#'hm. i got a new bead bracelet and now i have one on each wrist. when i shake my hands i get a clacky noise'

[virmillion]

getting a professional diagnosis <<< giving all my habits to a character, putting that character in situations, and seeing how other online freaks diagnose that character

[we-are-inevitable]

dance her home as javid

GO GO GO

(LOVE YOU TOO BABES)

YOU ARE MY FAVORITE PERSON ILY!!!!!!!

okay so my favorite, FAVORITE thing abt living in a small town is the fact that the bar is,, so much more than a bar?

the ones in my area have square dance competitions, karaoke nights, line dance classes, etc. (and im sure this is a common thing but i havent really heard a lot abt it so idk)

but just. they’re so lively and everyone is dancing and having a good time !!

cue Jack Kelly.

jack, the town’s golden boy, frequents the bar pretty often; mainly because it’s owned by some of his best friends, Antonio “Racetrack” Higgins and Albert “Big Red” DaSilva.

race and al basically bought the bar from the old owner and COMPLETELY flipped the atmosphere. it used to be a dusty hole in the wall and now it’s the most popular place in town most nights

ANYWAY

jack goes into the bar one friday night. it’s pretty busy, there’s a live band, people are dancing and having a blast.

and, all of a sudden, in walks the most gorgeous man Jack has ever seen, looking like a LITERAL angel in the dim lights and the smokey atmosphere.

i feel like i’m legally obligated to describe jack: functionally muscular, with golden brown skin (and freckles) and medium-length, dark brown wavy hair. he’s about 5′10, has a bit of scruff going on in the way of ‘i’ve-been-too-busy-tO-shave’ and he’s wearing dark, starched blue jeans, a pearl snap button up (white with black accents), and a black cowboy hat.

now, this is in STARK contrast to the man who just walked in, who is wearing a simple t-shirt, an unbuttoned blue flannel, ripped jeans (cuffed), and white converse. but this guy........ WOW.

olive skin, brilliant blue eyes, brown hair that looks perfectly messy, a prominent nose, cheekbones that could kill a man... and he has a bracelet on his left wrist: black beads, save for seven consecutive ones making up the rainbow.

“Racer,” Jack calls out, and within seconds, the blonde is leaning over the bar in his direction. “Who... Who’s that?”

“Hm?” Race looks over, and it only takes him a few moments to realize who Jack is talking about. “Oh, that’s... Hm. I wanna say his name is David. Just moved into town. New college graduate, gonna be teachin’ at the school. He came in earlier this week.”

“Go get his drink. On me.”

“Got it.”

so, while race goes over to talk to david, jack uses all of his strength not to just. go up to the man and ask him to dance

bc that’s kind of jack’s Thing; he likes dancing, and he likes dancing with the people he likes, and he’s sure liking this guy across the bar.

they’re too far away for jack to hear what race is saying to david, but david’s gaze snaps to meet jack’s and, OH, he has the most beautiful smile jack has ever seen.

then david is smiling at race and standing up and walking over to jack and jack is on the verge of passing out at this point

“Do you often buy drinks for the strangers in the bar?” David asks as he sits on the stool next to Jack.

“Only when they’re as pretty as you,” Jack responds, and he’s only had one drink; he can’t blame his feelings on the alcohol just yet. “You’re David, right?”

“In the flesh,” David grins, breaking Jack’s gaze for just long enough to tell Race thanks for the drink. “And what’s your name, huh, handsome?”

“I’ll tell ya if you get out on that dance floor with me,” Jack responds with a smirk.

davey SLAMS his drink back and like not even thirty seconds later, they’re dancing together. and it isn’t just a simple little thing; no, they’re like, DANCING dancing.

for example: this video

and YES in the small town au they can dance. shut up

and it’s literally so funny bc you have Mr. Brown Cowboy and Mr. ‘I Went To College In New York City And Also I’m Gay’ just,, GETTING IT on the dance floor.

and obviously they kiss and make out a little bit because duh, they’re attractive strangers at a bar.

they leave that night without ever knowing each other’s last names, but, again, small town. the don’t meet up with each other until they see each other at the gas station like two weeks later and jack is FINALLY able to give Hot David From The Bar his number.

please i just,, i love meet cutes like this

[split-n-splice]

This chapter picks up the scene where Ch25 Welfare Check left off. Ya, it's a short one, ya, it's fluffy (I think so anyway), but it leads into things. Not exactly romantic things, but we'll get there. There’s a reference to Bad is Good and Good is Bad (a precursor to this fic) in this chapter, so maybe check that out if you haven’t yet.

Ao3 | FFn | Chapter Art!

[Chapter Guide]

27. Aura of Others – 1

Drakken smirked back at her for a moment, until she wiped her own smile off her face. His gaze hardened to somber stone then and turned down to the cutting board, and Shego had to wonder inwardly if he was imagining it was his competition’s fingers he was slicing through, given the newfound vigor with which he was chopping.

“We leave Friday,” he said decisively. “ASAP.”

Normally she’d be inclined to pluck a slice of pepper from the board and pop off something like, “What’s the rush?” but instead she crossed her arms and bit her lip to stifle a groan. “Mmm, no can do,” she regrettably informed. “Can it wait until Saturday?”

Drakken’s brow creased. “Why? Have a convenience store to rob, do you?” he shot.

She reached for the little paper in her pocket but stopped herself. Her hands were just beginning to spark – her nervous tell. She hid them under the countertop as she reigned it in. “No,” she snorted. “I have a date.” Though maybe angel boy wasn’t so innocent after all. Maybe he’d be down for a little burglary.

The sound of the knife chop-chop-chopping through veggies paused. From the corner of her eye, she could see him staring. Her stomach lurched – she didn’t want to look directly at him – but she shot a frown his way. “You have a problem with that, Doc?” she snipped after a moment.

His eyes snapped back down. “No. Not at all,” he said brusquely and spun around with the cutting board to focus on the stove instead. He flapped a dismissive hand. “Go hog wild. As long as it doesn’t interfere with what I have cooking.”

She watched his back as he worked, grabbing the olive oil and spices from the cabinet to throw in a pan, moving awkwardly as if determined to keep his back to her. She got the sense she wouldn’t be the only one keen on a change of subject. “What are you cooking?” she lazily wondered. She meant to stay perched on the barstool. She didn’t mean to hop off and open up the fridge beside him or steal a glance at the pan.

He shrugged, eyes flickering as he threw a sidelong peek her way. “Fajitas. Do you like fajitas?”

“Better than fish tacos,” she mumbled under her breath.

Shego reached for a can of root beer but caught herself eyeing an elaborately marbled dessert sitting on the shelf below, protected by a sparkling glass lid. He either had a knack for it or he’d been working on his presentation, she mused to herself. She caught a distinct whiff of pumpkin. No wonder it smelled so sweet in the lair. Unbefitting for a villain as it was, her partner was unabashed as ever about his sweet tooth.

“Enough for a guest?” she piped wryly, ignoring the twist in her gut as she leaned back on the fridge to watch the rogue doctor’s frown give way to a strained smirk. For the moment, she focused on the relief that her family had left – which meant she could stick around for dessert.

With something other than value-menu Chow in her stomach, plus an artfully-plated slice of sinfully decadent cheesecake to top it off, she was happier still to sink down in the soft corduroy cushions of Drakken’s couch that evening, hugging a throw pillow under her cheek. She was even content enough to sigh and say nothing in objection when the goober of a man eagerly tuned in to a Space Passage film on television.

The movie was tough to focus on. Shego barely followed, though her droopy fatigued stare straying off toward Drakken time and time again that may have been to blame. He sat slumped in his recliner nearby, absorbed in the franchise sci-fi flick and oblivious to her eyes continuously straying from the hunky Commander Cain. Eventually she tore her eyes away and shut them, nuzzling into the throw pillow and trying not to consider how much it smelled like him, staving off the smirk when the very idea infected her brain.

The room was mostly dark by the time her eyes opened again. The television was off, and only the lamp on the end table was left on to dimly light the den. There was a hand gripping her shoulder, and she turned her bleary eyes up at the dark shape of Drakken kneeling next to her. He smelled of booze again. He really shouldn’t have been leaning close enough she could smell it on his breath, but there he was, ballsy as ever when he’d had a bit to drink.

He swayed unsteadily before plopping over to sit on the floor, and just about melted against the edge of the couch. Shego scooted back a little bit as he rested his cheek on the cushion, his sickly-dark eyelids falling shut. “Why don’t you ever sleep in your own bed?” he grumbled to the corduroy.

She shifted, propping up on an elbow and rubbing her eyes to distract herself from how close his face had been. “Because I hate the springs,” she fibbed, and stifled a yawn. She didn’t want to admit that the mattress was one more bad night away from being completely unusable, if that. She slept better on the couch anyway.

The boozy man heaved a long sigh and hefted himself to sit in an almost upright position. She might be inclined to lecture him if the drinking habit kept up. “I suppose you want a ride home now, hm?”

“You couldn’t ask before you started drinking?” she groused. She bit back further chiding for now, giving a grimace and shake of her head. Even if he was in a state to drive, she wouldn’t want to go. She wasn’t ready to be tempted so soon by an addictive sleep aid, one of the scarce few things that promised relief. Too bad it came with side effects. Sinking back down into the pillow, she grumbled, “Go to bed, Doc.”

Drakken grunted as he stood up on wobbly legs. “Yes, ma’am.” He spun toward her as he backed away, kicking the coffee table and nearly falling as he went, and Shego wondered if he even knew what he was saying as he gave an awkward bow and made an even more awkward offer. “Well, if you care to join – i-it’s fit for a king – I mean, um – there’s room. ‘Night!”

She stared as he quickly retreated, shuffling and tripping his way out of the room. She didn’t hear his door click shut, and she stared for an extra moment as she deciphered the invitation before her face flushed pink.

The whole point of crashing at the lair tonight was to escape the temptation of popping another special little pill. And the whole reason for the temptation in the first place was a lack of control over an accursed otherworldly gift she was still battling to tame.

So it didn’t make a lot of sense to sit up, kicking away the fleece throw blanket that had been courteously draped over her. Her eyes remained on the door tucked away in the niche, and she gripped her knees tight enough her nails dug through the denim. She drew a deep breath. She wasn’t warm. He didn’t make her warm. She inwardly repeated it like a mantra, even as she tugged the collar of her blouse, blowing down it in a futile effort to cool herself.

It didn’t make sense when she stood either, and it made less sense to gravitate toward that door when she really should have been turning around and heading out the other to go home, or to her own room, or something.

It was cracked – she’d expected that – but she didn’t expect herself to raise her knuckles to rap lightly and push it open. Curiosity reeled her in, hook, line, and sinker.

Like the den, Drakken’s bedroom was dark, save for a reading lamp perched on the shelf built into the headboard of the oversized bed, casting a warm yellow glow. She’d stolen a peek once before when the lights were on, weeks ago, and silky scarlet bedding indeed fit for a king had been alarming then, but the bedspread had since been replaced with something more suitable to the new season. She could barely see his shape beneath the puffy blue comforter, and she couldn’t help musing how small and lonely he looked in the huge bed. Fidgeting anxiously with the beads around her wrist, her feet carried her forward before she could think twice.

The spring water stream cutting through the room was like a clear line warning her not to come any closer. Shego paused at the edge as a distant sense of déjà vu echoed at the back of her mind, and she couldn’t help reaching for her throat.

There’d been a warning line before, years ago. He’d crossed it with zero regard, though it had been clearly painted across the floor of her chamber at the research facility, marking how close was too close to the volatile subject she’d been reduced to. Maybe she should have taken the trench as a similar warning.

She crossed it anyway.

But not before clipping off the stupid bracelet and stuffing in the pocket of her jeans. It hadn’t felt so much like jagged rocks digging to her wrist until now. It didn’t even feel right in her pocket, and she had half a mind to discard it in the flow of murky water.

Heat rose around her collar again, but each step closer had yet to feel like an outright mistake as she circled cautiously around to a vast open side of the bed.

Drakken lay bundled on his side, something fuzzy and brown tucked under his chin as he scratched away lazily in his little leather notebook. He licked a finger and flipped a page to start on another before Shego cleared her throat softly, and his heavy-lidded eyes cut up to her through the skewed glasses. The book snapped shut and was quickly tucked under his pillow, one of several heaped on his bed, all bearing miss-matched pillowcases in shades of blue or red or grey.

Shego took half a step back when he jerked upright, catching his spectacles before they could fall off his face. He fixed the glasses on his nose, jaw unhinged, and she tried not to stare back. The once-over he gave her didn’t help the rising warmth she had to steel herself against with a deep breath.

His mouth moved, and she didn’t catch what came out, but she was sure it was confused gibberish anyway.

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously on him. The open space was inviting, offering ample room to toss and sprawl. “Do you promise not to touch me?” she asked carefully. It shouldn’t be hard to keep to the edge. The size of the bed was absurd really, at least for someone so solitary.

She shouldn’t be considering.

Drakken both shook his head and nodded, and looked rather confused himself in that moment. He all but tore off his glasses then, folding them up and discarding them to the shelf, as if to willingly blind himself so he wouldn’t have to look her in the eye. “Ah…yes?” he practically croaked.

“Pinky swear?”

Without question, he raised a hand and stuck out his pinky, but retracted it and pursed his lips with a hum. “That would be touching you,” he said absolutely, sounding a little too straight-laced and polite for a guy wearing an old rock-n-roll shirt to bed.

“Good catch.” A smirk pulled at the corner of her mouth. Shego fidgeted, but the buttons of her blouse shouldn’t have been what she fidgeted with. “I’ll kick your ass if you do,” she added without the conviction to back up the threat, and bit her lip as she hoped he wouldn’t prove crossing the line to be a mistake. She hoped he was as blind as she suspected he was, but even if he wasn’t, she might not mind the gawping as long as he kept his end of the deal.

She didn’t know what she was thinking, because the sake of comfort couldn’t be the sole reason for shedding her layers. She was warm, sure, but she could ignore the fact as she smirked impishly at the alarmed stare snapping down to her waist as her fingers popped off the last button in question. She almost laughed when stark uncertainty dawned on the tipsy man and he bit down hard on his lip, completely frozen and holding his breath. No sooner had Shego stripped down to her camisole did he throw himself back down, back to her before he could witness her stepping out of her jeans as well.

She couldn’t say she was all that let down he’d lost the brazenness that seemed to come hand-in-hand with alcohol lately. She wasn’t terribly offended by the cold shoulder either. If anything, it came as a comfort, as she could breathe easier when she wasn’t being watched. She was pushing her luck already, and she didn’t need to cross anymore lines tonight. She’d gone far enough. If she could just withstand this without the drug, then she could withstand Friday night.

A deep breath to calm her nerves once more, and Shego slipped into the soft cushy bed and under the heavy cover. She tried not to think back on the unwelcome wakeup call she’d had the last time she’d nodded off somewhere she shouldn’t have. Staring at Drakken’s back well out of reach, she relaxed, convinced he wouldn’t prove this to be a mistake after all.

The inferno of alien fire raging to be let out died down and she felt a few degrees cooler as she unwound with remarkable ease. Maybe she was being just a little too trusting, but she’d grown foolishly comfortable with this scientist over the past several weeks. She was banking on the rising villain to stay trustworthy.

Every blink stung, but rather than shutting them for good, her tired eyes strayed from Drakken’s back to the brown thing that had been discarded, forgotten on the sheets between them. She raised her brow but decided not to mention it until his own measured breathing had relaxed. By then, she couldn’t hold a small laugh back any longer. “You sleep with a teddy bear?”

By the level of irritation in the man’s harrumph, he’d nearly been asleep. She caught a glimpse of his purple face as he patted around behind himself for it, grumbling unhappily, “It was my dog’s.”

The room felt cold suddenly, which might have been a welcomed sensation if she were at home battling the resolve not to pop a pill. The thought of Drakken all alone in the great big bed crossed her mind again, and she tried to imagine him in the lab with a dog around to remind him to take a break for fresh air and a walk. She kept her mouth shut about the little memento, muttering instead, “I didn’t know you had a dog.”

“Yes, well, there are a lot of things about me you don’t know.”

“But I could know them,” she whispered over, watching his shoulders tense. She wriggled a bit to get comfortable, and maybe a couple inches closer. “What kind of dog?”

Drakken deflated with a long weary sigh. “He’s…was a beagle.”

She decided not to press it further. Now was the time for sleep, not for idly chitchatting like middle-schoolers at a sleepover. She was ready to shut her eyes, but suddenly Drakken shifted and her heavy lids snapped back open as he reached for the lamp. “Leave it on,” she blurted.

“Why?”

“Because – um.” She zipped her lips. Because she didn’t want to be sitting in the dark, with pinpricks of her nerves standing out like stars in the night. But wasn’t that why she was lying here anyway? To challenge her nature? She didn’t need him accusing her of being afraid of the dark. That would only worsen her condition and get her wound up again. “Nevermind. Whatever. Hit it.”

And the room went dark, save for the red glow of the digital alarm clock on the shelf.

As her eyes adjusted, she heard the shuffle and felt the slight shift across from her, still safely out of reach. He’d turned to face her now, the faint glint of light shining off his lenses indicating he’d donned his spectacles again. Nerves fluttered back to fan the alien fire at the thought that maybe he only needed the dark to get gutsy again. His pensive hum didn’t help. She was ready to snap at him to take a picture, it would last longer.

“You’ve got freckles?”

“What—”

“Like radium,” said Drakken between yawns. “Radium freckles.” No doubt about it, he was looking at her.

She wanted to roll over and bundle up so he couldn’t see any of her skin whatsoever, but she couldn’t even tuck a stray arm under the cover, momentarily frozen. She didn’t need to glance at herself to know the little pinpricks of plasma were firing off. Even her breath felt hotter now, the more she tried to restrain it. She shifted, hugging herself and rubbing a bare arm as if she could rub away the pinpoints of plasma looking for an exit. She wished for a fleeting second that she had the damn bottle of pills handy after all.

“Doesn’t it freak you out?” she wondered a little too crossly.

“Nah,” Drakken grunted. “It’s rather pretty. Dangerous things tend to be.”

Her brow furrowed. It was reassuring, and comforting, and it made her warm in the worst way – but it was midnight. It was time to shut up. So she grabbed one of the many pillows piled up and threw it in the general vicinity of his head. “Go to sleep, Doc.”

[belore-invictus]

Resolute & Steel

“Welcome to the homeland. Island and home to many of the Troll Tribes, Miss Phaeith,” a kind spirited Zandalari Troll announced to the sunshine haired woman who crept out of her Quarter’s of the ship...

---

Voyage was easy. Minus the few almost wars at sea with Tirasian Sails, and even some unknown, blank sailed ships that were either neutral or scouts throughout the entire thing. Anyhow, voyage was easy for the freshly sunshine locked woman. Champagne curls tossed over her shoulder, a golden leaf circlet to push back the excess from falling over her features; allowing her clarity of vision.

 These last few weeks consisted of Bella’viere slowly beginning to relearn her body. To adjust to her newfound injuries, to rework her alignment, and her chosen weapons of battle. Regardless of the issues at hand, the woman seemed pristine, prim, and proper. Disciplined with proper etiquette, the woman she was before she became a woman scorned. 

 Even the salty air traveling from the surface of the ocean tickled her nostrils differently, almost as if life over here had a certain degree of clarity that Quel’thalas on it’s own did not have. Of course, that was her home. That was the motherland. She would never forsake it, though she could never disregard another’s beauty. 

 Along her slowly progressive mending body was bulky plate. Even injured. Even feeling the pain shake her bones, or rattle her heart, the woman could not compute with the idea of ever being out of her armor. Not any longer. It was her safety place, and the closest thing to her safety place that was living, was either Drimmari or Tanice Foxfeather... Being so dressed up caused a handful of Trolls to look her way, laughing and snickering to themselves as she stepped off of the boat and out onto the dock. 

 “Ignore them, Miss Phaeith. They be judgin’ you for constrictin’ y’self like so.” Vol’raja explained to her, carefully carrying her abundance of chests full of armor, goods, and whatnot. “You be traveling like y’movin’ here, mon. Y’be a divided spirit, if y’do not clear that head of ya’s soon, mon.” He chuckled roughly at her, patting her shoulder. “Go North ‘n up the steps. My people await to welcome you to the island of Zandalar. I will take your chests to your new room here, eh?” 

 For a split second before Vol’raja walked away, the woman felt an overwhelming sense of dread. He was so inviting to her, whereas, most Trolls who stepped foot into Silvermoon, were frowned upon. Bella’viere understood the sad fashion of some of her people, though she was never the same. The Horde to her has stood as a symbol of arms, welcoming all. All that was not definitive off of the Sin’dorei, only. Tradition and being uptight was certainly also, apart of her people’s nature- and for that, she hoped to do right by the new faces she would meet today.

 “Thank you, my friend. I look forward to seeing you again...” Phaeith smiled, scampering off to the steps that were so tall, she could have sworn if they were any taller, they would have ascended to the heavens themselves. The mere thought caused her to laugh, which was quickly met with a gasp as she felt a stray child pulling at her hand.

 “Miss! Are you one of them heroes?!? Will you defeat the Cultists?!” He barked, pulling her off to a corner where other children of his age, not too far into their youth, created a fort within. “L-Look everyone!! I got one!” He cheesed, tusks shiny and bright with a golden ringlet wrapped around his sharp, elongated right tusk. 

 The other children seemed unsure of how to respond to Phaeith’s presence. All except for the three little girls of the group, who quickly fawned over the woman. Oo’d, aa’d, and laughed! Eventually, it came to a point where Phaeith was taken by the little girls, pulled into an armory shop connected to a General Good’s store nearby. The distinctive chirps of children and gossiping words traveled along the Bazaar. Rumor had it, they were giving the Imperator a makeover! 

 The matured woman peeked from behind the mute colored drapes, a single, nimble digit pulling the curtain back as a sly, feline smirk lined full and plump lips. Blonde hair pulled halfway, the rest to run over her back. From bulky armor to something more form fitting, with crevices that allowed her to feel almost free, and able. It almost ceased all of her issues with her old armor. 

 “Little ones, are you ready...?” Bella’viere teased, perking her brows at the quick quips of children who oo’d louder than before. There was something different about Zandalar. There was something that it had done to her heart, that began to shake the scorned woman within her...

Almost in sync, the girls came together to run their fingers over the crimson plated skirt with rich golden accents that embodied Phaeith. Followed by the tunic imposed by a plunge, and shoulders that were less spikier than normal for this she-elf. A few even bragged about how their parents said that they would be able warriors of their tribes one day, to be able to wear the armor of warriors like Phaeith, if they continued to work and study hard. 

 “M-Miss! Do you have a name?!” One of the girls inquired, gasping with her sanguine braids tossing and flouncing about everywhere. 

 Phaeith laughed wholly, pulling at her lower lip as she easily and carefully squatted down to meet the gazes of the young ones in front of her. Leather bands strapped around the back of her thighs and calves, a few places sturdy for plate. The designs of Zandalar were utmost questionable, yet some of the best that she has ever seen. “I have many names, little ones! It all depends on what you all wish to call me. My peers call me Imperator Bloodsteel, as do those within my banner. Some folk call me Phaeith, and family and friends call me Bella’viere. On the field, my ‘Warrior Title,’ is the Scarlet Lioness, or even the Sanguine Shield Maiden. However, I fret that my days as the Shield Maiden may be over.” She sighed, dropping ivory-gold orbs to the ground out of shame. Then, that was when it hit her! She had to meet with Vol’raja’s family! 

 The same girl who asked of her name was quick to respond, already thinly braiding locks of Bella’viere’s hair. The other girls accompanied her by adding an endless amount of beads and accessories. Some teal beads for their tribes, others red for the woman’s outfit; and even white to resemble her eyes. “B.. Bloodsteel?” Beady eyes peered up at Bella’viere. 

 Phaeith made herself at home with the girls, internally preparing a lengthy apology as to why she made another family wait on her. There was no way she could leave these girls like so, though. “Bloodsteel. I forged the name myself, to resemble my people, and... Who I believe I am deep down. When you three become warriors, hm?” She mused their braiding, all of the girls attempting to sit on her lap. “Never forget who you are. Why you fight. Never change your values, never harm your soul.” She gently touched over the spots of their hearts. 

 “A Warrior’s life is a tough one. The hardest is to remain who you were from the start. I allowed war, blood, and lust, to take me away from the woman I once was. As I am currently slowly returning to that person, I am aware that I have awakened my demons within me- and it is time to set myself free.” Drawing out a sharp exhale, a finger spindled a newly braided sunshine ribbon around her finger. “Your duties to life are your own. You belong to no one, but yourselves. You fight for yourself, mainly. Protect each other in your growing years, and never part. True friendship is a rarity as you grow. Keep what you have now, and grow from it. Promise me that you three will look out for one another, hm?” 

 Almost immediately, the three young girls nodded excitedly and hugged each other, agreeing to the pact. Before they knew it, Phaeith was breaking her circlet into three different pieces. Each piece was carefully turned into small bracelets, which were then placed onto each of their wrists. “May luck be upon you all, young warriors.” 

 It wasn’t long before the children were called for by the other friends of their group. Each of the girls pecked Phaeith’s cheek, giggling as they ran off to return to their friends. Phaeith, on the other hand, managed to stand on her own. Finally making her way to the family awaiting her arrival. By now, her friend from sea was already there as well! 

 Embarrassed and glowing a bright red, the newly dressed woman seemed shook to stand in front of such honorable people. How odd must she have looked, adorned in their traditional armor? With hair alike to their own? The crimson that danced along caramel cheeks only grew hotter, personal insults rapid firing through her mental. 

 “Apologies for the delay on my end. I was caught up with some of the children who play in the Bazaar!-- I... I am aware of how foolish I might look--”

 Almost immediately, the elderly woman walked forth, towering over Phaeith. Thick fingers ran through her hair, and a rusty old guffaw released from the Druidess. “It is more than ideal to see others appreciate the styles and tradition of Zandalar. I know of all the children you are talking about, and those braids in your hair will need some fixing! They missed too many strands.” She shook her head at Phaeith, taking her hand as the other members of her rather large family ascended up the stairs to make way to the common seating area for delectable delights. 

 Already, the scents around the Imperator caused a flurry of sweet and good emotions to flicker through her skin. Taking in all of the large meats, fresh fruits, juicy coconuts to drink out of it and long tables- all of this defeated any sign of royalty she has ever witnessed in her life before. In fact, she might permanently find homage here... 

 “There is more spice here than all you have tasted and seen in your life, Bloodsteel!” The Druidess declared happily. “Sit, sit! You may sit beside me!” She touched the small bench closest to her personal seat at the end of the table. “The Horde wishes to use our resources, is that true, Bloodsteel?” 

 Food quickly arrived. Meats marinated in the finest delicacies of sauces. Some spicy, some sweet. Some red, some green. Vegetables steamed or raw, with succulent fruits to water the mouths of those at the table. It was only when the involvement of the Horde trickling off of the Druidess lips did she completely find herself aware of the conversation at hand. “We wish to fight together as one. As a whole. As a warband- a family, to sully our foes. This involves protecting, and defending your people no matter the cost.” She stated easily. The truth was, she was in the Infirmary for weeks, and almost completely unaware to all that has been going on within the Horde. Every now and then, Lormeus sent her missives to inform her of each move that the Horde has made. He even made it clear to her to continue to rest, because there was no need for an injured doe to fight on a field full of monsters. 

 Little did he know, she was no doe. 

 The Druidess popped a strip of meat into her mouth, chewing with her mouth open as she continued to question the Imperator. “You say this as if you truly believe there is no one out here who believe in otherwise. How do I know to trust your people? My people visit Silvermoon every now and then, and we receive no more looks than hate, disgust, and freight. We must open our doors, because suddenly, help is needed...?” 

 Phaeith mused her own chewing, brushing the corner of her lips with a napkin to continue forth with her words. “My Lady, if I may be so bold.” She sat upright, stifling a snarl. It wasn’t pointed to anyone in particular, either. “Our people have history. Our people have a history that some have lost so much to, and I am not to say that yours are wrongfully classified quite often- but there is history. Whilst I am personally not a believer in categorizing others, I also understand where everyone comes from. Though, who I am, does not speak for those of the Horde completely. I am one woman. I speak for Bloodsteel Cohort. I speak on behalf of those without a voice within Silvermoon City and Quel’thalas as a whole, dedicated with obligations as the Matriarch of House Ven’torum. I speak for those I know I may speak for. Now, the Horde is my people. The Horde is my home. I see no difference in shape, size- race, in general. We are all one. Culture is one thing, neglect in being aware of the beauty underlay betwixt us all, is only immature and childish. I do not have the complete words you search for. Nor do I have a pure, and honest answer. I am here to provide proof to you of what my people of my Cohort, and what I can do as a leader, for your people. If perhaps my people and I could influence yours enough, then perhaps we will all meet and find common grounds eventually.” Taking a breather, she sipped on some rich coconut water. 

 The Druidess fell silent for what seemed to long, almost providing a bullet of fear to be lodged into Phaeith’s heart. Did she say something wrong? ‘A wise leader is aware of their options,’ was that not true? Or was she a misled leader, still on the path of the broken...? Finally, the Druidess spoke up.

 “Zandalar welcomes you and yours. May Bloodsteel show us a bright future, and a proper name to follow and support...” She cheered her gold and ruby stained goblet full of red wine towards the Imperator. The move followed by the line of forty at the table to stand. Women, men, and children. Those of the tribe, others who were working their way upwards in rank. 

 Phaeith watched as the line of Trolls stood in her wake, quick to follow. Rising onto her feet, proudly standing. In her heart, she thanked whatever star that guided her. She thanked the sun for guiding her- praying to the Light that this was only the beginning of happiness. Memories. Success. It was now her sole duty to keep her people safe, and aware. In her heart, she knew that the woman she had lost to the trauma was slowly creeping back up. Her impatient, blood lusting warrior soon to be tempered by a levelheaded woman who believed in using her hands to mend wounds. To help the sick, to pay for the poor. To speak for the voiceless, brave the dead, and protect her people. This was her duty now, and with those at the table; she proudly lifted her chin.

 Together, the Tribe and Bloodsteel saluted, finding union in this evenings dinner. 

 Hours and hours went by, ending with the Druidess giving Phaeith her first mission. To find Blood Cultists, and to bring a specific man’s head back to her. He had a distinctive scar across his features, allowing him to easily be caught between the crowd of many. Agreeing to it, they parted ways- not after the Druidess handed her a polearm. “You will fight like a Zandalari Warrior, when you step foot onto my island, Bloodsteel.” She tapped Phaeith’s heart, and the Imperator nodded with furrowed brows.

 Watching the Druidess leave, the woman took the polearm in tow, confused. What had she done to have received such a warm welcome, and such a gift? Eventually parting completely herself, Phaeith made her way towards her room. Eyes cast down as she closed the heavy door behind her. 

 “The rumors are true,” Dra’zar’s voice chimed in from the large room she stood within. When did he- how did he- questioning it by now, was only silly.

 Bloodsteel’s gaze rose aloft to Dra’zar, blinking at him. Rumors? What ones, which?

 The taller, skyscraper of a man closed in on the female. He pinned her between his chest and the door, the scent of wine drenched his form. Snow white hair flowed over his shoulders, glistening beneath the light created by fire lamps within her room. His musk heavy to her nostrils. Running a digit along her jaw, he locked her attention onto his own. As dominating as his presence was, a predator; there was something soft and weary to his features. His other hand splayed flat against the door, head dipped down. “You are back on your feet. You have come for the fight, my Heart.” He whispered against her ear, brushing her chin with his calloused thumb. 

 Closing her eyes, finding comfort in his touch. The darkness behind her lids were nothing, when he was her Light. When his company was all that she needed to find ease. Aware of his showcase of emotions, she brought her own hand to rest on the wrist around the hand against her face. “If you believed for a second that you would stand alone on the field, you are gravely mistaken, my Soul.” Their foreheads knocked, noses brushing as their lips hovered. 

 At the same time, their eyelids slowly fluttered open, watching each other carefully. It would have been the world’s biggest lie, the deadliest sin, of anyone claimed that these two were not a match made in the heavens. If these two were not two halves of a whole; if these two were not meant to love and care for one another. If they were not meant to co-exist. There was so much to them both, and perhaps, in this moment they finally began to feel it. They finally began to realize what was in the palm of their hands.

Two tortured souls, tempering one another. Challenging, yet rooting for one another. Responsive to their behaviors. One so different than the other. Yet, their muted colors found a grey lining; meeting each other half way. Their grey a bright yellow for their Light. An immaculate love, incomparable, incomprehensible. A love forged for eternities... As their lips hovered, the two slowly became riddled in their ivory fire, Phaeith’s adorned to a more golden hue than Drimmari’s predatory one. They were too close, but this was so right. Tonight was the night where Phaeith would fall for Drim, over, and over again. Completely, and wholly. In this moment, she knew that even her soul swore to this man. Wordless, dauntless, and complete. She was finally, complete. Did he feel the same way...? She could only imagine as his lips hovered over her own, brushing. Teasing her to chase for a kiss- perhaps...

(( @drimmari , @saronite-dawnsteel , @feathersandfoxtails , @lormeusnamaraen , @mazarot , @thecrimsonlion , @empyrealhealer , @themacabrepadre , @tumbleintonothing , @arcanestarlight , @disapearingact , @ofbloodandmarrow ))