#as a person in both fandoms I’m low key dying
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#as a person in both fandoms I’m low key dying#i just want stede back#and ed#and lucius#and jim and olu#ofmd#our flag means gay#our flag meets death#heartstopper#ofmd meme#heartstopper meme#blackbonnet#narlie#lgbt memes#lgbtq
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Kentaro Miura
It took me awhile to get my thoughts in order. Honestly, as well intentioned as they are, a constant stream of fan tributes on Twitter and Tumblr more-or-less telling me how to process “The End” of Berserk with Miura’s death didn’t do a lot to console me, so I had to take some huge steps away from social media and only conversed my feelings with my other close Berserk fan-friends.
It was very surreal waking up yesterday morning to a friend messaging me simply saying, “did you hear the news?” When shit like that happens, I go onto my Google stories app and scroll through. I didn’t find anything really worth getting too upset over (maybe a bit sad that Queen Elizabeth II’s doggo died?) so it hit me to check my Twitter feed instead.
And that’s when I saw it.
We all know death is inevitable, and life is pretty much spent prolonging the point to that inevitability as well as preparing ourselves for when it happens to us or someone close to us. Being part of the Berserk fandom was the only time we all collectively had this on our mind not only for someone else but for someone we never met or really knew that much about. We only knew Miura through his magnum opus – and that was good enough for us. And no matter how much we discussed the worst-case scenario – pondering how the story would continue and how WE would continue – it still wasn’t enough to prepare us for this amount of shock. Hearing Miura had died and that the Berserk we know and love under his direct supervision is over truly felt like losing a long-lost friend.
It wasn’t just that the Berserk we know of is “over”, but that Miura didn’t have to die. He was only 54: not a young age, but not an old age either, especially by today’s standards. He could have seen the end to his magnum opus the way he envisioned it, yet he died of something so avoidable but is only brought about by a great deal of stress (from what I’ve read). It was always a morbid open rumor that so many of Miura’s infamous hiatuses were actually mental and/or physical health breaks, so the older or more conscious of us fans, while always eager and anxious for a new chapter, learned to not take them so personally. Miura was a spellbinding artist and storyteller, but he was also a human with his own life and conflicts that he was entitled to address at his own pace. This isn’t meant to blame anyone (at the very least, maybe to address some societal/industry issues), but it’s troubling enough to remind everyone – as the story of Berserk has demonstrated – that you need to take care of yourself physically and mentally, and while everyone struggles in life, you don’t have to struggle alone.
I always despised this weird cult of youth that insinuates that life isn’t worth pursuing once you hit your mid-thirties, and how some people so engulfed in their youth insist that they wouldn’t mind dying by the age of 50 or 60. It’s a shame when people live by that because there’s so much to live for beyond your youth – as I’ve learned, I only started buckling down when I transitioned into my thirties. Miura could have had a longer life ahead of him, going beyond Berserk and into his other endeavors, professional and personal, but that will unfortunately never happen now.
Everyone knows I have a lot of thoughts and opinions on Berserk. Most of you found out about me through my blogging several years ago, and I’m pretty proud that I was never the sort of fan that groveled at Miura’s feet and treated Berserk as some untouchable holy book: there were things I disliked about Berserk and things that disappointed me about Miura’s writing, but there were SO MANY MORE THINGS that I loved about Berserk and was proud of Miura for, and I wished him to continue his advancement in narrative growth. He did so and we watched it happened.
And, by meeting so many friends and acquaintances through the fandom, we saw a lot in ourselves change too. It’s surreal how we always joked that it would be one of us fans who would die before Berserk ended or the worst-case scenario of Miura dying; maybe some of us secretly preferred for that happen. But when we weren’t waiting around for another chapter… look at how much we’ve done with our lives! We graduated high school, undergrad, grad school, started and advanced our careers, traveled the world, got together, popped out a kid or two!... And while we experienced a lot of downfalls and tragedies that coincide, can you believe how much we have accomplished together?
We were all personally inspired, motivated, persuaded by Berserk in different ways: a lot of us were inspired for the better and admittedly, some for the not-as-good (if spending countless hours on Tumblr has taught me, there were definitely some toxic fan takeaways that had to be confronted). I’m not going to go to the point of saying that I now live my life by Berserk’s philosophy to a T or live as a reflection of certain characters (because I’m pretty sure that Miura was trying to tell us to NOT live your life like some particular characters) but it certainly helped to brings some aspects of life and existence into perspective, through the lenses of so many characters. Berserk also inspired me to write more, an already favorite pastime of mine, and how I should go about writing and planning a story, taking cues from Berserk on how to and how NOT to write and approach things in my own way, which I think is for the best in the long run. I can only dream that I’ll be published someday – which doesn’t have to be a pipe dream because it’s still much more possible than impossible. And so many other have done the same, creating our own stories and works.
And OF COURSE Berserk inspired me to be a little bit badass from time to time in moments of frivolity and seriousness – but it reminds us all that being badass and being a kinder person who tries to become the best version of themselves are not mutually exclusive. We definitely need more of that in today’s world.
We all made our own little bonfires of dreams happen, and because of Berserk existing, there will be a lot more beginnings than endings, and I don’t see a lot of bonfires being extinguished anytime soon. Miura poured his heart and soul into Berserk and its characters, and while he has passed on, his characters and lessons will live on through us and everything we create and how we live our lives (hopefully for the better).
I was happy to share all of my thoughts with you all – and I’ll continue to do so, since the mythos of Berserk has been a major backdrop of my creative mind for over fifteen years now and there is still so much to dissect and speculate. Personally, I don’t see Berserk ending just yet, if only because I’d be surprised that Miura or his publisher didn’t have some Operation London Bridge type plan in place in the event that this happened (Berserk is, after all, a major title that most likely brings Young Animal a lot of revenue). Again, I never treated Miura or Berserk as divine untouchables, so if there are plans in place to continue Berserk without Miura (BUT with his permission) or just on how to wrap up the story to give it a fulfilling conclusion, I personally would be okay with it (as a friend of mine put it, it’d be more of a tribute than an imitation). Going beyond our lifetimes, works will continue to be interpreted and reinterpreted as they have since time immemorial; perhaps Berserk will reach that point someday.
Honestly, and many have thought so too, Berserk was also meant to be cosmic level in both scale and concept. The plot is so grand and Byzantine that, even under Miura’s direct supervision, I always had a hard time envisioning how a story of this scale would conclude. As much as we love to hate him, a final showdown between Guts and Griffith seems too simple, too “good vs. evil”-esque for Berserk. Maybe having a low-key, vague but optimistic and bittersweet wrap up is what is best for Guts, Casca, and their new-found family. But that’s just another one of my fan speculations.
Regardless or what is to become of Berserk now, I think it’s safe to give adulations. We all came across Berserk at different times in our lives and stuck with the story for different reasons. For some of us, it was just another series that our friend from the campus anime club recommended to us; for others, we were drawn in from a morbid curiosity of its dark notoriety in anime circles. A few of us read for the gratuitous violence and the clout (because we all know you’re so deep and hardcore [/sar]), but a lot more of us read for the journey and the characters that we became a part of. The heaviness of Berserk made us confront a lot of trauma and even relive our own. For some of us, understandably, it was not a good idea to dive deeper (and maybe somethings could have been handled better); for the rest of us, it helped us cope, if not entirely through the story itself, than through the support network we made for ourselves in this fandom and its many realms (some realms, I argue, are more caring and nurturing than others).
From time to time, I always wonder if I would ever “grow out” of Berserk. There were indeed several times I took a step away from fandom and have tried to reduce my exposure to the story - but I always came back in some way, because the essence of Berserk has never left me and never will. Humorously I envisioned myself actually forgetting about Berserk for several decades, decades in which I work at my career, raise my family, mourn my elders, but continue living my life, only to go on the future internet in my mid-50s to find out… Miura is STILL working on that ending, sitting at his desk in the same pose as that famous monochrome capture of him, only he’s grayed and wrinkled, like the great Miyazaki.
The possibility of that future is over, but there are so many others.
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Regarding the Levihan abusive thing, a lot of [censored] shippers also call it toxic because apparently Hange threw the biggest tantrum on Levi after they were on the wall just after Armin wakes up after getting the serum. And how both of them never discussed once about Levi's decision in serumbowl and how it pretty much left Hange to face all the pressure alone.
hello anon, this literally just stressed me out because I am so confused like I was literally sitting in front of this ask for a good few minutes thinking...
Did Hange really throw a tantrum? Cause I do not remember. Then I ended up opening youtube just to rewatch the scenes cause you know, I dunno, maybe she did throw a tantrum or something and FAM I genuinely tried to sit down and watch the few scenes just to check...
And I ended up watching for like ten minutes more because I dunno, maybe they are right and maybe there is a scene or a small opening during the battle of Shiganshina where Levi and Hange could have calmly discussed whether to give it to Erwin or Armin and I tried to rewind a few times cause you know, maybe for one second, Levi didn’t think hange was dead and in between the explosion after Berthold transformed and the beast titan calmly chucking rocks at them, maybe Levi and Hange did have the time to calmly discuss what to do just in case the very predictable scenario of Armin and Erwin both needing the ONE titan serum might just happen.
Fam, those arguments are so weak like bring back the ‘Levi knocking Hange out ot bathe her’ argument but I’m just gonna argue about it now because I didn’t rewatch scenes and try to understand their side just to seethe at how factually unsound their argument is in silence. .
Apparently Hange threw the biggest tantrum on Levi after they were on the wall just after Armin wakes up after getting the serum.
Hange’s exact words: “I personally believe Erwin would have been the better choice but the choice was given to Levi and Levi chose you...”
Where’s the tantrum?? Where’s the tantrum? Dude that is literally one of the calmest responses I’ve seen in the whole show to someone dying? How is this the biggest tantrum when Mikasa literally tried to break Hange’s wrist just a few scenes ago?
And how both of them never discussed once about Levi's decision in serumbowl...
FAM, Okay, for one, I AM SURE, Levi suspected that Erwin might just die out there. But did anyone expect that there would actually be a serumbowl?
Even leading up to the Erwin vs. Armin argument, Levi didn’t even know Hange was alive man. And I’m sure even if it wasn’t shown, maybe Levi and Hange did talk about it...
You know what’s a good hint that they were probably on the same page at least? I dunno maybe Hange’s very calm tantrum to Levi’s decision to give Armin the serum :)
And how it pretty much left Hange to face all the pressure alone.
Like people are gonna have to expound on this because what do you mean he left Hange to face all the pressure alone? No he didn’t? When? Where?
Didn’t we see the flashbacks in Episode 8 in Season 4? Who was the one next to Hange when they were greeting the Marleyans? Who was the one next to Hange telling her not to look scared when they were talking to Yelena and Onyakopon?
Okay fine, in most of season 4 Levi and Hange were separated but they were separated out of necessity? And believe it or not, Levi was stuck with Monke (the guy he promised to kill) in a forest, and he was guarding him because he believed in Hange’s suspicions?? Hange’s cause? So how is he leaving her alone? I would ahve been convinced Levi was obsessed with Erwin and left Hange alone if he decided to kill monke in the forest but lmao, did he?
And lastly, how are these arguments for abuse? I do not understand.
Besides, even if Hange did throw a ‘tantrum,’ when did conflict in beliefs correlate to abuse? When did Hange’s explicit disagreement towards Levi’s decision mean ‘abuse?’
Conflicts are part of a healthy relationship. Arguments, clashes of beliefs and being open about them are things which actually happen in relationships.
Fam, if a couple doesn’t have any blatant conflicts then it’s obviously an uneven power dynamic? And that’s actually low key scary? If 90% of the time, you can’t even tell your best friend or your partner that you don’t agree with them, be terrified, be very terrified and run away from the relationship as fast as you can.
There is a fine line between just an everyday conflict and something people would consider toxic and just this idea that people think this is abuse is just ridiculous.
And besides??? Let people ship what they want? Fam, this was the same issue with the Kyloren fandom and all the other ships?? Just because people ship vaguely abusive relationships doesn’t mean they condone the abuse.
I don’t know man, I’m on the ‘ship whatever you want’ ship, like people can ship some weird shit, but the most I’d proabbly do is side eye’ but just the idea that people are giving such obviously unsound arguments to make their ship fly is just weird haha.
And calling Levihan abusive? I dunno but I’m very worried about people’s views on relationships if they’re consider this ship abusive enough to harrass fans over it.
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I know I don’t have a lot of active followers here, but I’ve been going though some major changes in my life recently (both good and/or disorienting), and one of the things I am aiming to achieve with that is to reestablish myself online in some small way. Just casually, socially. I used to enjoy interacting and making friends online and some of my oldest friends remain people that I met through the web.
I hope these sporadic personal posts don’t bother you.
I think part of these changes that I’m aspiring to involve getting into the habit of simply posting more. I honestly am unsure of where to migrate to online outside of Tumblr. I’ve ditched Facebook except to check on businesses I’m planning on visiting and occasionally to sell something. I’m only on Snapchat and Instagram to follow one person. I haven’t logged into DeviantArt in almost 10 years. Yahoo 360 is long gone. Adjusting to Discord has been a slow and lurking process because it reminds me of some particularly haunting memories and it lacks most topics I’d be interested in (publicly, at least). Twitter never fit right. I refuse to engage with people on Ao3 or ffn because I’m very hesitant to engage with people who has the same media interests as I do because I’ve had far too much fandom-related trauma and drama and I still have trouble forming friend groups despite 9 years of distance
My brother has an undiagnosed and untreated personality disorder and it has often felt like his drama has been my defining feature for almost 2 years. I have gotten tired of carrying his monkey into all of my relationships and conversations, especially when trying to make new ones. I wish I had custody of my nephew because he and his ex are both sucky and neglectful, but all I can do is wait until the kid turns 18 or asks about emancipation. My brother deliberately seeks out relationships that renew and reinforce his past traumas in order to legitimize his unwillingness to move on and I hold him at least partially responsible for our parents’ decline in emotional, financial, and physical health. I recently opted to go for No Contact/Very Low Contact with him and it’s been freeing and refreshing and I feel immensely happier and more motivated.
I frequently feel like I don’t have anything worth saying or cannot really think of anything to say. It’s a work in progress. I have always carried a sense of awkwardness and that continues to persist into my 30s, despite the fact that I generally consider myself a confident person. I’ve been in a romantic relationship for 5 years and it fulfills 95% of my social and emotional needs, which... I think has led to leaving many of my other relationships to pasture.
Instinctively, I want to reach out and rectify all of these relationships all at once. Of course, it doesn’t work that way, and in trying to pace myself I find I often procrastinate. I set myself a goal of reaching out to a friend per week, but it’s more like one every two weeks. I know some of us will pick up where we left off like we’ve never been apart. Some of my friends will have moved on and our re-connection will separate again because we’re just different now and I’m honestly not bothered by that. It’s normal. I just hesitate because I don’t know where to start even though the script should be so easy. I feel annoying and needy. “Hey, I hope you’re well! I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. I was thinking of you today every day.” Ugh.
I’m pretty financially, mentally, and physically stable and have been for a while. I like my job and I’m paid very well! I like me! I like my hobbies and my apartment! I’ve worked very hard to get here and there’s really only a few key things I want to improve upon.
But somehow I feel like I’m rediscovering myself again. Like I was shut out of something and didn’t even realize there was a door. I’ve missed something. I’m naturally comfortable alone and tend to be willfully obtuse about things that don’t involve me only to get startled by them later.
I moved back to my hometown 2 years ago in order to introduce my partner to my family and be around for some major family events. It was supposed to be a 4 month summer visit. The family drama just never stopped and I’m just...still here. I can’t wait to leave, but I also don’t resent my hometown as much as I did when I left. It’s changing immensely, but so am I. I definitely won’t be able to afford to stay.
I had a patio garden over the summer and, while we hardly got our money’s worth out of it, it was pretty and tasty and fulfilling. A few of the plants are overwintering with us.
I still haven’t lived somewhere that allows me a pet, but I keep saving stray cats.
I have way more fabric than I know what to do with from old clothes and dead ideas, but I finally tuned up my sewing machine and bought a set of sewing machine feet and I have lots of plans and ideas that I just need to sit down and actually execute. Especially embroidery.
I finally spent the damn $70 on an old school drawing tablet and took the time to download some free art programs. A modern tablet is still too much to budget for and a mouse and MS Paint is not enough. I do not know why it took me 10 freaking years when I’ve spent far more money on far less desirable luxuries.
I am hoping to find a decent enough mountain bike at a manageable price to do a long-distance cycling trip next year. If I don’t, I’ll divert to hiking a long-distance trail. I’ve never stopped craving spending weeks and weeks out in the woods with an overstuffed backpack since my first trek in 2016. I’m willing to go out of my way and budget hard to make it a reality on an annual basis.
I’m slowly picking away at my original story, JatGSL, a 10+ year Work In Progress, and I finally have a setting and characters that I feel good about and have a lot of fun imagining. I’m afraid to say much about it. It has dying androids and mushrooms and mythology and domesticated seals and braille and it takes place on a melted Antarctica. But my writing is a muscle long neglected and I don’t know if I’ll ever really get it back.
I sometimes think about moving some of my old fanfics over to Ao3 so they won’t be lost, but my old penname carries weight I’d rather not pick up and I don’t want to add anything else to JKR’s legacy and some of the things I wrote when I was 17-22 have aged pretty poorly. So, I hesitate and debate and do nothing.
I keep having simple, but neat ideas that nobody out in the market seems to be doing/making, but I lack the connections and knowledge to do anything with them.
My romantic partner is an amazingly perfect fit. Absolutely well-fitting, in-sync, mind-blowingly complementary in every way. I increasingly worry it might not last because my partner has 1 (ONE) key issue that I just can’t live with long term and if they can’t figure out a healthy way to cope I don’t know if I can go another 5 years dealing with it. I grew up with it. I won’t live with it.
It often feels odd to talk about myself (even here. even now) because I feel so much happier than I seem to be describing myself.
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Knocking Boots - Captain Jack Sparrow x Male!OC
Fandom: Pirates Of The Caribbean (2003-2017)
Pairing: Riley Blackwell (OC) x Captain Jack Sparrow
Warnings: !NSFW!, Smut obviously, Swearing, Faggotry, Praise kink, Jack literally being the king of consent, Gay horny pirates need I say more, Dick stuff but y’know its a given, They have a safe word and safe action guys seriously we’re fine, Dirty talking AND sweet talking,
Notes: If you see this, no you didn’t. Riley doesn’t always bottom, because trust me y’all Jack is JUST as much of a pillow princess as Riley can be, especially if he’s ‘too lazy to do all the work’. I’ll probably delete this SO FAST LMFAOOO I haven’t done this since that shitty Joshua x Aldo one months ago, I literally swore off writing smut after that but I deadass couldn’t help myself. This isn’t placed in a specific movie/between specific movies, so go wild with when you think this is. No spellcheck, we die like men.
Jack and Riley hung around the captain’s cabin of the Black Pearl, Jack sat at the table and Riley standing against a wall.
Riley inhaled slowly, though sadly his lack of scent blocked him from smelling the rum, the salty sea, and other such smells that every other pirate was long used to.
“Y’know doing that doesn’t really do anything for you, mate” Jack reminded, eyes on his closed compass. “You lost your sense of smell many moons ago, if y’even ever had it.”
Riley pushed himself off of the wall, standing up straight. “Thank you, Captain obvious” he teased, glancing over at Jack and giving him a grin.
Jack returned his gaze, eyebrows raising as he showed Riley a fake smile. “Watch it, love.”
Riley softly arched a brow, left pointer and middle finger padding at his neck. “Bit strange, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
Riley pulled a sturgeon face. “Usually, we’re being pulled this way ‘n’ that, up, down, sideways, left, right, everywhere in bloody death-defying ventures. But now...we’re not on the verge of dying. I’m not losing you, you’re not losing me, we’re not out looking for something, we’re finally getting some damned peace” he explained. “Not that I’m complaining, it’s a relief to finally not be worrying about your well-being, but then again...I’m not used to not bloody worrying.”
Jack chuckled airily. “Finally have me safe ‘n’ sound, and you’re annoyed about it?”
“I bloody said I wasn’t complaining-”
“I’m teasing, rose” Jack cut Riley off. He took off his hat, setting it aside on the table. “Quite nice, isn’t it? Running this way and that is tiresome, sometimes, even I’ll admit” Jack confessed, steadily standing up. He shrugged off his dark coat, placing it over his chair. “More time with you, alone. Or at all, both is fine, honestly.”
Riley crossed his arms, his blue eyes being one (or, well, two) of the brightest things in the room as he watched Jack advance on over. Once Jack came close enough, he grabbed the Captain’s narrow hips and pulled him closer, head tilted slightly.
“There’s that needy attitude again.”
“Shut it” Riley whispered, leaning in a bit. “I ever tell you how breathtaking you are under the candlelight?”
“Aye. You usually say that under any light, actually” Jack shrugged.
“Because it’s bloody true, dear” Riley shook his head, gaze and smile melting into an expression of hopeless love.
Jack admired Riley for a moment, before asking him something. “Can I kiss you?”
Riley clicked his tongue, nodding. “Always” he whispered.
Jack gently cupped Riley’s cheek, the familiar prickling of Riley’s designer stubble on his palm giving him a sense of safety; of home. His thumb subconsciously starting stroking Riley’s cheek, an automatic thing he happened to do. Jack couldn’t quite place why, maybe it was a reminder to himself that Riley is still there with him and isn’t planning on going anywhere, or maybe it’s just his need to feel Riley under his touch. Either way, he simply couldn’t get enough.
“I’m sorry, I’m expecting a kiss right now, if you’re still up for it” Riley joked, tapping his bottom lip with his right pointer finger.
Jack playfully rolled his eyes, leaning in and pressing his lips to Riley’s. One with a less homey sense to it, as it was obviously more romantic and intimate. Being with everything Riley and him had been through, Jack secretly cherished each and every kiss they shared, no matter the setting nor where the kiss was placed.
Who knows when a simple kiss could be their last?
Jack pulled Riley close to him with both hands, in a low-key way, feeling safe enough to close his eyes and savor in the moment. Feeling safe around someones energy is a different kind of intimacy than the one that most people are used to, one that he believes only Riley and him have.
Riley loved kissing Jack, because kissing him never felt like something on his to-do list (though, Jack was constantly at the top of Riley’s to-do list), or a chore. He never felt as if he had to kiss Jack because the two are romantically involved, like he had with men who weren’t Jack. Kissing Jack, to Riley, was that of a fun activity, or a reward for finding the one, so to speak.
Jack’s lips were on the smaller, rounder side, his lips are full, too. He doesn’t take much care of them, more-so himself, but Riley knew them to be softer than a warm bed. Then Riley’s were the complete opposite in looks: wide, and a little on the thinner side. Riley took better care of himself than Jack did with himself, but Riley will reluctantly admit that his lips are a bit dry, most nights. Jack still loved them all the same.
Despite the listless differences between their attributes, Jack’s and Riley’s lips fit ever so perfectly when they kiss. As if they were carved from the same stone, or made for each other.
Every piece of their bodies were perfectly made for each other, it seemed. Riley’s hand could fit perfectly when holding Jack’s. Jack could wrap himself around Riley and they would fit like two pieces of a puzzle. Riley could place his hand on Jack’s neck and it wouldn’t be too big or too small.
And in this moment, it was their lips that fit each other. Riley kissed Jack as he held the Captain, recalling the idea that his hands were made for holding Jack in any way, shape, or form, he just fit so perfectly. He tasted the rum on Jack’s lips, like it was the only thing he ever could- or wanted to- taste. After all, both Jack’s lips and rum gave Riley a major sugar rush-like feeling.
Jack pulled away from the kiss for air, keeping his lips against Riley’s. “Can you bloody take this off?” He inquired, in more of an actual questioning tone than the pleading tone anyone would expect to hear in the given situation. Jack tugged at Riley’s black coat, specifically the collar despite meaning the clothing item as a whole.
Riley nodded, pulling his hands away from Jack’s person to pull the coat clean off and toss it onto a nearby chair. What was under that coat was always the same, a long-sleeved black button-up with a red double-buttoned waistcoat over that. Sometimes just the waistcoat, unless Riley felt cold. Silence followed, and he arched an eyebrow. “Aren’t you gonna ask me to take these buggers off, too?” Riley asked, tugging his waistcoat and button-up.
Jack gulped. “Only if y’want to. I’d never force you to do anything you wouldn’t want to, mate. Willingly, of course.”
Riley cooed, reconnecting his lips to Jacks as he worked on unbuttoning his waistcoat. Most would think that oh, double the buttons, double the amount of time. But Riley’s grown accustomed to taking off his waistcoat that it’s second nature, he’s very quick at it nowadays. He pulled away from Jack to work it off, folding it and holding it in one hand. “Could you be-rid of this, for me?” He tapped Jack’s smaller, unbuttoned waistcoat, which was forgotten in a flash with how fast Jack took it off, after his belt, weapons, and any other effects. Riley chuckled, “needy much?” He teased, throwing his waistcoat onto a table.
“Shut up” Jack scoffed, the both of them unbuttoning their shirts.
“Can I kiss you, now?” Riley slid his hand over Jack’s lower back, pulling him closer for some skin-on-skin action.
Jack pressed his forehead against Riley’s, smirking. “You may.”
Riley’s other hand found the back of Jack’s neck, cradling the back of his head. He inched closer, kissing Jack for the third time. It was hungrier than the others, now that Jack and Riley both knew that the other knew exactly what they wanted.
Jack pulled away, cupping Riley’s cheek and talking against his other one. “Can I go down on you?” He purred, neediness showing at this point but he’d shut it off like a switch if Riley were to seem the least bit uninterested.
Riley nodded, turning and pushing Jack onto the bed. He crawled on top of him, grunting when Jack flipped them around.
Jack straddled Riley down, using one hand to pull off his faded, red bandanna. He set the bandanna aside, along with the deer shinbone that usually stuck out of it. “Can we try it like this tonight?” Jack questioned, gesturing to how he was currently on top of Riley. “Let me take care of you, love.”
Riley hummed, nodding. He watched Jack intently, propping himself onto his elbows as the Captain took off his pants. Riley followed suite, until his rings weren’t even on his hands and Jack wasn’t wearing any bracelets.
Jack pinned Riley down to the bed, face disappearing to the crook of his scarred neck. “I could stay here all bloody day” he mumbled, fluttering kisses down Riley’s neck. “All I ever want to do, Rye, is- is run me hands through your hair, all damned day, and kiss your beautiful neck” he admitted, inhaling Riley’s secure musk.
Riley tilted his head up, smiling lazily. “Anything else?”
“Oh, darling, why tell you when I could easily show you?” Jack hummed, fingers dancing down the side of Riley’s body like he had a million times before, knowing his partner better than the back of his hand. He continued his gifts of loving kisses, trailing down Riley’s body, his way of admiring his own work of art.
Riley’s fingers smoothly tangled into Jack’s dreads, course fingers in the soft locks always giving him a feeling like solace. He tilted his head back to stare up at the ceiling in content, quite glad that a majority of the work didn’t befall onto him tonight.
Jack worked his way back up to Riley’s neck, becoming more and more touchy by the second. He pressed against Riley hungrily, biting down on a safe spot on Riley’s neck.
Riley grunted quietly, eyelids fluttering as Jack did what he did best.
“What do you want, Riley?” Jack urged, ready to stop if Riley were to give a signal. His hand met Riley’s dick, thumb softly stroking. “Tell me what you want.”
Riley dug a hand into Jacks hair, having been worked up very quickly. “You,” he breathed, all his senses practically overloading with his need for Jack. “You, Jack. Please.”
Jack chuckled lowly, pulling Riley’s hand away from him and pulling away, himself.
Riley’s blue eyes followed Jack’s every distinct move, as the man went to go get some aloe vera and come back.
Jack took a bit of the gel, rubbing it onto his hands. “What’s our safe word again, love?” He asked, eyebrows raised expectantly. Jack assumed Riley remembered their safe word.
“Wicked.” Riley answered obediently.
“And safe action?”
Riley pat the bed three times, doing so again with his hand furled into a fist. “If I pat the bed three times, fist or not.”
“Aye” Jack nodded, proudly. He maintained eye contact with Riley as he lathered his dick up with the aloe vera gel, breathing at a ragged pattern as his mind raced with ideas of all that he could do to Riley. “Do you still want this?”
Riley nodded eagerly, long used to Jack’s constant inquiries on whether he still wanted to do something or not. “I want you, Jack-”
“How badly?”
“So bloody bad” Riley licked his lips slowly, eyeing Jack like always.
Jack grinned, “good boy.” He praised, covering two fingers in the gel and teasing them around Riley’s entrance.
Riley squirmed a bit beneath him, having never gotten used to the feeling. His movements were less jerky than they were when Jack and him first started having sexual escapades, but he wouldn’t lie, it was always uncomfortable.
“Are you okay?”
Riley nodded, reaching up and tucking Jack’s dreads behind his shoulders; this gave him a clearer view of Jack’s face. AKA a sight that none of the seven wonders of the world could ever even begin to compare to. “Always feels weird, is all.”
Jack nodded back at him, tossing the aloe vera aside and wiping his fingers. He lined himself up with Riley, pausing to simply stop and stare down at Riley. And this was far from being meant to be taken in a creepy way, Jack must say. He, cliche enough, always caught himself gazing at Riley on various occasions, ever since he was 18. Something about Riley was just so enrapturing, Jack swears he’d choose exploring Riley Blackwell and all that he is, over any sea or ocean, any day.
But enough of that, now.
Jack glanced down at his view of Riley below-the-waist, seeing Riley was just about as hard as he is. He hummed- intriguing. Nonetheless, there was work- well, a pirate- to be done. Jack exhaled quietly, locking eyes with Riley. “Ready?”
“Yes” was all Riley gave Jack, which is exactly what he needed to hear. With Riley, he always needed the presence of a ‘yes’ rather than the lack of a ‘no’, that always made what they did so much more enjoyable for him.
Jack winked down at him, slowly sliding into his beloved.
Riley sucked in his breath upon impact, shoulders rising slightly.
Jack knew that was a good sign, so he slowly pushed his length into Riley. At that point in time, he knew full and well Riley could take all of it. “Is this okay?” Jack asked in a hushed tone, droplets of concern sprinkled over the inquiry.
Riley nodded, relaxing into the activity. “I like that” he answered, repeating it mindlessly when Jack began thrusting softly.
Jack smiled once more, hips thrusting against the underside of Riley’s smooth thighs. He decided to show mercy on Riley and go slowly throughout, after all he did say he wanted to take care of Riley tonight. If Jack hadn’t said that, he would have been sure to make Riley like how he was when Jack first met him: stuttery, shivery, and overall not like he usually is now. It’s a wonderful sight. “Do you want me to stop?” He piped up.
“Don’t stop,” Riley’s fingers curled, gripping the bed sheets but not in any way that expressed pain. “Don’t stop, don’t bloody stop, please” he begged, music to Jack’s ears.
“Feel good, eh?” Jack pushed, feeling a bit cocky but holding himself back from going any faster than Riley would’ve wanted him to. “Does this feel good?” He reworded.
“Feels so good, Jack” Riley mewled, putty beneath the Captain.
Jack grunted under his breath, brown eyes darting over very square inch of Riley’s body that was in his direct view. He had memorized it a thousand times over, but this was one treasure he was never tired of having, of holding, of looking at. But unlike any treasure, Riley’s a person, a human being. Not some shiny object. In Jack’s mind, he’d call Riley ‘treasure’, but he was sure that Riley’s so much more than that.
“Jack,” Riley moaned, head tilting up, eyes falling closed as he swore softly.
Jack was pulled back down to reality when Riley called him, unknowingly speeding up his thrusts. “Yea, darling?”
“Can you go slower-?”
Jack gulped, nodding and immediately slowing his rhythm. “Sorry- got ahead of me-self” he apologized, reaching down and cupping Riley’s cheeks. “That better?”
“Right there, yes” A sedated smile slid onto Riley’s inviting lips, giggling airily. “More.”
“You look so pretty when you ask for more” Jack praised once more, thumb stroking at a leisurely pace. “You’re doing so well, Riley.” He added, the satisfaction on Riley’s face telling him more than enough. Jack traced one hand down Riley’s torso, grabbing his dick like before.
Riley’s breath hitched when he felt Jack begin to pump, fingers stroking and squeezing down below.
“Is this okay?”
“Yes, more than bloody okay, fuck-”
Jack chuckled, thrusting into Riley in a recurrent pace as his hand went to work at doing something he happened to do best: pleasing Riley. He was brought to cloud 9 as his waist swayed back and fourth, Riley mumbling “I’m close” ringing a bell in his head. “Hm?”
“I’m close, Jack” Riley repeated, head turned to the side.
Jack let go of Riley, leaning in and invading Riley’s personal space to sloppily kiss his neck. He bit down, tugged at skin, left a few marks, doing what he knew Riley would like. As long as Jack’s ears were being met with Riley moaning, groaning, and calling out his name, he was far from stopping. “Come for me, dear. Come for me, Riley.”
***
Jack collapsed beside Riley, the only noise in the air being their heavy panting and the sea rocking against the boat, like their bed had been against the wall. He tiredly reached an arm out, grabbing Riley and tugging him closer.
Riley wrapped his body around Jack, mind falling back to earth from the nirvana it had just reached. “That was so...good” he slurred.
Jack exhaled through his nose, staring blankly at the wall. “You told me that one too many times” he teased, not denying that he was happy.
“Shut up” Riley breathed, smiling against Jack’s bare neck. “I love you” he told, breath heavy as his eyelids felt.
Jack’s smile grew from ear to ear, holding Riley close to his person. “I love you too, Riley.”
#potc#potc oc#pirates of the caribbean#pirates of the caribbean oc#pirate oc#riley blackwell#Captain Jack Sparrow#captain jack sparrow x male#captain jack sparrow x oc#captain jack sparrow x male!oc#Jack Sparrow#jack sparrow x male#jack sparrow x oc#jack sparrow x male!oc#male oc#oc#oc x canon#oc x male#male x male#male x canon#male x oc#canon x male#canon x oc
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Injured Brat- Malcolm Bright X Reader
Fandom: Prodigal Son
Pairing: Malcolm Bright X Reader
Summary: you get into an a small argument with Malcolm after the incident with the Junkyard Killer
Warnings: spoilers ig? Not a lot, cursing, mentions of injuries, fluff, some whump because I know y'all love whump
WC: 2k
Tag list
A/N: yes omg fucking finally!!! I wrote a Malcolm one shot. This is my first Malcolm related work so this is kinda shit probably. I’m not exactly sure if I even portrayed Mal correctly. But I tried and I had fun writing it. So, hopefully you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Ps, I didn’t have anyone other than me proof edit so if there are any mistakes or spelling errors, my apologies
Not my gif @malcolmbright
When Gil’s name popped up on your screen in the middle of the night, you knew something was up. You knew Malcolm had gotten himself into trouble, that would be the only logical explanation as to why Gil had to personally call you instead of Malcolm himself.
“Is he dying? Or do I get to kill him myself?” Was your immediate response to Gil telling you Malcolm was injured. After making sure he wasn’t in any danger of course.
“He’s got a few broken bones and some bruising, a severely damaged ego, but he’ll make it.” Gil responded with a small chuckle.
You sighed, nodding to yourself in relief. You were obviously glad Malcolm was okay, but god did you want to strangle him at that moment. “Alright, I’ll be there in a few. Don’t yell at him too much. That’s my job.” You said as you maneuvered around to slip on a pair of sweatpants and shoes while holding your phone to your ear.
“Sure thing kid, see ya in a few.”
Once Gil had hung up, you properly slipped up the fabric up your legs and quickly tied your shoes. You had already been wearing Malcolm’s Harvard sweater so you didn’t have to worry about that. You looked like a train wreck to say the least. But you had been home all day and had no plans of leaving Malcolm’s loft. Guess that wasn’t gonna happen now was it.
As you somehow attempted to fix your hair you grabbed your purse and keys, and you were on your way to yell at your boyfriend for the next three hours.
~~~~~~~~
You were quick to arrive at the precinct. Passing any and all speed limits in the process. When you arrived at the precinct, you were instantly met with Gil’s voice echoing through the halls, even with the door closed. You exhaled deeply as you passed Dani and JT, who were sitting at their desks doing some paperwork. They sent knowing smiles your way as you twisted the doorknob to open the door.
Gil was in the middle of scolding Malcolm, accompanied by shouts when you walked in his office. Both males turned your way when you made your presence known. Malcolm instantly looked down, much like a child that had been caught doing something they weren’t supposed to.
You eyed him for a minute. His shirt was unbuttoned revealing his most definitely bruised body and the gauze that was wrapped around his torso. His arm was wrapped around it as well as he was clearly in a lot of pain. You almost felt bad for him. Almost.
“You’re so lucky Gil called me and not your mother.” You said to Malcolm as you stepped in front of him, eyes narrowed into a frown and your arms rested on your hips. Much like a mother who was scolding her naughty child.
Malcolm chuckled, “Well, you’re going to yell as me as much as she would so, I don’t see the improvement.” He said with a sigh, rolling his eyes a bit.
You gave him an ‘oh really’ look as you narrowed your eyes even further, “well I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t such an irresponsible dumbass.” You whisperer yelled, not wanting to make a scene.
Once again, Malcolm rolled your eyes at your words, knowing you were mostly right, but of course, he wasn’t going to say that, nor admit it. He was going to argue, “Y/N,”
“No,” you quickly cut him off before he could even start, “what the hell were you thinking? Going after a killer like that! He could’ve killed you! Hell, he almost did!” Now you were yelling. In any other situation, you would never yell at Malcolm, but knowing he was purposely putting himself in that kind of danger, that really pushed at your buttons. You knew you would feel bad about it later. You’d make sure to apologize to him later. But now was the time to yell.
Malcolm shook his head, wincing a bit, the slightest movement causing all sorts of pain. “He wasn’t going to kill me. He knows I’m my father’s son. He doesn’t want to kill me, not yet anyway.”
You couldn’t believe how lightly Malcolm was taking this whole situation. You were beyond frustrated to say the least. You were honestly trying so hard not to snap out on him right then and there “Malcolm, you can’t just run off after a killer on your own. You are not a cop, you are unarmed and you’re a civilian. You need to wait for backup.” You emphasized your words as much as you could, even using your hands as you spoke.
“See? She agrees with me.” Gil spoke in, cutting right through the tense air that filled the room.
Malcolm couldn’t look any more guilty. He looked like a kicked puppy, his blue eyes were big and dead staring at you. Almost as if those puppy dog eyes would soothe your altered state. “Darling I-”
“Malcolm, we’re not having this conversation right now,” you cut him off again, rubbing a hand over your face slightly as you turned your attention to the older man who was witnessing your domestic dispute. “Can I take him home?”
“Please, take him, and keep him home. I don’t want to see him here for a few days.” Gil said, eyeing Malcolm sternly. Who, like the injured puppy that he was, simply nodded with a sigh.
After thanking Gil one more time for calling you, you were both on your way. You were still very upset and frustrated with Malcolm, as it was extremely obvious due to the way you refused to exchange a single word with him. He didn’t push it though, he simply followed after you like a lost puppy, his head hanging a bit low as he walked.
The ride back to his loft wasn’t much different. It mainly consisted of Malcolm, sitting on the passenger’s side looking at you with his big blue puppy dog eyes, hoping you’d talk to him. But you didn’t. You’d figured it’d be best to just drive in silence. You didn’t want to say anything that would hurt him while being upset.
Once you arrived at Malcolm’s loft, he instantly freed himself from all the clothing on his upper body, leaving him with the gauze around his bruised and shirtless torso. He eased himself down onto one of the chairs by the kitchen island, a moan of discomfort leaving his lips as he did so.
A deep heavy sigh left your lips as you freed yourself from your shoes and sweatpants, because, fuck wearing pants at home. Your bare feet made the wooden floor creak as you stepped into the kitchen. You grabbed a bag of peas from the freezer and walked around the island to give Malcolm the bag. You placed it not so subtly against his ribs, a groan leaving his lips as a result of it. “Thank you,” he smiled through the pain as he held the cold bag tightly against his bruised ribs, hoping to ease a smile into you and sighed when you only half nodded in response.
Deep down, you truly felt bad about the way you were reacting to this whole situation. You should maybe be more understanding, more supportive. But the fact that he continuously put himself in harm’s way without caring about anything else truly frustrated you. And despite what you might have to say about it, he continued to put himself in danger with extreme carelessness. Maybe you shouldn’t be so harsh with him, but the fact that you were so upset wasn’t exactly helping.
You walked around the island once again and reached for the cabinets where Malcolm kept his pills. You grabbed all the bottles you figured he might need and filled a glass with water. You placed all items on the island in front of him and stepped around it to walk away, but his voice stopped you in your tracks. “So are you just going to give me the silent treatment forever?”
“Are you going to continue to put yourself in danger?” You asked rhetorically, a sarcastic smile claiming ownership of your lips as you stood beside Malcolm with a hand over your hip. He let out a heavy sigh and rubbed the back of his neck slightly, not really having a response. “There’s your answer then.” You turned on your heel to walk away, but stopped when Malcolm lightly grabbed your arm.
“Darling,” he said softly, gently pulling you close enough to where he could hold you without straining his already sore muscles. You stood there, allowing him to rest his hands on your waist, but the annoyed look on your face remained. “I can handle broken ribs, I can handle being sore. I can even handle a broken ego. But I can’t handle you being angry with me,” he said, his big blue eyes staring at you with a gentle gaze, eyes begging you silently. “So please, don’t be angry with me.”
The eyes. The fucking eyes. You couldn’t stay mad at those puppy dog eyes. You groaned with annoyance, stomping your foot slightly as you were starting to fall back under his charming spell. “Mal,” you finally cracked. The moment you used the nickname, all the anger and annoyance you were feeling began to fade. The moment that nickname slipped through, Malcolm knew he had won this battle. “I’m sorry. I just worry so much. I can’t stop worrying about you. And when your dumbass gets hurt, I panic. I just don’t know how to handle it.” You finally said, your eyes getting a bit glossy. You weren’t crying, but your eyes were a bit watery from the accumulated frustration and worry.
“I know sweetheart, I know.” He carefully ran a hand over your face, his smooth fingers gracing over your skin gently. “But that’s okay. Because that just shows you love me.” He smiled stupidly at you, dimples showing. His smiles were always so contagious you had to smile too.
“Of course I love you. ‘Cause unfortunately for me I’m in love with your dumb ass.” You playfully rolled your eyes, but you just couldn’t hide the smile on your lips.
“And I’m forever thankful for it.” He chuckled, leaning in for a kiss, “can I get a kiss?”
You nodded, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his rosy pink lips, both of you smiling into the kiss, “you’re still not off the hook though. If you ever pull something like this, I will hurt you.” You shot him a playful glare his way when you pulled away.
Malcolm had a knowing smile on his lips as he leaned back on his chair, his hands returning to hold the forgotten bag of beans to his torso, “did I ever mention how incredibly beautiful you look with my sweater?” He was obviously trying to be extremely charming and seductive, that was kinda his natural thing.
You let out a breathy chuckle as you looked down at said sweater, tugging on the ends of it with a bit of shyness, “charming. Real charming.” You pecked his lips another time before you stepped around the island to the fridge, “go laid down. I’ll bring you something to eat.” You nudged at him as you pulled out Malcolm’s favorite kind of cheese and grabbed the bag of bread from the counter.
“You’re the best.” He smiled brightly at you, knowing just exactly what you were going to make him and carefully hopped off the chair.
“I know.” You blew him a kiss and smiled before you turned your attention to the only meal your boyfriend could handle eating.
He was limping his way over to your shared bed, but he stopped mid way and turned around to look at you. “Hey darling,” he called out. You turned in his direction and nodded at him.
“I love you.”
“I love you too Mal.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Malcolm Bright Tag list: @fueled-by-fanfic @missscorp @coollllllduse @while-the-world-sleeps @twistnet @thatesqcrush @im-a-mess-that-works @chengukargbo
#malcolm bright#prodigal son#malcolm bright x reader#malcolm bright imagine#malcolm bright fic#x reader
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The Way to a Man's Heart Goes Through His... Cat? Ch1
Fandoms: The Witcher
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Word count: 1545
Chapters: 1/?
More tags in AO3
***
DAY 1: Jaskier meets the biggest and meanest cat he's ever seen
Jaskier looks at the house and checks he has the right number again before approaching. The house is nice, not as nice as some of the others he has been in, but a regular two-storey house in a nice neighbourhood. Nothing remarkable which makes the secrecy of the gig more baffling.
Some people liked their privacy Jaskier guesses as he tries to spot a flowerpot without looking too suspicious. The flowers have almost wilted but Jaskier doesn't reserve them a second glance as he fishes out the spare key under the pot.
He checks the notes from the owner again from his phone.
<Use what you need in the kitchen. Clean sheets on the bed. No guests, second floor off-limits.>
<Roach hates people>
He could deal with cats who hate people. Animals love him, he just has to be patient and offer peace and love. And food. Food is very important.
He opens the door carefully, not sure if Roach is the type of a cat to try to squeeze her way to freedom every chance possible. He slips through, his bag in front of his leg to protect his pants in an event of a clawed attacker but, to his relief, there is no cat in sight.
He leaves his shoes and bag at the entryway and makes his way to inspect the house. The ground floor consists mostly of an open plan kitchen and living room, the backdoor in the kitchen leading into a small yard.
The living room looks like it's from a magazine, only the small decorative items usually on display are stuffed haphazardly in a cabinet, and by the looks of it, forgotten there. But what draws Jaskier's attention isn't the fine furniture. No, it's the gigantic cat tree in front of the window facing to the street. Jaskier eyes the cat tree warily. Either the owner is very enthusiastic about their cat (Jaskier has seen those, usually ladies in their middle ages or older) or the cat is a giant. No normal cat requires a cat tree that large.
He ventures further into the house, phone in hand and selects his best friends number.
"Hi, Essi, it's me. I arrived safely, there are no axe murders in sight. Yet."
"One of the days there will be and then I can tell you I told you so," Essi's voice is amused despite her admonishing words but she turns serious as Jaskier walks up the stairs, trying to find the bedroom, "You need to call me every day. If you won't I'll come storming over with Priscilla and that won't end pretty."
"Yeah, yeah, Little Eye. I got this, don't worry." The first floor seems as devoid of a cat as the ground floor. There are three doors Jaskier guesses lead to two bedrooms and a bathroom. All doors are ajar so he peeks through the first. A study. A boring one at that. Bookshelves line all the walls, and two decent sized monitors sit on the desk. No laptop.
It doesn't surprise him, the owner said he had to leave for work for at least two months. But why did it have to be so boring?
He glances at the bookshelves expecting to find more boring stuff.
What he finds are two enormous golden eyes staring down at him.
He would deny shrieking like a little child to his dying day.
"Jaskier?! Julek?! Are you okay?! What is it?" Essi screams at him.
"Fuck, fuck, cock, bloody Melitele, fuck, that is the biggest fucking cat I have ever seen, is that even a fucking cat, what the fuck?"
"Jaskier what the fuck? You can't just scare me like that, what the fuck are you talking about?"
"That thing is not a cat. No cat is that big. Nope. Exotic pets weren't in the deal I'm not having this, no."
The long-haired tabby stares at him and waves it's tail in irritation, hitting it against the bookshelf with a series of thuds.
"Um, yeah... goooood kitty, I'll just... go..." Jaskier runs from the room all while listening to the wheezing laughter of Essi from the other end of the line.
"Are you sure it's not a Maine Coon or something?" Essi laughs.
"Do you think I haven't seen Maine Coons? That cat is a monster!" Jaskier hisses while keeping a keen eye on the door of the study.
"You know for a fact there are monsters in the world and you're scared of a little cat? Sure, catboy. Have fun with your monster cat."
The cat (Roach, Jaskier's brain helpfully supplies) walks out of the study and stares at him unimpressed. Now, on a reasonable height, it clearly is just a very large cat. Sure, it's by far the biggest cat Jaskier has ever seen, but a normal longhaired cat none the less.
"Please, don't tell Pricilla about this," Jaskier beggs as he eyes the cat and blinks slowly in hopes of gaining the enormous cat's trust.
"Yeah, of course, I won't, why would I do that?"
"You're telling her as soon as this call ends aren't you?"
"Oh, don't worry about it, I already texted her," Essi mocks him gleefully.
"Traitor!" Jaskier hisses.
"Love you too! Call me tomorrow!"
"I will," Jaskier admits defeated, "bye."
He stuffs his phone in his pocket and looks at Roach, "I guess it's just you and me then, girl."
Roach screams at him.
"Umm, yeah, you're going to have to be a bit more specific than that."
Roach screams again.
"You could meow like a normal cat, you know?"
Jaskier has never seen a cat look as unimpressed with him as Roach is at the moment. She gives him a wide berth as she heads for the stairs to the second floor. And screams.
"Sorry, that's off-limits for me, you're on your own." Roach looks him up and down before she heads upstairs. He can hear her digging around and meowing pitifully. Something crashes to the floor.
Still, off-limits, he reminds himself and turns to investigate the rest of the house. Bathroom, bedroom. Both void of any personal belongings.
It's all fairly boring, all personality stripped, no pictures in sight. There's a sort of detachment to the whole thing Jaskier finds unsettling.
He steps to the back yard, making sure that firstly the door is unlocked and secondly Roach is nowhere in sight. He looks up after closing the door and blinks in surprise.
The whole yard is one giant catio, reaching all the way to the first-floor windows. The windows are connected with planks, leading to a wooden ladder. In the yard is a small vegetable garden and a shack Jaskier guesses contain the gardening tools.
"Well then... I guess I don't have to worry about leaving the back door open." He eyes the garden again and makes a vow to try to remember water the vegetables. He's not sure he'll succeed.
By dinnertime, Jaskier has settled down, unpacked his belongings in the bedroom and claimed a space on the desk in the study. He's putting his shopping away in the fridge (where all he found was cheap beer and snacks clearly meant for a child, thanks for the hospitality) when a demanding meow sounds from the other side of the kitchen.
"Oh, hello Roach. Is it time for your dinner?"
Another meow.
Roach walks in front of a cabinet and screams, as demanding as before.
"Is that where your food is? I'll be right with you, sweetie, just wait a moment..."
Another scream.
"Yeah, yeah..." Jaskier mutters as he tries to find some logic to where everything is in the kitchen. Like it was organised by some crazy witch who never cooked other than their evil potions.
A loud metallic bang makes Jaskier jump in the air and hit his head on a cabinet door.
"Roach?! What the fuck was that?" He looks at the cat who sits next to her empty bowl which sits upside down on the floor, a good half a metre from her tray.
Meow.
"Yeah, okay, food! You'll eat me soon if I don't feed you..." he mumbles and goes digging the cabinet Roach pointed to him.
Roach trills and screams and attacks the cup as soon as Jaskier puts it on the floor. Roach doesn't eat, she just keeps her head in her bowl and stares at Jaskier, a low growl rising from her throat.
"Right, of course, I can't watch you eat. Don't worry, I don't want to steal your food." Jaskier takes a step back. Roach eyes him warily, but apparently, he's far enough she starts to eat her food, selecting carefully the tastiest bits first.
Jaskier digs his phone from his pocket and snaps a selfie of himself, Roach happily munching away in the background. Or so he thought, as soon as he looks at the picture more closely he can see the cat staring at him like it wants to eat him instead.
He picks up the right conversation in WhatsApp and hits send before he turns back to Roach.
"You know, you have to start to trust me soon, I have to brush you so you don't get tangles and mats in that gorgeous hair of yours."
Roach doesn't look impressed.
#the witcher fanfic#fanfic#the witcher#geralt of rivia#Jaskier#geralt x jaskier#geraskier#frywen writes
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I just remembered some other things that really annoy me so here's another list.
Repost tiktok and Instagram accounts especially ones that don't give credit.
The honey chewing videos like stop looking at the camera whilst you eat honey it's gross fuck off.
People who shame interests that don't match theirs. Like not a football stan account shaming someone for liking Minecraft. Their interests have nothing to do with you and yours has nothing to do with them so leave them alone.
Adults who fake having child like mannerisms like taking small bites of foods and trying to look cute and childish.
People who think that only child means snobby. Especially when most kids are the only child because their parents couldn't afford to pay for more than one child. We're not in a wattpad story where the rich bully is an only child.
Daddy Long legs and stick insects.
People who try to force their opinions on others no matter the subject like let people have different opinions and ideologies than you.
People who think that not downloading tiktok is a flex or a personality trait.
People who pretend to be living under a rock it's not making you a unique person.
I don't like people who gatekeep "fandom" things like i promise you a 13 year old discovering MCR isn't going to ruin it for you but if it does that's completely on you not them, you're the one getting offended over someone else's entertainment.
People who spend time defending their favs from the general public. The person you're defending doesn't care and in a week the person you were fighting will have forgotten that some random fan account started attacking them for having an opinion.
People who try to assign colours to school subjects and then fight over it. It's a colour and subject why are you upset over it.
Artificial fruit flavouring especially banana.
Healing and meditation stuff. If you like it and believe it that's fine but my ADHD can not sit still for that long and listen to some woman ramble about inner peace and tranquility.
People who claim that new fans ruin things. For example saying that the original Harry Potter fans were way better than the new ones is weird like it's not that deep and I'm sorry you can't handle change but get out of the past grandma.
People who shame situations like why are you bullying a child for having lice, why are you bullying someone for being uneducated on things. Same as poor shaming. That's weird.
Instagram couples.
Burner accounts made with the sole purpose of bullying people like do it on your main account you fucking coward. At leas they're open about their opinions instead of hiding anonymously.
Carrds. Especially ones used as informational things.
The phrase "through thick and thin" or "through all the ups and downs" being used in celebration or anniversary posts like that is low-key a backhanded compliment. We're still together even after the 6 times you cheated on me = We've been through thick and thing together.
Stairs without railing or with gaps in-between them. I hate them.
People who use their minority card as a way to get things. "You have to agree with me or you're racist" or "@ *insert celeb* follow me or you're homophobic" Same as guilt tripping people by using the minority card and trauma card. Like I'm sorry your whole family got eaten by a dragon but it doesn't give you the pass to be a demanding bitch.
The whole "Android is worse than iPhone" and "Android user derogatory" thing. First off the only reason is because iPhones can't save android photos without ruining the quality which is by the iPhone fault. Secondly it's poor person shaming. Like why is it any of your business what phone someone uses they all have the same functions. Like I hate to break it to iPhone users but you're literally being ripped off, you can get the same phone or an even better one for less than half the price.
Unsolicited dick pics and people who blackmail using revenge porn. Both of which is illegal might I add both under sexual and cyber harassment.
People who shame things like tattoos, piercings and dyed hair. Like let someone express themselves they're not harming anyone by tattooing a heart on their wrist and getting a nose ring.
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Neighbor Crush (The Thread)
Summary: modern AU, anyone? This was heavily inspired by a twitter thread I read a while ago, about a guy who developed a major crush on his neighbor’s voice and, with his roommate’s help, managed to ask him out.
Word Count: 2.015 Genre: fluff Fandom: InuYasha Pairing: Inukag Format: oneshot AO3 Link: 🌹 Fanfic.Net Link: 🌹
“I’m home!”
The abrupt sound of Miroku throwing his keys and briefcase at the table made InuYasha jump on his sit. It was a rare thing to do, taking him by surprise that way.
Unfortunately, Miroku knew so.
“You’re eavesdropping her again, aren’t you?”
It was hard to say what pissed InuYasha off the most: that Miroku had startled him, that he got caught in the act or the infuriating smugness in the bastard’s tone.
“Mind ya business.”
Ignoring his temper, Miroku went to their refrigerator and returned with a loosened tie and a couple of beers. He handed one to InuYasha and sat beside him on the couch.
“Come on, this is getting ridiculous. You have been obsessing over this girl for what? Three weeks, now? Just go downstairs, knock on her door and ask her out.”
Miroku took a long sip of his Heineken, as if rewarding himself for giving the world’s greatest advice. InuYasha wished he would choke on it.
“I’m not knocking on her door and asking her out, dipshit! We have no idea what the girl looks like!”
“Then do us both a favor and go find out!”
To be totally honest, her appearance was what mattered the least about this girl, although he couldn’t deny his curiosity.
Her voice.
It was her voice that started it all.
For two years he had been sharing this little apartment with Miroku and for two years it had been easy for them to ignore each resident of the building without a second thought. InuYasha was in no way a social guy and even though Miroku had a weak spot for the ladies, he had vowed not to get involved with a neighbor, ever.
“Location, location, location.” InuYasha remembered Miroku explaining once. “It’s simultaneously the best pro and the worst con. I’d rather not risk it, it could get pretty ugly.”
Knowing his tendency to hit and run, it was probably the smartest call.
And life went on as usual.
Until InuYasha heard her voice.
It was exceptionally loud. That was the very first thing he noticed. The second thing was that he incredibly didn’t mind at all. There was a sincerity tone to it that was ever present. Almost as if physically unable to lie. Sweet. Gentle. Smooth. But not in a generic way. He could download it into his GPS and drive forever. Her laughter had over him the same effect of sunbeams reaching out the untouched ground of a frozen forest and when she talks too low, something primal and urgent wakes inside him, letting him dying to know what his name would sound like between her whispers.
Then it became less about how and more about what she talked.
Her name was Kagome. She was in her twenties and had just graduated from pedagogy school. Three weeks ago, she had moved in with the girl who lived precisely in the apartment below theirs to save money as she adapted to the new job of substitute teacher. She had a cat named Buyo, couldn’t swear for the life of her, sang a lot, a bit clumsy, definitely a half full kind of person... Single, as far as he could tell.
Kagome had the most hilarious stories, most of them starring her little brother, her grandpa or her friends. He was especially fond of the ones in which she tried to be nice and it ended up blowing on her face spectacularly. Her heart was too big for her own good.
On the floor below, the girl in question left what InuYasha assumed was her kitchen and walked to the living room, turning the TV on. Even now, when the current conversation was supposed to be his focus, he found himself painfully aware of her moviments.
Miroku didn’t have to know any of that.
“That’s insane.”
“Why? How is that insane?”
“Hi, I’m InuYasha, your upstairs neighbor. You don’t know me, but I’ve been listening to everything you say or sing in your apartment since the day you moved in. Often on purpose, like a creepy person. Anyway, wanna have dinner sometime?”
“Lose the ‘creepy’ part and you’ll be fine.”
“Drop it, it ain’t happening.”
“Well, at least you recognize your obsession. Admitting you have a problem is the first step to recover.”
“You’re my problem,” he mumbled.
“Wrong, my friend. I’m the solution. You just gotta listen to me.”
“Yeah, don’t count on it.” Miroku laughed. “So how was work?”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“Damn straight I am.”
They made small talk and drank for a while, then Miroku pulled out his phone to check his notifications and InuYasha searched Netflix for an action movie they haven’t seen yet. The girl was binge-watching a sitcom. A good one, judging by the way her laughter reached his ears every now and then.
He smiled.
In moments like these, it was crazy tempting to walk down the stairs and go for it, but InuYasha wouldn’t dare. He was perfectly fine just hearing her life from a safe distance so they couldn’t hurt each other, because this is what love inevitably leads to — and that was assuming she wouldn’t reject his advances, in the first place.
Might as well save them both some pain.
“So what do you say? Shall we eat ramen for the third time in a row or order some pizza? InuYasha?”
But he wasn’t listening. In the apartment below, a door opened. Her roommate, Sango, had arrived.
“Hey!”
“Hey!” Replied Kagome. “I hope you’re hungry, ‘cause I just made lasagna.”
“And I hope you’re thirsty, ‘cause I just bought Tequila.”
“Tough day, huh?”
“Tough week.”
“Balcony?”
“You bet.”
The girls turned the blender on.
The balcony was their favorite spot to chat. It was also where the acoustic sounded better. To the point even human ears could catch the words.
One look at InuYasha and Miroku realized what it meant.
“Is she going to the balcony?” He asked, but didn’t wait for an answer.
InuYasha ran, intercepting Miroku just in time. One hand securely covering his friend’s mouth, the other holding him still. They were now in their own balcony.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
There was an attempt to speak, but it came off muttered. Even so, InuYasha refused to budge his hand. Until Miroku licked it. “Ugh!”
“What does it look like?” He questioned while InuYasha compulsively wiped his hand on his jeans. “I’m being your wingman.”
“I don’t need a wingman and will you shut up, already?” His whispered, angry. Miroku was ready to deliver a cunning comeback when the blender stopped and the girls stepped into the balcony.
“So I had to break up with Kuranosuke today.”
“Break up? I thought you guys were friends with benefits or whatever.”
“YES! WE WERE! THANK YOU! Now could you please be a lamb and go tell him that? Maybe I didn’t make myself clear the first four hundred times! Oh, stop laughing!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Go on.”
“It was a nightmare! The whole week he kept sending flowers and Valentine’s Day cards to the precinct. It’s not even february!”
“I’m surprised you didn’t get him arrested.”
“Believe me, I was this close. It’s hard enough getting their respect, you know? Being a female cop and all. He wasn’t helping.”
“I know. But hey! Someday you’ll find the guy for you. Someone who’ll understand how much your job means. I’m serious! You will!”
“Nope. That’s it for me. I’m done with men.”
“Funny, I’m in the opposite vibe.”
“Really? Now that’s interesting.”
“It’s just… I haven’t dated anyone since Koga.”
“Damn, you’re right! I haven’t realized it.”
“You know what? You should set me up with someone.”
Miroku playfully punched InuYasha’s shoulder, getting his attention. “That’s your chance,” he mouthed. The half demon shook his head.
“Hmmm… Wouldn’t Ayumi, Yuka and What’s-Her-Name be a better option for that? I’m usually cuffing most guys I meet.”
“Eri. And no way! They would just set me up with Hojo.”
“Right! And why won’t you date him, again?”
“Because he’s my friend!”
“He is cute.”
“A cute friend.”
“He likes you.”
“Not my fault.”
“Fine. I’ll d—”
“HEY, NEIGHBORS! NEIGHBORS!”
Mortified, InuYasha watched Miroku make a fool of himself. Like in a movie, his body seemed to forget how to react.
“Hi!” Greeted Sango. “I’m sorry. Were we being too loud? We’ll keep it down.”
“No, it’s okay, the walls are really thin. Listen… I have this friend. And he’s really into your friend’s voice. I was wondering if she would be interest in going on a date with him.”
“What?” Kagome let out a shaken giggle.
“Is this for real?”
“Yes! I gotta go, but check his Instagram out. It’s @InuYashaTaisho.”
Apparently very pleased with himself, Miroku walked inside.
“You’re a dead man!”
“What do you think?” Kagome asked, while InuYasha chased Miroku around the apartment.
“It can’t hurt to give a look,” Answered Sango.
“Five years from now, when the two of you get married, you’ll be thanking me for this.” Miroku dodged the pillow InuYasha threw on his direction.
“Don’t ya worry. Imma make sure to write this on your tombstone.”
“Sango!”
“Wha—Wow! This is him? What are you gonna do?”
InuYasha threw another pillow. Miroku caught it in the air. He was cornered on the wall and nothing could save him now.
Bzzt! Bzzzt!
Impertinently, his phone choose that exact minute to vibrate. InuYasha fished it off his back pocket and the notification took his breath away.
Kagome Higurashi started following you.
“Is that her?”
InuYasha ignored him. The only important thing was the dark haired beauty smiling brightly on his screen. Her eyes were big and warm, framed by extremely long black lashes. She had adorable bangs and sharped cheeks. The perfect shape of her lips rivaled those from a greek statue and they seemed to be painted in a natural shade of pink in almost every picture. Except when they were burning red.
He couldn’t have put a better face to the voice if he tried.
Scrolling down her feed, InuYasha continued to connect the features he didn’t know with the names he did. Sango. Her mom. Sota. Buyo. Her grandfather.
“Let me see!” Miroku ran to his side and hang on his shoulder like a parrot, whistling in approval as InuYasha went on. “Woah, wait, wait, wait! Who is that?”
“That’s Sango, the girl you just embarrassed me and yourself in front of.” He followed Kagome back.
“I think I’m in love.”
InuYasha glared at him.
“Don’t even think about it.”
“He followed me back!”
“Oh, it’s going down!” Sango laughed.
“Watch me.” Defied Miroku.
“What the fuck happened to the ‘not dating neighbors’ rule?”
“If four years of law school taught me something was that every rule has its exceptions. In this case, the exception is the absurd level of hotness of said neighbor.”
“On a second thought, go ahead and date her. It’s about time someone put you in jail.”
Miroku smirked.
“Should I say hello?”
“Definitely!” Encouraged Sango. “Don’t schedule anything until I check him for bad precedents, though.”
“You’re such a cop.”
Bzzt! Bzzzt!
Hi!
Hi!
I’m sorry about my friend.
He thinks ‘boundaries’ is an indie band.
She chuckled.
“Hey!”
“Don’t you have a pizza to order?” InuYasha faced him, eyebrows raised. Miroku narrowed his eyes and left.
“This isn’t over.”
That’s okay.
So... you’re a dog demon.
I’m assuming this is how you can hear us down here?
Actually I’m half demon, which means I’m only half responsible for invading your privacy. The other half is on you for being so damn loud.
Excuse me?! I thought you liked my loud personality!
Wasn’t that the whole point?
To be fair, what I liked was your killer cover of Livin’ On A Prayer.
OH MY GOD!
I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU HEARD THAT!
Okay.
This isn’t fair.
You’ve been listening to my voice since I moved in, but I have no idea what yours sound like.
The next text he sent her was his phone number.
A/N: it’s been a while, yes? Tell me if you guys enjoyed this one. Fluff is not really my thing. Let me know if I can interest you in a Part II of them dating and send me sugestions of where they could go, if you want to. If I liked them better than the ideas I have in mind, I might end up writing it (is not a priority, though).
Also, I want to dedicate this piece to @xfangheartx. Thank you for always being a sweetheart.
#Neighbor Crush (The Thread)#InuYasha#Kagome Higurashi#Inukag#Inukag Fluff#Inukag Oneshot#InuYasha Fanfic#My Writing#Inukag AU#InuYasha AU#Inukag Modern AU
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Percy, Skye & now Rakepick. You really have a thing for characters the fandom hates, huh? 😂 Though ofc one of them’s a lot worse than the other 2 although the first 2 fucked up a few times as well and the fandom hasn’t really forgiven them for that. I know you find them “interesting” for reasons most of the fandom disagree with & I low-key feel bad for you. I wish I could relate to you but even tho I respect your opinions, I really don’t like any of those 3 either 😅
Thank you for your kind words! Aha, well I really am the champion of unpopular opinions, it seems to be true in every fandom I’m in. (Says the person who liked both Last Jedi and Game of Thrones S8) But I’m glad you mentioned those three in particular, because they kind of outline three different ways people can “like” a character.
Liking Percy is similar to liking Beatrice.
I can understand why the characters in-universe and parts of the fandom might dislike them, and I suppose that’s valid...but I will never understand it. There are characters out there who I will gladly pledge my sword, my bow, and my ax. That I will defend until my dying breath because they’ve truly done nothing wrong in my eyes, and I want to share their side of the story if I can. Percy could be annoying, sure. But no one ever talks about how the majority of the Weasleys openly disliked him, the twins bullied him with impunity, and Molly and Arthur took a stance that, in my personal opinion, was a bit too neutral. Likewise, I can understand Penny’s desire to protect Beatrice, and her confusion at how much Beatrice has changed. I can understand people thinking she gets in the way (which used to be a much more popular opinion) but she lost a year of her life to the Cursed Vaults, so of course she’s traumatized and coping with it as best she can. She has, in my opinion, just as much skin in the game as MC, and she’s actually older than they were when they started poking around. So why can they investigate, but she can’t?
Liking Skye is similar to liking Merula.
Here is the type of garbage character I shamelessly stan, but I can also concede that the Antis are correct in almost every detail. Now, I can provide an alternate perspective, a different point of view, and explain why they are sympathetic to me, but I will never say that the Antis are wrong. Because with how unlikable these disasters make themselves, it’s pretty much inevitable. I agree, Skye is obnoxious and self-centered, the story gives her too much focus, and she constantly makes mistakes. That being said...it’s crystal clear why she behaves the way she does. She was raised a child celebrity in Quidditch culture. Her social skills and her empathy are stunted as a result. She’s shown that she can be friendly, in my opinion, but more often than not, she screws it up. Still, I can’t help but root for her. Merula is the same way. She’s practically on a mission to make everyone hate her, and she crosses all sorts of social lines, like making fun of MC’s potentially dead brother, or their very literally dead best friend. Merula has never apologized for the abuse she put several people through. And yet...god, I feel so bad for this child. She lost her parents, had her girlfriend best friend stab her in the back...had another one of her friends ditch her for her rival...was betrayed again by what she viewed as a surrogate mother...she’s all alone. Her worldview is so fractured, and her aversion to showing weakness is only digging her deeper into these terrible, unhealthy habits. I want her to heal. To grow. I believe she can do it.
Liking Rakepick, as I’ve tried time and again to explain, is similar to liking Barty Crouch Jr.
What can I say, I’m a sucker for the problematic mentor trope. As a child, I watched Nickolodeon, and I was drawn to villains like Chase Young, and Vlad Plasmius. Characters who were definitely not good guys, but still had a kind of teacher-student relationship with the hero. It’s a creative dynamic. Now, that doesn’t mean I always like it - I absolutely hated it when Cersei tried to pull this crap with Sansa in Game of Thrones - but sometimes...it just kinda works for me? Plus, I think we need to acknowledge that we can admire a villain without condoning their actions. This isn’t me saying that Rakepick or Crouch are misunderstood, or more “complex” than simply being wicked. This is me enjoying their wickness. Admiring a villain for just how well they villain. Yes, I just used that word as a verb. Barty Crouch Jr fooled Albus frigging Dumbledore for ten months. No other villain has done that. I think he’s extremely underrated, one of the cleverest antagonists in the books. Rakepick is, or was, one of the smartest and most ruthless characters in the HPHM story. I don’t think it’s giving undeserved credit to admit that Rakepick is a force to reckoned with. She broke MC’s wand before they could cast a single spell. She is, I do believe, the only character to canonically defeat them. And she wiped the floor with them. I don’t know what else to say. Liking villains doesn’t mean you would defend their choices or consider them good people. Barty Crouch Jr. used what I consider to be the most evil spell in the series to help torture the Longbottoms into insanity. Rakepick has used it more than once without a care in the world, including the unspeakable incident in the Portrait Vault. And that’s not even getting into what she did to Rowan. Do I hate these characters for what they’ve done? Of course. But do I still think they’re cool? You bet I do! And there shouldn’t be anything wrong with that.
#Percy Weasley#Patricia Rakepick#Skye Parkin#Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery#Fandom Asks#Beatrice Haywood#Merula Snyde#Barty Crouch Junior
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Doc being Doc 1/?
In which he uses a combination of professional skills and personal experience to try and help Addy through Mack’s death, circa season 2
Fandom: Z nation
Word count: approx 1000
Warnings: Discussion of death, Doc-typical drug use
Nothing NSFW but my blog is 18+ so interact at your own discretion
“I knew you’d come back to us.”
“Huh?”
Doc and Addy are on watch, sitting back to back on the roof of the car. Murphy is locked inside, although its hardly a secure location given that he could get Cassandra to rip the vehicle apart with her hands at any moment of his choosing. Addy is clutching the keys in her left hand, right resting on the z-whacker.
Doc clears his throat. “You and Mack I mean. I knew you'd come back to us, but together.”
He can almost hear her scowl. “Is this going somewhere? 'Cause I'm not in the mood.”
He smiles wryly. “Doesn't have to. No-one else gets to tell you how to grieve.”
“You should be a counsellor,” Addy retorts sarcastically, but he can tell that behind his back her stance has softened a little. And so he waits, watching the flames of the small fire- enough light to keep a lookout, but not enough to attract attention.
Eventually, Addy speaks. “It's the anger that gets you through. Sadness is like weakness, but the anger keeps you going. Fighting.”
“It was like that before.” Doc keeps his tone low so as not to wake the others. “Back in the olden days, people still felt like they had to fight to survive after someone they love died. Only difference now is that its literal.”
“I sometimes forget there was ever a before.” She sighs. The fire crackles and dies a little.
His intuition tells him that she wants to talk, so Doc asks, “What did you do?”
Addy laughs softly, humourlessly. “Community college. I was close to applying for a real college, with some sort of tech major. My little brother didn't want me to move out though.”
“College.” Doc sighs wistfully. “Those were the years. Best of my life. Well, that and when I had my boy.”
Addy stiffens. Surprise is the common reaction when he brings up his son.
“Yep. I know. Me as a father. Can you imagine it?”
“Actually I can.” She settles herself again, leaning slightly against his back. “Is he still out there? Or did the Zs get him?”
“Neither actually.” It feels like an appropriate time to light the crumpled half-joint in his chest pocket, and he does so before continuing. “He was fourteen. Always wanted a quad bike and his Mom said nope, so naturally when he came to stay with me I said yes. I wanted to let him become a man on his own terms. He was basically dead from the moment of the crash but, well, my ex-wife took three years to be ready to turn the machine off.”
“I'm so sorry.” Addy whispers quietly.
“I didn't tell you to make you feel bad.” Doc passes the joint behind him, and she takes a hit then coughs and hurriedly hands it back. “The point is, when we lose someone, its easy to get caught up on what we could've done to save 'em. But in the end they're gone, and we can't change that, but what we can do is keep on living.”
“How old would he be now?”
Doc has to think. “Twenty five... No, twenty six maybe.”
A small jingling sound indicates that Addy is fiddling with the keys in her hand. “I couldn't wait to have kids.” She murmurs. “We never talked about it but we... maybe there could have been a life after all this.”
Doc says nothing, but rests his free hand just behind him. After a moment Addy drops the keys and puts her hand on his, then continues. “I'm not angry that he died. Or that I had to mercy him. I'm angry that he- that we- won't ever get that chance. Even if there is an afterwards, there's no happily ever after for us. All that's left is the way he looked at me as he was dying.”
A slight crack in the last word shows that she's holding back tears.
Doc squeezes her hand. “You're one hell of a woman, I'll tell you that. You're strong, and you're smart, and you don't need to be angry to keep going. It was in you all along.”
She stops trying to muffle the sobs. He doesn't offer a hug because he knows she doesn't want anyone to see her this way, so they continue to sit back to back, holding hands.
Doc thinks of all the children they've encountered on this journey, both alive and dead. The youngsters who can barely even remember what it was like before. He imagines, not for the first time, that the bike never flipped and now he has grandchildren- or had.
Probably for the best that they were never born into this cruel world.
A small snuffling sound brings him back to the present. 10K is curled up by the fire, mumbling something in his sleep. Another one who never got to finish growing up.
Doc takes the last puff of his joint and flicks the butt into the fire. He kind of wishes he'd got to know more of Mack while he had the chance, but he's way too old now for what-ifs.
“We're getting this bastard to California.” Addy's voice is steel, razor-sharp. No more crying now. She takes her hand away to wipe her face. “I don't care if I have to cut off his limbs to stop him from running away. I'll rip them off with my bare hands.”
“I don't doubt it.” Doc chuckles. “There's a life after this for you. A whole new world. I can't imagine what it looks like and believe me, I have seen a lot of out-of-this-world stuff.”
Addy laughs a little too. “I don't know what it's gonna look like either. But we'll all get there. Together.”
“Maybe.” He watches the last embers of the fire begin to die away. “We'd best wake the others soon. Just uh- if I don't make it, maybe live for me a little. Do some dumb shit. Fall in love again. All that.”
Addy gets to her feet and swings the Z-whacker over her shoulder. “Deal.”
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you search the mountain (2/4)
Fandom: World of Warcraft
Pairing: Jaina Proudmore / Sylvanas Windrunner
Rating: M
Wordcount: 20,005
Summary: The borders of Kul Tiras are closed to all outsiders. Sylvanas, Banshee Queen, hopes to use the impending civil war in Boralus to her advantage, and thereby lure Kul Tiras to the side of the Horde. A Drust AU
Content Advisory: horror, blood, gore, typical Drustvar spooky deer shit
read it below the cut, or you can read it here on AO3
Notes: I swear this was supposed to be a horror story and not a comedy
--
The sun was beginning to set in earnest. It slanted through the vasty boughs of Gol Inath. Everything was cast in a fading lavender hue, which slowly slipped to something darker. The runes carved into the archway seemed to come alive in the gathering shadows. Overhead, a few ravens wheeled in circles, while others still perched in watchful silence. The eyes of nocturnal animals lurked through the underbrush along the outskirts of the clearing, and though she and the High Thornspeaker were the only two people present, Sylvanas could not help but feel that they were not alone.
“You’re Jaina Proudmoore?” Sylvanas could not keep the disbelief from her tone.
Rather than be muffled by the skull, the sound of Jaina's voice seemed to reverberate from within a cave of hollow bone. “I don’t recall telling you my family name. That and the fact you thought I was Ulfar means I’m obviously the one you’re looking for. Why?”
Sylvanas let her gaze rove across Jaina. She had been expecting a slip of a girl. Maybe twenty years old. But while Sylvanas could not see Jaina’s face, her hair was mostly white, streaked with gold, and pulled into a braid over one shoulder. “You’re older than I thought you’d be.”
“An intruder and a flatterer. Will wonders never cease?” There was a surprising flair of dry humour in Jaina’s words. “Now, I am even more puzzled. Did I kill you?”
At that, Sylvanas let loose a snort of laughter. “No.”
“Well, that’s good. Otherwise this would be awkward. Or -- well -- more awkward, anyway,” said Jaina. When she shifted her weight, Sylvanas glanced down. It was then she realised that Jaina’s bare feet, like her hands, seemed to be carved from the same wood as her staff. “Were you hoping I could reverse your…” she waved a clawed and wood-gnarled hand towards Sylvanas. “...unique condition?”
It was so reminiscent of Katherine -- the movements, the phrasing, the timbre of her voice, the overall mannerisms -- that Sylvanas no longer harboured any doubts that this was, in fact, Jaina Proudmoore. Or at least someone very closely related to the Lord Admiral. Good enough.
Shaking her head, Sylvanas said again, “No.”
“That's a relief. Because it would be nearly impossible.”
Sylvanas stared at her. “Nearly?” she repeated, incredulous.
“There are some rare exceptions to the rule. I can’t recommend it, to be honest.” Jaina made a dismissive little gesture, as if she couldn’t be troubled with complex explanations of death magic. “If I didn’t kill you, and you don’t want me to fix your Undeath, then why are you looking for me?”
It was tempting to drag the conversation back towards those ‘rare exceptions’ spoken of, but Sylvanas resisted the curiosity gnawing at the base of her neck. She realised she was biting the inside of her cheek with a thoughtful narrowing of her eyes, and put a stop to it. Lifting her chin, she nodded towards Jaina. “Everyone thinks you died.”
“Who’s saying they’re wrong?”
Sylvanas scowled. Not for the first time, she wanted Jaina to remove that damnable skull so she could see her face. “You look very alive to me.”
The curved end of the staff tilted towards Sylvanas in an all encompassing gesture. “I could say the same of you. Appearances can be deceiving, as we both know.” The skull lifted slightly, drawing closer as though Jaina were sniffing the air. “When did you die? Four years ago? Five?”
Shooting her an ugly look, Sylvanas said, “Over a decade ago.”
“Well, that can’t be right. The grave smells more recent on you.”
“I think I would remember my own death,” Sylvanas said dryly. Then she added with a sneer, “Not that it’s any of your business.”
Shrugging, Jaina lowered her grip upon the staff so that her stance appeared more relaxed. “I have as much a right to ask you a few personal questions, as you do to barge into my home with drawn weapons.”
Sylvanas pointed to the tree and their surroundings. “Your forest is a nightmare. I was simply prepared for the worst. And besides,” she shrugged at the bow over her shoulder. “I did not shoot you.”
“Your restraint is admirable.”
Sylvanas nodded. “Mmm. Yes. I thought so, too.”
“And after I’ve been so rude to a guest, as well,” Jaina drawled. “However shall I repay you?”
“A formal introduction might be a good start.”
“It seems you don’t need one. You already know my name. I’m the only one here still in the dark.”
Lifting her open hand, Sylvanas placed it over her own heart. It was an elvish military salute, and something she had never been able to rid herself of no matter how many years had passed. “Sylvanas Windrunner.”
Jaina did not return the gesture in any regard. "So, Sylvanas Windrunner. You’ve found me. Now, what do you want?”
“Your mother sent me.”
The lie came easily to Sylvanas’ lips. Jaina’s head jerked as though she had been struck. Her grip upon the staff tightened once more, and Sylvanas swore she saw a glint of eyes through the skull’s sockets, like the glimmer of cold and distant starlight.
“An intruder. A flatterer. And now a liar, too.” The darkness of Gol Inath’s hollow seemed to gather at Jaina’s back, like a protective shroud or a display of something else. Impatience, perhaps. Or a growing ire. “I am seriously beginning to reconsider my decision to not kill you. For good, this time.”
In response, Sylvanas lifted an unimpressed eyebrow. “Then I count myself fortunate to have such a merciful hostess.”
Slowly, Jaina moved forward, close enough that their shoulders brushed. The shadows clung to her as she moved. She was tall without the antlers, but with them she seemed that much more imposing. Her face remained hidden behind the mask, but the skull followed Sylvanas with an unblinking stare. And then Jaina had stepped past her. She looked out at the waterfalls plunging over the roots of Gol Inath. "Even if you weren't lying -- which you clearly are -- why would my mother send an undead elf runt to find me?"
Sylvanas bristled, but refused to rise to the bait. Still, she moved forward to stand at Jaina’s side. "The Lord Admiral’s political rivals circle over her. Civil war is coming to Kul Tiras."
"That doesn't sound like my problem."
"I should think civil war affects all Kul Tiran citizens. That includes the Drust."
Jaina continued to face the water, refusing to acknowledge that Sylvanas had moved at all, as though utterly unconcerned with her guest's presence. "A key prerequisite of being a Kul Tiran citizen is having the ability to own land. The Drust haven't been allowed to own land for nearly three hundred years."
"You would let Drustvar fall into the hands of a rival House on a technicality?"
"I have no intention of letting Drustvar fall into anyone's hands but my own."
This was not how the conversation was supposed to go. Jaina was supposed to be young, naive, optimistic, easy to manipulate. She was not supposed to be...whatever this woman was. Calm. Confident. Bored.
That last one in particular stung. Sylvanas was used to people finding her many things, but boring was not one of them.
Sylvanas crossed her arms and glowered out at the waterfalls sending up the thick preternatural mist that slunk through the Crimson Forest. "Last I checked, the region was ruled by Lucille Waycrest. Not you."
"What was that about technicalities again?" Now, Jaina just sounded amused. "Lucille and I have an understanding. She may live in Waycrest Manor with her Tides-given titles, but we all know who really controls Drustvar."
"You think Lord Stormsong and Lady Ashvane care about your little arrangement? All they see is a target." Sylvanas pointed to the skull, drawing a circle in the air with her finger as though painting a bull’s eye. Jaina did not move in the slightest despite this intrusion. "Your position is weak. Lucille will be toppled, and your 'understanding' will be in shreds within a few years."
"Let them come."
This air of calm self-assurance was starting to grow tiresome. Mostly because Sylvanas half-believed what Jaina said to be true. Almost. That was by far the most irritating thing.
She launched her next words like a barb. "Your mother is dying."
Whatever reaction she had been expecting, it wasn’t for Jaina to nod solemnly. "Yes. I imagine she is,” she mused, looking out over the water. “Everybody dies. I didn't think I would need to lecture a corpse about that."
Sylvanas had to stop herself from grinding her teeth. She could feel the muscles in her jaw bunch together regardless. "She needs you. Kul Tiras needs you."
Jaina snorted and shook her head in a rustle of bone and leaves. "My mother sent me away when I was twelve years old. My father refused to speak my name after I’d left until the day he died. And Kul Tiras would never accept me given my background. I am too much like the thing they fear, now. They do not want me."
"I never said Kul Tiras wanted you. I said they needed you. They need an Heir to House Proudmoore."
"Then they should have thought of that before they let my father send my brother to the gallows in Unity Square. Tandred was the last Heir to House Proudmoore. Not me."
"Do you really want the Navy to be commanded by the likes of Lady Ashvane? Or Lord Stormsong?" Sylvanas snapped.
"Hang the Navy."
It was the first time a hint of a growl entered Jaina’s words. The sound was low and rumbling and far too animalistic to have been made by the human voice. Sylvanas’ ears pricked up slightly. She straightened her shoulders, her eyes coal-bright and curious. Finally. An opening. Something she could use.
“Ah, yes. I’d heard about your brother.” Sylvanas tapped at her chin. “Something about helping the Horde, wasn’t it? Such a shame that your father did not look kindly upon acts of philanthropy to those in need.”
At last, Jaina turned her head to look at her, and it felt like a victory just to have her attention. “Are you in need of my ‘philanthropy’?” she sounded incredulous.
It was Sylvanas’ turn to pretend to be aloof. “No. But as the Warchief of the Horde, I am always seeking alliances that will make us stronger.”
Jaina twitched in surprise, and the skull tilted to one side as though she were studying Sylvanas with far more interest. "You're no orc."
"I see Kul Tiras really has been living under a rock for the last decade,” said Sylvanas with a huff of wry laughter. “The Horde is far more than a gaggle of mindless orcs these days."
Now, Jaina had turned fully towards her. More progress. "And yet you died over a decade ago, you said? Which implies you are a product of the Scourge.”
The empty space within the crook of her sickle staff burned with a bluish light, and the air suddenly reeked with the smell of arcane magics. Sylvanas tensed. Her hand made an abortive jerk towards her bow, but then the brief crackle of energy died away.
Jaina hummed a thoughtful note. “I don't sense anything demonic about you."
Still tense -- wary and ready to act upon a moment’s notice -- Sylvanas lowered her arm. "I make a point of not sharing my head with anyone. Especially where demons or liches are concerned."
"Finally, something we can agree on." Gesturing between the two of them, Jaina asked, "And what exactly would you get out of this proposed alliance?"
Sylvanas flashed a grin. "A friend."
At that, Jaina grunted. Silence descended as she chewed over the idea. "You're charming…"
Sylvanas' grin widened slightly.
"...but not that charming." Jaina straightened to her full height, which was fiendishly tall. Far too tall for Sylvanas’ tastes. Humans had no right being able to loom like that. "What do you really get out of this? And don't give me that bullshit about friendship."
The grin slipped from Sylvanas’ face, replaced instead by an expression that was more exasperated than anything else. "You really are your mother's daughter, aren’t you?” When Jaina’s only reply was to quietly glare at her, Sylvanas relented. "I want Kul Tiras to open its borders to the Horde."
“And is that all?” Jaina pressed.
“Would I lie to you?”
“You already have. Several times, I might add.” Jaina tapped her thumb against her staff. The motion rattled a cluster of crows’ skulls at her waist. “How do I know you're not working with Ashvane and Stormsong already?"
Baring her teeth, Sylvanas said, "Because if I were, I wouldn't have approached your sacred tree alone. I would have come with an army to burn it to the ground."
“You really do have a way of endearing people, don’t you?” Jaina said, not the least bit impressed. “No wonder my mother threw you out on your ass. That is what happened when you approached her with this proposition, I assume?”
Sylvanas glowered, but said nothing. It was answer enough.
“Of course, it is.” Jaina’s laugh was a low chuckle of amusement. “Why would I help you?”
“The goodness of your heart,” said Sylvanas, unable to keep the sarcasm from her tone.
Jaina scoffed. “You’re not a shipwrecked orc in need of hull repairs. You’re a war profiteer.”
“I had hoped you would be swayed by some manner of loyalty to your dying mother,” said Sylvanas, but the low blow did very little it seemed.
“Don’t pretend to care about my mother, Warchief Windrunner.”
“Pretend?” Sylvanas repeated, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know, she invited me to the Keep for a cup of tea. If she were in better health, we could have reached an understanding.”
“If she were in better health, she would have shot you,” Jaina said dully.
“Whatever helps the negotiation process,” Sylvanas drawled with a wave of her hand. Then she leaned a little closer, trying to peer past the impenetrable shadows of the skull’s eye sockets, searching for any hint of Jaina’s face. “Haven’t you thought about what you could do as the Lord Admiral?”
Most people would have leaned away or taken a step back upon being in such close proximity with a walking corpse. Jaina on the other hand remained perfectly still. “I am happy where I am now.”
“Are you?” Sylvanas stepped forward. They were close enough to touch, but Sylvanas stopped just before that point. The skull tilted slightly, as though Jaina were having to lower her chin to continue looking at her. “If you became the Lord Admiral, you could change the laws of Kul Tiras. No more raids. No more witch burnings. No more unfair press into the Navy’s service. You could give back lands to the Drust that were confiscated when your very own ancestors arrived here in the first place. Think of it as -” she shrugged, “- reparations. Making amends. Setting things right once and for all.”
There. A pause. A hesitation. The smallest gap in Jaina’s proverbial armour. If Sylvanas did not have such acute hearing, she would have missed the slight hitched breath beneath that mask.
“Hmm,” said Jaina. This close, Sylvanas could hear Jaina’s exhalation brush against the plate of bone in front of her face. It was barely audible over the rush of water and the slough of a breeze through the surrounding foliage. “I still don’t trust you.”
Placing her open hand back over her chest, Sylvanas tried for an air of sincerity without appearing mocking. “Then allow me to prove my good intentions, Lady Proudmoore.”
Jaina made a noise as though she had just bitten into something sour or rotten. “Don’t call me that. I’m not that old.”
“High Thornspeaker is a bit of a mouthful.”
“They have the same number of syllables,” Jaina pointed out, but she sighed nonetheless. “Jaina, then. If you must.”
“Very well, Jaina,” Sylvanas let the name linger on her tongue. “Give me a small temporary outpost in Drustvar, and I promise to be nothing but the most humble and respectful of guests. At any time, you may call upon me as needed, or send me away. Whichever you prefer.”
For a long while, Jaina said nothing. As their conversation had progressed, the air around them had grown dark. The moon was a sliver of liquid gold upon the horizon, peeking over the wild canopy. The ground here was littered with small bioluminescent flowers, which gathered closest around the great tree, glowing softly in time with the runes over the arch and those carved into the mask’s antlers, as though they were all connected by a single woven thread. When Jaina took a step back and turned away, the ground lit up at her feet. The small bioluminescent petals clustered within her footsteps so that she seemed to leave a trail of pale fire that faded in her wake.
She did not go very far, only striding a few paces off to sit upon one of the stones half-buried in the ground at the base of the tree. The moment she touched the stone, the marks etched into its surface lit up like a lantern. Jaina paid them no heed. She sat. She rested her staff on the ground beside her. She crossed her legs and idly bounced her foot up and down as though deep in thought.
One of the ravens swooped down from its branch to land on Jaina’s shoulder, and she waved it away. “Not now, Adalyn,” she admonished under her breath.
The raven cawed a loud complaint, but it flapped away again. Except this time it landed on a lower branch nearer Jaina, and fixed a beady black eye upon Sylvanas.
Finally, Jaina turned her attention back on Sylvanas. “No hunting,” she said, holding up her hand to tick items off on her wooden fingers. “No fishing. No mining. No forestry. You will have a minimal presence. All civilian. No military. And you will stock no arms or ammunition either on shore or within twenty leagues of it.”
“Agreed,” Sylvanas said without any hesitation.
“I will speak with Lucille. You’ll have your outpost within the fortnight. Though,” Jaina added, “you might consider keeping your head down. If my mother gets wind that you’ve established a presence here behind her back, there will be hell to pay.”
“I will be meek as a field mouse,” Sylvanas swore.
Though Sylvanas could not see it, she had no doubt Jaina just rolled her eyes. “Somehow I don’t believe you.” Her foot continued to bob as she spoke. "Arthur will escort you back to Arom's Stand. It will be quicker with him showing you the way."
Sylvanas looked around the empty clearing. "Who?"
As if in answer, one of the smaller ravens wheeled down from the branches of Gol Inath. It landed on the ground a few paces away from Sylvanas. And then it shuffled its feathers, and began to grow. There followed a series of unpleasant snaps and groans, as though a tree were being felled, and then a deer was standing in the raven's place. Except it was like no deer Sylvanas had ever seen before. It appeared to be made partly of plant, and partly of bone and flesh. Its legs were clawed twisted trunks, and the collar of fur around its neck was a ruff of leaves. Sylvanas could see glimpses of pale ribs through its sunken skin, and glowing glyphs were tattooed into its flank.
"Hi!" the deer said. "It's me. I'm Arthur. Nice to meet you."
The voice was most definitely coming from the deer, though its mouth did not move in any way. Its eyes were filmed over with the pale blue of death, but the deer flicked its tufted tail in a very lively manner.
Slowly, Sylvanas looked up at the trees, at the numerous ravens eyeing her from their perches. Even at the gazes of nocturnal creatures that blinked owlishly at her through the underbrush. She tried counting them all, but soon lost track. Suddenly, Jaina's earlier threats about putting Sylvanas in the ground for good did not seem so empty.
"I wasn't aware we had an audience." Sylvanas nodded to the trees. "You might have told me."
"To be honest, you came right in the middle of a lesson. One which I'm keen to get back to. You have very bad timing." Jaina shooed her away. "I will check in on you in a few months. And if you don't keep up your end of the bargain: I'll know."
"What if I want to speak with you sooner?"
"You still have my token. It will guide you safely through the forest just as it did before."
With a sour grunt, Sylvanas' hand drifted to the pouch where she kept the scrimshaw fang. She thought on wicker men and bad dreams. Perhaps instead, next time she would just go to the forest's edge and talk to the ravens until they fetched Jaina for her.
Plastering on a false smile, Sylvanas bowed low at the waist. "The hospitality of the Drust is as infamous as they say. Thank you, High Thornspeaker. This meeting has been enlightening."
"Next time, let me know you’re coming, and I'll be sure to put on a pot of tea," Jaina said dryly.
The raven from before, the one called Adalyn, had hopped down to a branch closer to Jaina, glaring over the High Thornspeaker's shoulder like a dour little body guard. Sylvanas was sure she had seen the same expression on Nathanos' face.
Syvlanas turned towards Arthur. The deer was pawing at the ground with one clawed and cloven hoof.
"Hop on up," Arthur's voice said.
Sylvanas' brows furrowed. His back looked very spiny and not at all comfortable. "I don't suppose I can get a saddle?"
"I mean -?" Arthur started to say, glancing over at Jaina.
"Don't demean yourself Arthur," Jaina said.
Arthur stamped his back hoof, and said to Sylvanas. "Sorry. No can do."
Muttering under her breath, Sylvanas hoisted herself easily onto his back. She shifted atop him, but couldn't find a good seat no matter what she did.
"Ready?" he asked.
Before she could answer he started off on a bouncing trot away from Gol Inath. Behind them, Sylvanas could have sworn she heard laughter chasing after her, but perhaps that was simply the cry of the ravens.
As Arthur picked up the pace, he said, "You might want to hold on."
"To what?" Sylvanas growled.
He tossed his head, and she grabbed onto a tine of his antlers. Soon, his steps turned into leaps and bounds. He was sure-footed and swift, easily traversing the forest. Even so, Sylvanas was forced to hunker down low on his back to save herself from getting whipped by the passing branches.
She missed her skeletal horses. They may not have been as fast, but at least they had saddles and didn't talk. And Arthur talked. Arthur talked a lot.
"This is so exciting," he said as they raced along. "We haven't had outsiders at Gol Inath in -- well -- forever! And now all this talk about the Admiralty and invasion? Do you think we're going to have a big fight?"
A branch sailed right for Sylvanas' face. She ducked. "That depends," she said through grit teeth.
"I've never been in a battle before.” He sounded excited at the idea, proving just how young he really was. “Killing constructs and undead at Gol Koval doesn't count."
His accent lacked the burr that other Drustvar inhabitants had. Sylvanas tightened her grip upon his antlers. "You don't sound like you're from Drustvar. How long have you been training as a druid?"
"Oh, I'm from a fishing village in southern Tiragarde Sound," he replied. "I joined the Drust a few years ago. My parents found me in the garden one winter. We didn't have enough food, so I'd made the squash patch grow right through the snow. For people like me, options are limited. You can go to the Monastery or join the Navy. Except Tidesages don't really do nature magic like that, you know? And life at sea isn't really for me. So, here I am."
Sylvanas mused over that for a moment. The silence did not last long however. Soon, Arthur was yammering away again. Some incessant drivel about how much he liked being with the Drust. How the change in his life had been dramatic but ultimately fruitful.
Sylvanas made non-committal noises as he talked. Then, she interrupted, "How long has Jaina been High Thornspeaker?"
"Four years, I think? Three? By the time I came around, she was already Ulfar's star pupil."
"And he chose her as his successor?"
"Oh, no. Not really. It just sort of happened during the fight with Gorak Tul. They went to Thros and -" Abruptly, Arthur cut himself off. His bounding gait slowed to a canter. "I'm not really supposed to talk about that."
"You can tell me,” she crooned sweetly. “We're allies now, aren't we?"
"I don’t know,” Arthur said, his tone uncertain. “Jaina would be mad at me."
"Does she get mad at you often?"
"Oh, no. She's very patient with me. Way more patient than my parents, or that recruiting Lieutenant from Boralus. I hated that guy.” Arthur slowed to a stop. “Hey, can you do me a favour?”
Sylvanas narrowed her eyes. "What kind of favour?"
When Arthur tossed his head, she was forced to let go of his antlers. "There's this -" He twisted his head around, his ears flicking back. "- really itchy spot on my neck."
Glowering, she hissed, "I am not your scratching post."
"Oh, come on. Please?"
"I don't know why Jaina bothers with talk of demeaning yourself. Look at you."
He had twisted around, head lowered, so that he could scratch at his neck with one of his back hooves, like a dog trying to scratch behind its ear. Sylvanas had to cling to his back to keep from falling off and onto the ground. Briefly, she wondered how mad Jaina would be if she killed him, and then decided that it wasn't worth the trouble.
"I will walk the rest of the way," she grumbled, but before she could slide from his back, he sighed.
"Okay. Got it." He straightened, and then shook his head with a huff of irritation. "Thanks for nothing. Geesh."
Sylvanas' gaze burned scarlet as she glared at him. However, Arthur was either immune to the sense of immediate danger, or he really was that oblivious, for he continued on his way, chatting happily. This time, Sylvanas did not offer any noises to indicate that she was listening. She seethed in silence.
The forest around them looked exactly the same as it had when she had first entered it. Thankfully, they did not pass the burnt ash tree and the wicker man, though Sylvanas watched for it, as though fully expecting to be dropped back into the nightmare loop that had been her life for the last three days. Arthur probably would have answered any other questions she posed, but she did not want to encourage him. Not that he needed it.
Finally, after the longest few hours of her undeath, they reached the edge of the Crimson Forest. Dawn was a sliver cresting over the hills, painting the sky a pale pink. The moon still hung like a pendant at the throat of the world over the sea to the south west. Sylvanas lifted her head to peer up the cliffs directly ahead of them to the east. From here, she could just see a glimmer of lantern light from Arom's Stand high on the saddle of the mountain pass.
Arthur slowed his pace, but continued trotting onto the road, clearly intending to carry her all the way back up to Arom's Stand as per his instructions. But Sylvanas leapt nimbly from his back. Her boots squelched in the mud of the road.
Prancing around her, Arthur said, "Something wrong? If you needed to stretch your legs, you could've just said something."
Sylvanas bit back the urge to say something scathing. Instead, she began to stride along the road. "I will make my way from here. Thank you, Mr...?"
"Tradewind," he replied.
"Thank you, Mr. Tradewind."
"Don’t worry about it. You can call me Arthur.” He stopped in front of her, blocking her path. “And are you sure? I don't mind, and that hill is steep."
Teeth clenched, Sylvanas walked around him. She waved him away. "I am fine."
“Suit yourself.”
She did not hear him bound away. There was a rustle behind her, the strident cawing of a raven, and he was gone in a flap of wings.
It did not take long to climb the slope to Arom's Stand. The snows had melted slightly in her absence, though the further up the mountains she went, the deeper it became. The sun rose in time with her own movements up the hill. Soon she was bathed in the golden glow of daylight. The sun was a mixed blessing. The season was warming, but with it came the sludge of snowmelt mingling with the mud of the road.
A falcon wheeled overhead. She paid it no heed, until it started circling her position. Then, she frowned up at it. When it circled lower until it was just a few meters above her head, Sylvanas sighed.
"You didn't have to send anyone else after me," she said to the sky. "I've left your damned forest."
"Are you talking to a bird?"
Sylvanas blinked. She turned to find Nathanos striding towards her from off the road. Of course. There were few people who could sneak up on her. Nathanos and her dark rangers were among them.
As he approached, Nathanos put away his bow. "I am glad to see you unharmed. I shall have to tell Anya her coup is a no go."
"Very funny," Sylvanas growled.
No sooner had he spoken Anya's name, than she and Velonara appeared on the nearby crest of the hill. They were followed by Notley from the Order of Embers. A furrow creased Sylvanas' brows when she saw that they flanked Notley as though he were a prisoner.
"Trouble?" she asked Nathanos.
Nathanos seemed unrepentant. "We were worried for your safety, my Queen. Notley is a falconer, and we merely -" he trailed off for a moment, then shrugged, "- requested his immediate services."
Tilting her head back, Sylvanas looked incredulously between him and the falcon. The falcon itself was swooping back towards its master, who lifted his arm clad in a thick leather glove up to the elbow. Anya and Velonara were lengthening their strides now, leaving Notley behind so they could reach their Dark Lady's side.
"I was only gone three days, Nathanos," Sylvanas admonished, as Anya and Velonara drew close enough to hear. "You panicked like a bunch of old hens."
"Three?" Velonara repeated.
"You were gone nine days," said Anya.
Staring at them, Sylvanas shifted her gaze to Nathanos. He nodded. "When you did not arrive at the tavern in Arom's Stand on the seventh day, we tried to go into the forest after you."
"And how did that go for you?" Sylvanas asked.
"Not well," said Anya with a tone as dark as her expression.
Trudging towards their little group, falcon on his arm, Notley said, "I told them not to. But they refused to listen. Said they were going to gut me like a fish if I got in their way."
Neither of the rangers nor Nathanos gave any indication that this was true. Then again, they did not deny it either.
Sylvanas tsked in faux admonishment. “That’s no way to treat our newest allies.”
Of the four, the one who looked most surprised at this declaration was Notley. “You -?” he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, as though the forest below would eavesdrop. “You found the High Thornspeaker?”
A silent meaningful glance was shared between Sylvanas and Nathanos. She smiled, baring a hint of fangs. “I did.’
--
True to her word, Jaina had arranged an outpost for the Horde within two weeks. During that time, Sylvanas and her rangers stayed in Corlain rather than suffer the indignity of the tavern at Arom's Stand for a moment longer.
Not that Corlain was much better. It was the kind of town where the sad grey market every weekend was considered the height of culture by the locals. Sylvanas had seen less grim affairs in the sewers of the Undercity. The people of Drustvar were as accommodating as those in Boralus, which was to say: reticent to outsiders. Still, they did not chase the undead away with torches and pitchforks, which was an improvement on some of the places Sylvanas had visited in her lifetime.
After thirteen days however, Sylvanas was stirred from her chair at the local inn by a rapping on the rain-lashed glass. When she went to open up the window, a filmy-eyed raven hopped inside the windowsill.
"Finally," Arthur said, fluffing up all of his feathers so that he resembled a black hand duster. He shook his tail out. "Do you know it's pouring out there? I should have transformed into a duck instead, but Jaina keeps telling me it's not 'dignified.'"
"When will she learn that you're a lost cause?" Sylvanas drawled.
"Right?"
Rolling her eyes, Sylvanas said, "Well?"
"Huh? Oh! Yeah." Arthur made a sound as though he were clearing his throat, and he perched a little straighter. "Lady Waycrest has agreed to give you the Eastern Cliffs. It's an abandoned settlement near the lighthouse of Falconhurst."
Sylvanas sighed. "Wonderful. More impassable cliffs."
While this entire conversation was going on, Anya and Velonara had stopped their game of whist at the table. They had somehow managed to procure a deck of cards only a few hours after their arrival in Corlain, and picked up the game with a cunning and alacrity that had many of the locals cry foul. Which, in the locals' defense, Sylvanas reckoned was probably true. Velonara's hand was frozen mid-play, a card held between her fingers. They were both staring at the sudden conversation between their despot and a bird.
For his part, Arthur's head cocked, and he hopped a little closer towards their table. "Hey! This lady's cheating! She's got some spare cards up her sleeve!"
Anya's deathly pale cheeks went faintly blotchy. She glared daggers at the raven. "Permission to shoot the bird, Mistress?"
"Permission denied," said Sylvanas.
Throwing down her own hand, Velonara snatched Anya's wrist and wrenched the cards that had been stashed up Anya's bracers.
Sylvanas ignored the ensuing squabble in rapid-tongued Elvish behind her, like the hissing of angry snakes. She turned to Arthur. "Is there anything else?"
"Do you have a towel? Can you give me a quick rub down?"
"That was a rhetorical question, Arthur."
"Yeah, well, mine wasn't. I had to fly for hours to get here, and I'm soaked."
Rather than dignify this with a response, Sylvanas shooed him back towards the windowsill and shut the window. He squawked at her indignantly from the other side of the glass, before he was ultimately driven off by the rain.
It took another two weeks to bring in hand-picked members of the Horde to fill the outpost. Sylvanas had already sent word back to Orgrimmar of her plans, and a list of suitable candidates had been drawn up at her request. The small ship -- something harmless enough to slip past the Kul Tiran Navy patrols by pretending to be a neutral fishing vessel -- landed at Falconhurst on an auspiciously sunny day. The sun was a wan yellowish circle behind a thin layer of clouds. It felt like the first time Sylvanas had seen sunlight in years, even though it had been only been a few weeks of incessant rain.
A handful of Forsaken and Tauren stepped off the ship and onto shore. The local fishermen on the docks did not give them more than a passing glance. As per Sylvanas' orders, the Tauren -- all of whom were druids -- arrived in various animal forms. Neither they nor the undead were considered an odd sight in Drustvar. Indeed, the most difficult part about keeping a low profile was trying to encourage her more zealous Forsaken followers that they needn't erect banners with her symbol upon them. This slight to her glory seemed to cause a few of them physical pain, and more than once she had to order Nathanos to go around at night to tear down a few tabards from the walls of their encampment.
Less than a week had passed before Velonara was clearing her throat to get Sylvanas' attention.
"What is it?" Sylvanas did not look up from where she was fletching a series of arrows. She had been forced to purchase the feathers from a hawker Falconhurst, who had been curious as to why she did not simply hunt for pheasant herself. He quickly nodded in understanding when she explained she would not hunt anywhere near the Crimson Forest, however. There was even a small discount offered for her supposed piety.
"There are two women watching us from the tops of the cliffs," Velonara explained.
Sylvanas tied off a section of gut around the fletching. "And you haven't scared them away yet? You're losing your touch."
"One of them claims to be the Lady Lucille Waycrest. She is demanding an audience."
Now, that did get Sylvanas' attention. She glanced up from her work. "Demanding? Is she, now?" Finishing off the arrow, she set it down and then rose to her feet. "We shouldn't keep one of our hosts waiting, then."
It was a quick walk up the switchback road leading over the saddle of the cliffs. Waves thundered against the shore below. Their outpost was placed on a small outcropping that was sheltered by a man-made shoal with a lighthouse erected at its very end. At night it almost appeared as though the lighthouse were floating above the tides. Now, the wind-battered lighthouse was peering out at the dusk-washed sea like a lantern.
Most of the locals from Falconhurst avoided the Eastern Cliffs apart from a few fishermen, who favoured the docks. And yet, two dark shapes were standing near the cliff's edge. They were peering down at the outpost below. Over the whipping of the wind, Syvlanas could barely hear their murmured conversation.
Sylvanas announced her presence by allowing her foot to kick loose a stone on the path. Both of the figures turned. One was carrying a lantern. She lifted it into the air, peering through the impending gloom of twilight at those who approached.
"Lady Waycrest, I presume." Sylvanas stopped a few paces away, and tucked her arms behind her back in a comfortably militant pose. "I understand you wished to speak with me."
"Yes," said the woman holding the lantern. Her hair was dark, and her clothing fine. She studied Sylvanas with pursed lips. "I wish you'd approached me before approaching the Drust."
Sylvanas arched an eyebrow. "Oh? I was under the impression I was welcome here."
Lucille's mouth thinned even more. "You are. For now. But it is bloody inconvenient, you know, having you lot strolling about under Jaina's wing, while I'm kept in the dark."
With a nonchalant shrug, Sylvanas said, "Your arrangement with the High Thornspeaker is your own. How you go about your business is none of my concern. So, unless you're telling us to leave, we have very little to discuss."
"That's not what I'm here for." Drawing herself up -- she was short for a Kul Tiran, which meant she was only slightly taller than Sylvanas and Velonara -- Lucille gestured to the woman beside her. "I've been told you already know Mace?"
Sylvanas' eyes cut through the darkening air. Mace was fidgeting with the daggers sheathed at her waist. Her palms moved restlessly over the pommels until the metal was burnished smooth and bright. Her red hair was unmistakable. When Lucille gestured towards her, Mace inclined her head, her movements jerky, as though she had to remind herself to be deferential.
"I do," Sylvanas said slowly.
"Good. I'm assigning her as an escort to your outpost," said Lucille. She turned to Mace. "No starting fights. And report back to me every fortnight."
Meanwhile, Sylvanas's shoulders went rigid. "I beg your pardon?" she growled. "You will do no such thing."
Lucille frowned in her direction. "It's only fair," she said. "Jaina is having you watched."
"She isn't," Sylvanas insisted flatly.
"Then what is that?" Lucille pointed over Sylvanas' shoulder.
Sylvanas turned to follow where Lucille was indicating, and spied a large raven shuffling along the branch of a nearby tree. The bird seemed to notice their attention upon it, for it went very still all of a sudden.
Eyes narrowing to crimson slits, Sylvanas raised her voice. "Is that you, Arthur?"
"What?" said Arthur. "No! No, I'm just a normal raven."
"Normal ravens don't talk, Arthur."
"Oh. Right. I mean -! Caw! Caw!"
Sylvanas had to unclench her teeth before she could speak to Lucille again. Her clawed gauntlets creaked, and she relaxed her hands. "A trade then. You leave Mace here, and take Velonara back to Waycrest Manor with you."
"What?" hissed Velonara at Sylvanas' elbow, too low for the humans to hear. Sylvanas slanted a dangerous glance in her direction, and Velonara fell silent.
"Fine," agreed Lucille after a moment of thought. "Fair's fair. Just know that if she puts a knife between my ribs, Jaina will drown everyone at your little outpost."
"I'm well aware," Sylvanas drawled.
For some reason, that made Lucille relax. She even smiled. "Well, good. That's settled, then. Welcome to Drustvar, Warchief." Then, she nodded towards the ranger standing attentively at Sylvanas' side. "Velonara, was it? I have two horses stabled at the inn in Falconhurst. We can ride back towards the manor in the morning."
Velonara said nothing. Indeed, she gave no indication that she had even heard Lucille speak to her. She was too busy glaring awls into the back of Sylvanas' head.
The tip of Sylvanas' ears twitched slightly in annoyance. "Are you going to answer Lady Waycrest?"
Velonara's expression remained implacable, but her voice was stiff when she inclined her head towards Lucille. "I will meet you there at daybreak."
Satisfied, Lucille strode off towards Falconhurst. Her step was unerring, if loud. The soles of her boots seemed to find every twig along the road. The moment she was out of earshot, Velonara rounded on Sylvanas.
"I don't like this," she said in a low tone. "We are in hostile territory. You need a proper guard detail, and you were already under-protected when you decided to leave your Deathguards in Orgrimmar."
Sylvanas smiled as a pretense to bare a bit of fang. "I am more than capable of protecting myself. Besides," she gave a wry wave towards Mace, "I have a new bodyguard now."
As the conversation had continued, Mace had squatted down on the ground. She had procured a small block of wood from somewhere, and was now busy whittling away at it with one of her daggers. It took her a long moment to realise that both Sylvanas and Velonara were now watching her in silence. Her knife slowed against the woodgrain. She blinked up at them blankly. "Huh?"
"Yes, she seems very alert," Velonara muttered darkly. "I'm so relieved."
"Don't forget me," said Arthur from his branch. "I'm still here."
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Sylvanas sighed.
--
The next morning, Velonara left with Lucille back to Waycrest manor with strict instructions on sending back reports on the latest political and military movements every week. Nathanos and Anya took the news of the trade about as well as Velonara did, which meant that Sylvanas was forced to endure extra Forsaken guards around her quarters at the Eastern Cliffs at every hour of the day.
Arthur also took the discovery of his presence to mean that he no longer needed to hide. He made a habit of roosting atop the first story eaves of the building that Sylvanas used as both personal quarters and a command centre. He would chatter away at her undead guardsmen, pestering them with questions and stories.
Even worse, her guards cracked and eventually began to talk back to him.
Sylvanas was pouring over a series of reports on the latest treaty update from Zandalar one evening, burning the midnight oil, when she first heard it.
"So, wait -- you eat bodies? Why?" Arthur's chirpy voice was unmistakable over the sound of the waves against the nearby cliffs.
There followed a rustle of chainmail rasping over a bony shouldered shrug. "It heals us. Makes us whole again."
"Woah. Really? Can you show me?"
A dry chuckle. "That's not the reaction we usually get, kid. But sure."
Tossing down the report onto the stack of paper on her desk, Sylvanas pushed back her chair, its legs scraping loudly against the wooden floorboards. She stormed over to the front door, and yanked it open. Immediately, her two guardsmen jerked to attention, their normally stooping backs ramrod straight.
Sylvanas glared at them and hissed. "You will refrain from developing a rapport with the bird. Understood?"
“Yes, Dark Lady,” one of them said.
“Of course, my Queen. Forgive us,” said the other.
Sylvanas then aimed her glower upwards, where Arthur was poking his black-feathered head over the side of the thatched eaves. "Isn't it time for you to deliver your report to Jaina?"
Arthur's milky white eyes blinked at her. "Probably. How many days has it been?"
"Do you want me to write your reports, too?" she growled.
"Would you? That would be really helpful."
"You are a terrible spy." She waved an irritable hand at him. "Go home. Before I let Anya shoot you."
"Someone's grouchy today,” he remarked, but took flight before Sylvanas could make good on her threats.
She glared after him, following his flight path until he was no more than a black speck disappearing over the hills. When she turned her attention back onto the guards, they gripped their polearms even more tightly.
“Where is the other one?” she asked.
One of the guards lifted his hand and pointed with a flensed finger. Slamming the door shut behind her, Sylvanas stalked in that direction. It did not take her long to find Mace. As far as spies went, she and Arthur could not have been worse at their jobs if they tried. Mace spent her days throwing stones into the sea, or talking to the local fishermen, or hurling knives at a target dummy made out of a flour sack filled with straw. She never spoke with the undead more than necessary. Any time Anya or Nathanos reported her talking with members of the Horde was when she would question the Tauren about the Cenarion Circle and the Moonglade.
Sylvanas found her sitting on a stump beneath the deep eaves of the command centre. Her back was turned to Sylvanas, and she gave no indication that she noticed her presence. Mace was hunched over something in her lap, and various trimmings heaped at her feet.
Standing behind her, Sylvanas watched as Mace’s hands bound three sticks together with twine into a roughly human frame. Next, she gathered dried leaves and twigs around the frame, tying them into place by circling the ball of twine in key sections. She worked methodically. Her restless disposition was well-suited to this kind of constant activity.
When she was nearly finished, Sylvanas nodded towards the little wicker man. “What do they do?”
Without looking up, Mace shrugged. She was completely unsurprised by the sound of Sylvanas’ voice directly behind her. “Dunno. She likes them, though.”
“Who?”
“The High Thornspeaker.”
The wicker man was beginning to take shape. Mace bulked it out with more leaves and twigs. It lacked any kind of head. Briefly, vividly, Sylvanas could remember the wicker man in the forest with its watchful skull. A skull which seemed, in retrospect, a near exact copy to the one Jaina wore.
"What do you do with them when you've finished?"
Mace grunted around a twig in her mouth, taking it and lashing it into place along one of the wicker man's legs. "Leave them at the edge of the forest, usually. They disappear in a few days. She takes 'em, see? Or, if you have to make camp, you stake one of these at your feet while you sleep. Protects you from ghosts and constructs and, y'know -" Mace waved a withered leaf at Sylvanas. "- banshees and the like."
"And you want to put one in my outpost as a housewarming gift," Sylvanas sneered. "Lovely. Thank you."
Unperturbed, Mace put the finishing touches on the wicker man. She bound the last bit of twine into place, and then weighed the wicker man between her hands for a final inspection. "Begging your pardon, ma'am, but I am sleeping here surrounded by you lot. I'll take what I can get."
Reaching down, Sylvanas snatched the wicker man from Mace's grasp. "This thing -" her voice was low and dangerous, "- will not save you from me. And I will not have it anywhere near my personal quarters."
Mace tongued the inside of her cheek. Then, she nodded towards the wicker effigy. "Don't like it much, do you?"
Sylvanas’ hand tightened around the wicker man until she heard the creaking of twigs and leaves. She straightened, forcing her fingers to unclench. Without the bear claws and a skull, this effigy was far less ferocious than its counterpart in the Crimson Forest. Still, it made her skin crawl to touch it.
She looked between the wicker man and Mace. Her eyes narrowed to crimson slits. “Do you have any Drust in your family line?”
“My uncle Tavery,” Mace replied. She was shuffling around the supplies at her feet. Eventually she picked up a piece of wood, and began carving it with a knife.
Sylvanas turned the wicker man over to study its construction. Mace had woven the twigs and leaves in such a way that they all interlinked over the effigy’s chest, as though framing its lack of a heart. A space to be filled by grim offerings. Sylvanas stroked her thumb over the area. “Tell me about Gol Inath.”
Shoulders tense, Mace hunched over her knife. She shot Sylvanas a wary glance over her shoulder. “You shouldn’t -- You shouldn’t say its name aloud so easily.”
“What is it?” Sylvanas repeated, impatiently enunciating every syllable.
“The sacred tree. The entrance to Thros.”
“And what is Thros?”
Mace scowled at her. “Why are you asking me all these damn questions? If it’s information about the Drust you want, you should ask them. Not me.”
Gesturing with the wicker man, Sylvanas said, “Indulge me.”
For a moment Mace said nothing. She fiddled with the handle of the dagger, then turned back to whittling the small block of wood in her hands. It was beginning to take on the shape of a shaggy bear. “The Blighted Lands. A nightmarish place where nothing grows.” She gave the dagger a particularly vicious flick, tearing off a chunk of wood. “Hell, Warchief. Thros is Hell.”
--
If there was one thing Sylvanas was very good at, it was being patient. She had waited to lure Arthas into a trap, pretending to be under the yoke of his will even when the Lich King’s powers had begun to wane. She had bided her time in joining the Horde, ensuring the alliances of both the Forsaken and sin’dorei. The living wanted everything urgently and immediately. On some days she could still feel that itch scratching just beneath her sternum, but today was not such a day.
She sat behind her desk at the Eastern Cliffs. Its surface was littered with papers and documents, bits of parchment with her notes scrawled across them in spidery lines. And though the watery sunlight of Kul Tiras washed through the windows of the building, the hearth was lit, more for light than for warmth. She had very little need of warmth these days.
A map of Kul Tiras was spread out before her, its curling edges weighed down with various items -- an inkwell, a dog-eared book, a jar of sand for drying wet ink. Standing at the opposite side of the table, Nathanos leaned over and pointed to the map. “According to Velonara, Lady Waycrest has levied troops at Fletcher’s Hollow to fend off the Ashvane forces seeking to take the mines and foundry in that area. She has also sent troops to garrison Fallhaven, as it is the largest settlement in Drustvar that is accessible by sea. Drustvar has very few ships of their own, and certainly none that can rival the Great Fleet.”
Sylvanas’ elbow was propped on the chair of her arm. She curled her fingers into a fist and leaned her cheek upon it. “How many souls has she levied?”
He straightened and answered. “Fifteen thousand.”
Studying the map, Sylvanas hummed. “Not bad for a nation that traditionally doesn’t field an army.”
Nathanos gave a condescending little sniff. “It is nothing compared to what the Horde could muster at a moment’s notice.”
“Perhaps,” Sylvanas murmured. “But who needs an army when the only way to your land is by sea?” Reaching out, her hand drifted over the map towards Tiragarde Sound. She tapped her finger against Boralus. “And what about our beloved Lord Admiral? What has she been doing these last few weeks?”
“I have received news that she was visited by an Alliance envoy.”
Sylvanas glanced sharply up at him. “Anyone we know?”
“Genn Greymane.”
At the very sound of the name, Sylvanas’ lip curled. “And?”
“And Katherine sent him away as well.” Nathanos’ beard twitched in a smug smile. “She wanted nothing to do with the Alliance either.”
Sylvanas laughed, the sound sharp and short. She settled back in her chair, a smile still playing across her lips. “So, she sent the dog running with his tail between his legs. I knew I liked her.”
Nathanos’ own smile faded. “Why haven’t we told her about finding her daughter alive? If it’s the Admiralty you want, we should be trying to curry their favour and uniting them.”
With a sniff, Sylvanas said, “You have no sense for the dramatic, Nathanos. You would be a very poor theatre performer.”
He offered a small bow in reply. “You flatter me.”
She let loose a gentle huff of laughter, turning her attention back to the map. “No, we wait. We let the Ashvanes tie their own noose. What will the people say? When the daughter of their beloved war hero, Daelin Proudmoore, returns from the grave to liberate the nation from a usurper House?” Sylvanas curled one loose corner of the map between thumb and forefinger. The parchment began to tear slightly, the rip aiming up between Drustvar and Tiragarde Sound. She studied it a moment, and then pulled her hand back. “Why, I think it might just be a cause for a celebration.”
“You mean: a coup,” Nathanos said.
“What’s a good party without a little bloodshed?” she said wryly. “Besides, I hear Kul Tirans are the brawling type. Think of it as a cultural experience. We are -” Sylvanas fluttered the fingers of one hand as though searching for the words. “-forging stronger ties with our future allies.”
“I am leaping for joy on the inside,” Nathanos replied in his flattest possible tone. “And if the Alliance should approach her daughter? What then?”
“They won’t.”
“You underestimate their cunning.”
“No, I predict their weakness.” Leaning back, she propped her feet atop a clear corner of the desk, crossing her legs at the heel. “The old wolf or SI:7 might approach Jaina, but their Little Lion wouldn’t allow them to go through with any plan they concocted between them. He could never stomach something so underhanded.”
“And this High Thornspeaker? What if she sought them out herself? Presuming she ever deigns to set foot outside of her forest.” He snorted, shaking his head. “I have my doubts.”
The way Nathanos said that gave Sylvanas pause. She shifted slightly in her seat to face him more fully. “About what, pray tell?”
For a moment, he hesitated. He seemed to mull over his words carefully before beginning. “Forgive me, my Queen, but no one else has seen her, or even heard her voice. I have sent scouts into the Forest -- every week for the last two months -- and always they return empty handed. Confused or scared witless. Some claim to have been hunted like a wild animal through the woods. Some rave about men made of bone and moss chasing them. Some say there is a tree strung with carcasses at the heart of the forest, and that its guardian is a bloodied stag crowned with stars.” He held his gloved hands palms up, showing that they were empty. “None of them have ever seen a woman as you described her.”
“Do you think I was as addled by the forest as your scouts?” she asked in a voice that was dangerously calm.
He inclined his head. It was not a nod, but a sign of subservience. “No. Of course not. That we have been given this outpost is proof enough that you encountered someone -- or something -- which swayed the Lady Waycrest.”
“But you don’t think it was her.”
Sweeping a hand over his heart, Nathanos said, “You do not have me by your side to be trusting of others, my Queen. And I think it is very convenient that we found her alive. Too convenient, in fact.” He kept his head bowed as he spoke, but his gaze held her own with unflinching conviction. “How do we know this isn’t some spectre or illusion? How do we know we aren’t being played for fools?”
The rear legs of the chair creaked slightly beneath Sylvanas as she shifted her weight. Her eyes strayed to the hearth, over which the wicker man had been hung. Its limbs were scorched. She had tried to burn it after speaking with Mace, flinging it into the fire as more fuel, but it had resisted her efforts. So far there had been no forced nightmares in its presence, but Sylvanas remained wary of it all the same.
She thought back on that meeting in the forest. Gol Inath. A congregation of ravens. Shadows and mist and a faceless woman whose tongue was as sharp as her mind. The memory should have seemed dream-like, but it wasn’t. Even dwelling upon the memory now, it were almost as though she were transported back to the entrance of that tree; the smell of it pervaded her senses like a familiar but long-forgotten scene. As though she had rummaged through her mother’s vanity as a child and happened upon a used vial of perfume.
“Your suspicions are not misplaced,” Sylvanas assured him. “But she is real. I am sure of it.”
At the gentling of her tone, he lifted his head. “Then if she is real, how do we know she will be up to the challenge? Druids are dreamers. They make poor leaders. Always with their heads in the clouds or the trees.” He tapped the side of his own head for emphasis.
“This one is different. She’s -” Sylvanas made a face. “- terribly practical, actually.”
He scrunched up his nose in a look of minor disgust. “I was not aware that was possible for a druid.”
She hummed wordlessly in agreement.
“Still,” Nathanos said. “I doubt the Navy will follow someone who never emerges from their life of seclusion and mysticism. Regardless of their name. If I don’t believe she is real, then the average Kul Tiran won’t either.”
Now, that was a problem. As far as Sylvanas could tell, Jaina seemed content to act behind the scenes, all while letting Lady Waycrest take the centre stage.
“Then we must lure her out,” Sylvanas said.
“With what bait?”
Again, her eyes strayed to the wicker man. Lowering her feet back to the ground, Sylvanas stood. She rounded the desk and crossed over to the fireplace. Her face was illuminated by orange flames as she reached out to pick up the wicker man. “Leave that to me.”
--
Sylvanas left the Eastern Cliffs without an escort, much to the annoyance of Nathanos and Anya. The sky was dark and boiled with clouds, and not even a hint of starlight could shine through. The promise of rain was heavy upon the air; Sylvanas could almost taste it. For all that it was a still night, a calm night, and -- most importantly -- a rainless night.
When she arrived at the edge of the Crimson Forest, a raven soared overhead and landed in the lower branches of a nearby tree.
"Do you want a ride?" Arthur asked.
Sylvanas' step did not falter. She pressed on, walking into the woods with the fang dangling from her outstretched hand as though it were a lantern clearing her path of shadows. "No," she said.
Arthur flew to another tree ahead of her. He shuffled his wings and watched her course. "Can I sit on your shoulder at least?"
"No," she said again, more emphatically this time.
He cawed, which she took to mean he was annoyed by this imposition. She did her best to ignore him, but it was difficult to do so, when he continued flapping from branch to branch, hopping along after her and not bothering to keep himself hidden.
"Did you follow me the last time as well?" Sylvanas asked.
"No," Arthur replied, his voice fading somewhat as he sailed over her. "Tavery wouldn't let me. Thought I'd give myself away immediately."
Well, they were right about that, at least. Sylvanas refused to engage in any further conversation with Arthur, despite his best efforts. He was far too curious for his own good, pestering her with questions about her station, her state of undeath, how she died, how the Forsaken lived -- for lack of a better term -- how they had overthrown the Lich King's iron will.
Sylvanas kept her eyes fixed upon the fang. She followed its path unerringly.
Eventually, Arthur said, "You're going the wrong way."
Sucking in a deep breath to calm herself, Sylvanas stopped. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. "I was under the impression that this thing -" she shook the fang where it dangled from her hand. "- would always lead me to Gol Inath."
"Oh, it will. But you're looking for Jaina, right? She's not at Gol Inath right now."
"And you couldn't have told me this sooner?" Sylvanas growled.
Arthur shook his tail feathers in an offended manner. "Hey, I offered to give you a ride. It's not my fault you didn't want my help earlier."
Stuffing the fang into her belt pouch, she glared up at him. "Show me."
Immediately, Arthur swooped down from his branch and landed on her shoulder. His claws scrambled for purchase against her pauldron, and he flared his wings to steady himself as he sought to get a good grip. Before he managed to do so, his feathers smacked Sylvanas on the side of the face a few times. She leaned her head to one side, fuming silently to herself.
"There! Phew! Okay." Arthur folded his wings against his back. "Jaina's with Athair and Athainne. Go west."
Sylvanas turned and started walking.
"No, your other west."
Gritting her teeth, Sylvanas continued on the other way. Arthur continued to chirp directions in her ear, happy and at home on her shoulder despite the incredibly ugly looks she would cast his way from time to time.
At last, they came upon a clearing in the woods. It was nowhere near as vast or impressive as Gol Inath, but it had its own quiet majesty. The trees here thinned. Will o' the wisps danced around their trunks, their bluish light casting no shadows in an eerie array. More life than Sylvanas had seen anywhere else in the Crimson Forest abounded here. Rabbits and lambs gambolled. Jet-black foxes with white-tipped tails scampered from Sylvanas' path at the sight of her. A pack of wolves lifted their lazy heads to watch her pass by, but went back to sleeping beneath the outcropping of a den dug into the gentle hillside. Stationary owls turned their golden eyes upon her, and red-breasted nightingales dipped and darted a few paces above the ground. Predators and prey alike gathered here, and none seemed very concerned with one another.
And at the centre of the clearing, Jaina was conversing with a stag and doe. Her voice was too soft to overhear, even with Sylvanas' keen ears straining to catch the slightest syllable. The stag was pale as moonlight. Its antlers gleamed. It stood larger than any deer Sylvanas had encountered before; she could lift her hands above her head and still not hope to touch its withers. The doe beside it had a coat of purest black, which seemed to drink up any surrounding light until it appeared to be a void in the shape of a deer.
Both creatures turned to regard Sylvanas steadily when she drew too near. She stopped. Jaina glanced over as well, her skull mask omnipresent even now. Without preamble, Arthur took flight, winging through the air and landing on Jaina's shoulder. He leaned in close, whispering something in her ear, while she nodded and murmured a reply. Then, she took him from her shoulder and perched him atop the stag's antlers. The stag's tufted tail twitched, but it gave no other indication that it noticed Arthur's presence.
Jaina walked over, leaving Arthur and the two Wild Gods behind her. Her every other step was punctuated by the end of her staff touching the earth, and sending up a spiral of greenery in her wake.
Sylvanas nodded in greeting and asked, "Do you always wear that?"
Drawing to a halt a pace away, Jaina tilted her head. The skull mask was as impassive as ever. "Think of it as a symbol of office."
"Do you plan to ride out against the Ashvanes wearing a horrible deer skull?"
"I had, actually. Yes."
"And I thought I was bad at politics," Sylvanas drawled.
Jaina's voice was impatient when she spoke. "What do you want, Warchief?"
"To talk."
For a long moment Jaina regarded her in silence. Then, she said, "Well? Talk."
There was the temptation to be just as short with Jaina as Jaina was with her, but Sylvanas held her tongue. "You're not like most druids I've encountered in the past."
"No, I imagine not."
When Jaina was not any more forthcoming, Sylvanas sighed and reached behind her. Jaina tensed, but Sylvanas only pulled the singed wicker man from where she had tethered it to her belt. Sylvanas waggled it back and forth, the way one might motion with a doll to scare children.
Jaina's shoulders relaxed, but she made a sound of wordless irritation. "Why have you brought me this?"
"I heard you like them." Sylvanas held out the wicker man. "Personally, I don't see the appeal. But to each their own."
In the short time they had known one another, this was the first time Sylvanas had seen Jaina hesitate. Slowly she reached out to take the wicker man, and Sylvanas noticed that her hands were no longer made out of wood. Instead, they were sheathed in pale, calloused, living skin. A glance downward proved that the same was of her bare feet. Their soles were scuffed with dirt, but otherwise unremarkable.
Jaina's fingers traced over the scorch marks across the wicker man, as though she were inspecting a bruise upon a child's knee. "He looks a little worse for wear."
"He lost a scuffle with the fireplace."
Jaina snorted. She shook her head. "Do you even know what these are?"
"No," Sylvanas answered truthfully. "A ward, I imagine."
A thoughtful hum escaped Jaina at that. She touched the place where the wicker man's heart was supposed to be, the blank patch where all the twigs and leaves intersected. "Sometimes, yes. They can be guardian effigies. Sleep inducers. Dream totems. Soul cages, though very rarely. Sometimes they are just the centerpiece of a festival rite. But regardless of their use, they are always an instrument of worship.” Jaina tucked the wicker man away, and it vanished beneath her heavy cloak. “Thank you. I shall treasure him.”
Sylvanas could feel her ears pin back at the idea that this was some offer of worship. “I did not make it,” she said quickly.
Jaina shrugged. “That doesn’t matter. You were a participant nonetheless.”
“I was the one who tried to burn it,” Sylvanas pointed out.
“Oh?” Jaina laughed softly at the admission, and Sylvanas had to stop her hands from curling into fists. “Funny you should think that removes you from the equation.”
Holding out her hand, Sylvanas took a step forward. “I wanted it away from me, but if it’s going to reveal anything to you, then I want it back.”
“Too late. It’s already gone.” Jaina flourished her cloak to prove just that. “Do you think it would show me what I haven’t already seen?”
Sylvanas froze.
Now it was Jaina’s turn to move forward. She drew close, peering down at Sylvanas, who glowered steadfastly in return. The points of the skull’s antlers appeared dark and crusted with old blood, as though they had gored an animal to death. “Your dreams are very violent, Warchief," Jaina murmured. "How many times have you died? Twice?”
Baring her teeth, Sylvanas growled, her voice slipping to a dark two-toned rumble, “Stay out of my head.”
Something in the air shifted, and suddenly Jaina did not appear so looming. She shrugged, but did not step away. “Very well. I won’t pry any further.” Taking the staff in both hands, Jaina leaned her weight upon it, her pose relaxed. “So, what did you want to talk about?”
Sylvanas scowled. She could feel the shadows slithering beneath her skin, the venom of anger an acrid taste at the back of her mouth. Swallowing it down was a practised action, something she had done a thousand times. And always it was difficult to not let it take root. Her face became as blank and mask-like as Jaina’s before she spoke. “I could not help but notice that the Ashvanes have already made moves to the southeast. Based on my scout reports, you are going to need additional support.”
“Your concern is touching, but I am more than capable of defending Drustvar without the help of the Horde,” said Jaina.
“You and Lady Waycrest have levied quite the impressive little force. I’ll grant you that. But armies need more than promises and dreams.” Sylvanas rubbed her thumb and forefinger together, the tips of her gauntlet rasping against one another, metal against leather.
With a snap of her fingers, Jaina caused a grasping vine to sprout from the ground at their feet. It twined around Sylvanas’ ankle, but did not hold her fast. “I can grow enough food to ensure the army is fed through even the most bitter winter.”
“I’m not talking about food. I’m talking about money.” Sylvanas kicked her foot free and ground the vine beneath her heel. “You think soldiers and sailors follow Lady Ashvane -- or your mother, for that matter -- because they want to be fed pork and biscuits three times a day for the remainder of their sad lives? Do you think they like freezing aboard a third rate on the northern run to Kalimdor?”
The skull cocked to one side, and Jaina sounded amused. “Are you hoping to bribe me?”
“Normally, yes. Though I know you aren’t the type to be swayed by the promise of coin.” Clasping her hands behind her back, Sylvanas lifted her chin. “No. In fact, I was hoping to buy something from you.”
Jaina tapped one finger against the staff, thinking quietly to herself before saying, “And what do you want to buy?”
“Another outpost. Think of this as paying rent.” Sylvanas dragged her toe along the dirt to smooth the vine out of the way, as though marking a line between them. “You give me land, you let me develop a minor presence elsewhere in Drustvar, and in return I help your war effort.”
“Hmm.” Straightening, Jaina nodded. “Very well. But your presence is to remain strictly civilian. If I get wind that there are soldiers or munitions in your outposts -”
“You won’t,” Syvlanas interrupted before she could finish.
Jaina made a disbelieving noise. “That remains to be seen.” She lifted her hand, and Arthur flew over to land upon her forearm. “Take our guest to Swiftwind Post, that abandoned fane northwest of Fletcher’s Hollow.”
Sylvanas thought back to the map on her desk at the Eastern Cliffs. “That’s very close to the foundry being invaded by the Ashvanes. Are you expecting me to send my people in blind?”
For some reason Jaina thought that was funny. “Perish the thought,” she said. Then she added, “It’s good defensible high ground. Difficult to assault. Your people will be safe. I’ll make sure of it.”
In a flap of wings, Arthur moved from Jaina’s arm to Sylvanas’ shoulder. This time at least he managed to get a good grip without making a complete nuisance of himself.
Jaina made an inquisitive noise before saying, “Arthur, why aren’t you giving her a lift?”
“She doesn’t like it,” Arthur explained.
Jaina turned her attention to Sylvanas, waiting for an explanation. Sylvanas had to keep her expression carefully neutral, though the force of her scarlet gaze could strip paint from the hull of a ship. “Can you at least do me the courtesy of sending someone else to spy on me? Anyone else.”
“No. I trust him,” Jaina said simply. “And believe it or not, he is an excellent judge of character.”
Hearing those words, Arthur puffed up his feathers proudly.
“Fine,” Sylvanas snapped. “I’ll do this my own way.”
She held out her hand parallel to the ground, the fingers of her clawed gauntlets splaying wide. The last time she had summoned a skeletal mount in Drustvar had been at the very fringes of shoreline nearest Tiragarde Sound. The death magic had come easily, eagerly. Now, when Sylvanas’ magic reached into the ground, silence was her only reward.
Scowling, she tried again to no avail.
Arthur shuffled a little closer to her ear and said in a too-loud whisper, “Is something supposed to be happening? I feel like something is supposed to be happening.”
“Shut. Up,” Sylvanas hissed at him through grit teeth. Shadows gathered at her outstretched palm, but the earth refused to budge. Eventually, after another futile effort, she dropped her hand with a wordless irate snarl.
“A good try, really,” said Jaina, who had watched the whole thing in silence. “But here in the heart of Drustvar, you’ll find that the dead answer only to me.”
Stymied and fuming, Sylvanas bit back a sharp retort. Instead, she turned heel and stalked away without another word, while Arthur gave her unwanted directions back towards the Eastern Cliffs. And as she strode off, she wondered if Nathanos hadn’t been right all along, if this place was even worth the trouble. The thought was met swiftly with the idea of the Alliance getting their hands on the Great Fleet of Kul Tiras, and Sylvanas lengthened her stride with purpose.
Even if she was bound to lose eventually, she would be twice-damned before she let the Alliance win.
--
At least Swiftwind Post didn’t have the incessant sea spray rusting everything it touched. Instead, it had -- true to its namesake -- near constant gales. The native heath of Drustvar painted the surrounding countryside in stark browns and purples as far as the eye could see. Winds swept the plains, rippling across the tussock and bare weathered stones of the steep hills that dotted the area. Atop each hill, a series of large and ancient stones had been arrayed into circles. Whatever carvings they had once borne had long since been stripped away by the harshness of time and the elements. The ruins stood starkly against the pale grey backdrop of the sky, like a series of broken teeth, or the fingers of giants clawing their way from an untimely grave.
The Horde flight masters could often be seen struggling to coax giant eagles into their wooden shelters. Sylvanas had been insistent that they use the native birds rather than give themselves away by importing foreign wyverns all the way from Kalimdor. More than once, several Tauren had to rush about after a goblin flight master dangling from the halter of an enormous eagle, which in turn was struggling to navigate the squalls that rolled over the top of the rocky crag.
Anya complained about the wind nearly every day. Her claims were not unfounded. She would grumble about how her bow and arrow were near useless in this area, which of course resulted in the topic of Sylvanas needing more guards to protect her from potential threats on her life. The proximity of Fletcher’s Hollow and its skirmishes between House Waycrest and Ashvane made both Anya and Nathanos insufferable. They insisted on shadowing their Dark Lady’s every footstep, until she could hardly walk without stepping on one of them.
After weeks of enduring this, Sylvanas was just about ready to kill them. Again.
“Please tell me Lady Waycrest has finally driven away those Ashvane raiders,” Sylvanas groaned, rubbing at her temples. “These people can’t be that incompetent, can they?”
She was seated at her desk in one of the hastily built, low-slung structures atop Swiftwind Point. A Tauren druid had stooped to enter the front door. With a bow, he handed her a parcel of letters and reports all bundled together with twine and oiled parchment. She murmured her thanks, and he departed without another word. Sighing, she began to unpick the string.
At a nearby table, Anya had roped Nathanos into playing whist. He was scowling down at his hand of cards, deliberating over his next move. While his shoulders were hunched protectively over his hand, Anya was splayed out in her seat. She sat slumped, with one foot atop the chair beneath her, the other stretched out as far as it would go. One of her arms was flung over the back of her chair, and she dangled her fan of cards in her hand without a care in the world.
“If there’s anything I’ve learned since being here,” Anya said, her arm lazily swaying back and forth. “It’s that Kul Tirans always find a way to surprise you.”
Sylvanas agreed with an annoyed grunt. Shuffling through the reports, she read labels and arranged them on the table before her in order of importance. She sought out a name in particular, and when she couldn’t find it her brow darkened. “Why don’t I have an update from the Zandalari treaty yet?”
Without looking up from his hand, Nathanos answered, “From what I understand they are squabbling over concessions.”
The corner of Sylvanas’ mouth turned down sharply. “Tell Lor’themar to stop wasting time, finish the drafting, and arrange for copies to be signed. I want those ships at our disposal before the end of the season.”
“I will see it done,” he said.
His dutiful response did nothing to improve her mood. Sylvanas aimed a glare in his direction and hissed, “Now, Nathanos.”
She could see how the dark note in her voice sent a shiver running down both his and Anya’s spines, and how readily they both responded. They sat bolt upright, their eyes burning bright and alert. Anya’s ears went rigid, and she dropped her hand. The cards scattered along the ground, revealing that there were far too many for a normal hand in whist.
Rising to his feet, Nathanos flung down his own cards atop the table. “Anything to get me away from this game,” he muttered. As he stomped towards the door, he made sure to tread atop Anya’s cards.
After he had gone, Anya began picking up all the cards and grumbled, “You couldn’t have waited until after I’d won?”
Sylvanas ignored her. Ever since her second trip to the Crimson Forest, her mood had remained vastly unimproved.
Her hand strayed to the next report. She checked for proof that the folded letter had not been tampered with, and -- satisfied -- opened it. Her eyes scanned quickly across Velonara’s encoded Thalassian missive. As she read, she pulled over a detailed map of Kul Tiras already weighed down on one section of her desk.
Various notes had been scribbled here and there, predominantly around the various regions of Drustvar. She moved a few more red tokens -- indicating Ashvane forces -- to Fletcher’s Hollow, and a few more black tokens -- indicating Waycrest tokens -- to Barrowknoll. She kept one of the black tokens pinched between thumb and forefinger, using it to tap against the inlet of Fallhaven.
Sylvanas had already thought of how she would invade Drustvar. If she were in Ashvane’s over-polished shoes, she would sail her ships right up to the real prize of Drustvar’s west coast, strangle Fallhaven for a good year or two of besieging, and then mop up the rest of the west after winter passed. The mountains bisecting the region cleanly in two clearly marked Arom’s Stand importance, as it sat astride the only route over the mountains that an invading army could take. There were no good landing zones for troop barges on the eastern coast. Too many cliffs. And the inlet near Falconhurst was lousy with shoals. No ship larger than a sloop would risk navigating those waters.
Not to mention, the inlet near Falconhurst directly abutted the Crimson Forest. And gods help any army who dared launch an attack on that nightmarish place.
“Fifteen thousand isn’t enough to fend off a two-pronged attack,” Sylvanas murmured to herself. She dropped the black token onto Fallhaven, and then moved a few more red tokens into Fletcher’s Hollow.
Shuffling the cards between her hands, Anya stood and made her way over to Sylvanas’ desk. She peered down at the map. “They should withdraw all their forces here -” she pointed to Fallhaven. “- and wait out the siege through the winter. The Kul Tirans are mad, but no one is mad enough to try to camp in eastern Drustvar through this weather.”
“I agree,” Sylvanas said without looking up. “But somehow I doubt they’re going to do that.”
“Maybe they have a morale problem?” Anya offered. She expertly shuffled the cards again, showing off by using far more flourishes than necessary. “Maybe if they give up Fletcher’s Hollow, their levied forces will lose heart. Give up. Go home.”
Pursing her lips together, Sylvanas sat back in her seat. She frowned at Barrowknoll. “Or maybe they know something about this place that we don’t. What did you see when you scouted the area?”
Anya shrugged. The deck of cards vanished between her hands, spirited off to gods only knew where. “A village. A town square. Farmers. Sailors. Soldiers. A cemetery. A Church to the Tides. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Hmm.” Pulling the last parcel towards herself, Sylvanas ordered “Have another look, and report back in two days.”
With a bow, Anya left. Drawing the silver hunting knife from her boot, Sylvanas slipped the tip of it beneath the oiled brown paper to carefully slice the packaging. She opened it, and pulled out a book. Its leather jacket was green and aged. The corners were frayed. The pages were yellowed. Its spine had been broken dozens of times throughout the course of its life. She turned it over, searching for a title, but the gilded lettering had long since been rubbed away. The only distinguishing mark still upon the book was a crude and unrecognisable rune pressed into the centre of the front cover.
Tossing aside the packaging, Sylvanas opened the book. A note from Velonara slipped out, explaining that this was the only thing she had been able to find on the topic of ancient Drust history. Even the title page had been ripped free, and the author’s name in the forward effaced. A quick scan of the forward proved that the author had been one of the original Gilnean settlers, a gentleman by trade and a natural historian by hobby.
When Sylvanas turned to the first chapter, she paused. The author had included very detailed sketches of what he had encountered during his explorations. One such sketch took up nearly the entire first page. It was of a wicker man, identical to the one Sylvanas had encountered in the Crimson Forest, down to the skull, the bear claws, and the heart staked against its chest. The chapter header read: ‘On the Subject of Iconography and Effigies’
Hastily, Sylvanas flipped further along. She skipped through most of the work until she found what she had been looking for. A chapter entitled: ‘A Catalogue of Kings: Gorak Tul and the Myth of the Witch-King of Thros.’
Sylvanas slowed her reading, carefully scanning each line for information about Gorak Tul, the Horned One, the King Undying, an ancient Drust sovereign prophesied to be defeated by a hero who thwarted death three times. If the author was to be believed, Gorak Tul was naught but a legend. A mythological archetype. A horror story used to scare naughty children.
But if that were true, then why did Jaina not like Arthur talking about him?
Sylvanas turned the page, then swore softly in Thalassian.
The rest of the chapter had been ripped out.
--
This time when Sylvanas went back to the Crimson Forest, Jaina was on the outskirts of Gol Inath. The great tree loomed like the ruins of a stark and bleak cathedral. Though Sylvanas had made sure to arrive during the day, the shadows of this place seemed to cling to life beneath the boughs of the tree.
Arthur was perched on Sylvanas’ shoulder as she arrived, guiding her faithfully onwards. This time, Sylvanas spied one or two humanoid figures around the base of Gol Inath, but none of them were Jaina. They stopped to stare at her as she passed, their expressions guarded. She ignored them, following Arthur’s cheerful directions even while she refused to respond to his usual chatter.
She found Jaina in a flat clearing between two twisted roots of Gol Inath. Jaina was kneeling on the ground with her back turned, still wearing her skull mask despite not expecting company. Her staff was nowhere in sight. On the forest floor beside her, the enormous ink-black doe was sprawled on its side. For a moment, Sylvanas thought it was dead, but then its head lifted with a weary whine, its star-bright eyes squinting before it flopped back down.
“Shh.” Jaina placed her palm upon the Wild God’s flank, rubbing in a soothing manner. “It’ll be alright, Athainne. We’ll get you through this soon enough.”
“Hunters?” Sylvanas asked, drawing closer. Arthur pushed himself off her shoulder and flew off to a low branch, where he watched. “I didn’t think they’d be able to harm her.”
Glancing over her shoulder, Jaina said, “Nothing so grim.”
Sylvanas stopped when she was standing just beside her. From this distance, the round bulge of the doe’s stomach was clear. Frowning, Sylvanas asked, “She’s pregnant?”
Jaina hummed. “Breech birth. This is going to get messy.”
With a grimace at her own poor timing, Sylvanas said, “I should come back later.”
But Jaina only shrugged. “Do as you like. You can stay. So long as you can stomach a bit of bodily fluids. Otherwise, I recommend you go stand over there for a bit.” She pointed back towards the massive trunk of Gol Inath.
“I’m not the squeamish sort.”
“Oh, good. Then you won’t mind helping.”
Sylvanas’ ears shot up in surprise. “You can’t be serious.”
Jaina was already shuffling towards the doe’s rear legs. “And why not? I could use an extra pair of hands.”
“I am not putting my hands up there.”
“I meant with the pulling later.” Meanwhile Jaina was unwinding her own handwraps, and folding up the sleeves of her robes nearly to her shoulders.
Nodding towards the mask, Sylvanas asked, “How can you even see through that?”
“Magic,” Jaina said simply, tossing her handwraps further away so they wouldn’t get soiled.
Sylvanas narrowed her eyes. “That’s a lie.”
Laughing softly, Jaina said, “Only half of one.” And without a mote of hesitation, she stuck her hand into the doe until her elbow all but disappeared. The doe made a noise of complaint, which Jaina hushed. As she began rummaging around, she craned her neck to look at Sylvanas. “Now, to what do I owe the dubious pleasure of your company this time?”
While not the most bizarre situation Sylvanas had ever found herself in, it ranked pretty highly among them. Which meant her first instinct was to default to putting her hands behind her back in an officious pose. “As I’m sure you already know, Lady Ashvane’s forces have begun their siege of Fallhaven.”
“If it’s the safety of Swiftwind Post you’re worried about, you could always pack up and leave.” Jaina had to turn her head back around, her hand feeling around blindly inside the doe.
Sylvanas arched an eyebrow at her. “Is that why you gave it to me? In the hopes it would act as a deterrent when the surrounding area was eventually overrun?”
“No.” Jaina grabbed something and pulled. Her arm emerged slippery and spotted with flecks of darker fluid. When only one little hoof came with her closed fist, she reached back in for the other. “Your presence there makes my forces seem larger than they are. It’s useful. Keeps the enemy second-guessing their reports. Plus it makes them wonder why I would put an outpost up on a brae in the middle of nowhere.”
Sylvanas’ posture relaxed somewhat. That wasn’t so far-fetched. If she hadn’t been so sure that her people could defend the position, she might have been angry. But Jaina had been right. Swiftwind Post was a craggy rock of highground on its own in the middle of heath fields that stretched all the way to the Sounds. It would take half an army to flush out even a small cohort entrenched there.
“You should be drawing everything to Fallhaven to protect it,” Sylvanas said. “You can afford to lose Fletcher’s Hollow, but you can’t afford to lose Fallhaven. Why you’re even bothering to wait for a retreat north across Barrowknoll is beyond me.”
“Maybe I’m a tactical genius,” Jaina said dryly.
“Says the woman with her arm shoved halfway up a deer.” Sylvanas drawled. “Unless there’s something special about that place you’re not telling me about?”
Shifting her weight forward, Jaina braced her free hand against the ground and rearranged her other arm deeper inside the doe. “You mean you haven’t sent your scouts through the area multiple times?”
Sylvanas grit her teeth. “I have.”
“And?”
“And,” she admitted, “they found nothing.”
“Then there must be nothing special about it.”
Sylvanas had been around many people in her life who frequently entertained the notion that they were the cleverest person in the room. Most of them thrived off the idea, surrounding themselves with simpering sycophants who would tell them everything they desired to hear. Jaina should have fallen in the same category, but somehow she did not. She gave the impression not that she simply thought she was the smartest person in the room, but that she simply was that clever. When others did it, Sylvanas scoffed. When Jaina did it, that truth was unimpeachable.
It was -- in short -- incredibly aggravating.
“So, you’re here to convince me my plan is terrible and I desperately need your help. Is that it?” Jaina asked. She had finally managed to get the other hoof out, and was now straightening the fawn in the womb.
“Only half of the plan.”
“Oh, good,” Jaina grunted, starting to pull on the fawn’s legs until the backs of its haunches were just visible. “Because I was beginning to think the stories I’ve learned about you since our first meeting were blown completely out of proportion.”
It shouldn’t have stroked Sylvanas’ ego as much as it did that she was storied enough to warrant whispers of her name even in a backwater like Kul Tiras. But it definitely did.
Jaina jerked her head, the skull nodding towards the ground nearby. “Grab that rope for me, won’t you?”
When Sylvanas glanced down, there was indeed a soft hempen rope coiled among the leaves. She leaned down, picked it up, and handed it over as requested. Cocking her head to one side, she watched as Jaina tied the rope around the fawn’s legs, just above its hooves. It was a sailor’s knot, sturdy yet not so tight that it would damage the newborn.
Keeping tension steady on the rope with one hand, Jaina stood. She used her free hand to dangle the end of the rope at Sylvanas. “Come on, then. Start being useful.”
Grudgingly and hardly believing what she was doing, Sylvanas moved to stand behind Jaina. She grabbed the last length of the rope and planted her feet firmly on the ground. When Jaina lowered her stance, Sylvanas followed suit so that they mirrored one another.
“Don’t yank,” Jaina warned without looking around. “We want a nice steady pressure. And try to pull as low and horizontal as you can.”
There were worse ways to endear oneself to a potential ally than helping a Wild God give birth near a mythical entrance to the underworld. Though, truth be told, Sylvanas was struggling to think of one at the moment.
The doe was larger than most horses, her night-dark flank heaving with every breath. Jaina’s hands were slick with blood and mucous; she had to pause to wrap the rope around her hands. Together, they pulled. It took a great deal more force than Sylvanas had initially thought would be necessary, but slowly the fawn began to emerge. At one point Jaina had to stop to ensure its tail was arranged properly before they were pulling again. And then, the fawn slipped to the ground in a rush.
It was completely still, its coat dark with fluids. Immediately Jaina dropped the rope and went down on her knees. Her movements were quick and practiced. She positioned the fawn just so, sticking her fingers into its mouth and nose until it coughed up more fluid and -- finally -- began to breathe.
“There we go,” Jaina murmured, her voice soft. She began briskly rubbing the fawn down with a handful of dry leaves from the ground. When Athainne started shuffling as if to stand, Jaina pointed at her. “Oh, no you don’t. You stay right there.”
The Wild God huffed wearily at her, but did as it was told.
Meanwhile, Sylvanas watched this entire interaction with a sense of bewilderment. “Since when do Wild Gods listen to the whims of mortals?”
“Since now,” said Jaina. She was letting the fawn attempt to stagger upright on its reedy legs, and she patted it on its flank in a congratulatory manner when it managed to succeed.
Sylvanas coiled the rope neatly around her arm, tying it off and dropping it to the ground. “Why not just solve the problem magically? Why go through all this?”
“I would have, if necessary. But I didn’t need to. They’ll both be fine.” After she had wiped her own hands and arms down as much as she could, Jaina rose to her feet. “As for your military concerns: thank you, but no thank you.” Unrolling the sleeves of her robes, she began gathering up her handwraps and the length of rope. She said dismissively, “You can go, now.”
Sylvanas did not budge. “Sooner or later, they’re going to find out about you. The Drust aren’t a target now, but the moment anyone gets wind that you’re alive...” She trailed off, leaving the repercussions unspoken.
“Maybe. But they don’t know yet.” Suddenly, Jaina froze. She turned towards Sylvanas. “Do they?” she asked, and for a brief moment the dark eye sockets of the skull blazed with a fierce blue light. "Did you tell them? About me?"
"No."
The skull remained fixed and staring at her, deadly silent.
Sylvanas met her glower for glower. "If they know about you, they did not learn it from me."
Jaina remained quietly glaring. Then, she continued gathering up her things. Behind her, the fawn had ambled shakily over to its mother, and was now getting licked clean.
Sylvanas thought of Katherine, of how her own sources in Boralus had gone quiet over the last few weeks. “Shouldn’t you be worried about what’s happened to your mother? If they are bold enough to attack Drustvar at all, then the power of the Admiralty is waning far more than just a few months ago.”
“My mother can take care of herself,” Jaina said, but her voice was too controlled, too even.
“And what will happen to your House when she finally dies?” Sylvanas pressed, her arms crossed. “Will you do nothing? Will you let your family name fall into obscurity?”
Her calm finally broken, Jaina whirled about. “Why do you care? This isn’t your fight! You’re only here because you want something you can’t have!” She slashed through the air with her open hand, and the very earth seemed to hold its breath, the shadows of Gol Inath gathering at her feet. “Well, I won’t be the one to give it to you! I will not be the pawn in your game with the Alliance!”
The moment the darkness began to coalesce at the base of the roots, Athainne’s ears had pinned back. Suddenly, Sylvanas found herself pinned by the gazes of both an angry Archdruid and a threatened Wild God with a newborn foal. She gazed coolly back at them, refusing to give an inch.
“Fine.” Without preamble, Sylvanas turned and began to stride away. “We shall do it your way. I will withdraw my people from Swiftwind Post and the Eastern Cliffs, as you so clearly desire.”
Jaina’s head jerked. The shadows faded. “What -?”
Giving a little wave of her hand, Sylvanas continued on without turning around. “No, you’ve utterly convinced me, High Thornspeaker. This is not my fight.”
Behind her, Sylvanas could hear Jaina spluttering, “Now, hang on just a -! Sylvanas. Sylvanas!”
But Sylvanas did not pause. She continued walking, and when Arthur tried to flutter down onto her shoulder, her hands flew to her bow. His wings flared and he veered off, landing instead in a nearby tree. Bow nocked and ready with a black-tipped arrow, Sylvanas left the Crimson Forest, and this time nobody followed.
--
Back at Swiftwind Post, Sylvanas gave the order that they were to make it appear like the Horde was packing up their camps. More importantly, she gave the order that Arthur was no longer allowed near their encampments, and that her rangers had free reign to shoot any ravens they saw venturing too close. None of them did. The ravens all seemed far too clever for that, and stayed far away from the Horde outposts, which seemed to irk Anya to no end. She would watch the skies, finger stroking over her bowstring in cold anticipation.
On the other hand, Mace was permitted to stay, which only seemed to confuse both her and the rangers. To puzzle them even further, Sylvanas took to letting Mace into the command building atop Swiftwind Post. The one who seemed most confused by this turn of events was Mace herself, who would sit on a low stool near the front exit. Wood shavings would pile up at her feet as she would nervously carve her little figures, her dark eyes darting around the room whenever Sylvanas occupied it. Whenever Sylvanas spoke to her, Mace would start, as though afraid Sylvanas had changed her mind and decided that the game was up.
It took longer than anticipated for the eventual result. But ultimately, Lucille Waycrest came knocking at Sylvanas’ door.
"Did you know," she said, as an undead guardsman shut the door behind her, locking out the howling gale, "that it is very difficult to get up here?"
"I am aware," Sylvanas drawled. "But now that you're here, you can fill me in on your latest plans, and save Velonara the cost of paper and ink."
The windows faintly rattled in their frames as the wind whistled over the heather and hills. Running her fingers through her dark hair until it had regained some semblance of order, Lucille admitted, "Actually I was hoping you could tell me."
Sylvanas blinked. Her pen paused over the page. "Why would I know?"
Lucille spread her hands. "You think Jaina tells me anything? I'm as much in the dark as anyone. And you're the only non-Drust person I know who ventures so freely into the Crimson Forest, and comes out in one piece."
Careful not to blot ink upon the page, Sylvanas balanced the pen in its inkwell. She leaned back in her seat and studied Lucille over her steepled fingers. Lady Waycrest was young, but she had dark circles under her eyes. Her clothing, while fine, was rumpled. It could have just been courtesy of the wind, but somehow Sylvanas doubted that. The last month or two since their first encounter had put a strain upon her; she looked haggard.
“You want my help,” Sylvanas said. “But I see no reason why I should give it to you.”
Lucille rocked back on her heels in shock. “Then -? Then why have you been keeping Mace around? Why have you been leaking information to me and not Jaina?”
“Why do you think?” Sylvanas asked.
“Is this some sort of trick question?”
Arching an eyebrow at her, Sylvanas remarked, “You’re not very bright, are you?”
“You -!” Lucille spluttered for words. Pointing out the window towards the encampment, she said incredulously, “You’re unbelievable! You’ve just spent the last few months getting footholds in my land! And now, you -!”
“It’s not really your land though, is it? Legally speaking, perhaps, but we both know how much weight that holds. About as much as this.” Sylvanas took one of the tiny black wooden tokens used to mark the map with troops, and tossed it at Lucille’s feet. “That’s what helping you gets me. So, why would I do it? What do you have to offer me that I would want? Think.”
Lucille’s mouth wrenched open, then shut very quickly again. She swallowed thickly. The brief flash of anger that washed across her features faded, and her expression crumpled. When she spoke her voice was tremulous, “I don’t know.” She had to clear a burr in her throat. “I don’t - I don’t know what I should do.”
Katherine had been right. Lucille Waycrest was a poor ally, indeed. Though not through any fault of her own. This was a girl whose parents had fallen prey to the Heartsbane Coven, witches who worshipped Gorak Tul and sought to retake Drustvar in his name. Her House had been dragged to the brink of destruction. She had barely managed to avoid the fall of her entire family, and even that was hardly from her efforts alone. And now that she was Lady Waycrest, Head of a Great House of Kul Tiras, she was without a mentor, surrounded by even more enemies, adrift in a sea of dangerous politics that she could not hope to navigate alone.
Once, Sylvanas might have taken pity on her -- she might have freely offered advice or guidance -- but not now. Now, Sylvanas did not even offer her a chair.
It was not the principle of the thing. It was the spectacle of it.
And besides, this might even be an educational experience.
Sitting forward, Sylvanas picked up her pen and returned to drafting her document. “I told you before.” She scratched another line across the page. “Your business is your business. How you go about it is no concern of mine.”
Lucille rubbed at her brow and sighed, “Jaina won’t want to ask for help. She thinks she can win anything by herself. She’s too proud.”
Without looking up, Sylvanas tsked, a light tapping of her tongue against the backs of her teeth. “How very true to her namesake.” She signed the end of the document with a flourish. The last stroke of her name was artfully blotted with ink. “I see you are not as burdened by hubris.”
A muscle twitched at Lucille’s cheek. Still, she said, “No. I am not. I know when I am outmatched and outgunned.”
“That’s a good start, at least.” Sylvanas rubbed at a spot of ink that stained her fingertips. “You want my advice?”
Lucille bit her bottom chapped lip, then nodded. “I’m listening.”
“The people of Drustvar are superstitious. They follow you not only for your name, but because you are a link to the High Thornspeaker, who defeated the coven of witches that had been terrorising the countryside for years under your family’s rule. Jaina is simultaneously your greatest weakness, and your greatest strength. Which is why I want you here today.” Sylvanas calmly folded her hands in her lap. “Convince Jaina to my terms, and I will consider giving you the support you need.”
A shadow of confusion crossed Lucille’s face. “What are your terms?”
“She already knows. And if she wants to talk, she knows where to find me.” Pointing towards the door, Sylvanas said, “Go. And take your little spy with you.”
For a moment Lucille did nothing. She made an abortive motion, as though she were going to take a step forward, only to turn heel and stride out, leaving Sylvanas alone in the command building. Sylvanas waited a minute or two, then stood and walked over to the door.
When she pulled it open, she said to one of the guards, “Tell Anya and Nathanos that under no circumstances are they to follow Lady Waycrest. And have Velonara remain in Corlain until further notice.”
The Forsaken guard bowed, and immediately trotted off to do her bidding. Sylvanas shut the door, returning to her desk. There was far more work to be done.
--
Eventually, Sylvanas was roped into playing cards. Nathanos flat refused to play, and in turn Anya would not accept no as an answer. Or at least, she did, but she sulked about it, all while denying that she was definitely not sulking about it.
Outside, rain pummeled the windows, and the sky was dark with early evening cloud. Lightning flashed intermittently, followed by the low long roll of thunder. Meanwhile, Sylvanas was losing her fourth game of whist in a row, even after she had ordered Anya to rid herself of any extra cards with which she might cheat. They sat in silence. Sylvanas had cleared one side of her usual work desk in front of the hearth to give them space to play.
Sylvanas' red eyes burned over her hand, her gaze hotter than the flames that licked the stone hearth black and sooty. "You have always been a filthy little cheat. Where are you hiding them this time?"
Anya played a trump card, winning the round, and said calmly, "I don't know what you're talking about, my Queen."
"Do you like having a tongue? Or would you rather I unburden you from it?"
Anya stuck out said tongue in reply, then said, "And you always were a sore loser."
Sylvanas opened her mouth to retort, but her ears twitched towards the door. Shouts and the sounds of a commotion outside. Both their heads whipped around. They rose to their feet, cards forgotten. Anya had an arrow nocked and drawn in an instant. The moment the door burst open, she fired two shots in rapid succession, her arm a blur of motion.
The arrows froze midair before they could reach their destination. They hung in the air as a massive shape shadowed the doorstep. The extra guards flanking the doorway were struggling against something. Their feet were just visible, flailing wildly as they were lifted from the ground and pinned against the outer walls, their weapons clattering to the earth.
Jaina had to duck her head to step inside. Her shoulders stooped, then straightened to their full height once more. Water dripped onto the floor at her bare feet, pooling behind her with every step. With a bored wave of her hand, the arrows fell to the floor.
The skull mask looked at Sylvanas, and then -- pointedly -- at Anya, who had a third arrow drawn and ready to loose.
"Anya," said Sylvanas, not taking her eyes off Jaina, "Leave us."
Anya began to hiss a complaint, but Sylvanas made a sharp gesture, cutting her off. Grudgingly, Anya lowered her weapon. She left, stepping around Jaina, who refused to give way. When she was outside, she shut the door hard enough to let her displeasure be known.
"You better not have killed any of my people," Sylvanas said once they were alone. "Otherwise, I will reconsider our little arrangement."
"They'll be fine."
Jaina moved closer to the fire. The shadow she cast swallowed the opposite wall and half the floor. The shape of it did not seem to quite match her actual figure, flickering darkly against the panelled wood. It was the first time Sylvanas had ever seen her indoors. Somehow, Jaina made the room feel too small just by standing in it. From this angle, Sylvanas could just make out the hint of her jaw behind the mask.
After a moment of tense silence, Jaina spoke, her tone curt. “I don’t appreciate being toyed with or manipulated.”
“Finally, something we can agree on,” said Sylvanas, repeating back to Jaina the very words she had spoken on their first meeting. “And I don’t appreciate you barging in here, unannounced, after having strangled my guards on your way in.”
“I figured I ought to repay you for the way you first visited me.” Jaina leaned her staff against the wall so that it rested on the edge of the mantlepiece. The action was nonchalant, as though she were hanging up her coat from the rain, not propping up an object that crackled with dark magics. “Going after Lucille was low. Even for you.”
“I thought I was rather gentle with her, actually.”
The skull swung in Sylvanas’ direction, its stare incredulous.
Sylvanas shrugged. “Gentler than Ashvane would have been, anyway. Or even your mother, for that matter.”
A grunt of concession. Jaina turned back to the fire. It cast off sparks that sputtered at her feet, never quite reaching the ragged and muddy hems of her robes. “I’m surprised. When I’d heard she was coming here, I thought I’d lost a friend for good.”
With a snort, Sylvanas said, “Do you treat all your friends like pawns?”
“I am protecting her.” Jaina’s voice rasped.
“I’m not interested in the lies the living tell themselves to sleep better at night.” Sylvanas leaned her hip upon the side of the table, and crossed her legs at the ankle. “And you didn’t come here to tell me off for being hard on your so-called ‘friend.’”
Sylvanas could hear the sharp intake of breath behind that mask. Jaina drew herself up, but her shoulders remained stiff. The firelight limned the edges of the skull in a sickly ochre glow. Eventually, she said, “Give me reserve troops and more coin, and I will consider your proposition.”
“I want more than empty promises.”
“Then what do you want?”
In answer, Sylvanas reached behind herself. She pulled a piece of parchment from a stack of documents on the desk. It was long, trailing nearly to her waist, and filled with neat lines so finely written upon the page, that it appeared more ink than anything else. At the bottom, Sylvanas’ waxen seal was already pressed and dried beneath her signature.
She held the page out to Jaina, who stepped forward and took it cautiously. Jaina took her time reading over every line of fine print. When she got to the end, she glanced at Sylvanas over the document. “How long have you had this prepared for? Days? Weeks?”
Sylvanas fluttered her fingers in a vague gesture. “A while.”
Jaina’s hand clenched into a fist around the page, crumpling it. She took a deep breath and smoothed it out once more. Then, to Sylvanas’ surprise, she laughed. Sylvanas’ long ears tilted up, and her posture straightened. Jaina was laughing to herself softly, ruefully, shaking her head. The motion rustled the leaves and tokens of her cloak like the wind through the boughs of trees.
“Predictable,” Jaina chuckled.
Immediately, Sylvanas’ ears slanted back. Her brow darkened. “Is that so?”
Jaina waved the paper at her dismissively. “Not you. I was talking about myself.” Her thumb traced over the blank space where her own signature was supposed to go, right beside Sylvanas’ name. “If I sign this, I will have your support?”
“You will.”
Turning back to the document, Jaina scoured it from top to bottom again. And then once more. She drew up next to Sylvanas to reach the table, where she set the document down on a bit of clear space. She grabbed up a pen, dipped it into a spare inkwell, and began to cross out certain sections.
Not moving from where she leaned against the desk, Sylvanas peered over Jaina’s shoulder. “Did your Drust education come with a healthy dose of law, as well?” she asked dryly. “Or is that due to another time in your upbringing?”
With a wordless grunt, Jaina slashed the pen across three of the clauses near the end. “If I am going to become the Lord Admiral and open the borders, then I will do so on my terms. Not yours. Not anyone’s.”
The corner of Sylvanas’ mouth turned down in annoyance. Still, she only hummed darkly in agreement. “And removing my exclusive rights to military bases?”
The skull tilted in her direction as Jaina glanced balefully over at her. “You may keep your civilian outposts, but there is no way I will allow a foreign military presence on Kul Tiran soil after this internal disagreement between the Houses has been settled.”
Jaina re-read the agreement for a final time, pen poised over the place where her name was to be signed. When the pen was just about to touch the parchment however, Sylvanas cleared her throat. Jaina straightened and turned to her in questioning silence.
“It needs to be witnessed,” Sylvanas explained.
“Bring your witness, then,” said Jaina impatiently.
It took only a moment to get Nathanos inside. He had been lurking just outside the front door, alongside what seemed to be every member of the Horde in the camp. Most had their weapons drawn, ready for anything. Steel glinted wetly through the rain-darkened air. Sylvanas gave the assembled little crowd a cool look, then jerked her head for Nathanos to follow her.
She shut the door behind them. Nathanos hair was slicked back to his head, and his coat was soaked, but he paid no attention to the rain. The golden glow of his eyes glowered in silent disapproval first at Jaina -- for daring to endanger the Dark Lady -- and then at Sylvanas -- for daring to put herself in danger in the first place.
Sylvanas strode past him, making her way back towards the desk. "You can be angry with me later, Nathanos. Right now, we need a witness."
"Very well," he murmured, and though his tone was light and cultured his expression was foreboding.
Jaina waited for him to join them. Then she took up the pen once more.
Sylvanas cleared her throat again.
"Oh, for fuck's sake." Jaina jerked upright, the pen clenched between her fingers in a white-knuckled grip. "What now?"
Sylvanas pointed at her. "Your mask. We need to be able to faithfully verify your identity."
For a moment Jaina did nothing. Then, muttering foul curses under her breath, she threw the pen down onto the desk. It sent a splatter of ink across some of Sylvanas' other documents, but left their agreement unscathed. She reached up, fingers curling around the base of the skull at her neck, and lifted the mask away.
She was both younger and older than Sylvanas had expected. Her mouth was pinched in displeasure, her jaw bullishly set. A deep scar ran down the right side of her face, bisecting one of her eyes, so that it peered out, white and blind. Her other eye was the same icy blue as her mother’s. Indeed, they looked remarkably similar, but for Jaina’s tall, broad-shouldered build. Streaks of her original hair colour gleamed golden in the firelight, as though whatever weapon had slashed across her face had drained everything out of that side.
She tucked the skull under one arm and glared challengingly at both of them. “I am Jaina Proudmoore, youngest child of Daelin Proudmoore and Katherine Proudmoore née Grey. Being of sound mind and body, I am willfully signing this agreement to a temporary alliance with the Warchief of the Horde, Sylvanas Windrunner, Dark Lady of the Forsaken, under the discretion of -” she waved towards Nathanos, “- whoever the fuck you are. Now, can we get on with it? Or are you going to continue to be a pain in the neck?”
Giving a mock bow, Sylvanas said, “By all means.”
Without another word, Jaina turned back to the document. She snatched up the pen, dipped it into the inkwell, and signed. Handing the pen to Nathanos, he signed between both their names. Then with a last baleful look in Sylvanas’ direction, Jaina crammed the skull back over her head, wrenching at its jaw to secure the mask more firmly in place.
She was halfway to the exit, when Sylvanas called after her. “Be sure to give my compliments to Lady Waycrest for actually managing to change your mind.”
Jaina paused with her hand on the door. “She didn’t.”
A furrow marred Sylvanas’ brow. “Then who did?”
“Arthur.”
The door swung inwards, admitting a sheet of rain onto the floorboards, and Jaina strode out without a second glance. She did not bother shutting the door behind her. Picking up the document, Sylvanas watched Jaina’s retreat. The members of the Horde congregating outside parted before her like waves before a ship’s prow. And a familiar raven swooped down and landed on her shoulder.
Then one of the Forsaken guardsmen reached in, and shut the door, shutting out the image and the rain.
Tapping her finger against the edge of the parchment, Sylvanas asked, “Is that enough proof for you?”
At her side, Nathanos grunted sourly. “I am adequately convinced. Though your stage performance was rather lackluster, in my opinion.”
“I wouldn’t exactly describe you as a patron of the arts, either.”
“Somehow I feel the theatrics aren’t over yet.”
Rather than answer, Sylvanas merely lifted one shoulder in a lofty shrug.
“Why are you baiting her? Why waste time?” Nathanos asked. “If we had given our support immediately, then Drustvar would have been in our debt. Our military presence would be too difficult to dislodge without taking more formal avenues. The outcome would have been the same.”
“Because now I have what I truly wanted in Kul Tiras.” Sylvanas lifted the document in her hands. Jaina’s signature was still wet; the ink gleamed in the firelight. She smiled. “An open invitation.”
#sylvaina#jaina proudmoore#sylvanas windrunner#world of warcraft#drust au#roman writes#fuck me why do I do this to myself
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Something on your mind must have been, "what kind of demons will I be living with while studying at RAD," right? Please don't worry. You'll be welcomed by seven of the highest class/noblest of demons at the House of Lamentation. 💜😈💜
Here are the three oldest brothers.
ルシファー LUCIFER
「我慢しろ、おすわり」
Have some patience and sit down.
完全無欠腹黒ドSな
An absolutely perfect, malicious sadist
最強長男
The Most Powerful, Eldest Brother
マモン MAMMON
ああああ、会いたかったよ俺のクレカちゃん......！
Aaaaah, I missed you, my Credit Card-chan. . . . . .!
世の中お金な強欲
Greedy for the world's money
クズ次男
The Scumbag Second Brother
レヴィアタン LEVIATHAN
「ヘンリー、今日は知らない人間と話ができたよ…!」
"Henry, I talked to a human I didn't know today. . .!"
二次元最高!!
2D Supremacy!
ガチオタク三男
The Serious Otaku Third Brother
Something on your mind must have been, "what kind of demons will I be living with while studying at RAD," right? Please don't worry. You'll be welcomed by seven of the highest class/noblest of demons at the House of Lamentation. 💜😈💜
Here are the four younger brothers.
サタン SATAN
「俺ってキャラ薄いのかなあ?」
"I'm not the type to stand out, don't you think?"
笑顔は全部演技です＾▽＾
His smiling faces are a complete act ＾▽＾
二重人格四男
The Split-Personality Fourth Brother
アスモデウス ASMODEUS
「ぼくって今日もかわいいなあ！」
"I'm cute today, too, wouldn't you say!"
世界は僕を愛してる
The whole world is in love with me
ナルシスト五男
The Narcissistic Fifth Brother
ベルゼブブ BEELZEBUB
「......で、もう食っていいのか？」
". . . . . .So can I eat now?"
晩御飯まだ？
Is it dinnertime yet?
腹ペコ六男
The Staving Sixth Brother
ベルフェゴール BELPHEGOR
「兄さんたち......とっても、会いたかったよ」
"My older brothers. . . . . .I missed you so much."
愛されすぎて反抗期？
A rebellious phase of loving too much?
居眠り系七男
The Dozing Seventh Brother
(tweet 2 | tweet 1)
Translation notes:
For Mammon I went with 'Credit Card-chan' because that's way funnier and more literal(though longer thus understandably given a nickname) than Goldie. Also 'kuzu' means 'scum' but it can also mean 'loser' and. More or less any kinda low level negative term/insult you can think of. One of the example sentences translates it as "waste of breath" lmaooooo
Levi's says 'nijigen saikou!!' "2D Is The Best!!" but lately you may have seen 'supremacy' used in fandom context, or at least I have. Using internet slang seemed most appropriate where it made sense lol AND THAT MY FRIENDS IS HOW TINY BITS OF LOCALIZATION WORK. You could also go with 'for the win' if you wanna go old school. 'Serious' refers to his dedication to being an otaku, not his personality otherwise.
Satan literally calls his character weak/says he doesn't have much of a presence. You could read it as "Don't you think I'm the forgettable type?" more or less. I won't forget you, Satan ;3; and, yes, 二重人格 says split/dual personality. No I'm not sure why, I guess they mean it as 'two-faced' but that's a different term too(二面性)????
Asmo uses "Aishiteru" for 'love' here which carries such a heavy implication that i always feel the need to note when it's used instead of "[dai]suki". The word 'love' isn't really thrown around in Japanese for cultural-linguistic reasons--not because ~overusing it diminishes it~ or anything to my understanding but because subtlety is preferred(and directness is often considered excessive/forceful/rude--this is also why Japanese avoids using pronouns often and repeats people's names when speaking to them or omits them entirely instead!). Aishiteru is so strong it's barely even used between married couples. Lucifer uses it for Lilith when she's dying, as it can also indicate a heavy familial love but you'd really only use it it on the deathbed of a family member. I should note that most any time Lucifer tells MC he loves them he uses 'aishiteru'--to show how confident he is in his feelings for them, presumably. And so Asmo is pretty confident in not only that the world loves him but just how much lololol
Belphie is referred to as "居眠り系"--inemuri kei. Inemuri means 'dozing off' or 'falling asleep', kinda with the implication you're doing so in an inappropriate situation like while sitting in class or driving. There's no equivalent word for 'kei' in English but it gets used on a lot of things to kinda. Make an adjective out of them almost??? 'kei' makes something into a descriptor in most cases I can think of basically. You might think of 'fairy kei' or 'visual kei' if you dig into your weeb memories--both of which are kinda fashion subcultures(well i think visualkei is more a music thing???? But it comes with a certain apperance.) So 'kei' means 'style' or 'system' and so on--it's a descriptor for words that might not otherwise be descriptors, but different from using, say, 'na' to make a noun into an adjective or 'rashii' for saying something is '(word)-ish'? I always feel like it's kinda complicated??? Because the word for Japanese-American is also 日系アメリカ人--nikkei america jin. So 'kei' has a lot of meanings/uses but it basically makes something into a descriptor or says that the following word is a 'type' of this thing?
languages are fun lol
#danie yells at obey me! jp#danie yells at obey me!#obey me!#obey me#danie yells at the japanese language#long post
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So guess who reached 69 followers? Apparently this absolute fandom trash!
So, I made some art to commemorate this absolute amazing event.
Dave is my favorite because of three things.
1: I wasn’t drawing five other characters in the same space. 2: I just love him so much. He’s so sweet. He’s just great. 3: I can actually draw him
I picked Hat Girl and Carol because I personally believe that Carol low-key adopted Hat Girl when she joined. Also because she was impressed that a kid had a laser shooting umbrella. She’s the only one who’s actually seen Hat Girl’s spaceship
I just picked Reginald for more handsome because I didn’t know who else to put there
Matilda is in more interesting because I really want to know more about her
Do you really have to ask why Charles is in cute?
Ellie is in female because I didn’t know where else to put her but I wanted to include her. The fact that I’m low-key crushing on her might have helped that.
Ellry is in strong because Ellry is awesome.
Burt is actually slouching in the middle of the gun fight(the same one Hat Girl and Carol are in) to make Sven feel tall. Even though I wasn’t including ships in this, I couldn’t pick one of those two.
Now for my Oc. Harley is currently fighting with Matilda for the title of coolest hair in the Toppat clan. The difference is Harley’s hair is dyed, and both of them know it’s just a silly little joke rivalry. Harleys a pretty high ranking member, but she’s only high ranking because she got got picked up by them after a daring jewelry heist when she was really young. She still laments over that having been her most interesting mission, and idolizes members like Sven and Carol who can step up and be bold when it’s needed. She’s pretty popular, and has a lot of friends in the Toppat clan, being one of the few people allowed on high-risk missions. Also, yes, eventually her rivalry with Matilda turns into weird lesbian awkwardness shush it’s really late in her story.
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737. Close your eyes and shut up.
Shoutout to @smolandangry001 for prompting this! Enjoy!
Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900
part1
Gavin sat at his kitchen table, only plain water in front of him for a breakfast. His head pounded and his mouth tasted sour. Together with the memories of the last evening it really wasn't a good way to wake up.
His phone laid before him. He knew what he had to do. But he couldn't do it, not yet. He had a few hours before it was evident, he postponed.
He had already opened his contacts, one click away from calling Detective Plastic Fuck. The photo he had clipped from the android's file stared up to him. His finger moved on autopilot, and before he realised what he was about to do, the phone formed a connection. It rang once, then someone picked up, not even granting Gavin the time to correct his mistake.
'Hello?'
'Hi toaster, it's Gavin.'
'I think I know why you called and let me just tell you: if you don't feel that way that's fine, I know we were both inebriated and-'
'Wait. Stop. Headache. Try smaller sentences.'
'It's okay, if you don't love me. I know alcohol can have that effect.'
'Toaster. Shut up. That's what I called you for. Do you really love me? And please be honest with me.'
There was silence at the other end, then a low cough. 'Gavin. What I said yesterday was the truth. I do love you, everything about you.'
Well that was just breath-taking to hear. He hadn't thought to ever-
'But I can understand if you don't have the same feelings towards me. I'm an android and a very dangerous one too.'
'Nines. Please stop. I do. I do feel the same for you. You are an amazing partner and person.'
'Gavin, I can't-'
'I love you, okay? Now come over here. I don't have anything for breakfast, but I know a place. It's a date.' Then he quickly ended the call before neither he nor the android could decide otherwise.
An hour later he was dressed in an acceptable manner and had shaken off the worst evidence he was hungover and not just naturally grumpy. Because inwardly he was all sunshine. It had yet to settle but oh god, that yesterday had not just been drunk babbling, it was the real thing! He knew he was acting like a teenager whose crush finally noticed him, but he never had had this feeling in his youth anyways so who cared?
With a spring in his step he rushed down the stairs to the street and waited for Nines fiddling with his car-keys and later scrolling through his phone.
He didn’t notice the android as he approached and flinched as he tapped him on the shoulder.
‘Jesus! Tin-can, say something!’
‘You don’t look too good.’
‘Hey, you are supposed to compliment me!’
‘Likewise.’
Gavin groaned. ‘Okay, how come you are not hangover at all?’
‘The android-equivalent has no such affect.’
‘Of phcking course.’
‘Maybe you should go back to bed and we have this “date” sometime else?’
‘What? No! Besides I need breakfast anyways.’
They entered the car and Gavin started driving. It stayed silent inside and suddenly the human laughed: ‘There isn’t really a difference now is it?’
‘What do you mean Gavin?’
‘I mean… this is how it always was, right?’
‘Should anything change?’
‘I don’t know. It’s just… how have we never noticed anything?’
‘Do you want to kiss?’
Gavin nearly slammed the brakes. That was an option now, wasn’t it? Bewildered but fascinated he stared at the android’s lips. Oh, yes, he wanted-
‘Eyes on the road, Detective.’
Right.
‘Okay maybe later. But I definitely want to. It definitely was part of my fantasies.’
‘I don’t know if I want to know your other fantasies just yet, Gavin.’
‘Noted.’
Gavin turned into a free parking spot a few blocks away and they left to walk the last few metres. ‘Should we-‘
‘Hold hands? Yes.’ Nines took his left and they awkwardly walked down the street. Well, not awkwardly – awesomely. Because that was how it felt. Gavin was about to explode from joy sooner or later. Sure, his fantasies really were less innocent than this but holy shit, they could take it slow. They had to. Because Gavin wanted all of it.
He stopped in front of a small bakery and looked up to Nines expectantly.
‘It is the only place I could find that sells thirium based sweets. Don’t know how they do it, but I didn’t want you to feel left out. Maybe you could try it?’
‘Don’t really see the sense in me eating but yes. I’ll try one.’
They entered to a little jingle of real wind chimes and immediately Gavin smelled the note of freshly baked goods. Although there was an underlying chemical scent and half the goods on display were coloured blue or red. Gavin leaned forwards to read the names. ‘Thiri-Yums’, he murmured. ‘What a wordplay.’
‘Creative, indeed.’
‘Okay, So, I pick mine and you yours… babe?’
‘I will… babe-‘
Okay, that was super weird and Gavin quickly turned to look at the human food. He ordered a bunch of small sweets, mostly some mini cakes with different kind of jam and a donut with a large coffee. Nines had problems deciding and in the end took a bit from every sort that looked visually pleasing after Gavin reassured him they could give them to Connor if he didn’t like them.
Gavin paid for their food and they sat down on a comfortable sofa near the front window. Gavin immediately took a few big gulps from his coffee as if he had been dying of thirst, then munched on one of the little cakes, eyeing Nines.
‘My research suggests these are safe to eat’, the android said. ‘My systems can sort out the thirium and break down the rest in my analysis systems.’
‘But?’
‘I never ate anything, Gavin.’
‘Then take a bite and try it. Put a bit in your mouth and then chew-‘
‘I know how eating works, detective. I just never did it.’
Then he carefully bit into one of the pastries and chewed, eyes wide. After swallowing it he took a bigger piece.
‘So it’s good?’, Gavin asked with a grin on his face.
‘It’s sweet!’, Nines near shouted in excitement. ‘I… I didn’t know how sweet tasted and now I know! I… I like sweet things!’
Seeing the android eat and vividly tell him about taste and consistency the best breakfast Gavin ever had. Hell, the best date he ever had! And by god, he had this beautiful android for him alone! He couldn’t believe his luck. ‘God, I love you, Nines.’
The android looked up from his thoroughly decimated plate. Then smirked.
‘Close your eyes, Gavin.’
‘Oh no, no way you feed me with this stuff. It’s probably toxic!’
‘Come on. Close your eyes and shut up.’
Gavin sighed, but obeyed.
He had expected this to be a prank. But suddenly there were lips on his and he grinned against them before he sank into it, allowed it to deepen.
‘Can I open my eyes again?’ he asked smirking as the android allowed a pause for breathing.
‘Nope. I want to continue this.’
Gavin laughed. ‘Okay toaster. Fine. Thank you.’
‘Thank you.’
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So, this is only a little over 1600 words... I have a lot of people to thank. I’ve had Stevie boy here for five months, but I’ve been around Tumblr rp for a long time and thought I’d take this opportunity to thank those of you that have been such lights this year. This year has been extremely hard for me for a number of reasons I won’t get into in this happy post! So, this is for those who were there for me this year:
My Main Peeps:
@liftingxrocks : firstly, i have to thank my incredible fiance. you were here every step of the way this year and it has made all the difference. i couldn’t have gotten through it without you and i’m so goddamn lucky i get to call you mine. proposing to you was easily the best thing i’ve ever done and when you said yes was the single best moment of my life. we met through rp and I love every character you try your hand at. thanks for being such a light in my life, babygirl. i love you.
@bytheanchor : b! you total fucking nerd. god, you’re the best! i’m so glad to call you my friend and you’re definitely one of my best online friends. you never fail to be positive and brighten my day. you’re so kind and encouraging. we talk practically every day. those two weeks you went away were SO BORING! i love all your characters so much, you know that. writing with you is easily one of my favourite past times. you are always just as excited and willing to write stuff as i am and i love it. thank you for being such an amazing friend.
@spitefulandspectacular : i mean you never check your tumblr notifications, but i don’t care. you were so important this year so you get a spot on the list. man, you were such a great roommate. we each had our things, but honestly i’m so happy my first real roommate was such a quality person. i miss ya like hell and can’t wait to see you real soon hopefully. thanks for being such a great friend and taking care of our boy. you’re a gem.
@mangohub : monroe, what can i even say? you’re such an incredible friend and i’m so thankful for you. anytime i’m dealing with anything you’re right there for me, ready to listen. i don’t think i’ve met a better writer in my entire life, no joke. i love your alec more than life itself and writing with you is always such a fulfilling experience. even jut plotting with you is so much goddamn fun. you’re such a bright and loving person. thanks for being one of the good things about my 2019.
@warricrsbcw : my mollee. hey hun. i just want to thank you for being such a stand up friend since we reconnected. you’ve been there for me every single time i’ve needed it and i hope i’ve been able to do the same. you’re such a sweet person and you deserve all the nice things. not to mention that i love your alec to hell and back! magnus would go to the ends of the earth for that boy.
@lcdgerbled : hayley, you are so awesome! I’m so lucky that when i left my magnus blog i was able to take you with me in a way. you’re such an insanely talented writer and an even better friend. you’ve been so great and always there if i need anyone to talk to about my ED. your natasha is perfect! steve adores her with his entire heart and wants to buy a place in a new york and have ten kids with her lol. thanks so much for making this year a little more bearable.
New Friends:
@divabarnes : so, you were actually the reason i remade my steve into a blog. he was just available on discord but you reignited my love for him. your bucky sparked my steve back to life and i can’t thank you enough. i love him so much. your writing is so in character and makes my jaw drop every time. i love writing with you (even though im slow and trash). thanks for everything you didn’t even know you did.
@ivorysatin : i know we haven’t known each other a super long time but i absolutely adore you! you’ve been so kind and friendly and you’re writing is PHENOMENAL! your magnus, anna and blair! i’m so in love with all your threads and verses. every time i see your blair i’m so tempted to remake my charles so you need to STOP! but, seriously, you’re such a friendly bean, thanks!
@semiistable : hello friend! so i know we literally just met like four days ago, but in that time i have totally fallen in love with your writing and you so freaking nice and chill. my steve is head over heels for your bucky, and writing with you never fails to make me smile. i hope we continue to be friends for a long time.
@mischieftomake : bonjour jas! so i’ve been dying to write a loki/steve pairing for so long but could never find anyone that clicked with my steve. and, i’m so lucky that the one who did also has such a phenomenal mun! you’re so much fun to plot with and to play around with what we want to do. i’m loving our soulmate verses so much! i hope we continue to become close in the new year!
@tcnystcrrk : thank you thank you thank you! i’m so happy we met and i feel so lucky to get to write with you. my steve just gravitates to your tony. you’re actually the only tony i’m properly active with. i just love plotting and writing with you. you’ve been so kind and excited and it’s made me so happy. i hope to write loads with you both ic and ooc in the new year. stay frosty.
@heyqxeens : beep boop. we don’t write a lot, and that’s mostly because i’ve been hella busy and whatnot. but, i love your peter. even without writing with you i’ve been heavily enjoying reading your other threads. honestly just the fact that you're on my dash makes a huge difference in my tumblr experience. also, we still need to do that thread where they both work at the bugle lol. hope your new year is full of fun.
@hcpefell : nyxie. again, i’ve been bad at keeping up bc life is super hectic right now but thank you so much for being part of the harder part of this year. the second half really took a lot out of me and meeting and writing with you really helped! i love how you write gwen and steve adores her. thank you so much!
Honorable Mentions: (a.k.a. those i stalk)
@stolenparticles : so hi! i’ve been following you since even before i had steve i believe. even when i never thought we’d write together (bc of the vastly different fandoms) i still needed to follow you. cassie is such an interesting and complex character and i love to see someone taking her and just running with it. i love to read all your threads on the dash, it’s always such a good time.
@stormweathered : we’ve chatted here and there, but i low key am IN LOVE with your characterization. your thor is so beautiful and on point! i read all of your answered memes when they show up because your writing is just so impressive. one day i’ll stop being a potato and actually get to work on saying a proper hello.
@kendolled : SOOOOO... i lowkey stalk your blog daily! you’re right up there with @ivorysatin making me want to remake charles. every single time i read your replies alli can see is mr. archibald. i swear, you encompass him so well. ive been rewatching gossip girl for the past seven months or so (bc im slow and easily distracted) and trust me when i say your nate is spot on! i read literally almost everything you post because it’s so perfect!
@spidaeyaunt : so i lowkey adore you. all the love and devotion you put into may is inspiring. i love reading your headcanons and i adore your threads with tonys and peters. but i think the big reason i follow you is your personality. i love seeing your ooc posts on the dash and your tags always make me laugh! keep it up, you cool cat.
@exposestruth & @smallvxlle : i grouped you together because i found you through each other. smallville was such a huge and important part of me growing up. it will forever be one of my top three shows. having both of you bring these characters to life has meant everything. makes me totally miss my ollie every time i read your individual threads. plus all the smallville gifsets on my dash make me SO HAPPY!
@moqul : omg! your cat is FLAWLESS! i love reading your headcanons and your tags are always so freaking hilarious! i laugh so much whenever you’re on the dash and it’s something i value so much. i love supergirl so much, i played kara for a while and i still play barry (since hes a cw super) and your cat is just perfect. i don’t think anyone else could do her the kind of justice you do.
@hakune : OH MY GOD!! your steve *holds chest* I just love him so much. you write so well and your passion for our boy comes through so clearly. i love reading your threads and just watching you interact on the dash is a blast. keep up the good work, fellow steve.
@madebythejungle : you are so fucking talented, wtf? to take such a cool and interesting character and just explode him into life is so impressive. i love reading your stuff whenever i come across it on the dash. one day i’ll get up the courage to actually come say hi, but until then have this little thank you. thank you for making my dash that much better.
#°♡° magnus bane owns my soul | ooc#°♡° i know this neighborhood | save#thank you all so much#(i didnt proofread it but what else is new?)
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