise.

[imaginarianisms]

okay so now continuing onto the targaryen dragons family tree in my& speculation. according to the lore, balerion was named after an ancient god of the valyrian freehold; he was born in valyria, & was one of the five dragons aenar the exile targaryen brought with him alongside four dragon eggs & all his wealth, wives & slaves when he fled to dragonstone, the westernmost established outpost of the valyrian freehold built in 314 BC, to survive the doom of valyria, due to the vision of his daughter daenys the dreamer (who, btw, was the first rider of balerion the black dread) while house targaryen's rivals in valyria saw this as an act of cowardly surrender. joke's on them, though, because the rest of them all died in valyria. after the other four of aenar's dragons died, balerion became the last creature to have seen the freehold in its prime. he was presumably born either in or before 114 BC, with my gut saying he was born before 114 BC because it makes no sense otherwise, daenys had claimed balerion – who, at the time no bigger than a horse – the night before her fateful dream of the Doom, so balerion must have hatched few years before 114 BC, & daenys was his first rider. the doom of valyria happened in 102 BC leaving house targaryen the only dragonlord family 12 years later. so that means vhagar & meraxes must've been hatched after the exodus to dragonstone from valyria, vhagar specifically in 52 BC during the century of blood & later died on the 22nd day of the 5th month of 130 AC at the gods eye aged 181 & meraxes was born from anywhere between 114-88 BC, presumably, but i'm going to presume that she hatched after balerion, considering he was the oldest out of the three of them & meraxes was smaller than balerion & vhagar so 88 BC it is. so at the beginning of the conquest, there are only three dragons: balerion, vhagar & meraxes, which means that the vast majority of the targaryen dragons, save for the cannibal, must've came from them. i'd& like to think that, like aegon & his sister-wives, balerion coiled with both vhagar & meraxes. meraxes died in dorne at the hellholt in 10 AC alongside rhaenys, though, so she was unable to have any more batches of eggs so balerion mated with vhagar afterward from then onward. i'm& of the theory that the cannibal was on dragonstone long before the targaryens even arrived on the island. here's my& speculation.

dragons bred by house targaryen before aegon's conquest aside from the triarchy: archonei, essovius, ghiscar, valryon & vermithrax.

first generation & the main targaryen triarchy, first century after aegon's conquest: the cannibal, balerion, meraxes & vhagar.

second generation: quicksilver, dreamfyre, vermithor, silverwing, & sheepstealer.

third generation: caraxes, meleys, grey ghost, seasmoke, & syrax.

fourth generation: vermax, arrax, tyraxes, sunfyre, moondancer, stormcloud, tessarion, morning, the last dragon, morghul, shrykos, drogon, rhaegal & viserion.

note: this is only speculation, but according to my research, studying both dragonlore in asoiaf & reading about actual lizards in our world, it's a possibility that not only do dragons already have no fixed gender, but are “now one and now the other, as changeable as flame" according to septon barth, and like lizards, can change sex at need, usually to suit the weather, but dragons could also additionally reproduce asexually by way of parthogenesis, meaning that a female can reproduce even without a male to mate with or having never mated at all, although this is rare & is usually seen as a last resort in nature & it usually happens in captivity. it occurs in many invertebrates—snails, scorpions, zooplankton, wasps & some honey bees. besides some sharks, parthenogenesis has been witnessed in amphibians, some fish, reptiles like the crocodile which scientists speculate that this unique ability might be inherited from an evolutionary ancestor, suggesting that even the dinosaurs could have possessed the capability for parthogenesis, lizards like salamanders, geckos & komodo dragons, at least six species of snake like pythons & boas, & even a few bird species like domesticated domesticated chickens, domesticated turkeys & even domesticated pigeons. sometimes it's just a plan b or optional, especially in the absence of a potential mate. oftentimes, though, it happens in captivity, prompting some researchers to suggest that mateless females, with no recourse to other means, resort to parthenogenesis as a conscious, if desperate, attempt at offspring & in the case of birds, lizards & snakes, the offspring of parthenogenesis will always be male, thereby establishing a sexually reproducing population (via reproduction with her offspring that can result in both male and female young, though zoologists advise against this in our world but keep in mind that this is house targaryen, the house of the dragon & in our world the negative affects of inbreeding for both humans & animals was only given a proper study by charles darwin after the medieval period so it's possible). essentially, it's a virgin birth. additionally, sex determination in lizards can be temperature dependent, with the temperature of the eggs' environment can determine the sex of the hatched young, with low temperature incubation produces more females while higher temperatures produce more males. applying this to dragons, it makes sense considering that most of the dragons of the targaryen dynasty were/are male & considering most were raised in the dragonmont of dragonstone, this makes a lot of sense considering it's essentially a volcano. komodo dragons in particular, the largest lizards in the world, which is what i'm getting a lot of these possibilities from, also eat their own kind, even their own young at times, so cannibalism isn't unusual in this species & dragons have been known to exhibit behaviors of opportunistic cannibalism. on top of that, they may be monogamous & form pair bonds, which is rare behavior for lizards, & they can also go for a very long time without hunting so i'd imagine that would naturally apply to dragons, as well. dragons may be magical flying fire-breathing creatures, but they're still animals.

the cannibal (first generation, unridden for the vast majority of his life until he is claimed by rickon stark at skagos in the north at age 11 in 300 AC, coal black scales with baleful molten green eyes, this could very well be an instance of melanism, this is the only dragon according to our speculation & our portrayal that is completely unrelated to the targaryen dragons & had made dragonstone its territory long before even house targaryen arrived there with their dragons, he was about 250 years old during the reign of aegon iii targaryen in 131 AC & is still alive on skagos at 420 years).

balerion (first generation, bonded to king aegon the conqueror i targaryen then later in life, maegor the cruel i targaryen, princess aerea targaryen & king viserys the peaceful i targaryen, described as having black scales & wings & red eyes; his flames were a mixture of black & swirls of red, this could be an instance of melanism which means a creature is completely dark resulting in completely black fur, feathers or in this case, scales, the darker a dragon, the more effectively it can catch sunlight, which will warm it faster, a major advantage over dragons with lighter colors, if food becomes scarcer, a dark color can be the decisive factor as a condition for survival, but it also has disadvantages; a black color not only ensures faster warming, but also a faster onset of heat, so that it cools down faster, & on top of that, makes it less visible to other dragons and use it as an advantage to forage during nighttime hunting, so if he were a wild dragon he'd thrive in the wilderness)/meraxes (first generation, bonded to queen rhaenys i targaryen, described as silver-white with golden eyes, this could be an instance of leucism, which means a creature that results in partial loss of pigmentation affecting skin, hair, feathers or scales but not the eyes which makes most look completely white save for the eyes) > quicksilver (second generation, bonded to king aenys i targaryen then later his son prince aegon the uncrowned, born in 7 AC on dragonstone & died in 43 AC south of the gods eye in the southern riverlands at 36 years old, a she-dragon who, like her namesake suggests, likely had silver and/or white scales with pale white flames, her eye color is unknown, so she could either be leucistic like her mother or albino), & silverwing (second generation, otherwise known as gēliotīkun, bonded to queen alysanne i targaryen then ulf the white, silver scales, silver wing membranes, & orange eyes).

balerion (bonded to aegon the conqueror)/vhagar (first generation, otherwise known as queen of all dragons, bonded to queen visenya i targaryen, then later prince baelon the brave targaryen then lady laena velaryon then prince aemond 'one eye' targaryen, a she-dragon who was bronze & jade green with blue-jade green highlights & green eyes) > dreamfyre (second generation, otherwise known as ēdrurzys in high valyrian, bonded to princess/queen rhaena i targaryen the black bride, then later princess/queen helaena i targaryen, a she-dragon with pale blue scales & wings with silver crests & markings, this could be an instance of cyanism, which means that a creature has a predominance of a vibrant blue color, a very unusual phenomenon that's usually especially seen in aquatic animals, amphibians and reptiles like chameleons, almost nonexistent in fish and is totally absent in birds & mammals or otherwise feathered or furred animals), vermithor (second generation, otherwise known as the bronze fury, bonded to king jaehaerys i the conciliator targaryen then later in life, hugh the hammer, bronze scales, orange eyes & black horns), & sheepstealer (second generation, bonded to nethania / "nettles", mud brown).

vermithor/silverwing > caraxes (third generation, bonded to prince aemon targaryen then later prince daemon targaryen; red scales, yellow eyes, & bearded horns, called the bloodwyrm, this could be an instance of erythrism which means that a creature is unusually red which results in fur, feathers, & in this case, scales looking completely red in tint when it would naturally look brown, particularly very dark brown), meleys (third generation, bonded to princess alyssa targaryen then later princess rhaenys targaryen-baratheon the queen who never was, a she-dragon with scarlet scales & black markings with greenish-yellow eyes & a crown of bright copper horns, called the red queen, this, like, caraxes, could indicate that she's erythristic so going along with this theory, somewhere in balerion or vhagar's line there must be an erythristic gene that may have skipped a few generations & one or both parents may hold the erythristic gene), grey ghost (possibly second or third generation, pale-grey white dragon the color of morning mist, unridden, wild dragon), seasmoke (third generation, otherwise known as embrōrbar in high valyrian, bonded to laenor velaryon then later addam of hull/addam velaryon, a pale silver-grey & white dragon with light green eyes) & syrax (third generation, bonded to princess/queen rhaenyra i targaryen; yellow scales & green eyes, this could be an instance of xanthism, which means an unusually yellow coloration in animals, in fish it shows their scales and part of their fins with an attractive golden metallic sheen which gives the impression that they have been covered with gold dust, in birds it may be a sex-dependent mutation, that is, recessive in males but dominant in females, both in the feathers & in the eyes, legs & beak, giving yellow specimens with pink legs & red eyes. sound familiar? in reptiles, this usually results in a loss of camouflage which no longer allows it to hunt, mimicry, which is the skill to resemble other organisms & blend in with their own environment, would be impossible & not be hunted by blending in with its environment by making its silhouette blurry; it surviving in the wild would be highly unlikely, but not impossible, and the survival of such a creature would be compromised in the short term so she's very lucky that she's not out in the wild.).

seasmoke/syrax > moondancer (fourth generation, otherwise known as hūrlilio in high valyrian, bonded to lady baela targaryen; a she-dragon with pale green scales, with cream-pearl horns, frills on her head & tail, crests & wingbones), vermax (fourth generation, bonded to prince jacaerys targaryen/velaryon, olive-green scales & pale orange eyes & wing membranes), arrax (fourth generation, bonded to prince lucerys velaryon, pearlescent white with purple wing membranes, a golden chest & golden-orange eyes & orange frills & yellow flame) & tyraxes (fourth generation, bonded to prince joffrey velaryon, grey scales & red eyes), & tessarion (fourth generation, bonded to prince daeron targaryen by 120 AC, a she-dragon with cobalt blue scales & copper claws, crests, wings, frills, bellyscales & flames, named the blue queen).

caraxes/syrax > sunfyre (fourth generation, otherwise known as vēsperzys & sunfyre the golden, bonded to prince aegon the elder later known as king aegon ii targaryen, gleaming golden scales that glisten in the sunlight & pale pink wings & amber colored eyes & orange frills on his neck & body, considered by some to be the most beautiful dragon ever seen in the known world, he is likely xanthistic like his mother), stormcloud (fourth generation, bonded to prince aegon the younger, later king aegon iii, grey scales & supposedly purple frills), & morning (fourth generation, bonded to lady rhaena targaryen, a she-dragon with pale pink scales, & black horns & crests).

seasmoke/dreamfyre > morghul (fourth generation, bonded to princess jaehaera targaryen, unridden, supposedly dark grey) & shrykos (fourth generation, she-dragon, bonded to prince jaehaerys targaryen, unridden, supposedly olive green), the unnamed last dragon (fourth generation, green scales, unridden).

dreamfyre by way of parthogenesis > drogon (fourth generation, bonded to queen daenerys i targaryen, jet black scales with vivid scarlet red horns, spinal plates, crests & wings & his eyes are red as coals, as the smoldering red pits of hell & black dragonflame, called balerion come again & the winged shadow), rhaegal (fourth generation, unridden, hatched & commanded by queen daenerys i targaryen, a jade green and bronze dragon & bronze eyes, with orange-yellow dragonflame with streaks of green, known as "the green dragon") & viserion (fourth generation, unridden, hatched & commanded by queen daenerys i targaryen, cream-white scales, with molten gold eyes, horns, wing bones, wing membranes & spinal crests, with pale gold dragonflame with red & orange, known as "the white dragon".)

[horizon-verizon]

Doesn’t Rhaenyra having illegitimate children affect Alicent? A lot of people say that it’s “none of Alicent’s business” but it is. Rhaenyra having obvious bastard children puts Alicent’s own children in danger, because there will be people that want her son to be king over Rhaenyra’s bastard. It doesn’t matter whether Aegon wants the throne or not. People would still rally behind him which would threaten Jace’s rule, and Jace would eventually be forced to kill him to eliminate the threat.

I agree that Rhaenyra as a woman would always face opposition, but her having three obvious bastards really didn’t help her case, and it put her siblings in even more danger. I don’t blame Rhaenyra for not being able to have children with Laenor, but I do blame her for choosing Harwin to father her children. So I think Alicent trying to expose Rhaenyra’s bastards is her way of trying to protect her children’s lives.

A) I've addressed bastards and Rhaenyra this in the following:

A Semi-Master Post of Links

On Blaming Rhaenyra Alone and Specifically, sans discussion of bastards, for what happened to her and Not about Choosing Harwin

The Post already linked in the post/reblog linked in #2 as "Counterpoint"

In other words, they were NEVER in serious enough danger from any set of lords other than the greens. Neither in show nor book/canon lore.

B) About Harwin...

Do not mention Rhaenyra getting a Valyrian-descent man of either noble birth (which could only come from Houses Celtigar, Velaryon, or that one that starts with "Q"). There is the issue of how much she and Viserys could trust such a hypothetical man to not come back around and try to claim that he's the dad of these kids she would have with him more than if she could with a hypothetically straight/bi Laenor. Laenor was her closest cousin and had a good character. Laenor also came with the benefit of Corlys wanting grandkids as rulers. The problem worsened once you tried to find another hypothetical candidate from Essos, since his presence would need to be explained with Rhaenyra already married. AND, as I think I already mentioned in the post I linked above as #3, Rhaenyra using say, a Lysene sex slave or Pentoshi prostitute. Same issue as the hypothetical Essosi nobleman--you need to explain their presence and risk loss of reputation or at least it's suspicion that would lead to such loss. But if a slave, then we have another amoral act that we don't want anyone to perform: forcing an enslaved person to father your child for your own gain. Plus that's expensive and something not worth the money, with all its unnecessary and potentially damning risks.

Rhaenyra loved Harwin, and the reverse is true as well. She trusted Harwin as an individual and was sexually/romantically attracted to him. Trusted him with her and her loved ones' lives. Because she trusted him to not backstab her or block her, even would just see their kids as belonging more to her than to him, she saw someone necessary to her and their kids' security. Theirs was not just a political or business relationship, and in feudal politics, the personal and "business" can't ever be truly separate because reproduction is the business of marriage arrangements and alliances.

C) Finally....the Targs at this moment of ruling Targ history has the most dragons, more than the three Conquerors who managed to conquer all of Westeros (except Dorne) in less than three years....I think Jace was fine. Especially as long as Alicent's kids stayed in place and ALL FIFTEEN (or so) DRAGONRIDERS put down the hypothetical and unlikely rebellious lords:

*Daemon/Caraxes (if he somehow outlived Rhaenyra)

*Rhaenys/Meleys (if she outlived Rhaenyra)

Jacaerys/Vermax

Joffrey/Tyraxes

Aegon the Elder/Sunfyre

Aemond/Vhagar (or if he hadn't been sneaky, some other dragon)

*Helaena/Dreamfyre (if she were allowed to fight)

Aegon the Younger/Stormcloud--not really bc he is a child

Viserys (Rhaenyra's son)/whatever dragon he would have claimed--not really bc he is a child

Baela/Moondancer

Rhaena/Morning

*Jaehaera/Morghul (if allowed to fight, but she shouldn't because of really severe mental disabilities)--not really bc she is a child

Jaehaerys (Helaena's son)/Shrykos--not really bc he is a child

Maelor/whatever dragon he would have had--not really bc he is a child

PLUS whatever kids Aemond or Daeron would have had with their Andal wives and their dragons

I think that such a bevy would have been enough of a deterrent for the Andal-FM lords who would wish to rebel, even if there were any dumb enough to try. Expect maybe the ironborn, but those who mainly wage war by sail never really presented themselves as real trouble against the Targs after the Conquest and while the Targs had dragons. It is when we get to the Dance, when the Targs are fighting themselves that the ironborn really became a worse threat and it wasn't because of bastards so much as profiting off of the green's usurpation.

All those too young to fight would still leave behind enough grown riders who are intimidating enough.

**All Listed Riders and Dragons are by the time Jacaerys is king: Rhaenyra, Lucerys, Laena, Laenor**

[shadowsong26fic]

In the Rain

Author: shadowsong26

Rating: PG

Fandom: Star Wars

Characters: Anakin, Padme, Obi-Wan

Warnings: Nope.

Summary: On a rare trip together, Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Padme get caught in a sudden storm.

Disclaimer: All characters are the property of their respective creators.

Notes: Written for the Year of the OTP event. June prompt: downpour.

I am catching up on the June prompts I didn't get to last month, and then the July ones will be coming not too long after that. I should be back on track and doing things in the correct month for August, lol.

(I am also doing this for BSG and some of my original ‘verses, if you’re interested in checking those out! One ship per canon. The fanfic ones will be posted to AO3 probably a day or two after they’re on tumblr. This fic is also available on AO3 here. Master list of all fills can be found here.)

It had been that rarest of things--an opportunity for the three of them to spend time together, alone, legitimately.

Padme had been specifically requested for a delicate series of negotiations on a neutral planet with a cache of valuable natural resources; that delicacy meant she hadn’t been able to bring security from Naboo, as that might indicate, symbolically, that she was representing her own people rather than the Republic as a whole.

But she was allowed a pair of neutral escorts for the three-day trip across the planetary divide (which had its own attendant rules and traditions); and as Anakin and Obi-Wan happened to be between assignments, it had all fallen into place so neatly.

An entire three days, with Anakin and Padme and no eyes on them.

Obi-Wan hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted something like that until the opportunity had arisen.

Especially since the terrain they were crossing was astoundingly beautiful; almost as beautiful as the two beings at his side. Mountains rising to staggering heights on either side of the narrow valley, capped by sharp white peaks; lush indigo grassland grazed by wild local fauna in varying shades of grey and brown.

Even when, late in the second day, those peaks grew shadowed with approaching stormclouds, it hadn’t dimmed the beauty, or the simple joy of the experience.

They had planned for that, of course; the local authorities had advised them how high into the hills they would need to camp to avoid getting caught in a flash flood if it rained, and, even though it would make them late for their rendezvous on the other side, they broke off early and hiked upward into a darkening sky.

And a good thing, too--the tent was barely up when the clouds opened on them.

Padme yelped and dove inside, Obi-Wan half a step behind her, but Anakin--

He had stopped, laughing, arms wide, head tilted up towards the sky.

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan called. “Come inside!”

“In a minute,” he called back, turning in a slow circle under the rain to face them, grinning. “I just want to feel this first.”

Ah, yes. Some things never really change.

It was…nice, to see him smile like that. To fall back into the simple joys of his youth; the wide-eyed delight of a desert child in the rain.

Padme’s soft sigh beside him indicated that her thoughts were probably along the same lines.

“You could join me, you know,” Anakin called.

“Or you could come in before you freeze,” Padme called back, but she was smiling.

“All right, all right,” he said, and squelched over to the two of them.

Obi-Wan caught a fleeting hint of mischief from him, too fast to realize before Anakin swept the two of them up in a close, tight, and very wet hug.

“Love you,” Anakin murmured, kissing first Obi-Wan’s cheek, then Padme’s.

“Love you, too,” Padme said, before extracting herself. “Now get in the damn tent so we can all dry off. I’ll make hot chocolate.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” he said, laughing. “I’m coming.”

Obi-Wan leaned his head against Anakin’s for just a moment before pulling away too. “The rain will still be beautiful from inside,” he said, softly. “And a good deal more comfortable.”

Anakin flashed a smile, soft and sweet, and followed them into the tent to wait out the storm.

[shoezuki]

“Okay, Sero.” Breath in, out, in, out. Their phone was held in their hand, grip tight. The time, 2:45am, glowered down at them. Their blankets were pulled tight up to their head, covering their ears and hair, just their face exposed to the night air. One arm was pinned under their own body, already tingling.

“C’mon, Sero,” their chest felt tight. Their eyes were pinned to the already written text.  “Don’t chicken out again. Just fucking do it.”

They clicked send before they could even think about it, screeching the instant they realized they sent the fucking text, and throwing their phone across the room.

It hit the far was with a thump, light tracing around the room as it felt into the heap of dirty laundry Sero couldn’t be bothered to find the time to wash.

They stared at the light, counting down in silence.

1…

Sero’s heart was thumping.

2…

They could think of two responses, both extreme.

3…

One, where all his loving, supportive friends embrace him with open arms, tears in their eyes sparkling like stars, and weeping about how much they love and support them as they are. (Yes, Even Bakugou. Extreme, right?)

4…

Or , they’re instantly shunned. Cut off from the group in the blink of an eye. They’re abandoned.

5…

No matter how many times Sero tells themself it’s ridiculous, (after all, most of their friends aren’t straight) the idea always comes to mind. It chews and bites at them.

6…

It’s obvious which they’d prefer.

7…

But, Sero’s never had the guts to even bring up gender stuff before. They only know one person they can even talk to about that. So what if--

Ding!

Sero vaults out of bed, stumbling across the floor and smashing their knee into the floor at the notification. They grab it and sit down on the ground, unlocking their phone, opening right into the group chat.

Ducktape [2:48am]: hey yall jus saying that im not actually a boy i want to be nonbinary okay love yall gnight everyone

Alien Queen [2:50am]: aaaawww love u too boo <3 have a good slep

Okay that’s… neither of the things Sero thought of.

They frown at their screen, sliding back until they feel their back hit the edge of their bed. “okay…” they hums, teeth digging into the inside of their cheek. “ashido that’s… okay.”  The anxiety that had been coiling in their gut all day, bitter and sickening, had made room for something more empty.

The group chat starting going off in spurts. Sero read every text.

Sparky [2:53am] yall seriously goin to bed NOW??? when the nights still young?? Weak i tell you !!! WEAK

Shadow_Blade [2:54am] youre one to talk

Sparky [2:54am] TOKOYAMI WHAT THE HE LL DOES THAT MEAN

Alien Queen [2:54am] haha toko got ur ass kaminari

Sparky [2:54am] D:

RedRiot [2:55am] guuuyyysss stop being so LOUD sero is sleeping. Cool it with the group chat

Alien Queen [2:55am] oh hhey kiri i been meanin to ask hows ur workout routine? Ive noticed a change

RedRiot [2:57am] oh my god okay really??? Omg im glad ! I actually swapped it up a bit u see im tryin to focus more on my legs n have doubled my daily squat and lunge count. Not to mention bumped up my time for doin some plank based exercises. That killed me the first few days haha but i used to always focus more on my arms shoulders n back so i figured swapping some of it up a bit would be good for me and i guess it has been!!! :D

Bakugou Katsuki [2:57am]: holy fuck shut your fucking mouth we don’t need some god fucking bullshit essay about your muscles at 3 in the morning you ass

jEARrou left the group chat

“they didn’t mention me coming out once.” Sero scrolled up, down, and back up again. “Did they even read my text?”

But they were saying goodnight… they frowned. Did they only read part of it? Did they ignore that part? Why would they do that? Would they rather ignore this part of me than accept me?

But that couldn’t be right. For all they knew, they were overreacting. Maybe the idea of someone being nonbinary was so casual to them, that’s why they didn’t address it. Maybe it’s nowhere near being a big deal, like Sero thought it was. Maybe Sero had no reason to spend hours and hours hiding in their room, rewriting a simple text over and over again.

At least… they’re not rejecting me, right? Sero frowned even deeper: no response is… better than a bad response, I guess.

No matter how many times they thought it over, that thought didn’t feel right.

They were just getting back in bed, pulling the covers back up and curling into themselves, when their phone went off.

Sero looked at his screen, raising his eyebrows at the text sent directly to him in private.

TWINKle [3:04am]: aaaaaaaa !!! My friend~~~ you came out!!!!

TWINKle [3:04am]: you DID it!!!!!

TWINKle [3:05am]: ohohh my dearest is all grown up,,, oh how proud i am…

“Aoyama,” Sero offered a dreary smile, sniffling and shaking their head at their friend. They dragged the heel of their hand over their damp eyes, snorting a laugh before responding. 

Ducktape [3:07am]: yep haha. Finally worked up the nerve

TWINKle [3:07am]: nice to finally get it off ur chest, no?

Ducktape [3:08am]: yeah but like. No one responded to me. Or the Coming Out part anyways

TWINKle [3:09am]: ahahah dont fret about it. Give it time to set.

TWINKle [3:12am]: or im sure everyone is just tired.. 

Sero was certain they nearly chewed a hole through his cheek.

They stared at his text, (but it is so important to me. Should i not want at least a response?) deleted it before it could send, typing out a quick ‘goodnight’ instead and trying to let the disappointment sink through their body.

[bigskydreaming]

@hood-ex

Okay but re: the subject of wingfic.....picture this....His Dark Materials style AU where instead of kids having daemons who shapeshift until they settle, kids have wings that are constantly shifting and trying out new forms until they settle.

And maybe Dick’s generation is the first one to have this.....like, the DC multiverse is constantly having these universe-altering Crises, that are all metaphysical and unleash and reshape cosmic and universal creation energies....and early in Dick’s tenure as Robin, let’s say the DC multiverse undergoes a Crisis whose resolution has an unexpected side-effect.....at that point forward, teens begin manifesting their like, soul or whatever, in physical or metaphysical form, in the shape of wings.

They first pop up around when kids start entering puberty, and tend to settle around them kinda ‘finding themselves’ as adults....and we’re not talking just bird-type wings. Wings of any kind, any shape, any material. They’re described as ‘metanatomy’ not in the sense of metas having altered anatomy but more in the sense of how metaphysical relates to physical.....these wings don’t have to prescribe to any biological or anatomical rules because they’re not biological in nature. Kory’s people describe the wings as a child’s ‘over-soul’ - a manifestation of their fundamental, individualized essence that’s overlaid on top of their physical self.

So, many wings are bird-like in nature, physically capable of being touched, damaged, healed, etc....but just as many are batlike or dragon-like, they can be just wing-shaped and made of fire, they can be mechanical appearing or insectoid or pretty much anything. There was a period when Dick was around fourteen when his wings were just wispy wing-shaped stormclouds behind him, lightning constantly flickering up and down their lengths as though it were the wings’ veins.....another period where they were just giant sweeping shadows behind him that he could nevertheless fly with, and while he was Robin, they most consistently manifested as bright, gleaming swaths of luminescence that glowed as though they constantly had spotlights trained on them. 

(Which had Bruce paranoid it would just make Dick an easy target, until they realized that a ‘side-effect’ of Dick’s wings when they looked like this was instead of making it easier for the bad guys to train their weapons on him, even the most hardened villains would find themselves hesitating to pull the trigger. Some kind of pulsating, emotion-laced effect of those wings drawing their attention was it was more like moths drawn to a flame....they were so busy being momentarily entranced or hypnotized by the spectacle of them that they were usually a second too late in actually firing....by which time Dick was in a position to strike them first. Well, at least that’s how it went until the Joker managed a lucky shot anyway. But then, when isn’t that asshole an exception to the rules?)

Some wings had little quirks or fringe effects that went with them taking on a certain form or appearance....though those didn’t tend to stick around when the wings shifted to a different appearance, unless a person’s wings settled in the shape a particular fringe effect was associated with. Like when Roy hit adulthood, his wings settled in the appearance of bright red feathered wings with black accents......his wings are fairly small and not suited for long range flight, or even flight in general, as they tend to be more useful in helping him glide in short, quick spurts. But they also come with a perk unique to him....when Roy uses his own feathers to fletch his arrows, those arrows never ever miss. 

In adulthood, Donna’s wings settle as giant bird-like wings, all black feathers with silver specks of stars scattered all across them, same as her Troia costume. They’re like patches of night sky sliced straight out of the heavens, and when Donna’s in costume she’s impossible to see cutting through the dark. Her huge sweeping wings would cast an easily noticed shadow over the ground if not for the silver specks dotting her feathers, but thanks to those, by the time she’s close enough for you to make out her features, distinct from the night sky, its far too late to do anything but go oh fuck.

Wally’s wings are more of a presence than a visual. Hummingbird type things that match his speed but never manage his stillness. Beating at the air a furious several hundred wingflaps per second, so even when he’s standing still he’s far from motionless....the air around him thrumming with movement, humming with vibrations that make it look like he’s constantly surrounded by shimmering ribbons of heat baking off an asphalt pavement. And again, that’s when he’s just standing still. When he actually gets agitated, they hit the air like a thunderclap. Sparks shooting up from the points of contact as the friction of them is so fast and furious it ionizes the atmosphere around him all on its own.

Garth’s can be a bit unwieldy when on the surface, but in the water they make him glide faster and smoother than any Atlantean before him. Stretching out from torso to underarms like the wings of a manta ray, they’re black and gray and streaked with purple like his eyes and the tattoo around it, just inverted. The material of them thick and coarse enough that when he flings his arms out or wrapped around himself just so, the folds of his wings draped around him create a dense barrier capable of shrugging off any number of projectile impacts.

Vic’s are mechanical marvels, smooth and sleek metallic expanses that aren’t dissimilar to Marvel’s Archangel, but where Warren’s feathers are knife-like flechettes, Vic’s host a variety of sensory arrays and feed him all sorts of data. Gar’s never fully settle....they shift as often as he does, sometimes vast and feathered, sometimes batlike and leathery....always green though, and always there no matter what animal he shifts into. He’s never a snake so much as a feathered serpent, a pegasus instead of a horse, a manticore instead of a mere lion, and well, you haven’t lived until you’ve seen Beast Boy take to the streets of Manhattan as a T-Rex with giant pterodactyl wings. Why his wings never fully settle could be due to his shape-shifting or it could just be in his nature.....Gar’s the original Lost Boy who’ll never FULLY grow up.

Raven’s are purple and black on the outside but bone-white on the inside.....like her empathy, they cut both ways. When she pulls her wings tight around her and someone else like a protective shroud, they can shield her and those in her care from prying eyes and scrying magic....when she throws them wide and strikes out with them at enemies on either side, the touch of her feathers is like feeling the cold of the grave. Kory’s are a deeper, royal purple juxtaposed beside Raven’s shadowed inky violets.....but rather than feathered, Kory’s are tall and draconian, imperious and imposing canvases adorned with swirls of red and green like nebulas painted across a cosmic backdrop. Curling emerald flames lick around the edges of them just like her starfire sometimes dances through her hair.....even when ‘ablaze’ her wings are cool to the touch if she invites you to touch them, but touch them uninvited and you’re going to get burned. Badly.

Lilith’s are four enormous feathered wings of green and gold and black spread behind her like the many layered wings of a seraph. They’re decorated in various places with dark concentric circles like those found on peacock feathers....until those circles flare and open wide and you realize you’re staring at dozens of eyes that are all looking back at you.....each a window to your own soul, freezing you in place with a glimpse of your own darkest secrets or possible destiny.

Joey’s are many-hued mosaics, like wings made of stained-glass windows. Hazy and indistinct shafts of rainbow light slanting through his varied ‘feathers’ when he spreads his wings in the air behind him.....like viewing screens or windows they show glimpses, afterimages of everyone he’s ever joined his soul to when riding shotgun in their bodies.....making them forever a part of him, a link he can tap into at will and rendering his power less about possession and more about connection, a forever-door that lets him merge with one of his previously tethered-to teammates, no matter where they are in relation to him. But with the slight change that now what he makes up for in range, he loses in stealth, as his wings show up behind the body of his ‘host’ for as long as he remains merged with them.

And Dick’s wings finally settle in adulthood to sweeping feathered wings of blue and indigo banded with gold.....but where his presence is less attention-commanding than in his younger years, his impact is definitely felt. As his settled wings act as an epicenter for a kind of gravitational bubble around him that’s keyed to his mood.....when he’s lighthearted and in high spirits, everyone around him feels a little bit lighter, purely in a physical sense, gravity within his sphere of influence being a little less heavy, leaving his friends and teammates a little lighter on their feet, quicker in their reactions, etc, etc. When he’s feeling heavy though, his immediate environs feel it with him - though that’s not always the worst result when surrounded by enemies he’s better off having feel overburdened, weighed down, like they’re struggling to get to their feet and the air itself is sitting a little heavier in their lungs every time they take a breath.

[warriorsbutnotreally]

Different Clans And Their Naming Headcanons

here i go again with my rambles of headcanons while working on several things so that i can empty my brain

this is all about naming

Now, obviously I agree with the idea that cats should be named after what cats know, but I'm also not a traditional namer and I love the fun and wild sounding names!

This is not about this, though

Also this is entirely headcanon, like stated before, and you don't have to agree with me at all

.

I headcanon that the Clans have a 'general' idea of names that are shared by the Clans [the basic names like White-, Bird-, Bark-, Frog-, Grass-, Feather-, etc]

but each Clan also has their own unique ideas of names that separate them from each other. They sound weird to other Clans, but to the Clan they come from it's completely normal!

to explain better-

.

ThunderClan

unique to ThunderClan are storm names that don't appear in other Clans. While other cats are alright with simple Storm-, Lightening-, and Thunder-

ThunderClan takes it a step further

Flash-, Spark-, Bolt-, and Rumble- are examples of this

They're also drawn to symbolic names when it comes to certain cats as well, Fireheart / Firestar being the best example, as Bluestar saw him as the 'fire that will save the Clans'

If it had been any other cat to find her, it's without question that either Twigkit or Violetkit would've been named Skykit

.

ShadowClan

when it comes to naming, ShadowClan loves names that will strike fear into the hearts of others. They're not afraid to give strange names to their kits, even if it's seen as odd.

Claw-, Broken-, Hollow-, and Stumpy- are only some of the easier options, but it isn't out of the question for a queen to look at her kits and decide to use Blood-, Screech-, or Bone-

ShadowClan often revels in the idea that the other Clans want to leave them alone for their odd names.

.

WindClan

WindClan doesn't often go out of its way with names, though they do use ones that aren't common in the other Clans.

They're not afraid of using bugs for names

Worm-, Tick-, Maggot-, and Flea- are actually WindClan names, but not commonly used as WindClan doesn't like when the other Clans mock them for their names, even if ShadowClan's names are worse.

Even then, they are also the ones to use more herb-related and farm-related names

Lovage-, Barley-, Oat-, Horse-, Sheep-, Woolly-, and Hay- are examples of this

.

RiverClan

other Clans easily consider RiverClan names a bit silly. They'll go into the strangest details about names, but they don't mind as the names have a lot of importance to them.

Names relating to fish - like Scale-, Fin-, and Gill- - and names relating to water - Foam-, Bubble-, and Algae- - are normal and respected.

.

Old SkyClan

Old SkyClan names are very.. Pretentious at times. They're one of the few Clans that openly used -spirit and they also value names that sound grand.

Their names were always strange and they're the ones to normalize naming kits out of attributes of personalities like Brave-, Shy-, and even Bold-

They also were the first ones to use Song- and Sweet-, giving themselves names that stood out

.

Modern SkyClan

Mordern SkyClan is more fun with names.

On top of naming cats after cats they know [see Firefern, Stormcloud, and Harrybrook], they also aren't afraid to use names for words that the other Clans don't understand

This is due to SkyClan being more open with who they are as a group of former kittypets, loners, and rogues

Their names sound wild to the other Clans, but to them it's a part of who they are

Gravel-, Fidget-, Pillow-, Blanket-, and Snip- are examples of this

They also will name cats after others they know and have the option for outsiders to keep some part of their name as a prefix

This ends in rather funny sounding names like Harveymoon from canon but also eludes to possible names like Mittenspaw, Cheeseclaw, or Raspberrystorm

.

again these are just my fun headcanons

it's all fun and games and in the end these are just silly little cat books and there's no harm in having fun with names

anyway there's my brain juices emptied for now

but knowing me there will be more fun headcanon stuff on its way cause I like sharing my personal thoughts on things and seeing other people's thoughts as well

[smells-like-mettaton]

Perhaps #5 (Hold my Hand) with Papyton for the fic ask game if you are still doing it?

(I hope you're okay with me writing this as a sequel to one of my other papyton fics! This could still be read on its own, but it will make more sense if you read the first chapter. If you don't want to, just know that the part in italics at the beginning is from a fanfic that Alphys wrote.)

The Greatest Fanfiction of All: The Sequel

Rating: T Word Count: 1687 Read on AO3: here

---

Papyrus’s hands are warm. Of course they are. Theyre always covered in gloves. Not even Mettaton, his boyfriend of one month and thirteen days, knows what his bony phalanges look like beneath the plush red fabric.

But tonight, that's going to change.

xxx

Exactly one month and thirteen days had passed since Mettaton had read the beginning of Alphys’s “papyton” fanfiction. It also happened to be one month and thirteen days since Papyrus had agreed to be his boyfriend, sending him on a magical journey of love and romance.

That journey had given him plenty of new perspectives and discoveries. Yet the mystery of what lie under Papryus’s gloves was not one of them.

He sat next to Mettaton on their usual bench at the center of the hedge maze. The sky was dark with stormclouds, which kept any stray spectators away from the park. Papyrus was prepared, as usual; a tall MTT-Brand Umbrella leaned against his femur. Nothing and no one would ruin this moment.

Now Mettaton just needed to have the moment. Preferably without resorting to calling Alphys and Frisk again.

“METTATON? IS SOMETHING THE MATTER?” Papyrus asked, his browbone furrowing in concern.

Mettaton’s fingers were already laced through his; Mettaton rubbed his thumb against the back of Papyrus’s glove.

“Well. It is a very special day, darling.” Special enough that Mettaton had worn the outfit Papyrus loved most—a cropped shirt that said COOL ROBOT and galaxy-print leggings that hugged his metallic thighs. Papyrus himself had worn a bright Tetris shirt and shorts that exposed his gleaming femurs.

“IT IS?” Papyrus blinked. “IS THERE A SALE ON RIGATONI? BECAUSE I THOUGHT THAT STARTED NEXT WEEK.”

“Hm? Oh—not that I know of, but I will keep that in mind.” He imagined creating a pasta bouquet for Papyrus, and a smile graced his lips. “Today is the one month and thirteen day anniversary of our glamorous romance.”

“WOWIE! TIME FLIES WHEN YOU’RE DATING A HOT ROBOT!” Papyrus grinned, pressing his teeth to Mettaton’s cheek in a close approximation of a kiss. “HAPPY ONE MONTH AND THIRTEEN DAYS, METTATON! IS THERE A SPECIAL WAY YOU WANT TO CELEBRATE?”

It was perfect. Mettaton couldn’t have set it up better if he tried.

“Actually…” He turned Papyrus’s hand over, examining every seam and stitch in his crimson glove. “I was hoping to see your hands. I know they’re just as handsome as the rest of you.”

He winked, and a light blush spread across Papyrus’s cheekbones.

“MY HANDS? I’D GLOVE TO! BUT, ERM…” His fingers disentangled from Mettatons, instead fidgeting nervously with the hem of his right glove. “I DON’T KNOW THAT YOU WOULD FIND THEM AS UNBEARABLY ATTRACTIVE AS THE REST OF ME.”

Coming from Papyrus, that was practically a statement of self-loathing. Guilt bubbled in Mettaton’s soul-tank.

“Beautiful.” He grasped the top of his boyfriend’s arms and squeezed them gently. “There is not a bone in your body that I would not find attractive. Of course, I will not ask you to perform if you are suffering stage fright, but I do think you shine so much brighter in the light.”

Papyrus smiled a little, though his browbone was still turned upward with worry.

"IF YOU'RE SURE…"

"Positive as my ratings, darling."

Papyrus nodded slowly. "I TRUST YOU, METTATON."

Those words were like ambrosia to Mettaton's soul. He would do anything to remain worthy of his boyfriend's trust.

"PLEASE, JUST… DON'T BE FRIGHTENED, ALRIGHT?"

Mettaton couldn't imagine anything about Papyrus being frightening.

Then, with agonizing care, Papyrus peeled off his gloves. And Mettaton understood.

The bones of his hands were scorched an ashen gray, nearly black. Hairline cracks laced through them like spiderwebs. Mettaton was half afraid that if he touched them, they would crumble to dust.

"I'M FINE, REALLY!" Papyrus must have noticed the look on his face, no matter how quickly Mettaton had schooled his expression. "THESE BURNS ARE SO OLD, I BARELY NOTICE THEY'RE THERE!"

His grin was strained. Mettaton wanted nothing more than to reach out and squeeze his hand, but he didn't dare.

"They don't hurt?" Mettaton asked, then winced. He could've phrased that more tactfully. It was probably better than asking how on earth the injury had happened, at least.

"WELL… THEY ARE A BIT SENSITIVE WITHOUT MY GLOVES. THEY HAVE HEALING MAGIC, YOU SEE." Papyrus held out one of his red gloves, his expression turning to one of pride. "SANS DID THE SEWING, AND I DID THE ENCHANTMENT."

"No wonder you love them so much." Mettaton smiled. It was adorable how much Papyrus loved his brother. Their love had inspired Mettaton to finally patch up his relationship with Blooky and Mew Mew.

Papyrus smiled back, running a charred fingertip fondly over the fabric. "WOULD YOU… LIKE TO TRY ONE ON?"

"Me?" Mettaton blinked.

"OF COURSE! WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO EXPERIENCE THE GREAT PAPYRUS'S LEGENDARY HEALING MAGIC FIRSTHAND?"

Mettaton chuckled at the pun. "How could I possibly refuse?"

He slipped off his white gloves, revealing the unsightly bolts in his own fingers. He hardly felt self-conscious about that after seeing Papyrus's hands, though.

Papyrus's glove fit like a dream. Like holding his hand, only from the inside. Warmth seeped from the fabric into his metal joints, slipping through his cracks like sweet oil.

"This is… quite the enchantment," he breathed.

Papyrus couldn’t be in pain with that much healing magic caressing his bones. But on the other hand, even the constant healing magic had failed to permanently erase the scars. Mettaton still wasn’t too familiar with physical injuries, but surely that wasn’t normal, right?

Papyrus’s wink sounded like magical glitter."WHAT CAN I SAY? I'M VERY ENCHANTING."

He looked just as bright as ever. Just as energetic, as full of life.

Just as beautiful, inside and out.

"That you are, darling." Mettaton kissed his cheek.

Papyrus pulled his left glove back onto his hand, then twined his fingers with Mettaton's. Red on red, warmth on warmth Their hands matched perfectly.

"YOU PROBABLY HAVE SOME QUESTIONS," Papyrus said quietly.

Mettaton's eye flickered to Papyrus's bare right hand before returning to his eyesockets.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't feel comfortable with, darling."

Mettaton was curious of course. If this injury had been caused by another monster, they would face the wrath of a true killer robot. Knowing Papyrus, though, he had probably forgiven whoever was responsible.

"I ALWAYS FEEL COMFORTABLE WITH YOU." He smiled. "AND IT IS… NICE. TO HAVE SOMEONE BESIDES SANS KNOW THIS."

"No one else knows?" Mettaton’s eyes widened. He'd thought Undyne would have found out, whether Papyrus told her on purpose or she burned off his gloves during one of their cooking lessons.

"I AM A SKELETON OF MANY SECRETS." Papyrus winked again. This time it sounded like tinkling bells. "IT HELPS THAT NO ONE ELSE REMEMBERS THE ACCIDENT, THOUGH."

An accident. No one had hurt Papyrus on purpose.

Mettaton sighed in relief, powering down his killer robot protocols.

"I WAS HELPING MY DAD WITH HIS WORK ON THE CORE. I ALWAYS CALIBRATED THE PUZZLES WHILE HE CALIBRATED THE GEOTHERMAL POWER LEVELS."

Papyrus looked down at their tangled hands, his expression distant.

"I STILL DON'T KNOW EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED. ON THE DAYS SANS REMEMBERS, HE PROMISES THAT IT WASN'T MY FAULT. THAT DAD WAS TOO CARELESS. BUT THERE WAS AN EXPLOSION, AND DAD, HE… HE FELL…"

Something in Mettaton crushed as Papyrus's voice cracked.

"I WAS LUCKIER. THE BLAST ONLY GOT MY HANDS." The smile returned.

"Papyrus…"

Mettaton didn't know what to say. What could he say? Ghosts didn't have parents. His cousins were his family, but he couldn't imagine them dying, either. Blooky physically couldn't.

But this wasn't about him! It was about Papyrus, who had lost his father and scarred his hands and still counted himself lucky.

"DON'T BE SAD, METTATON. IT WAS A LONG TIME AGO. LONGER THAN YOU CAN IMAGINE."

Papyrus looked into his eyes, and for a moment, Mettaton saw something old. Mettaton had been alive—albeit as a ghost—for nearly two centuries. Right now, though, Mettaton wondered if Papyrus was even older than that.

"I suppose so,” he reluctantly admitted. “I don't even remember an explosion at the CORE."

"OH, THAT'S NORMAL. APPARENTLY DAD WAS RATHER FORGETTABLE." His smile was sad. "EVEN SANS DOESN'T ALWAYS REMEMBER HIM. BUT I… WELL."

He closed his blackened fist.

"IT WOULD BE DIFFICULT TO FORGET."

Mettaton opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Luckily, it didn’t seem like Papyrus was looking for a response.

“WHEW! ALL THIS HONESTY IS EXHAUSTING!!” Sweat beaded on his skull. “DO YOU WANT TO GO GET NICE CREAMS?”

“Of course, darling, but—are you sure that you’re okay?” Mettaton couldn’t help the concern in his voice. It wasn’t every day that he unlocked his boyfriend’s tragic backstory.

And here he’d been so concerned about something as trivial as holding hands. He truly was as selfish as everyone believed.

“PLEASE, DON’T WORRY ABOUT ME,” Papyrus said firmly. His hand gave Mettaton’s a tight squeeze. “I MEANT IT WHEN I SAID IT WAS LONG AGO. PRACTICALLY A DIFFERENT LIFETIME. I ONLY TOLD YOU SO THAT YOU WOULD KNOW HOW MUCH I TRUST YOU.”

Trust. Mettaton trusted Papyrus, too. Trusted that he didn’t need Mettaton to coddle him. Trusted that if he wanted Mettaton’s help, he would ask for it.

“I… thank you, darling.” Ghostly tears welled in his eyes. “Your trust means everything to me.”

“WELL THEN!” Papyrus’s grin turned mischievous. “I TRUST YOU TO KISS ME UNTIL I CAN’T BREATHE!”

Mettaton’s fans whirred and whirred. The sound was quickly drowned out by the raindrops that began to fall and fizzle on his shoulder pads.

“Darling, you’re a skeleton. You don’t have lungs.”

“NEITHER DO YOU.” Papyrus twirled the umbrella before popping it open, protecting Mettaton from the threat of short-circuiting.

(From the rain, at least.)

“You truly know how to give me a challenge, darling.” Mettaton cuddled closer, reaching up to brush his red-gloved hand against Papyrus’s cheekbone.

“ONLY BECAUSE I KNOW YOU’LL RISE TO IT!”

Mettaton grinned back, and that was exactly what he did.

[secretlovesoftheheart]

So I’m changing some names for my rewrite, either because I hate the name (Onestar or any names making fun of appearances) or I don’t like names that are already things (Sandstorm, Rainstorm, Sunbeam, etc.). So some name changes for my rewrite! At the bottom will be name changes simply name changes for aesthetic/story reasons. Some names will be left out due to spoilers for how I tackle some characters. Onewhisker -> Whiskerbreeze (not a traditional namer I swear I just think the One- prefix is stupid) Stumpytail -> Stumptail (ten times less mean when put in the context of it being a tree stump instead of “lolol shortie tail mcshort short”) Deadfoot -> Duskfoot (as cool as the name is on its own, I don’t want cats named for their disabilities but kept -foot to keep the name familiar) Runningnose -> Runningstem (the prefix stays since that’s just what his mom named him thinking he may not make it since he was always sick, then just anything other than -nose is good but he got -stem for his medicine knowledge without making Spottedleaf share her suffix) Wetfoot -> Waterfoot (I know why a kit would be wet but Wet- just sounds mean and gross) Tornear -> Rainear (why name a kit Torn-? saw someone go with Rain-, forgot who, but liked it better than Torn-) Sandstorm -> Sandwind (after her dad Runningwind, note however Stormheart will remain Storm- through my bullshit reasons) Rainstorm -> Rainwind (first name change honestly and wanted to keep the theme of rain storms) Sunbeam -> Sungleam (gleam is just a good suffix and while it doesn’t change the name much, it’s enough so that it’s not an actual thing anymore) Stormcloud -> Stormpath (after the path he gave himself by staying in TC) Nightsky -> Nightflower (she got a sister named Breezeheart so I thought it’d be cute to have two sisters get really cutesy and traditionally feminine suffixes) Whitethroat -> Cottonthroat (translation names really hit good) Brambleclaw -> Strawberrylion (-claw obviously had to go so he was named for his loyalty to LionClan, then Strawberry- is also a good translation name) Pouncestep -> Dawnstep (fits the light theme the first litter could have had all around and I forget if Dawnpelt was missing or dead at the time but she’d still be named after recently dead Dawnpelt) Conefoot -> Pineconefoot (just makes more sense and I’m not afraid of long names) Birchkit and Rowankit -> Antlerkit and Bramblekit (Tigerheart dies on the way back to the clans so these two will go to CloverStrike, then random names go!) Rippletail (ShC) -> Ripplesnow (just don’t want two so soon after one another) Sparrowpelt -> Sparrowjump (Halftail doesn’t get the name change and Firestar wouldn’t name a second Sparrowpelt even if they’d never met, so -jump for a SkC cat) Mintfur (RC) -> Mintpelt (again, no twins even if it’d be funny) Pebbleshine and Stormheart -> Pebbleheart and Stormshine (they switch roles and yay! No P?bbleshine confusion!) Quailfeather -> Quailear (original name please?) Wrenflight -> Wrenfeather (the writers just wrote about WC how did they forget they already had a Wrenflight in “recent” memory. I know I ragged on Quail for it but I’d rather there be no repeats than unoriginal names) Larkwing -> Larkleap (for the leap of faith she made to stay with her clan instead of giving in to the DF’s promises, not knowing if she’d even be forgiven) Sootfur -> Sootstorm (Ashfur, Cinderpelt and Sootfur all have the same name basically so I changed Soot’s name so he’s named after his dad) Songleap -> Songheart (leap just seems awkward after song so I went with a tad bit more generic name) Cherryfall -> Cherryleap (after her first mentor who had a large impact on her) Hollytuft -> Foxtuft (after Foxleap instead since Holly lives) Bristlekit -> Pansykit (well kinda, she actually becomes Stemkit and Stemkit becomes Pansykit since I don’t want the BC story to end the way it does, not sure what will happen yet but Bristlefrost will very likely survive) Robinwing -> Robinfall (WC, named after her mentor who saved her live while fleeing Brokenstar) Robinwing -> Robinheart (ThC, she was always so kind so why not -heart?) Robinwing -> Robincreek (RC, just tired of all the Robinwings so no one gets Robinwing anymore and this one got a watery name) Loudbelly, Sneezecloud and Heavystep will be getting new names too since those feel mean too, even if Heavystep can also be taken as a compliment since “woah this man is huge”

[zutarasecrettunnel]

OK I did it I updated my Zutara Week chapter fic. This idea was inspired by the Day 6 prompt for this year, "Spirits".

Story summary:

The war is over for everyone but Katara, who keeps seeing the scarred face of the boy who sacrificed himself for her and for the world everywhere she looks. When she finds out why she is experiencing these so-called hallucinations, she may be led right into a trap centuries in the making.

Here's chapter 2 of Your Face, I See. 

You can also read it on AO3.

Teardrops marked her path like breadcrumbs as she made her way through the empty streets of the Fire Nation capitol. She raced toward the palace, desperate to believe that what propelled her was just another hallucination, albeit much more terrifying this time. She wasn't even sure the voice that sounded so much like Yue had been real. Why had she talked about Tui and La? Why had her visions of Zuko intensified? Why could she now hear his voice? She was convinced that her mind was lost, reduced to ash by the flames of Sozin's comet.

Katara threw open one of the grand, heavy doors of the palace. Her feet pounded into the lacquered wood floor, aching with each impact. Her breath was frayed, lungs inflating jaggedly as she struggled to take in the breaths needed to recover from her long, swift escape. Her passage through the daunting royal halls was blighted by tears and dim torchlight. She wiped at her eyes pointlessly as she pressed on.

The many-legged monstrosity had not followed her. She ran from her fear, her grief, and her doubt. She ran aimlessly, toward nothing in particular. She ran straight into something solid but soft.

"Master Katara?"

At first she didn't want to hear another voice, but when it's owner registered in her mind, she turned her chin upward to meet the surprised gaze of Fire Lord Iroh. His face was gaunt but kind, his half-illuminated expression full of concern. She blinked slowly, finally able to gain some clarity in her blurred vision. This was the first time she had seen this man since the joyless coronation ceremony held shortly after the end of the Hundred Years War. He had used the duties of the crown to avoid the younger war heroes almost completely, only holding audience with Aang and even then infrequently. The reluctant ruler had lost his lust for life with the loss of his nephew. He operated only in duty now.

He gazed at her, confused at her sudden appearance in a misplaced palace hallway. At her silence, he tried again.

"Master Katara? What are you doing in this part of the palace, especially so late at night?" His tone was doleful and flat, but not accusatory. He sounded tired, and uncharacteristically old.

She tried to maintain the facade she had so carefully cultivated over the recent months. She tried to reinforce the levies of her fears and sadness. With the sound of Iroh's broken spirit, the waterbender was overcome. Her emotion spilled over the dams she had built like a tidal wave.

She launched herself at the man's midsection, burying her face in the silk of his robes. She soaked them with all of her pent up mourning, all of the anguish, consternation and madness. Iroh stood for a moment, unmoving, before finally pulling the crying girl into an empathetic embrace. She sobbed, openly and fiercely, the sounds eventually trying to form words that were finally ready to come out.

"I can't stop seeing him."

Iroh resisted the urge to pull away from the soggy girl at her admission, instead placing a hand reassuringly on her shoulder. He waited a moment before calmly asking the question he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer to.

"Can't stop seeing who?" It was at that point he felt her tug, removing herself from the sleeve of his robe to look directly at him.

"Zuko."

Iroh took a small step back, regret clear in his features. The suspicion had been present in his mind since the girl spoke her first sopping words to him in the darkness, but to hear it caused his latent guilt to come roaring back to life like a tigerdillo. At the same time, the tidal wave of emotion in Katara had begun to recede. She couldn't continue to meet the old man's forlorn gaze. Her wind-tangled hair fell around her shoulders as she studied the floor.

"He's been haunting me ever since. . ." she paused, sniffling hard, before continuing quietly. "About a week after he. . .after he died."

The aged Fire Lord pondered for a moment. Silence hung between the two figures huddled in the opulence of the royal chambers like the fine tapestries on the wall. Iroh was slow in his words as he responded, returning to the sagely demeanor that had defined his character prior to the end of the war.

"Grief. . .does many things to people," he started, stroking his beard. "It can often feel like a negative spirit hanging over you, or a curse. You most of all were connected to the. . ." the older man lost his words at this point, but regained them after a moment, "the loss we all suffered. You were there. You were. . ."

Katara didn't lift her head or move from the spot as Iroh found himself unable to finish his statement. "In any case, I'm sure you wi-"

The water tribe peasant demonstrated her knowledge of and respect for Fire Nation customs as she pointedly interrupted it's ruler.

"I only see his face, always just staring at me. But tonight he called my name, asking me to help him. Begging me. But this time there was a monster and-" the words tumbled out of her as she faced Iroh again, only coming to a halt when he grabbed her by the shoulder.

"What kind of monster?!" His whisper was a shout in disguise.

"I-it crawled. It had so many legs, like a giant centipede. But it had his face," Katara felt her eyes stinging again as she recounted the features of the miscreation that had poached the scarred visage of the fire prince. "I don't know," she shook her head, hands on either ear, "I didn't look at it too long. I ran straight back here."

The already feeble posture of the lament-laden Fire Lord continued to cave. It was as if Iroh had lost his footing on the thick wood of the palace hall.

He uttered one syllable, his eyes unfocused. "Koh."

Katara let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding on to.

"Who-what is Koh?" she hurled her question more forcefully than she meant to. The possibility that she may not just be going insane had slipped from her weeks ago.

Iroh turned from her, waiting before speaking. "The face stealer, a nefarious spirit," he replied. The wizened old firebender muttered to himself quietly while Katara attempted to process what had already been said.

"A face...stealer?" the information settled into the young girl like a stone in a lake. "You mean it. . .he. . .Zuko. . ."

The waterbender quieted, a different kind of storm brewing inside of her. Her voice was a low rumble when it came from her next.

"Do you mean to tell me that this. . .Koh. . .stole Zuko's face in the spirit world and has been haunting me with it ever since?"

Iroh placed a palm on the crimson painted wall of the palace hallway, steadying himself on this renewed grief.

"It would appear so," he replied softly, sadly.

"So how do we save him?" Again her inquiry was hushed, a murmur of hope too scared to make itself known.

"We don't."

The Fire Lord's voice was a scratch in the darkness as he uttered the short response, as if the words themselves burned in his throat like his element uncontrolled.

The growing thunder in Katara rumbled louder.

"What do you mean 'we don't'?"

"Master Katara," Iroh began, "this spirit is dangerous."

She stared intently at the older man, her lips a thin quivering line of a response not yet ready to be released. In its stead, the tired ruler continued.

"When I was a younger man, after I lost Lu Ten, I entered the spirit world to find him, to bring him back. It took many months of study, and in trying to find my way in, I also found knowledge of Koh the face stealer, a spirit who can take your face if you show any hint of emotion in his presence," he explained, "If you go after him, it will only be to give him your face, too. I do not know of a way to defeat him."

Katara stood firm. The sadness that had hovered over her like a stormcloud for months finally snapped, and the waterbender unleashed the full power of the anger that now coursed through her like the lightning that had been its origin.

"Dangerous? I've been haunted by this spirit for months. I've been seeing Zuko's face everywhere, and I thought it was just guilt, just sadness, just me going crazy because he died saving me. He died saving me and for what?" she cried, her emphatic syllables echoing through the chamber. "For me to do nothing? For me to be afraid? Even if I can't bring him back, I can't leave his spirit like that. He risked it all, his country, his future. . ."

Her words slowed as the tempest within her drained itself. Her voice broke and quieted again as she finished her thought.

"I can at least risk my face. I can at least. . ." She felt her own fingers lightly touching her left cheek as she trailed off.

Her companion waited, ensuring the storm had passed before issuing his decree.

"I forbid it."

The assertion was strong, an uncharacteristic order more suited to the Dragon of the West than the grief-stricken old man he had become.

"You will lose yourself in this doomed quest. Do not try to go after Koh, Master Katara," he softened, adding one final thought to his order. "I will have the fire sages and the healers work to find you a remedy for this influence. You shouldn't see him again."

Tears flowed freely from the girl's eyes as she refused to allow them to look up at the man in front of her.

"I will go to them in the morning, Fire Lord Iroh," she responded weakly, "now I am tired. May I please be excused to my chambers?" He bid her the leave she requested, but not before placing both hands on her shoulders in a gesture of comfort to the wounded girl.

"I promise you will have peace, my dear," he said calmly, his own pain present in his tone, "the sages have access to vast libraries of spiritual knowledge that will be used to heal you of this affliction. "

He barely heard her mutter a thank you before she bowed and quickly made her way down the grand hallway.

[owillofthewisps]

Do you only write Geralt? Because although I adore our dear Witcher, I am IN LOVE with Jaskier. If you are willing to write for Jaskier, could you do one where he’s a big puppy dog over the reader but she’s very insecure and doesn’t notice? I know it’s cliche, but I like it. If you aren’t comfortable writing for Jaskier, could you do the same request for Geralt?

notes: hi anon!  i’m sorry this took me seventy years - i am always and forever at the mercy of my brain and what catches its attention.  hopefully this is close enough to what you were looking for since i deviated a little bit!

(additionally! when doing even the vaguest hint of research for this i realized something i had always thought was a midsummer tradition for…everyone…is actually just something specific to russia/ukraine [which would be why my grandmother wanted me to know it] but also i’m often wrong so who knows.  either way it threw me lol.)

pairing: jaskier/female reader

rating: teen

word count: 3k

���—–

Jaskier finds you by the riverbank just before midday.  You’re bedded down in the lush thickness of summer clover, sprawled indolently across the verdant carpet.  “Ah,” he says, settling down next to you.  “A four-leafed clover amidst the cloverbeds.  How lucky of me to find her.  Blessed for the rest of my days.”

You snort, shading your eyes so that you can peer up at him.

He grins down at you, his smile almost as bright as the sun that outlines him. “Too much?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you tell him.  You consider reaching up to sweep his chestnut hair back from his blue, blue eyes.  Lapis eyes, Lidka calls them, because she is a merchant’s daughter through and through.  She’s wrong, you think, but you hardly intend to tell her that Jaskier has eyes like a lake, the type of clear blue of a mountain spring, something fresh and pure.  You know when something is out of your reach.  

“So you keep telling me,” he says.  “And yet it barely touches on the words you deserve.”

You roll your eyes.  “Shut up, Jask,” you say, shoving at his knee.  “Don’t tease.”

Something passes over Jaskier’s face.  It reminds you of a stormcloud on a summer afternoon, rolling through the sky to blot out the sun, swollen grey with rain.  It passes like a summer storm, too, and that starlight smile of his blooms again.  “I would never, dear heart.”

“Mhmm,” you say, letting your eyes drift closed again.  

“Gods, has Geralt infected you?  It’s bad enough trying to get him to use his words.”

“You use enough of them for both of you.”

“I use them much more prettily than he would!”

“S’true,” you murmur. “You use them more prettily than most everyone, though.”

The summer breeze stirs; it carries the scent of the season with it, soft grass and wildflowers, woven together into a fragrant bouquet.  Beneath it all, the earthy tang of the soil, freshly tilled for summer sowing.  The scent is not the only thing the breeze carries.  The wind brings you the muffled joy of children, frolicking through the fields, and the steady song of a choir of hammers.

You roll over onto your belly and squint up at Jaskier.  His cheeks are petal pink, the faintest hint of a flush coloring his skin, and you wonder if the heat is getting to him despite his open doublet. He reaches out and plucks a clover from your hair with his long fingers, the touch delicate.

“What, darling?” he asks, leaning close and teasing another clover from where it’s caught in your hair.  The sun catches on the curve of his cheekbone, kisses soft against his skin, and you are frozen, a deer caught unawares, tail flicked high with nerves.  

Darling, you think darkly.  How unfair he can be, all without even realizing it.  Women like you do not often hear anything but their name, and Jaskier seems to say everything but yours.  You wish he would realize that sometimes it feels like scraping your knee against a river rock, to hear his smooth voice say that to you, knowing he means nothing by it.      

Jaskier makes an inquiring noise, something soft and fluting, and you shake yourself out of the cobwebs of your thoughts.

You peer at him.  “Are you trying to get out of building the summer shrines?”

“No,” he gasps, one hand flying to his chest.  “How could you think such a thing?”

“Why else would you be out here with me?”

He blinks.  “Why would I be anywhere else?”

You scoff.  The clover crunches beneath you as you roll onto your back again.  “Nevermind.” Why, you think.  Why do you always ruin things, why do you open your mouth.  Sometimes you think it’d have been better if you’d taken a vow of silence, had kept yourself from inflicting any attempts at conversation on unsuspecting folks. It’d be better than having them lie to you.

A hush falls, broken only by the far-off sounds of the village and the river’s quiet hum.  You tear at the clovers beneath your hand, rip them up one by one as you squirm.  Jaskier shifts beside you.  You close your eyes again and tilt your face towards the sun.  It is easier than being blinded by Jaskier’s light.

The bard sighs.  He nudges closer, his thigh a warm streak of heat against your side, and you crack an eye open.  His focus is solely on his lute, his eyes - the blue of the midmorning sky, deep and rich - trained on the strings.  Better position to play, you think, nothing more, just another nip of unintended cruelty.  

“Did Geralt tell you about the harpy?” Jaskier asks softly.

“Geralt speaks?”

The laughter spills from Jaskier like fine wine: everflowing and delicious.  You gulp it down greedily, wishing your belly were a wineskin, so that you could carry some for later.

“You make an excellent point,” he tells you.  “And how perfect. I’ve been waiting for a captive audience to test the tale on.”

The smile on your lips crumbles into dust.  “Of course,” you tell him.  “Go ahead.”

Jaskier launches into the story, tells it with twists and turns and beautiful flourishes, his voice a calligrapher’s pen.  You listen intently, determined to be of use to him, knowing there is nothing else you can offer him.  He spins his tale like a magic thread, spins Geralt’s exploits from straw into lustrous gold, makes the Witcher’s effigy something that is much more difficult to burn.  

After he’s done, the two of you fade into idle chatter.  You know you are boring him, can feel it in the way he shifts against you and the way his voice catches here and there, but you cannot help yourself.  Finally, you fade into quiet and let Jaskier fill the hush with his lyrical voice.  Beneath the sun’s warm kiss, you ride the edge of sleep.

“What does your crown look like?” Jaskier asks, his deft fingers plucking at the strings of his lute.  Even his half-hearted chords meld together prettily to sweeten the air with their song.  

“What crown?” you ask sleepily.  You’re sundrunk, now, adrift in time, lost in a haze of heat and in the sweet perfume of the clovers.  Sometimes you think the sun’s kiss will be the only one you ever keep.  

“Do you have multiples?” he says, his voice laced through with laughter.  “Your Midsummer crown.”

That washes over you like river water, runs cold over you like snowmelt.

“I don’t have one,” you say tightly, pushing yourself upright.  You curl in on yourself like a nautilus shell, pull your chest snug to your knees, as if the arc of your spine can shield you.  You’ve never made a Midsummer flower crown, could never bear to have the river whisper to you what haunts you in the dark of the night, what you hold in your heart.  You’ll be alone, you know, plain little thing that you are.  The river will carry your crown all the way out to the sea, and all of your prospects with it.

“What?”

“I said I don’t have one,” you bite out.  “There’s no point.”

“Darling,” Jaskier says, his voice downy soft, “what in the godsdamned world are you talking about?”

“I don’t need the river to tell me my fortune,” you hiss.  “And I don’t need it to confirm what I already know, that no one will want to catch it, that I’ll be alone.”

Jaskier wraps a large hand around your arm.  He tugs you to face him, shows that hidden strength of his that had so surprised you all.  Geralt makes him look small, but he is hardly delicate.  “I would catch your crown, darling,” he tells you.  That flush is back, peonies blooming pink across his cheeks.  

The tears pool hot in your eyes before they spill over like rainfall, sweeping down your cheeks like a summer storm.  You pull free of Jaskier’s grip and push yourself to your knees.  “Don’t,” you say, chest heaving.  “Don’t say something like that out of pity, Jaskier, that’s not fair.”

He gapes at you.  You scramble to your feet, ignoring the grass stains bleeding across the front of your skirts, and wipe at your eyes.  

“Darling,” he starts, and he is pushing to his feet, and you cannot take it, cannot take platitudes from a silver-tongued bard.  Perhaps he’d thought it kind, to offer to catch your crown when no other would, that it would give you a chance to take part in a tradition that’s always scorned you.  Instead, it reminds you of what you have always known - he is kind because he knows that you are to be pitied.

You stride off towards town, wiping at your eyes with a rough sleeve, and when Jaskier calls your name, you start to run.

—

“You’re such a godsdamned fool,” Sabina says, but her harsh words are gentled by the soft stroke of her hand across your hair.  “The bard’s mad for you, everyone knows it.”

The two of you are tucked away in a patch of sunlight in a small copse near the river.  The festival is blooming to life like a wildflower, cheers and music starting to lift to the sky.  You’ll join them soon, you know, though you can barely stand the thought of it.

“That’s not true, Sabina,” you say.

She takes your cheeks between her work-rough hands.  “He wrote you a song,” she says, her mahogany eyes flickering over your face.

The tips of your ears burn hot.  “He didn’t,” you protest.  “He wrote a song about the village!”

“Godsdamned fool,” Sabina mutters to herself, releasing you to throw her hands up in the air.  She runs her fingers through her silvery curls.  “Does the village have ‘a sunrise of a smile, lips that guide you to the warmth of day, a beginning unfurling across the horizon like a kiss’?”  

“Those aren’t the words.”

“They very much are the words, I’ve just taken out the fluff in between.”

“Sabina, please,” you say, feeling the tears begin to prick.  “Jaskier could never see someone like me as anything like that.”

She cups your face again, leans in to press her forehead soft against yours.  “He can,” she murmurs. “And he does.  Have you ever seen him sit at the riverbank for hours with any other woman?  He asked you what your crown looked like because he wanted to dive for it, you ass.”

Sabina’s Midsummer crown is irises, you know, the deep purple of a fresh bruise to sit dark against her silver strands, and men will dive for it, will dive deep into the cold for the chance to place it dripping back on her head, to have the river bless their courtship.  

“He didn’t mean it like that,” you say through numb lips, because - because you’ve heard Markus ask Lidka what flowers made up her crown, heard Iwo beg Tosia to use something unique so he knows which crown to pluck from the river’s fingers.  Jaskier couldn’t have meant that.  Not for you.  You’ve never heard anyone ask about a crown for mere conversation, but - he couldn’t have meant that.

The sound that issues from Sabina would not be out of place in a filthy bar.  But she knows you, grew up running in the streets with you, wove Midsummer crowns with you when you were both still far too young to actually sail them down the river, and she can see the crack in your stone.  “He did,” she says.  “He does.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say helplessly.  “I didn’t make a crown.”

“I know.”  She presses a kiss to your cheek.  “Maybe next year.”

It’s for the best, maybe.  Next year, Jaskier will be long gone, traipsing through the Continent. And Sabina’s confidence is not yours.  She’s always been persuasive, always been able to convince others of her ideas.  

“Come,” Sabina says.  “It’s Midsummer.”

You follow her out onto the meadow that hugs the riverbank, into the flood of sunlight and cheer.  

You dance, and laugh, and chase the children through the tall grasses, through the rolling fields of clover.  The summer shrine sits regal in the distance.  You think Geralt might be there, his broad form barely visible.  

You stay with the children when the others flock to the river.  Sabina plucks one of her irises from her crown and tucks it into the laces of your bodice, her deep brown eyes kind, before Anatol scoops her up and carries her off.  The children dart about the meadow, barely minding you, which is fine.  It’s Midsummer, and a festival, and also - you’re not sure why anyone thought you could corral them.

One of the older boys finally takes the other children in hand and guides them to a safe spot nearby in the meadow to play games.  You sigh and flop back onto the soft bed of the clovers.  The sun feels like a blessing against your skin, soft and warm, a lover’s kiss.  You bask like a cat, stretch out in the sun, pillowing your head on your hands.

Eventually, you hear soft footsteps.  The children are still howling in the distance. The footsteps slow, and then there is darkness cutting through the warmth of your sun.  You open your eyes, pushing to yourself to sit upright, and go still.

“Hi,” Jaskier says.  He’s soaked, his clothing clinging to him.  Every inch of his wiry frame is outlined by it, and gods, he’s delicious, lean and hard with traveler’s muscles.  The water drips from his pink lips, trickles down to his chest, beads in the thick hair there.  You swallow.  

“You dove for someone,” you say.  The words creak out of you like an unoiled hinge.

There’s a flower crown hanging limp in his hand, dripping wet and sadly ruffled.  He kneels not far from you and meets your gaze.  Sometimes you think you have never known blue before you met him, before you saw his eyes. “I did.”  

“Who?”

“You didn’t have a crown,” he says softly, raising the crown and presenting it to you, “so I made you one.”

It’s a crown of peonies, fluffy balls of petals pearl pink like the dawn.  The petals are layered like ribbons over themselves, an unfurling promise of summer, and the soft color of them is all the softer against the hint of verdant green stems.  And tucked in between the peonies like secrets, buttercups bloom gold, shining in the sun.  

“Oh,” you say.  

Jaskier shifts.  “I didn’t realize you didn’t know.  That you thought - that you thought I pitied you when all I wanted to do was slow down every moment with you, so that it could last through the ages.”

You make a small, hiccuping noise.  It feels like there are words stuck in your spasming throat.

“It was never pity,” Jaskier says.  “It was always so that I knew which crown to dive for.”

You reach out to touch the edge of a peony, let your finger trace over the delicate petal.  It’s soft against your fingertip, even with the river’s chill still clinging to it.

“It’s yours,” Jaskier says.  “If you want it.”

You draw back.  Jaskier pulls in a tight breath.  His eyes are like tidepools, deeply blue and glinting in the sun.  

“I think I do,” you breathe.  “You mean it?  You aren’t -”

“Never,” he says.  “It’s yours.”

“Alright,” you say, your pulse thundering like hooves, beating deep in your veins.  You think you can hear your heartbeat.  Even through the cotton that sits heavy in your head, muffling the roar of the river and the others as they draw close once again.  “It - I - won’t be easy.”

“I don’t want easy,” Jaskier says, leaning forward, cupping your cheek gently, slowly, testing the waters,  “not if it means I can’t have you.  I’m not easy, either, or so Geralt tells me.  When he’s speaking to me.”

It startles a laugh out of you, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep inside, and Jaskier’s lips curve into something sweetly pleased.  He rubs a thumb across your cheekbone.

You push into him, catch his lips with yours, and he makes a noise before cupping your face in his large hands, pulling you closer.  He kisses the breath right out of you, and for a moment - he kisses the fears from you too, teases them out of you with his tongue.  You pull back panting, one hand knotted in the damp strands of his chestnut hair, and he coaxes you back to him.  

He licks into your mouth with fervor, shifts so that he can pull you into his lap, and your chest is heaving as you press against him, as the cool river water starts to seep through your bodice.  Jaskier is warm against you, and hungry in a way you didn’t think someone could be for you, not like the other men that have tumbled you.  You kiss him until one of the children shrieks in the distance.

“Shit,” you say, pulling back, but Jaskier doesn’t let you go far.  He presses another soft kiss against your lips before he lets you go so that you can fix your hiked skirts.  He picks up the crown with his deft fingers, and sets it on your head.

The crown, you find, fits perfectly.

taglist (only including folks i know read jaskier/have requested all witcher fics): @witchernonsense @hina-chans-stuff @stretchkingblog97

[tumblebee-the-smol-bean]

For the classification verse what about little V who gets classified one year later than everyone else cause he's the youngest and during that year he tries to be as caregiver like as possible and the others are like "he's either neutral or a caregiver" cause he is like baby whisperer, cares for them. He gets his results back and he's like 0-2 age range regressor and he cries because he wanted to be the emo parent despite knowing deep down he was a regressor

Aight. Here we go. Since you didnt specify a caregiver I decided on Janus because I'm a sucker for Momceit and baby virge. Hope you enjoy!

Virgil gnawed at his fingers from the passenger seat of Janus's car. They were all packed into his minivan to go to Virgil's house so he could receive his classification. Being almost a full year younger than the rest of his friend group he was the last to be classified, but he had been there for the others when they were so he knew what to expect mostly. That didn't help quell the knotting in his stomach though, nor the bouncing of his knee.

A chuckle came from the seat behind him. "Calm down chemically imbalanced romance! It's rather obvious you're going to be a neutral anyways. We can be neutral buddies!" Roman smiled.

"No way!" Remus scoffed "he's definitely a caregiver! I mean he can calm me down. Me! That's some super caregiver powers right there." Virgil smiled fondly. It was true, when the others regressed he did the best he could to take care of them and make them happy. To be as much of a caregiver as he possibly could be. The others had taken to calling him 'the baby whisperer' because he was so good with them. To be honest that was the classification he was hoping for and he had been trying so hard to make it so that it was the one he received, despite the little inkling in the back of his mind.

"Now now." Janus tutted "we dont know what Virgil is going to be, let's not assume."

"Yeah!" Patton piped up "whatever you get we'll be super duper happy for you kiddo!"

"Indeed" logan nodded "although based on behaviors and subconscious tics I would say that-"

"Logan, stop. Hes going to get it in a few minutes anyways." Jan says smoothly. He of course was a caregiver. He often looked after Remus when Logan wasn't available and sometimes Patton as well. He sort of shared babysitting duties with Virgil. They made an odd duo being the oldest and youngest respectively. But they always took good care of the smol beans. Sometimes though...Virgil would find himself wishing Janus would show him the same affection he showed to the others when they were small. Wrap him up in a blanket and cuddle him till he fell asleep. Safe and happy.

He shook his head to clear the thought as they approached his house and all hopped out next to his mailbox. The letter was plain and official looking. No indication of what the contents might contain.

"Well?!" Remus was practically bouncing on his feet and Patton, despite looking excited himself took on his caregiver persona, much diffrent than his regressed persona and placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Calm Remus, I bet Virge would like to open it inside on his sofa instead of out here."

Remus nodded and they all shuffled inside. Virgil Janus and Logan sat on the couch and Patton remus and Roman lose on the floor.

Virgil took a deep breath and his heartbeat sped up as he picked up the letter and carefully broke the seal and pulled it out with trembling fingers. His eyes scanned the letter and...he dropped it with a small sniffle. He had wanted so badly to be the emo parent but it didnt look like that was in the card. Most of his friends looked confused and concerned but Janus just nodded to himself as if this was something he had expected and picked up the letter from the floor, not looking at it and tucking it into his pocket.

"I think Virgil needs a bit of space. Logan, take my keys?" The glasses clad one nodded in understanding and took them, ushering the rest out the door after they gave Virgil hugs and told him that even if they didnt know his classification whatever it was they were proud of him.

Then only he and Janus were left.

They sat for a few minutes in silence before Janus broke it. "I apologize for staying but I did not want to leave you alone, although it seemed you needed some space." An explanation for why the others had left. And honestly? Virgil was glad. He didnt think he could do this with everyone else here...and having Janus here was...nice. so he just nodded quietly.

"May I look at your letter?" He asked softly as he pulled it back out of his pocket.

Virgil hesitated...but...regressors often regressed right after receiving their classifications and someone needed to know so he nodded.

Janus carefully unfolded it, read through the contents and nodded. "0-2 is a little on the young end but I think we can manage."

Virgil sniffled again and felt himself start to slip as Janus mentioned his age range. Of course he couldn't have even been a kiddo like Patton at 8 or 9. No he had to be the absolute youngest of the group.

Janus placed a hand on his shoulder. "Its alright to be small Stormcloud."

He shook his head and felt a tear fall. He didnt want to be small...well he did but he also didn't. It was confusing.

"Yes it is." Janus wiped away the tear and paused. "May I cuddle you?" Virgil didnt even have to think about it. He nodded quickly and Janus pulled him close, wrapping his arms around him and carding a hand through his hair.

"Shhhh, shhhh, it's okay baby, everything's okay, just relax."

The soothing tone and grounding touch soon had Virgil slipping into what he could only assume is his small space. He calmed down a bit and nuzzled into Janus with a soft coo.

"There you are little one." Janus smiled. "Its alright, you're safe. Do you know how old you are?"

Virgil only cocked his head in response. He didnt feel like using words right now.

"Ah, currently nonverbal I see." He hummed "perhaps I'll teach you some sign language later, but for now," he hummed again and picks up his backpack. "I have a few goodies for you. I always buy some things for classification reveals just in case." He explained and Virgil stared at it curiously from where he's pressed up against Jan.

"Its not much but should be enough for now. We can get you some more things later."

The first item he pulls out is a stuffed raccoon that makes Virgil gasps

and his eyes go starry. He starts to resch for it but then draws back and looks questioningly at Janus.

He nodded with a small smile. "Its yours love, go ahead."

Virgil gingerly takes it and rubs it against his face, squeaking in delight when he realizes it doubled as a rattle.

Jan wore a soft smile as he retrieved the next items. A dark purple pacifier that he held out to Virgil who immediately accepted it and then a sippy cup and bottle of similar skeleton designs.

"It looks as if this one is more suited to you at least right now." He picks up the bottle and sets the sippy cup aside to put in the cabinet later.

"Last things, are you ready?"

Virgil nodded and clutched his raccoon tight to his chest as he sucked on his new Paci.

He pulled out a pair of soft gothic kiddie pajamas and a black blanket with purple bats on it. Virgil started babbling and reaching out to touch the soft fabrics. Janus chuckled.

"Would you like to wear them?"

He nodded.

"Do you need help?"

He hesitated but slowly nodded again before hiding his face behind his racoon. Janus smiled. "No need to worry little bat. I dont mind."

He quickly helped him into the Pjs and wrapped him into the blanket like a mini taco.

Virgil cuddled up and yawned softly.

"Naptime for the little baby bat I think."

Virgil whined.

"Shhh, you're tired, and I'll be here when you wake up."

"Pwomse?" Its very soft and the first thing hes said since regressing. Janus practically beamed.

"I pinky promise."

And so they locked pinkies and Virgil fell asleep, wrapped tightly in his blanket and cuddling both Janus and his racoon.

[tim-burton-bitch]

Tw: pre-romantic prinxiety, slight near-panic attack mentions, mentions of storms, descriptions of crushing, mentions of deep sea swimming, mentions of lack of escape and difficulty breathing, semi-shitty writing, I think cursing this has been sitting in google for a while I wrote this back in like early November at 3 am let me know if there's any others minor spoilers for FWSA

This was written the same night as this one and takes place after technically it's meant to take place shortly after the 2020 election was called this one is just fluff despite all the trigger warnings it's just an idea of the minor similarities yet differences between Roman and Remus' rooms like how it would feel to be in them and I had to write it out and the original idea had come from think of Virgil going in their rooms and describing how they made him feel so I ended up writing it as prinxiety and I like how the descriptions turned out this follows the same headcanons as the previous one shot added on is Roman is also an insomniac sometimes he has a lot of ideas sometimes he keeps working having gotten absorbed into his work sometimes he's overwhelmed with emotions inspiration or just plain can't sleep

Word count: 1,708 words

Virgil sighed, he couldn't sleep again. Why? He didn't know, sometimes it was Remy being a petty bitch sometimes because his anxiety was running high. Some nights he just... COULDN'T. This was one of those nights.

He had been scrolling through tumblr for a surpls of hours, it was nearing 5am, groaning Virgil decided to head downstairs and get some coffee. No point trying to sleep if it just wasn't gonna happen.

He got up slipping on his hoodie over the My Chemical Romance shirt and sweatpants he was trying to sleep in. Grabbing his phone he slipped out the door and into the hall.

He would have gone and asked Roman if he wanted to watch Disney or something had he known for sure Roman was awake tonight. As he snuck down the hall he noticed Roman's door was slightly ajar, a slight breeze blew from the crack in the door. This would not be the first time Virgil had been in Roman's room. Nor the first time he found out Roman's room could be altered to what Roman wished, imagination and all that. In fact being honest he hadn't been surprised at all when he found out, because Remus' room also held that ability. What had surprised Virgil was not the fact it was altered but insteadd what it had been altered to.

The first time he had found out for sure Roman's room could change too it had been late at night, and he had found Roman in the middle of a feild beneath stormclouds watching a lightning storm above him. Virgil had always found lightning storms relaxing. So long as the lightning was far off. It had never struck him as something that the fanciful prince would also find a peace and serenity in storms. And yet that had been what Virgil found, the prince laying on his back in the center of a feild watching the lightning storm. Explaining when he noticed Virgil come in (and asked him to shut the door) that it was peaceful in its own right and he enjoyed changing his room when he was overwhelmed, sometimes with ideas sometimes emotionally.

Feeling overwhelmed was something new to the prince to admit and right now only Virgil knew his secret. They helped each other when they felt overwhelmed or broke down ever since the day Janus had shared his name and Roman broke down to Virgil.

Virgil stepped up to the door enjoying both Roman's company and Roman's rooms ability, as well as usually finding a common scene they both found relaxing, he was curious to discover what the room was tonight.

Roman did not disapoint

Virgil LOVED space. There was always something about the vast mystery that was space. Calm an peaceful.... He and Logan could often be found talking about space and the night sky. Logan would let Virgil into his room to use his telescope whenever Virgil wished.

Tonight, Roman's room was breathtaking. Roman lay in the center of a greeen meadow staring up into a stary night sky. The green seemed to go on forever and technically, it did.

Virgil stepped into the meadow far closer to a pale blue in the moonlight. He quietly shut the door behind him and walked over the the man who lay alone in the center of the grassy meadow, watching the sky slowly move.

"Hey starry-eyes, room for one more?" Virgil asked as he sat down beside the older sides head.

Roman let out a chuckle eyes focusing on the emo now leaning over him, "Always is room for you, so what do you think?"

"The night sky? Seriously? You're really here asking ME if I like this view?"

Roman smirked sitting up part way resting on one elbow, "I asked if you liked the scenery not the view. You're looking at ME right now~" he sing-songed, causing the other to blush.

"Oh shut up you KNOW what I meant!" Virgil cried out shoving the prince to the side as Roman laughed. They were both quiet for a moment just enjoying the serenity of the meadow and company of one another. A few minutes had passed and a breeze blew when Virgil hummed musingly, "I don't think I can ever get tired of coming into your room. I love it here."

Roman looked over having long ago laid back down. He watched as Virgil joined him in laying on his back. He turned back to the sky above the two and hummed an agreement, "I certainly love my room as well. Is it just that you like the rooms shift ability? Because if I'm not mistaken mine isn't the only room which can. Remus' room and The Imagination can as well..." Roman trailed off turning his head to look at the calm, anxious trait laying beside him.

Virgil let out a lighthearted laugh. "No, definitely not. I've been in Remus' room and yours is just... different. The way it feels is... nice."

Roman was still staring at him now quizzically and Virgil turned to look back at him, "How is that? How does my room feel any different than The Imagination or Remus'?"

Virgil looked back at the stars as he pondered the question. "It's... Kinda hard to explain.... See The Imagination doesn't feel like anything really, there unless with someone doing something it feels like any other room so that one's easy. But to describe Remus and your rooms? I'm not entirely sure how..." Virgil glanced at Roman before looking up once more.

Roman was thinking on Virgil's answer in the silence that had proceeded, "Remus' room..." Roman looked over as Virgil began to speak. "Walking into Remus' room is like swimming under water deep in the ocean. You feel a weight suddenly pressing down on you. There's no where to go no way to escape. It's the end, you're running out of air and you know you'll never resurface in time. But you try to anyways knowing it's pointless. Yet you also feel weightless... the way water can make you. Like you mean nothing. Weigh nothing. About to be swept away. It causes you to panic you just. Can't. Breathe."

Virgil's hands tightened into fists as he explained, his chest tightening just at the thought of Remus' room. "I hate it in there. I can never breathe." Roman nodded understanding. When Virgil didn't continue for a moment he thought that was all. That his room held feeling unlike The Imagination, and didn't feel as awful as Remus'.

Virgil's hands relaxed he needed to calm down which was easier here than anywhere else in the mindscape. "Your room..." Roman looked over at Virgil again noting he had more to say, "Your room is the opposite. You feel light... calm.. content and happy."

Roman looked at Virgil with interest, he never really particularly thought so. Virgil continued thoughtfully, "Stepping into your room you suddenly feel like anything is possible. Like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders and you can fly. You feel like you're about to float away and yet..." His hands closed around the grass beneath him, "You feel grounded. Safe and secure. Whatever mess is outside the room is exactly that... outside. While here it can't bother you. It can't do anything to you. It's easier to calm down in here because of that. It's like... the room itself holds your care and compassion. Not to mention your passion. When it's a STORM it goes as all out as you do."

Virgil smirked, "It feels like stepping into your arms. Safe, warm, welcome...." He turned his head to meet the prince's eyes.

Roman was speechless. He was touched Virgil felt safe and welcome with him. In fact as their eyes met he was beyond speechless.

The stars reflected in the eyes of the man who lay beside him. Virgil was still smirking the shadow beneath his eyes a bright purple, he took Roman's breath away, "Coming in here, is like being able to breathe for the first time. You didn't even realize you hadn't been breathing till you come in. Just like with you."

Roman didn't know what to say. A part of him wanted to kiss the emo right beside him caution be damned. But he knew better. Virgil was sweet with the words but they were friendly and not to be taken as anything more.

Besides as romantic as this was and as many fantasies of a first kiss ran through his head in that moment. He wouldn't, consent meant everything to Virgil and Roman wanted to be sure if it ever did happen, he was entirely comfortable with it. He wanted verbal confirmation.

This was romantic and would make for a great first kiss with non-verbal consent. But he wanted Virgil to KNOW he understood the man's boundaries. He wanted the first kiss to be asking permission and after either a direct nod of confirmation or a verbal queue. So Virgil knew Roman would never do anything he was uncomfortable with and he would always feel safe.

So he just nodded as they stared at one another in the moonlight. Each longing to lean in and kiss the other. One afraid of what might happen the other wishing for another scenario where he could directly ask without it sounding out of place.

They chose instead to just enjoy the rest of the night, together.

Eventually they must both have fallen asleep as the next thing they remember there was knock on Roman's door.

"Hey Kiddo, I'm about to go make pancakes, usually you're already up by now so I wanted to be sure you were alright. Also... have you seen Virgil?"

Patton's voice rang out breaking the silence. The two were now laying on the hardwood floor of Roman's room. "Yeah we're fine we were just hanging out last night!" Roman called out.

"Alright kiddos, well breakfast will be ready soon see you then," Patton then walked off leaving the two to wake up properly while he finished cooking breakfast.

The two smiled at one another memory of the shared moment fresh in both their heads as they stretched. Virgil leaving to go get changed. And they both went about their day.

[comicaurora]

Does the cloud-hair of Tynan's incarnation extend all the way up into his true cloud form? Also, if gods take hundreds of years to form, how can any storm (aside from The Storm) get a god in the first place? Come to think of it, does/did The Storm have a god?

Storm gods are comparatively rare for that reason, and "Storm god” is a bit of a misnomer, to be honest. What we classify as a storm is just the interval of time wherein an atmospheric structure becomes disturbed, causing some combination of high winds and precipitation. Visible clouds only form from unstable airmasses and disturbances, and with enough moisture and an updraft, a cumulous cloud grows into a towering stormcloud, precipitates the majority of its moisture out as rain, and then gradually dissipates into the upper atmosphere as things stabilize again.

But I consider this to be something of a ship of theseus problem. Where did the storm go when the atmosphere stabilizes? No part of it is gone, it’s just transformed into a different state, and if conditions are right it can easily reform - although if it did, it would be composed of different water and air than it was the first time, since that’s the nature of the process. We tend to think of storms as individual occurrences these days, but there’s no reason not to think of them as a single storm returning, or as all individual instances of a temperamental being that changes from day to day. In some parts of the world throughout history, when it stormed it was a sign that a storm god was angry, or battling giants, or otherwise active. It didn’t matter if one storm came in off the coast and the next one rolled in from the mountains - the storms were still anthropomorphized with one personality. In this world, that weather god would basically nebulously form in the atmosphere over that region as the people who lived there anthropomorphized their local weather conditions, and with enough time, a god would form with a degree of control over that local weather. This is how you get weather gods - storm gods are a little different.

There are parts of the real world where it’s almost always storming. Near the equator, on either side of the doldrums/intertropical convergence zone, that band of stagnant air acts as a front pushing north and south over the course of the year, causing a massive line of thunderstorms visible on basically any radar map. For that matter, a little ways north of that in the Atlantic, tropical storms are almost constantly forming in the basin near the Sahara, fueled by the warm equatorial waters and strengthened by the enormous particulate mass blown off the west coast of Africa. Even the ones that never become hurricanes are unusually massive and coherent. And in many parts of the ocean, the currents form massive hundred-mile-across loops, dragging weather systems along the coast and then back over the open water to recharge. A storm rains, dissipates into nothing, then reforms somewhere else when the wind moves through an area of atmospheric disturbance. Is this new storm the first storm reformed, or is it a different storm? It’s a matter of perspective.

In THIS world, all a storm has to do is survive in some form to be recognized and gradually anthropomorphized. And while a proper god may take several hundred years to become powerful enough to manifest, a low-level spirit that would eventually solidify into a god can form to a noticeable degree within a few decades as their soul begins slowly weaving itself together, though it’d take centuries for them to gain a more complex mind and the ability to incarnate. Even natural locations that don’t strictly have gods yet can act with a mind of their own, so an unusually large or sturdy storm just needs to bounce around long enough for people to recognize it’s a Thing for it to gain a proto-soul and some small control over its movements and actions.

Most storm gods are fairly small and simple, because they go through the natural storm cycle of storming followed by dissipating and gradually reforming elsewhere. Their impact on mortals comes during their short bursts of activity, and outside that they’re not spared much thought, so they develop into gods gradually, in short bursts. They tend to be simple, spritely and generally content to follow the winds. It’s difficult for them to become anything else.

It’s not impossible, though. Just difficult.

[grayseekerswritinglife]

Inevitabilities

Starscream was late. Very late.

When he alighted on the narrow ledge and peered into the murky depths of the cliffside cave, he expected to find it empty. It wasn't. Skyfire was there, sitting with his back against the wall. His optics were closed and his head lolled to one side in a posture of sleep. Starscream edged closer, the fingers of his still-functioning hand clenching indecisively.

Part of him—a large part—was telling him to leave. The howl of the wind and the crashing of breakers against the base of the cliff would muffle his retreat. Later, he could concoct an excuse for his absence—if Skyfire even asked, though he generally didn't. It wasn't exactly a rule between them, just an unspoken agreement to keep the outside world separate from their relationship.

It was better that way. Safer.

Starscream took a backward step, then another. He reached the rim of the ledge, one heel-thruster poised above the sheer drop. When he turned, everything beyond the cave was iron-gray. The sky, the rocks, the rain-swept ocean. The sun was hidden behind a mass of stormclouds that crouched on the lightless horizon. A salt-laden wind buffeted his chest and wings, pushing him back, and that was all it took. His legs went out from under him and he sat down, hard.

Only then did he hear a quiet sound from behind. The sound of a vocalizer being cleared. Glancing back, Starscream was unsurprised to find Skyfire watching him. Not speaking. Not telling him to stay… or go. Just leaving space. Letting him decide for himself, as he always did. Starscream turned his attention back to the cheerless vista, and waited. He didn't wait long. Skyfire's steps were slow and deliberately heavy as he came to settle on Starscream's right.

Of course on his right. Skyfire had a talent for that.

Starscream tucked his hand against his chassis where Skyfire wouldn't be able to see it. For a while, neither spoke. Eventually, Skyfire drew a small repair kit from his subspace and set it on the floor between them. Starscream stared at it, feeling stupid, ridiculous, exposed. Finally he reached across himself with his good hand, snagged the kit, and dragged it onto his lap. He fumbled with the catch, but the kit slid from his lap and popped open, scattering tools across the rock floor.

"Frag!" It was the first word either of them had spoken.

Skyfire shifted closer. "Starscream—"

Starscream cut him off with a gesture. Half a gesture, because he realized mid-motion that he'd been about to use his right hand. He twisted away, blocking Skyfire's view with a wing as he groped along the floor. He found a small precision-welder and fired it up. The spark flared blue. A brilliant, electric blue which he was able to see by without use of his infrared. His hand was worse than he'd realized. Much worse.

You're either lying or stupid!

Megatron's voice echoed harshly in his thoughts, along with the remembered humiliation of his own response:

I'm stupid, I'm stupid!

He had been. Incredibly stupid, and this was the result. His fingers were shaking. The welder slipped from his grasp and skittered across the cave floor, its spark flaring inexplicably brighter just before it was doused. A hand settled on his arm.

"Starscream."

Starscream tensed. It was automatic, a reaction programmed at the level of base-coding. To anticipate a fight because flight wasn't an option. Not for him. He wouldn't—couldn't—yield. But Skyfire wouldn't either. His hand stayed where it was until something in Starscream broke. He let his head fall to his drawn-up knees, and didn't realize how hard he was shaking until Skyfire's arms slipped around him. A soft kiss grazed the top of his head as Skyfire shaped himself around Starscream's form, great wings sweeping forward to shelter him from the gray morning light.

Skyfire said nothing. Starscream had half expected him to ask, but he didn't. Maybe he doesn't have to, an inner voice suggested, spurring a fresh surge of fury to cover his scalding humiliation. Everyone knows, everyone. Even the Autobots.

But Skyfire's knowing wasn't such a problem. Not really. In a way, it made things easier. It saved having to explain. Starscream hunched back against Skyfire's warm frame, listening to the hum of his engines and the indefinable, shimmering vibration of his life-force. His field was like the ocean. No, like space. Vast, deep and all-engulfing, but Starscream never felt he was drowning in it. Not unless he wanted to. Skyfire rocked him, big arms crossed over his chest, hands stroking his shoulders. Holding him without making him feel trapped. Starscream gradually unclenched, and Skyfire rewarded him with further kisses to his intakes and the top of his helm.

"Can I look?" came the inevitable question.

Starscream sighed.

He knew Skyfire knew, but wished he didn't have to see. Especially since Skyfire must also know, by the mere fact that Starscream was hiding it, that this wasn't simply battle-damage. Yet he didn't resist when Skyfire's hand slipped down the length of his right arm, slow and hesitant, giving Starscream plenty of warning. Plenty of chances to retreat. When Skyfire's enormous hand finally cupped his, Starscream felt the reaction. A swift tightening in Skyfire's field; a storm-flash of anger; an ache of regret; a burn of recrimination.

Self-recrimination.

Starscream twisted around in Skyfire's arms. "It's not your fault!" he snapped, glaring—and Skyfire looked so sad. Starscream hated that. He wrenched free, thinking he should leave, just fly, but his spark was rooted here and he knew there was no point. He'd fly back again. That was inevitable. And he always made Skyfire sad. That, too, was inevitable.

Fingers brushed his shoulder and drifted down the length of his back. It was barely a touch, but Starscream felt Skyfire's field pull close to his body as he reached again for Starscream's hand. "Let me see."

Starscream didn't—couldn't—look as Skyfire drew the hand into his own lap. There was a clank of metal against stone as Skyfire leaned past him and picked up one of the fallen tools. Starscream didn't know which one. He kept his gaze firmly on a vein of pale quartz that cut, lightning-shaped, through the dark stone at the cave entrance, but the expected pain never arrived. Instead, the dull throbbing ache that had been with him throughout the afternoon suddenly drained from his hand. He glanced at Skyfire, startled, but looked away just as quickly when he saw Skyfire moving his broken, useless fingers, assessing damage.

"It's bad." Skyfire's tone was impassive, betraying nothing.

"Of course it's bad." As if Megatron did anything by half-measures.

Skyfire cupped the hand in both his own. He bowed forward, and Starscream felt lips brush against his palm. Part of his mind noted that if he could feel it, that meant Skyfire had disconnected the pain receptors without interfering with his tactile system overall. He suddenly remembered another time when Skyfire had repaired him. It had been so long ago, almost another lifetime, yet it had been a blustery morning like this and he'd felt, as he did now, as if they were the only two beings in the universe.

"Do you remember that planet with the pink sky?" he asked.

Skyfire was gathering the tools and arranging them in what was, Starscream knew, the precise order in which he planned to use them. He paused for a moment, thinking. "Binary star system?" he asked. "Planetary rings? High concentration of argon in the—"

"Yes, that one."

"You hated it there," Skyfire murmured,  mouth twitching into a smile.

"Well, we were stranded!" Starscream barked, then subsided with a small shrug. "It wasn't so bad."

"No?" There was humor in Skyfire's gaze, as well as affection. "I don't recall you thinking so at the time."

"I didn't know what I was talking about. Anyway, I went back."

"You did? When?"

"About a million years into the war. The place was gone."

"The whole planet was?"

"No; just the hab."

"Ah." Skyfire nodded. "I'm not surprised. The local geology would have changed, along with the atmosphere, climactic conditions—"

"There had been an ice age," Starscream interrupted. "A glacier had come through, and nothing was left but flat tundra. But I built another hab. It was like the one we made, only… smaller. I lived there for a while and it felt like you were there sometimes, and I could still—" he broke off "—still talk to you. And sometimes I thought you answered. I even thought of just… staying. There, with your ghost."

Skyfire paused his work, studying him. "But you didn't."

Starscream snorted. "The natives," he said, shaking his head. "There was this species that had evolved in the meantime. Small, furry, organic bipeds. Some with tails, some not. And these two groups, the ones with the tails and the ones without, they hated each other. They were constantly fighting and killing each other with their primitive weapons, and—Skyfire, I killed one."

Skyfire set down the welder. His hands curled around Starscream's, a thumb stroking his wrist where the damage wasn't as bad. "What happened?"

"He was going to die anyway!" Starscream snapped defensively, but Skyfire just kept stroking his wrist, waiting patiently. "He had a spear through him," Starscream continued. "Right through. In at the armpit, out just above the hip. I suppose he was looking for help when he came to my door. I…" Starscream averted his gaze.

"You shot him?"

Starscream didn't answer right away. Skyfire's hands were warm, and the unhurried glide of his thumb against Starscream's plating was oddly soothing. Not unlike the patter of rain and the rhythmic crash of breakers on the rocks below. "It was the first thing I thought of doing," Starscream admitted finally. "The only thing. I just did it, and didn't even consider anything else."

"Maybe it was the only thing you could have done."

"That isn't the point!"

"Then tell me what is." There was no trace of anger in Skyfire's tone, nor of judgment.

Starscream searched his face. "You can't go back," he said. "I'd been fighting, leading a squadron. We'd driven the Autobots underground, we were winning! And I wasn't the same anymore; that's the point."

"You left when the Decepticons were winning?"

"I had to see who I was without the war. But I couldn't hold on to the past, Sky. I couldn't be who I was then, and I couldn't hear you anymore! After the day I shot that creature, you… you stopped answering. I couldn't even remember the sound of your voice. So I went back to Cybertron. What else was I going to do?"

"And… they took you back?" Skyfire's tone was cautious, as if he was unsure of where this might be leading.

"I didn't expect them to, but Megatron was surprisingly… welcoming. Almost as if he knew where I'd been, or at least why. I fought harder than ever after that. Fought my way to the top; became his Air Commander, and then his Second-in-Command." And more. Of course there was more, but Starscream left that part unsaid.

"Did you... do you... love him?" Skyfire asked, proving that he'd read between the lines with his usual ease.

Starscream observed him in the half-light. The great, white shape of him. His big hands, clasping Starscream's damaged one so very gently. He owed this mech an honest answer, but he didn't know the truth anymore. Maybe he never had. "I don't think I can love," he said eventually. "I buried that when I left that place, that planet. The skies weren't pink anymore. They'd turned gray, like here, and… I just. Everything I ever was, with you, I left back there. And I can't go back. We can't."

He withdrew his hand and tucked it against his belly, curling around it. They sat, the hiss of rain forming a backdrop to their silence. The sky grew brighter, the iron clouds on the horizon warming to a bruised shade of copper.

"Will you at least let me finish before you leave?" Skyfire asked.

Starscream pretended to consider, but finally placed his broken hand back in Skyfire's. "You aren't going to tell me not to go back?"

"I want to," Skyfire said as he resumed, the welder's blue spark casting his face in flickering shadows. "But…" his wings sagged. "I know better."

Starscream returned his gaze to the dull sweep of ocean. As he watched, a ray of light broke through the clouds and silvered the wave-tips.

"There." Skyfire deactivated the welder. "Try making a fist."

Starscream was pleasantly surprised when his fingers moved the way they were designed to. His hand still looked nearly as bad as it had before, but it was at least functional.

"That's good," Skyfire said, satisfied. "I could repair the external damage if I had time, but at least you can use the hand now." He gathered his tools back into their kit, then rose and went to the back of the cave where he began getting his things together.

"Are you... leaving?" Starscream asked.

"I should get back," Skyfire replied without glancing up. "I'm supposed to make a run to Ganymede Station to pick up some supplies, and then—"

Starscream scrambled up. "Sky."

Skyfire lifted his head, but Starscream couldn't meet his gaze. Outside, the sun had broken through; the quartz lightning-bolt at the mouth of the cave had taken on an eerily pink glow. Red sky in the morning, sailor's warning. It was a human aphorism Starscream had picked up… somewhere. He had no idea where. But it seemed entirely appropriate for what he was about to say. "Can we stay here? For a little while longer?"

It was a bad idea. Terrible, in fact. Starscream would eventually be missed, and Skyfire had some pointless errand to run. The world expected things of them both. But Skyfire didn't point any of that out. He sank down where he'd been sleeping before, his back against the wall, and patted the ground in front of him in wordless invitation. Within moments Starscream was curled between his legs, his face pillowed against a snowy expanse of chest.

"You're right," Skyfire said at length, his deep voice vibrant beneath Starscream's cheek. "We can't go back. But maybe we'll find a way forward, if we look for one."

Outside, the rain had settled in. The fitful light of dawn had seeped away, leaving the sky a dismal shade of ash. "Not seeing one yet, Sky."

Those powerful arms gathered him closer. "Yet," Skyfire echoed, for emphasis. "But you can stay as long as you want. And I'll stay here with you."

Starscream twined his battered fingers with Skyfire's, and smiled. It was the most intimate gesture he felt capable of, and the shift in Skyfire's field told him that he was understood. Starscream closed his optics, listening to the rain, and pondered this new inevitability.

Written for SkyStarWeek 2020. This story is for Day Four: Intimacy and Vulnerability. Many thanks to @overlordraax​ for organizing this wonderful (and much needed) celebration of my OTP!