#like???? there's this one particular section that i want to wring my hands around

[thelioncourts]

Any updates on Facio ut Facias? I feel like Louis I need to know what Armand wants to talk about

facio ut facias is technically done, but. I need to reread it and edit some parts because I'm Unhappy. however:

"You're lingering, Rashid," Armand said, not even bothering to look up at where Rashid was standing straight-backed between their offices. He kept his eyes on Louis as he said it and Louis was helpless to look anywhere else either, so it was only the sound of Rashid's voice, his very polite, "Apologies, Sir," that indicated Rashid's lingering presence at all. However, that "Apologies, Sir," was followed by a pregnant pause, then a stammering, out of character, "It's just that --" before the iron-clad will of Rashid, or of God himself, shut the man's mouth again. At that, Armand did look up and away, allowing Louis a moment to breathe. At this angle, Louis was close enough to intimately see the way the shadows fell under Armand's sharp jaw, the way they danced across his collar bones, and fitted themselves in nicely along the neckline of his still-too-low shirt. It was distracting. It was distracting enough that Louis missed whatever communication was going on between Armand and Rashid in that moment because suddenly Armand was beckoning Louis inside while he stayed at the door, saying softly, "I'll only be a moment. Do make yourself comfortable, Louis," and Rashid was stepping closer, taking Louis' spot at Armand's side. Louis did as Armand bid him to do, walking into the office with the same wide-eyed wonder as earlier, but he couldn't help but throw cursory glances at the door, the door that was now only open inches wide, allowing Louis to see but the briefest glimpses of both men, of their dark hair, of Armand's towering presence. That 'Were they...?' shot forward in Louis' mind, blinked itself bright and warningly as the door briefly closed even more, but it didn't have time to burn to full brightness, didn't have time to fester, because all too soon the door opened back up to full wideness and Armand was turning on his heel, calling over his shoulder, "You're dismissed for the evening, Rashid. Do close the door," and Rashid was looking at Louis full-on with something unreadable in his eyes, something -- "Louis." And just as suddenly as 'Were they...?' had shot forward in Louis' mind, had blinked bright and warningly, a new thought, a more dangerous one, did as well. Because there was something dangerous in being here, wasn't there? Alone. With Armand. 

[daisychainsandbowties]

What was your writing process for the Alien fic? Did you start with "scene where Ava wants to leave, Bea wants her to stay" and backfill events from there? Something more chronological that you then reorganized? Some magical third option? I love your writing style and am deeply curious about it.

so my writing process for most things is kind of like if you built a cathedral by doing the roof first, then like half the belltower and then the pews and then the glossy flagstones and then the paintings on the walls, and then the walls. with Alien AU i wrote maybe 6k of it back when i posted a snippet in May, and i started by writing the line that remains the first line of the fic.

from there i wrote maybe most of the “present-moment” avatrice scenes in one afternoon, which of course are now scattered across the fic. what i tend to do (indulgently, perhaps) is allow myself to meander off into tangents and flashbacks pretty much whenever i want. i can write in a disciplined, linear way, but i find it dull. to me a narrative is like sticking your hand into a drawer and groping around, unearthing matchsticks, dust, old coins and maybe Peter Pan’s lost shadow. i just find that more enriching and i write to entertain myself, so 🥰🥰

i didn’t actually reorganise anything; what i did do was bulk out the chapter so that, like space expanding, that initial 6k avatrice scene ended up far-scattered across the fic, with other scenes dropped in between where i felt they wanted to go. but in terms of how the fic flows the parts i wrote all followed each other from the get-go. to me they naturally follow each other, speak to each other. i tend to scatter a bunch of threads as i write the story and then tangle them all together toward the end, moments speaking to each other across thousands of words. it doesn’t always work out, but when it does it's the best feeling.

i tend to bounce around in a given chapter when i’m writing as i encounter tricky sections or just lose interest in a particular scene for a while, so i let myself work on, say, the scene where Beatrice burns her hand and then immediately jump forward to the scene where Lilith goads Ava into hitting her. that stops me from stagnating just because a turn of phrase is evading me.

i actually wrote the last line in May, but it took me a while to accept that it was the last line. that was a fun lesson from me writing poetry; that sometimes a poem starts after the first stanza and sometimes it ends when you kind of want to keep wringing its neck for meaning, but you have to let it do that and trust that you've said enough to have said something, and let the poem open instead of trying to weld it shut. i feel like sometimes prose should do that too; not try to answer all the questions it raises, leave you a little bit aching for more.

on that note my writing style is very much inspired by how i write poetry. up until last november i’d stopped writing prose pretty much altogether, and i was a lot worse at it than i am now (writing upwards of 300k of gay fanfiction will do that to you apparently) but i still can’t shake the narrative instincts that i get from being video game spec'd for poetry exclusively. there’s a very good quote by Ocean Vuong about fragmentation & linguistics in poetry which i think is a bit of a reflection of how i approach prose:

“I think this manner of breaking towards meaning is how we often live. We don’t live cohesively; we live in fractals, we live in fragments. We don’t live in a plot point. I think poetry is mimetic of that status of being human. We text in utterances. We speak in bursts. We pick up conversations that occurred hours before. Our most meaningful discourse happens in pieces, in broken ways. Our most difficult conversations happen in these ways, like for queer folks, coming out to our parents. And when we apologize, it’s rarely in a complete sentence. For me, fragmentation in language is perhaps the most human moment of our speech. For poetry to be so comfortable with that, to be so capacious with how grammar peters out and how it needs to be resuscitated towards new modes I think is a mimetic of how we’ve always been living. I think there’s a certain honesty in the ability of poetry to consider breaking not as a flaw but as a strategy, a kind of technique.” (read the whole article here it’s really excellent)

i do find the sort of eggshell structure of Alien au – broken, but still recognisable as an egg – to be really satisfying and thematically rewarding, but oddly, as with a poem, i do tend to write it “technically” chronologically, but in fragments of itself sort of rearranged ahead of time. i think a lot about my fics before i write them (though because i am me i do this mostly without noticing that there's any thinking going on) so by the time i get to that point, sitting down and writing, i have largely unbeknownst to myself a very good idea of what i want to say.

[yikeslads]

A Relaxing Evening - Yandere Sero Hanta x Reader

Trigger Warnings! - 18+ only. Non Con (sex and non con drug use). If this bothers you p l e a s e do not read this fic! You are responsible for your own consumption and this is your official warning. Also they smoke a lot of weed in this but I don’t think that really needs a warning but idk

Author’s Note: Hey guys! Long time no see (please don’t kill me, I’ve been hella busy). I’ve started my last year at university so I am super thrilled about that, just turned 21, and I have spent my entire summer working full time. But enough about me, I’m sure everyone is dealing with a ton with the pandemic plus whatever they have. Anyways, I will be doing my best to update more! I have a WIP that should be released soon (i only have like 400 words left) so that should be fun. 

Big big big big thanks to @yanderart ! If you don’t know recognize the name, she is a phenomenal artist (both in visual and literary works, an icon) who shares the yandere/dark love. Thank you SO much for your super helpful edits/comments/encouragement with this <3 

Also thanks to @opheliadawnwalker3 for the advice to start small when getting back into the writing game! I took that to heart and tried to keep it shorter this time and helped me get this out so thank you!

And thanks to @rat-suki @weebsinstash @drxwsyni because I have definitely binged all of y’alls content and used the immaculate yandere vibes you write as inspo so thank you <3 

Now let’s get started!

It was eerily silent in the hallway as your feet made their way to their destination through the mostly abandoned college dormitory. Your mind was so preoccupied with the many thoughts that demanded your attention that you weren’t paying attention to where you were going. Not that it mattered. You had made this walk so many times, you could find your way even if you were blindfolded and hammered, that you were allowed to fully slip into your thoughts without having to worry. Before long you were standing in front of a very familiar door, the only one in the hallway with light peaking through the crack at the bottom. Music could clearly be heard through it, Jimi Hendrix’s singing the only sound of human life that you had encountered during your entire walk over here.

It took you a moment to snap out of your thoughts and come back to reality and notice that you were already standing at your destination. Clearing your throat awkwardly at the realization, you raised your arm and knocked solidly on the door to be heard above the music and waited as patiently as you could for an answer.

From behind the door you could hear someone swear, causing a small smirk to rise on your face, along with the sound of some rustling. A few moments later the door cracked open a bit as the familiar raven haired male peaked into the hallway, a bright smile pulling at his lips as he  regarded you.

“Well this is a pleasant surprise!” Sero chirped, opening the door all the way, seeing that it was only you standing in the hallway. “What can I do for ya, sunshine?”

His cheery, warm response to your presence unknowingly brought a small smile to your face, a needed break from your tense, concentrated expression you had been wearing when Sero first opened the door.

“Sorry to bother you, Sero,” you began, stuffing your hands into the pockets of the jacket you were wearing to stop you from wringing them anxiously. “I’ve just been really stressed with final exams and choosing which agency I want to officially sign for and… it’s just been a lot.” As you explained, Sero’s face softened slightly as he listened intently to your words, not liking the fact that you were so stressed.

“Anyway,” you continued with a chuckle, bringing yourself back onto the subject, “I was wondering if you had any of your stash left that I could buy from you? I know I bought from you a little while ago, but I’ve been more stressed out than I can handle,” you admitted, hoping that Sero might still have some weed hidden away in his room somewhere that you could use.

It was a little into sophomore year of college that you found out that your classmate, Sero, was a bit of a stoner. And as someone going through the hero course, you are understandably dealing with a lot of stress. So what’s wrong with smoking a little Mary J every once in a while to relax, right? Or at least that’s what you told yourself when you first asked Sero if you could buy weed from him. Ever since then he had been your personal plug, but over time, you two became close friends. “I think you might be in luck, sunshine, I think I have some on reserves. Come on in,” he welcomed, and you crossed the threshold without a second thought. As you stepped inside and took off your shoes, a large but gentle arm carefully looped around your shoulders, gently pulling you into the tall man’s side as you led you to the couch and sat you down on the soft fabric in front of his laptop that was open and had various work assignments in different windows.

“Tell ole Sero what’s troubling you,” Sero propositioned as he moved to his desk, opening a drawer and grabbing his needed paraphernalia as he waited for you to begin speaking. He settled down next to you on the couch, pulling the small table holding the laptop in front of you a little closer as he set down his bong, and pulled out his grinder and began the process of loading you a bowl.

You were about to begin venting, but you paused as you took in the sight of Sero wordlessly working for your benefit, and you pulled your wallet out of your jacket pocket after a few seconds. “Sorry, before I forget, how much do I owe you?” You asked, opening your wallet and beginning to pull out a few bills. You didn’t get far though, as a warm hand covered yours, drawing your eyes to meet his black ones. He gave you a boyish smile and shook his head at you, giving a small laugh. “No way, sunshine. You need a little break, this one is on me,” he offered with a grin. You were hesitant for a few moments, not seemingly convinced that you should let him give you part of his stash for free. The potential feeling of guilt ebbed away as Sero’s warm smile never faltered, kindness seemingly exuding from his every pore. What was the harm, right? Nodding, you gingerly took the loaded bong from his large, calloused hands into your own smaller ones.

“Alright,” you agreed thoughtfully as you mirrored his smile, “but I want you to smoke with me. It’s no fun getting high alone,” you countered to which you could almost see Sero’s eyes sparkle in response at your words.

“I would be happy to,” he assured, never one to miss out on the chance to smoke, especially with you, but you added one more condition.  

“And,” you drawled, his eyes never leaving your face as he waited patiently for you to continue. “Whatever food we order when we are stoned off our asses is on me.”

A soft chuckle resonated from Sero’s chest as he nodded along to your stipulation, finding no qualm with having the promise of food.

“Deal,” he agreed, and with that you went to take your first bong hit of the evening.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your sides ached as you tried to force yourself to stop laughing, but your efforts seemed trivial as Sero laughed just as hard, if not harder, alongside you as you finished Sero’s favorite flick, Scott Pilgrim vs the World. It felt so good to let go and really laugh, it had started to feel like it had been too long. Time seemed a distant concept to you at the moment, as nothing from the outside world weighed on you as you merrily enjoyed your high with Sero.

Your eyes were pink from smoking, little tears forming at the base of your lower eyelashes as you gasped for breath as your laughing fit began to subside. You don’t even remember what you had been laughing about exactly, but you couldn’t really bring yourself to care. Your attention was brought back to Sero as he began to rise from his spot beside you on the couch, your eyes following his lazy movements as the movie credits began to roll.

“I’m getting a bit of cottonmouth,so why don’t I get us some drinks while you choose something else for us to watch?” Sero offered to which you agreed, lazily beginning to scroll through the other titles that were currently available on Netflix as Sero made his way over to the little kitchen he had equipped.

“Thirsty for anything in particular?” You heard his voice call out to you, but you didn’t take your eyes off the laptop screen, still searching for another flick to watch.

“Just water would be fantastic,” was your response as you searched through the comedy section, knowing that Sero preferred comedies.

A few moments later, Sero had returned to your side, a glass of water in one hand for you and a soda can for him in his other hand. Thanking him as you gently took it from his hands, you took the glass and raised it to your lips. Taking large sips, reveling in the cool feeling of the water flowing over your tongue and to the back of your throat, you failed to notice a pair of eyes watch your every movement adoringly.

“Wanna take another hit?” Sero asked as you finished taking a drink, setting down the mostly empty glass back down on the table.

You hummed in thought at his question, before nodding, a small giggle escaping your lips, “What’s one more hit, right?”

Sero, the practiced stoner he is, had another bowl set up for you ready to go in what seemed like seconds, graciously handing you the now loaded bowl. Gently taking it from his hands and placing it in the bong, you fired up the lighter and took a huge hit.

A h u g e hit. It was a little larger than you had meant, but being high had made your judgement a little empaired. You coughed a bit as you expelled the wave of smoke from your lungs, waving your hands as Sero laughed.

Your cheeks flushed slightly with embarrassment at Sero laughing as you tried to regain your composure. “S-Stop laughing!” You cried, setting the bong back down, but Sero just shook his head.

“I can’t help it, sunshine. Seeing you not being able to take that hit is hilarious,” he continued to laugh, as your cheeks burned warmer at his words.

“Its not my fault that I don’t have your iron lungs,” you mocked, picking up your glass once more and finishing the contents in an attempt stop your coughing fit. “Not all of us are stoners.”

A small gasp tore from Sero’s throat, as he held a hand to his chest, pretending to be surprised by your words. “Me? A stoner? How could you even say such a thing?” He asked, shooting you a kicked puppy look which just made you giggle in return, your head feeling a little fuzzy from the extra hit.  

“Oh don’t be a baby,” patting the spot next to you, you flashed Sero a loopy smile, “come on, lets watch another movie,” you countered to which Sero agreed to, settling back down in his spot beside you. You reached forward, setting your now empty glass next to the laptop and hit play on the movie, before moving back into the cushions. Your body began to feel heavier as  you gingerly leaned into Sero’s side, who in return wrapped his arm around your shoulders and gently tugged you a little closer to his chest as the intro finished and the movie began.  

You weren’t long into the movie before you were struggling to keep your eyes opened. You shifted slightly, trying to force yourself to wake up, but the more that the time wore on, the harder it became to stay awake.

It wasn’t more than twenty minutes into the film before you were out cold, your deep and even breathing soft in Sero’s ear as your tired figure slept against his shoulder.

“Sunshine,” Sero whispered, tentatively placing a hand on your knee and gently shaking you. He watched your face carefully for any sign of rousing, but your breathing continued at its deep, even, undisturbed pace. An eager smile danced across Sero’s visage at your lack of response, his heart pounding in his chest in excitement. Wrapping his strong arms around your pliable person, Sero gently maneuvered your sleepy shape to be laying on your back, tummy up, the skirt you had worn riding up on your thighs as your leg lay limply, slightly apart.

Sero took a moment just watching you, drinking in all of your beauty. You looked so sweet and vulnerable asleep on Sero’s couch defenseless. He gazed at your unconscious body oh so lovingly as you lay completely helpless to the danger that lurks around you. It makes Sero’s heart squeeze in his chest in realization that you need him. You needed him to protect you and Sero would happily be your knight in shining armour.

“Her knight in shining honor”, Sero thought to himself merrily, infatuated with protecting his little ray of sunshine. His fingers began to skim the skin of your thighs, slowly pushing your skirt up higher and higher. Shouldn’t your knight get a little reward for his services? Sero certainly thought so, afterall it was only fair that he get to enjoy his sunshine in return for all he does for you.

Sero’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of your black laced panties, skirt bunched up past your hips, leaving your panty clad intimate parts exposed for his greedy eyes. There were no such things as imperfection to Sero when it came to you. All of your little bumps, blemishes, and things you didn’t like about yourself were all things that Sero adored about you. It's what made you you, and he simply ached to worship you.

Hungry hands hooked fingers into your panties, swiftly pulling the soft material down your supple skin in earnest. A groan tore from Sero’s throat at the sight of sticky, clear strings sticking from the fabric to your little treasure.

Fuck was he glad he slipped you an aprodiasic alongside the sleeping pills. Seeing your hole already wet and begging for his attention had his pants quickly tenting uncomfortably. He could not wait to get started.

Moving quickly and silently, he settled himself on his stomach between your thighs, carefully placing your thighs over his shoulders. His starved stare meets your slick slit and he couldn’t stop himself from licking a stripe up your lips, moaning at the delicious taste of your essence. His eyes flickered back to your face where he found you still sound asleep, unaware of reality.

“Perfect”, he thought to himself at your unconscious state, “just like last time.”

Confident in his security, Sero began to feast on your unprotected pussy, his tongue swiping through your folds as he drank every ounce of you in. His eyes almost rolled into the back of his head at your taste as if he was tasting the most divine thing ever created. He couldn’t seem to get enough as his hands encased your thighs, hungrily pulling your closer to his famished mouth. Your breath quickened in pace at Sero’s ministrations but the sleeping pills kept you nestled peacefully in between complete unconsciousness and your dreams, deep asleep. It seemed almost as if Sero had been eating you out for hours when he had finally come up for air, sucking in deep gulps of air into his lungs greedily.  He knelt in front of your vulnerable body, lips and chin shiny with your slick as he slipped a finger into your heat, quickly followed by another as he gently began to scissor your walls apart. Your warmth gushed around his fingers as he worked you open for him, using his free hand to slip down to his belt and make quick work of that before tugging his boxers and pants down. His cock now free of confinement slapped against his abs before he gently removed his fingers from your heat. Your juices completely soaked his hand as he brought it to his cock, using your wetness to get him slick for you. He watched your sleepy face as he stroked himself, his bottom lip caught between his lip as he intently drank in your features. With both of your bodies prepped, patience grew thin, so he tilted his hips down, nudging your dripping entrance with his plush tip, your legs lazily spread and looped loosely around his hips.

Slipping himself between your folds, Sero took a deep breath before pressing himself into your warm, wet, tight cavern. He didn’t stop slowly driving his cock into your twitching heat until he became fully sheathed inside your awaiting pussy. He groaned softly at the feeling of his cock being encased by your velvet walls, his eyes never leaving your face as he adjusted to the delicious feeling you were giving him. After a few moments of adjustment, Sero pulled his hips back, feeling his manhood drag against your plush walls, a soft moan escaping your sleeping shape as you stirred slightly in your hazy state. Once you settled and he was positive you were going to stay asleep, he drove his hips forward into your cunt his eyes moving away from your face and down to where his cock was buried deep inside of you. The erotic sight of you being fucked by his cock kicked him into gear as he soon found a steady rhythm as he pounded into you.

With every thrust of his hip, your cream coated his silken rod, making Sero almost feral with the sight. It took every ounce of self control he had to not fuck you the way you deserved, the way you needed him, but he couldn’t risk having you wake up during your little relaxation session. It took every ounce of self control that he possessed to keep himself from fucking you silly, but with plans for the pair of you in the future, he was willing to wait to rock your world for when you were awake and in more of a … receptive position to receive the full force of his love for you.  

It wasn’t long before Sero found himself reaching his end, much to his displeasure, but he knew it wouldn’t be long until he was able to get to do this again. He always made excuses to get the two of you alone, for “purely innocent reasons” according to your knowledge. He couldn’t help it! He loved you too much, and he needed to get his fix.

“F-Fuck,” he moaned as he fucked himself into your pussy, panting softly as he drew close to his completion. “You feel so good, sunshine. You were made for my fucking cock, shit,” he swore, his thrusts becoming increasinly sloppy. He pulled himself out before he came, hips hovering over yours as his hand frantically worked his length trying to finish himself off.

“Fuck yes!” Sero growled as he came, hot white, sticky ropes of cum decorating your glistening pussy as he furiously worked his hand over his cock. “God, love you so much,” he groaned as he finished,  hovering over you as he caught his breath. His eyes watched as his cum dripped down your pussy, becoming entangled with your own juices. Without skipping a beat, Sero reached over and grabbed his phone, taking a quick snapshot of your fucked out pussy covered in his essence and saved it in a secret gallery of pictures he kept of you. He needed to add to the collection, something to help tide him over until the next time. Setting his phone back down, he leaned over you and gently kissed you, like a lover would, savoring your lips while you were still asleep. Breaking the kiss, he gazed lovingly down at you, gently playing with a strand of your hair. He wished this moment would never end, but he knew that he had to get going, sighing softly to himself.

It was time to start up the cleaning process.

~~~~~~~~~~

A phone ringing caused you to stir from your deep slumber, a deep yawn escaping your lips as you stretched your stiff body from sleeping on the couch. You rubbed your eyes slightly as you woke up, before you took in the room before you. You saw Sero back turned to you as he spoke in hushed tones over the phone, hearing Bakugo’s voice grunting something to him over the phone about working out later that day. You glanced around the room as you yawned again, slightly confused as to how you got here before remembering coming over to Sero’s place the previous night after being really stressed and wanting to take a break. It wasn’t long until Sero finished his phone call, turning back to your and finding you awake, looking back at him.

“Sorry,” Sero began, rubbing the back of his neck, “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he apologized sheepishly with a small smile, taking in your figure.

“It’s no worries,” you hum out sleepily finding yourself naturally returning his smile. “Did I pass out last night?” You asked, not fully remembering what had happened after that last bong hit.

“Yeah! You fell asleep about maybe half way through the first movie? I don’t remember exactly when, I was paying too much attention to the movie,” he lied smoothly, your face showing telltale signs of embarrassment at having fallen asleep during the movie. Especially in Sero’s room after having come to his room for a favor. How could you ask to hang out with someone then fall asleep on them!”

“Oh… Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you like that,” you laughed a little uneasy, but Sero was quick to reassure you. “Don’t worry about it! You said yourself that you were stressed out of your mind, and it seemed that you needed to give yourself some rest. No need to apologize,” Sero soothed you easily, a smile returning to your face as you nodded. He almost felt bad lying to your face, but this was just more proof that you needed him! He had placed all your clothes back on properly, cleaned up the mess last night and you were none the wiser! Your lack of realization of what had happened, though it pleased Sero to know he got away with his little love session, cemented your need for him in Sero’s mind.  

“Well will you let me buy you coffee as a thanks for letting me crash? We can study together at that cafe near the gym if you want? ” You offered, wanting to express your gratitude to your friend, who graciously accepted your idea, pleased to spend more time with you.

“Now that sounds like a good idea,” he chirped, quick to pack up his things in his backpack and get ready to go.

The sun was rising slowly from the horizon, fluffy white clouds moving lazily across the sky, as the two of you walked to the cafe together. The birds sang so sweetly as the pair of you made your way, but their songs meant nothing to Sero, too entranced with your own sweet voice as you chattered happily with him about whatever came to mind.

Opening the door for you once the pair of you arrived, you flashed him a sweet smile in response before stepping inside the warm coffee shop. The smile you gave, to him, was brighter than the sun, warmer than the core of the Earth, and he realized he needed it. Just like you need his protection, he needs you, his sunshine, to bring warmth into his life and make him whole. With your back to him, browsing the menu of its many drink options, you failed to notice the pair of eyes drinking in every inch of your form with intense infatuation. You had no idea the danger that lurked behind those kind eyes, and unfortunately for you, you didn’t notice that Sero’s friendliness was more until too late.  

[bread-elf]

DWC 2022 - Day 6

Kindness - Envy

Jiroki reaches up to fix up her hair, making her way towards a new street side market that’s opening up today for the first time in Stormwind. Having heard about it, it felt like the perfect opportunity to go on a date. Walking to the spot where she planned on meeting with Helsong, a worgen she has been getting to know as of late. Despite having met her at a troublesome time, the man seemed genuinely invested in getting to know her, which has been helping her cope with negative emotions eating away from her. As she rounds the corner and spots the beginning section of the market she makes her way down, but then stops abruptly as she sees something she didn’t want to. A different man inspecting wares, a woman at his side as the recently engaged couple enjoy their evening together. She had not considered this particular man would show up, a man she used to see. “Tch, no no…” Her heart squeezes and she feels the blood drain from her face, stomach roiling as her emotions try to seize her. Any of her plans are out the window as she turns herself around, the envy and the jealous curdling. Although she herself is married to an absent mate, the feelings she had felt for this man had long been nurtured and sheltered, only to shrivel when they had got engaged and Jiroki was forgotten about to be informed. Only having heard from side chatter of mutual friends, and then months later a heated discussion occurs that fractured their feelings and friendship. Jiroki quickly begins to leave, slippers tapping on the cobblestone ground. She’s only brought back to reality as a voice startles her senses. “Jiroki! Hey!” Helsong spotted her from afar, not even having been aware of his approach as he came to her. Taller than her in his worgen form than as a human, the fur he sported are colors of back and brown, the patterns almost like a Doberman as his mane is tied into braids on either side of his face. With him is one of his coworkers, Tera, a druid who chooses to stay in her feline form for most of the time, easily prowling alongside him as she glances up at Jiroki with slitted eyes. “Is- something wrong?” “Oh, Helsong-” Taken by surprise she stops in her tracks, trying to regulate her breathing and calm herself down, but they have already seen her lose her composure. “I, uh… Y-Yes, um..” She almost looks back towards the market but stops herself, fixating her eyes on the ground. “..N-No, not really.” Both worgen and cat glance at each other, the druid sitting herself as Helsong steps closer to the elf. “What happened?” “I um…” Embarrassment begins to creep through her, making a vague motion with her hand down the street. “I saw… I saw someone I don’t want to see right now. I know this was my idea, but… I don’t think I can do it. I’m sorry.” She hated herself to let her emotions run wild inside of her, starting to wring her hands together as she glanced at Helsong for only a moment before she looked down. “Who is it?” Tera asks, her voice rings out even if in an animalistic form. “Did someone hurt you? Do you want me to fight them?” Already her paws push into the ground slightly, claws extending as the druid is willing to defend Jiroki’s honor. “No no, no.” Jiroki is quick to shake her head, not encouraging that train of thought. “No, I don’t want any trouble. If I walk over there I’d be tempted to punch him in the face… I just- would rather leave...” Glancing over at Helsong once more. “I’m sorry for this, for making you come out all the way here.” “Don’t be sorry.” Helsong looks concerned over her, his eyes a fierce red color as a worgen, a contrast to his typically cloudy eyes. “We can do something, it’s fine. There’s plenty to do.”

Tera looks back and forth between the pair as they talk. “... Well, I’m going to go check out the market.” The feline druid lifts herself up from a seat position, starting to prowl again in an arch to turn herself around. “You two have fun.”

“Ah- take care Tera.” Jiroki calls out, waiting a moment for the druid to distance herself before speaking to Helsong again. “You don’t have to, you can go and join the market, I don’t want to spoil the evening.”

“You’re not ruining anything at all. I came out here for you, we don’t have to go to the market.” He steps in closer, a clawed hand lightly running against her arm. “I don’t care where we go, we could even leave the city if you want.”

Jiroki’s heart begins to thump lightly in her chest, reassured by the man beside her as his attention is solely devoted to her and how she feels. “... Well if- you don’t mind, we could probably just walk around elsewhere instead…”

“I’d like that.” He begins to smile, his hand reaching down to take hers. Jiroki stiffens for a moment; rarely does she allow others to publicly express their affection with her, a different key point in the argument she had with the other man in the first place. But she makes herself calm down, taking a breath. The man beside her has shown the utmost kindness and support to her, even helping her face her anxieties while trying to attend other festivals hosted around Azeroth. As she reflects on her own actions and her needs to develop healthy relationships her fingers lace with Helsong’s, relinquishing trust into the man.

“How about the harbor?” They walk side by side, hand in hand like any couple with blossoming affection may do. And the hours are wasted away in chatter and the comfort of each other’s presence. (( @daily-writing-challenge ))

[caffeinatedbraincell]

I’m back on my bullshit with more TOG fluff, have fun :)

Read on AO3

Joe stumbled into the kitchen, soaking wet and wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. He looked around frantically before making a beeline toward the countertop. He lunged for the notebook lying there.

Behind him, Nicky yelped. “Yusuf!”

Joe turned around to find his husband carrying a package of flour in his arms, which he’d apparently been retrieving from the pantry while Joe barged into his workspace.

“Hmm?” Joe said distractedly, already starting to feel the lines slipping. Damnit, why did the perfect words for his poems always only occur to him in the shower? Meter, alliteration, emotion… he’d had it all at the tip of his tongue moments ago. He just needed to write it down before he-

“Hayati, you better have a good reason for standing dripping wet and half-naked in my kitchen. There’s soapy water everywhere! You’ve made such a mess, Joe, and I just mopped…”

Nicky’s lamentations continued, and Joe tried desperately to listen while mentally reciting what was left of the lines he’d composed in the shower.

“Joe?” Nicky’s fingers snapped impatiently in front of his face. “Are you even listening to me?”

The last vestiges of his beautifully crafted words evaporated from his brain, and Joe sighed, shoulders slumping forward. “I’m sorry, Nicky. I’ll clean it up.”

He turned to grab a spare dish towel from the cabinet, shivering slightly as a wayward breeze hit his damp skin. Before he could take two steps, Joe felt a gentle hand around his wrist.

Nicky maneuvered the flour package onto the table and leveled him with a mortifyingly discerning look. “What happened, love?”

Joe remained silent, unsure of how to go about explaining the absurdity of his current presence in the kitchen. The whole endeavor seemed rather stupid in retrospect. And it wasn’t like he had a line or two of breathtaking poetry to show for it, either.

Nicky’s eyes widened a little at his hesitation. “Are you alright, Joe? Are you hurt?” He ran his hands fretfully up and down Joe’s arms and chest, feeling for traces of an injury. Joe’s eyes snapped up guiltily, and he took hold of Nicky’s wrists and brought them to his lips.

“I am alright, amore. I mean it. Not at all hurt. Please do not worry.”

“You’re trembling. Go dry off and wear something warm, I’ll take care of the floor. Then you can tell me what’s going on.”

Minutes later, Joe emerged from their room in one of Nicky’s large, fleece-lined hoodies. He found Nicky in the kitchen, wringing out a towel into the sink. As soon as he saw Joe, Nicky walked over and pressed a warm mug of hot cocoa into his hands.

“Let’s sit on the couch?”

Joe nodded, following his husband to the living room and curling up next to him on the cushions. A small blaze was starting to catch in the fireplace. Outside, rain poured with a vengeance. Nicky had closed the window but left the curtains open. Joe smiled to himself. He had never met anyone who loved the rain as much as his Nicoló.

“Drink, hayati. We can’t have you catching a cold. See, I even added those tiny marshmallows you like.”

Joe took a large sip from the cup, sighing softly as the chocolate-covered notes of nutmeg and cinnamon floated over his tongue. He nuzzled closer to Nicky, feeling a little overcome with warmth and love.

Nicky wrapped his arms around Joe and pulled him closer. “So, are you going to tell me what prompted you to run out here mid-shower in the cold of winter?”

“I thought of the right words,” Joe mumbled into Nicky’s holiday-green jumper.

“Hmm?”

“For a poem I was writing. I’ve been struggling for days with a particular section and it suddenly came to me while showering. I wanted to write it down before I forgot.”

A comfortable silence blanketed them for several minutes. Joe took another sip of his drink, savoring it gratefully.

“You didn’t, though.”

“What?” Joe asked.

“You didn’t write anything down. You came into the kitchen, but you never even opened your notebook.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot the words. They never stay for long.”

“Was it because I yelled at you?”

“No! No, amore, that was well-deserved. And you didn’t yell at me, you just…emphatically expressed your displeasure at having to mop again. Which is fair, honestly.”

Nicky chuckled, and Joe felt his heart fill with warmth all over again. He set the empty cocoa mug aside and tenderly pressed his lips to Nicky’s.

The next morning, Joe found a whole set of brand-new children’s bath crayons in the shower, stacked neatly next to their soaps and shampoos.

___

The crayons turned out to be a life-changing convenience. This became clear just three weeks after they arrived, when Joe found himself in a position to send a completed manuscript of his current poetry book to his publisher ahead of the deadline.

“This has literally never happened before,” he told Nicky in awe. “I’m always late, if anything. You are a genius, my love, thank you so much for the pre-Christmas present.”

Nicky all but preened. “Had you told me earlier, I would have gotten the crayons for you ages ago.”

“Ah,” Joe replied a little bashfully, “I didn’t actually know such a thing existed until you got them.”

It was when Joe returned from a brief meeting with his publisher the following day that he and Nicky had their first actual fight in several months. It started, like most of their fights, with empty stomachs and a grocery trip oversight.

“Joe, there’s no fresh garlic in this bag!”

“There was none at the store. Use the minced garlic in the fridge.”

“What?!”

Joe rolled his eyes. “It’s the same thing, Nicky. Better, in fact, since it’s saving you the trouble of having to chop it yourself.”

“Have you ever heard of making roasted garlic cloves using minced garlic?”

“I have not,” Joe conceded. “We should make something else.”

Nicky knew he was being impractical. Obviously, there was nothing Joe could have done if they were out of stock at the store. But Nicky had been planning this dish for days, and had already promised Nile he would send her some as part of his ongoing campaign to refute her claim that “any form of garlic except garlic bread is gross.”

There was no way Joe could have known about that, either, but Nicky was in no mood to admit any such thing.

“Joe, you had one job! I gave you a grocery list!”

Joe turned from where he was stocking the refrigerator, brow furrowed. “I don’t know what exactly you expect me to do about the store being out of garlic.”

“I don’t know, maybe check another store? Was that the only grocery store in this city?”

“Nicky, I think you should go to your room.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s just…you’re hungry. And you’re clearly not prepared to cook without fresh garlic. So let me do the cooking, and you, uh, do something else. Outside of the kitchen.”

“Are you kicking me out of my kitchen?”

“Our kitchen, madre de dio, Nicky! I’m trying to help you!”

“Maybe you could help me by actually getting the stuff I asked you to get from the store!”

“You know what, if you need whole garlic so urgently, get it yourself. It’s dark and below freezing outside. There is no way I’m wandering from store to store at this hour to fulfill this baseless whim of yours.”

That, Nicky knew, was a completely justified response to his unreasonable anger. But it hurt nevertheless.

“Fine,” he whispered, grabbing his coat and storming out the front door before Joe could see the tears prickling in his eyes.

Joe stared at the door, astonished. Part of him wanted desperately to follow Nicky outside. Of course he could check a couple more stores. If Nicky genuinely wished for something, Joe would go to the ends of the Earth, scour Heaven and Hell, to get it for him. No amount of ego was worth knowing his beloved was out there, hungry and alone, in the frigid wind.

But Joe was also well aware that he wasn’t at fault here. And Nicky, his Nicky, rarely reacted like this to their disagreements; perhaps he just needed some time for himself. It wouldn’t be right for Joe to impose his company when his husband clearly didn’t want it.

Joe sighed in frustration. A hot shower would clear his head, he hoped, heading for their bedroom.

Twenty minutes after he had stormed out, Nicky was coming around to the realization that this had been a profoundly stupid idea. Moments after leaving the house, he had realized that he’d left the car keys behind. Foolishly, he’d boarded a bus for downtown, too irked to return home. Now, with the bus routes closed for the night and taxis staying off the road as snow clouds threatened the city, Nicky quietly admitted to himself that he was stranded.

The first weak snowflakes began to fall. Then the wind picked up, blowing several icy droplets into his face. Nicky shivered. Fuck this, he thought, pulling out his phone. His pride wasn’t worth causing Joe to worry, and it definitely wasn’t worth getting sick from the cold and creating loads of extra work for his husband. He was going to call Joe, apologize profusely, and beg him to come pick him up.

At their home, Joe let the steaming water soak through to his tired bones as he scrawled passionately on the shower walls. He was a little hurt and, if he was being honest, more than a little worried. But for once Nicky wasn’t here for him to talk to, so he threw his words at the wall in brightly colored crayon instead.

He almost didn’t hear his cell phone ring. Contorting his upper body out of the shower, he wiped his hands on his towel and reached around for the phone in his pants’ pocket. The called ID flashed his husband’s name. Joe picked up without hesitation.

“Hello?”

“Joe, I fucked up. I’m s- so sorry. I should never- never have spoken to you like that, h- hayati. Please- please forgive me.”

Over the line, Joe could hear Nicky’s teeth chattering as he struggled to get the words out. Joe shut the water off and clambered out of the shower.

“Nicky, what happened? Where are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m f- fine. It’s just cold.”

“Come home. Please.”

“Yeah, that’s- that’s the problem. I took the bus here. The c- car keys…”

Joe had put the phone on speaker and was already getting dressed. He shouldered into a coat and seized a large throw from their bed, striding into the living room.

“I’m coming. Where are you?”

“Uh, Mira Mesa Transit Station. S- sorry, kind of far.”

“Nowhere in the universe is too far.”

“Joe-”

“Just sit tight, I’m on my way.”

Joe drove like a madman. Luckily, no one else was insane enough to be out in this imminent blizzard, so at least the roads were clear. In just under ten minutes, he reached the station.

A figure sat huddled under the overhang. Joe barely managed to stop the car before jumping out.

“Nicoló!”

Nicky struggled to his feet. “Joe, grazie a dio-”

“Shhh, amore mio, I’ve got you,” Joe soothed, pulling a shivering Nicky towards the car and bundling him into the passenger’s seat. Once he'd climbed in himself, Joe turned up the heater and divested Nicky of his too-thin, snow-soaked windbreaker. “Wear this,” he coaxed, whipping his own dry jacket off and wrapping it around Nicky’s shoulders.

“No, hayati-”

“Shh, love, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

Joe wrapped the throw over the jacket, dusting the snow from Nicky's collar and tucking the blanket in. The whole way back, he drove with one hand on the wheel, intertwining the other with Nicky’s and rubbing his knuckles to warm him up.

“Shower,” Joe decided as soon as they stepped into their home. “You’re so cold, my heart. Go stand under warm water until you can feel your toes and fingers again. I’m going to make us some hot soup, okay?” Joe leaned forward and kissed Nicky’s nose gently.

Nicky nodded, too cold and tired to insist on helping. He had an inkling sense that Joe might still be irritated with him, after all. It would not be undeserved.

He made his way to their bedroom, draping Joe’s jacket over a bedpost and discarding his own clothes as he stepped into shower. Exhaling deeply, he turned his back to the stream of hot water- and froze.

A red bath crayon lay fallen on the floor, clearly left behind in haste. Joe must have been showering when I called, Nicky thought with a pang of guilt. But what had caught his attention was the shower wall in front of him. There, written in his beloved husband’s flowy cursive, was a poem.

If I could only read your heart When your lips cannot translate I wouldn’t let it break, my love Yet if it does Take mine An eternity alone I’ll wait.

The warm water poured down Nicky’s back, relaxing his aching muscles even as tears sprung into his eyes at Joe’s tender, longing words. Nicky stared and stared until the steam blurred the writing beyond perception.

A knock at the bathroom door snapped him out of his reverie.

“Nicky? Are you alright? Almost done?”

Nicky cleared his throat. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

He shut off the water and dried off. He found the bedroom empty, and slipped into the pajamas and fluffy sweatshirt that Joe must have laid out for him earlier. Dry and warm and very cozy, Nicky felt his eyes well up again at the care Joe put into something as minor as picking out some clothes.

Even during their worst fights, Nicky never doubted their love for each other; their hearts had been one far too long for any such lingering uncertainties. But it never ceased to amaze him how quickly Joe forgave. How despite taking Nicky’s hurtful words to heart, Joe went above and beyond to make sure he didn’t suffer.

He took a deep breath to regain his composure, and walked out. But the moment he entered the kitchen, the fragrance of creamy red pepper tomato bisque reached his nose, and he very nearly broke down in tears again. His favorite soup. It was a recipe he and Joe had perfected together through the years. Watching Joe quietly ladle it into two bowls, Nicky felt something clench in his chest.

“Hayati.”

Joe spun around. “Nicky! Are you feeling better, my heart?”

“I am.”

“Oh, good. Are you, uh…” Joe’s eyes flickered to the floor. “Are you still angry with me about the garlic thing?”

Nicky crossed the distance between them in two strides and threw himself into his husband’s arms. Joe stumbled back, a little startled, but quickly pulled Nicky close and buried his face in Nicky’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Nicky.”

“No. No, Yusuf, please. You did nothing wrong. It is I who should beg your forgiveness, having treated you as I did. You've shown me nothing but kindness, and I’ve done nothing to deserve it.”

Joe shook his head in protest, nuzzling his nose into Nicky’s neck.

“I saw what you wrote in the shower,” he continued. Joe stilled in his arms. “I- I don’t know if you meant for me to see, but…”

“I forgot to erase it. But everything I write is for you, Nicolò. It’s yours.”

“It was beautiful. Beautiful, and heartbreaking. Forgive me, my all. Forgive me for raising my voice at you, for making you feel alone. Forgive me for walking away insteading of talking to you. And forgive me for dragging you out into that storm at this hour to come searching for me, it was beyond cruel to make you drive so far-”

Joe pulled back, eyes round with tears, and gently pressed his palm to Nicky’s lips.

“Stop it. Please. Don’t apologize for calling me when you needed me. Where would I rather be than at your side? I meant it, earlier. Nowhere in the universe is too far.”

Nicky held Joe’s hand to his lips and kissed his palm. A tear slipped down Joe’s cheek as he swallowed a sob. Nicky wrapped a hand behind his neck and rubbed soothing circles into the tense muscles there. After a few minutes, Joe's breathing evened out, and he lifted his eyes to gaze at Nicky with unguarded adoration. It would be so easy to just let this go, Nicky thought. But the knowledge that he had hurt Joe stood like a wall of glass between them, and Nicky felt it would drive him mad.

“Joe, I- I need to hear you say it. If you forgive me, that is. I don’t know, tonight has just been a lot. Please, hayati, I-”

“You are forgiven. You are always forgiven.”

Nicky exhaled, feeling the glass wall shatter. He kissed Joe’s temple softly. “Thank you, my love.”

Joe tilted his head slowly, dragging his lips up Nicky’s jaw until he could capture his mouth in a melting kiss. Nicky responded with ardent devotion, backing Joe up against the refrigerator and holding him there as they kissed again and again. It was only when he grew light-headed from lack of oxygen that Nicky pulled back. Still, Joe whimpered at the loss of warmth, reaching out for his husband.

“Nicky…”

“Joe, you have no idea how much I want to stand here kissing you all night. But you’ve prepared this wonderful dinner. I’d hate for it to get cold.”

Joe laughed, a joyous thing that swept Nicky off his feet just like it had the very first time he'd heard it.

“Alright, let’s eat. But after dinner we’ll cuddle on the couch under the heated blanket and I’ll hold you to your promise.”

Nicky smiled fondly, unable to help leaning in and placing one more kiss at the corner of his beloved’s lips. “Please do.”

[srhlsx]

CHAPTER 22

master | ch. 21 | ch. 23

A group of boys walked into the arena and caused more than a few heads to turn. They were all tall, athletic, good looking and… completely out of place. They caught attention, a few whispers shared behind hands as they passed, but no one bothered to say anything to them directly. This was not their event, and for once they were not the main attraction.

“Why are you here again?” Oikawa turned to look at his friend and teammate.

Matsukawa lazily lifted his eyebrows and folded his hands behind his head as they all walked through the crowd of people. “Same reason as you guys, to support the sport of dance.”

“Bullshit,” Iwaizumi mumbled.

“Look, my sister was on this team when she was in high school, so I definitely know more than you guys do. Why are you here, Iwaizumi?” Matsukawa asked, no malice in his tone but maybe a little bit of knowing. “Oikawa and Kindaichi have girlfriends on the team, why are you here if not for the same reason as me? Could it be because of your little secret~”

Iwaizumi stopped, grabbing Matsukawa by the neck of his shirt and pulling him to the side of the crowd, slamming him against the wall. His friend laughed a little nervously at the sheer force shown by the ace, seeing he had obviously struck a nerve. “What are you talking about?” Iwaizumi growled.

“Iwa, you may have a lot of other people fooled, but a lot of other people are not as smart as me. Secret lingering glances are not your strongest skill my friend.” Matsukawa said in a lazy tone, gazing around the crowd as he fixed his jacket. He looked down at his friend and for the first time saw the amount of worry etched on his features. “Does Oikawa know?”

“...Yes.”

“Hmm,” Matsukawa nodded, “This is very interesting - and totally fucked. What’s your plan?”

“Nothing.” Iwaizumi mumbled, turning back to try to catch up with Oikawa and Kindaichi again. “There is no plan. She won’t even talk to me anymore.”

Oikawa heard the last part of the conversation and eyed Iwaizumi warily. “Could’ve been because she told you she loved you and you didn’t say anything back.”

Iwaizumi bristled as Matsukawa whipped around to openly gape at him. “Dude,” He shook his head. “What the fuck.”

“It’s not like I don’t feel the same,” Iwaizumi snapped back at his friends, emotions starting to get the best of him as his skin flushed a particular shade of red.

“Who are you talking about?” Kindaichi tried to insert himself into the conversation, obviously missing a crucial piece of information. 

Matsukawa shook his head and pushed the first year ahead and towards the seating sections. “This is grown up stuff,” He said. “Let’s go get good seats.”

“But you didn’t say anything,” Oikawa repeated. He wasn’t trying to be confrontational with his best friend, but he remembered the way you looked that day in the dance studio and he couldn’t help but want to make sure you didn’t feel that way again. If that meant swiftly kicking the ass of his best friend, then so be it.

“She won’t even let me get a word in,” Iwaizumi grumbled, looking up at the ceiling as he let out a frustrated sigh. “I did try to talk to her, but she… ended things.”

“Well,” Oikawa said, hands on his hips. “We just need to keep trying. She’s gotta know how you feel.”

- - - - -

You stood off to the side in a lone hallway somewhere in the depths of the arena, wringing your hands as you ran through the routine you were about to perform in your head. Your eyes were closed and your head bobbed along to the beat of the music playing in your headphones. 

You jerked wildly when one of the headphones was tugged from your ear, leaving you off balance and breathing heavily. Your heart raced in shock, trying to calm yourself down from the fright. You whipped around, hair falling into your eyes as you looked at who was standing before you. Your heart dropped and your eyes widened.

“Haji-”

“I love you.” He said, rushed, stepping forward and looking at you with a mix of conflicting emotions; fear, love, excitement. “I’m in love with you and I’m sorry I didn’t say it before.”

You didn’t say anything, processing what he said before you responded. You felt the beginning of tears prickle at the corners of your eyes and then a surging amount of anger washed over you. ��Now?” You whisper harshly, pushing him away from you. “You tell me that now? Before I’m about to go out there? What the fuck Hajime.”

He gaped at you, surprised at you putting your hands on him but inwardly relishing the contact after all this time. At least you were giving him some attention, at least you weren’t blatantly ignoring him. He didn’t know what else he was supposed to do, he honestly didn’t think he would get to this point in the conversation and hadn’t thought through what else to say.

“That’s it?” You said when you saw he wasn’t going to speak anymore. “You just throw that information out into the universe with nothing else? God fucking damnit, Hajime.”

“I hadn’t thought past telling you that,” He mumbled.

Oikawa’s words echoed in your head from the other day, Iwa has never been good with feelings. 

Your face scrunched up in anger, mouth pinching together to keep yourself from absolutely losing your shit on him. “I have to go.” You said with a clipped tone and turned away from him to walk back towards the main area. You didn’t look back, you knew you couldn’t, otherwise everything would fall apart.

This was it. The long hours you’d put in beyond what anyone else in the club did were going to pay off in that moment. The isolation you caused yourself, the sore muscles and the lack of sleep, all of it was coming down to this very moment as you stood in the center of the floor. Your arms and legs were stiff as you posed, waiting for when the music would play over the speakers and you’d be able to disappear into your own world. Your hair provided a curtain as you looked down at your feet, counting silently to yourself as you prepared to move.

From above, a group watched and waited. They were your team and the group of boys who had come to cheer you on. The group of girls buzzed with excitement, chatting away in hushed voices what they thought you were going to do with your routine and how you compared to the other girls competing - they all had a feeling you were going to be at the top. The boys didn’t know what to think, all they knew was that you were competing for the lone spot that was available to competitors from the Miyagi prefecture for a chance to compete in solos at nationals. The only two who knew what this meant for you were Oikawa and Iwaizumi.

“You better pray you didn’t mess her up,” Oikawa mumbled behind his fist as he leaned forward to watch you prepare. Iwaizumi looked at him with a sideways glance, silently thinking the same thing.

The music started, a new song that a few people recognized. The beat was odd and old sounding and you moved to it with purposeful and striking motions.

Your body twisted as the lyrics spoke to you, like expressing the words was your purpose in life. It was a dark song with a pop melody, and your interpretation left the audience captivated and unable to look away. Your feet kicked and your hands moved in delicate ways, a mix of styles of dance that showed both your skill and your passion. In the light of the arena, the black, long-sleeved leotard you wore shone as it accented your arms and legs in different ways to show off the lines you were hitting with each choreographed move.

When you did impressive moves, the group that was there for you cheered loudly. When you made a statement with the lyrics, they cheered excitedly. The hoots and hollers were lost to you, the only focus you had was the music and the movements. You twirled for an extended time, your leg kicked repeatedly to spur your momentum, and that caught the attention of everyone in the arena and caused a huge uproar of cheer.

You ended on the ground in a dramatic pose, chest heaving and arms extended. You finally heard the cheers, the clapping, the whistles. You pulled yourself to a standing position and gave a deep bow to the judges. You looked up towards your team, waving and blowing them all a kiss, a happy look on your face as they jumped around cheering you for. 

You waited off to the side where Ichika and Kiko stood, the older of the two handing you your track jacket to pull on and a hard candy in your favorite flavor. You started to thank her for buying it for you when she stopped you, tugging at your open jacket to whisper towards you so the first year dancer wouldn’t hear, “Iwa told me to give it to you when you’re stressed.” She pulled away with a knowing look which made you glare first at her then down at the candy in your hand. “He’s trying (y/n).”

Kiko grabbed at your shoulder, trying to force you to turn around and look up at the screen above you. “The scores!” She cried out.

You turned to look, your name was flashing across the screen with your score being the newest and last one added to the list. You held your breath. There was one girl from Johzenji at the top of the list who had managed to score a 9.43, which was pretty damn high. You had to beat her to be able to go to nationals, to reach the goal you’d worked so hard for.

When your name stopped flashing, you were too nervous to look and see what the posted score was. You weren’t sure if the cries you heard were happy or sad, or if the cheers and gasps that filled the arena were for you or the other girl. When Ichika grabbed you, choking the air out of your lungs as she squeezed you and jumped around, you finally had the nerve to look.

TAGS:  @bambisfuneral @iihxneybunz75 @svtbitch @gayverlinq @bubbleteaa @keekee-732 @oikawannabeyourbabie @halxma06 @srirachibi​

[odetolove]

it was obvious when his teammates had people over for games. they would yell louder, smile brightly at the family section, point at whoever had come to watch them live, go the extra mile to impress. wakatoshi just got quieter and more serious than usual.

because he could feel her eyes burning at the back of his skull, and he was through the impressing phase or feeling nervous. he wanted her to feel proud. so his spikes were even harder, hand ringing after particular hits; his brows furrowed the whole time, enough that the enemy team didn’t look him in the eyes when they were face to face on the net. the only times his lips would curl up were when he could hear her cheers above other people.

it’s not a clean victory, but it’s a victory nonetheless. his jaw is clenched as he walks to the locker room after bowing to the crowd, noticing she was gone already. the rest of his team left behind to stretch, no one stops him when he just skips it.

he feels sweat drip down his neck as he swipes a towel through his face, long strides leading him where he had told her to wait. he wouldn’t blame her if she wasn’t there, maybe this was too much. — his thoughts linger back to the match, hands turning into fists by his side as his mistakes came rushing in. he had done well, probably above his average, but that never was what he focused at immediately after. he stops in his tracks at the glance of a pair of shoes, the image behind his eyes of a poorly made receive interrupted by her legs.

he raises his eyes to meet hers, head tilting to one side as he takes her in. there she was.

— ushijima.

standing, my heart pounded loud and fast as i stayed there waiting. it felt like it took forever- nervously wringing my hands over and over. adrenaline from seeing him play- cheering him on in the sidelines with every point he scored made me a little shaky, all in anticipation to finally seeing him. my ears perked up at the sound of steps- looking hopeful in the direction they were coming from. the feeling exposed in standing right outside the locker rooms, a heavy heat swirling in my body in pure excitement- throbbing all with the promise of having him to myself after shining on the court throughout the game.

i watch as he comes into view- towering form, uniform clinging to his shoulders, weighed down from sweat. my hands come down to smooth my top down, wearing a jersey too big for me with his name plastered over the back- whipping clammy hands down the front of my thighs as i watch him approach- head hung low, noticing his bunched hands firmly by his side.

wakatoshi!

my smile nearly hurts my face, stepping forward to wrap my arms around his body- uncaring of the sweat and heat emanating from him, hands soothing down the broad expanse of his back, feeling the tension there as i lean up on the tips of my toes to press an enthusiastic kiss to his chin.

you were amazing- so amazing.

i squeak, not noticing just how the tension seems to run down his whole body- simply eager to finally touch him. placing my heel back onto the floor as i give him space- wanting to celebrate with hugs and kisses but knowing he was probably tired, settling back my enthusiasm to take in his expression.

[caelenath]

Sweet Child of Thine - chapter 4

First post of 2021! I’ve been away a little while. November was spent participating in the wonderful insanity that is NaNoWriMo (I won!) and December was spent catching up on everything I had neglected in order to win.

But now I’m back with a new chapter for my pre-canon PRSPD story. Cross-posted to AO3, FFN, and caelenath.com.

Length: 1664 Warnings: concerns child abduction Chapter summary: Mirloc finally learns what young Sky’s power is.

4. power

In addition to being fragile, human children were also voracious, absurdly so for their size. Before the sun had even reached its peak in the sky, the boy was complaining of hunger again. Mirloc had another full day and then some before he was due to deliver the boy to his acquaintance, so he decided he had best procure a more substantial supply of provisions if he wished to survive that time with his sanity intact.

Leaving the boy locked in the room once more, the mercenary went out and found a market the size of a modest skyport, in which there were entire sections dedicated solely to sustaining the young. He studied the endless aisles of foodstuffs and supplies for a few incredulous minutes before deciding it was nigh on a miracle that humans didn't die of exhaustion before their pitiful offspring reached maturity.

He selected an assortment of items based on the children pictured in the labels—all smiling brats with similar expressive round eyes—as well as a book of pictures to keep the boy occupied. When he was content, he had proved to be an industrious sort, carefully studying every inch of his quarters that he could reach before learning how to amuse himself by throwing the colorful object Mirloc had stolen in the park at the forcefield in the door and watching it bounce off helter-skelter.

This was indeed what the boy was doing when Mirloc returned to the house. After inhaling more food, the child took an interest in the picture book and it wasn't long before he'd left a sticky finger mark on every page. When he reached the end, he began again, leafing through more slowly. His little pinch grip was tight, leaving a new crease in the paper with each turn. at one point, silent tears began dribbling down his face and Mirloc decided to investigate.

The boy looked up in alarm at Mirloc's approach, but the mercenary ignored his wet eyes and looked down at the book in his hands instead. On the page was a dark shape, literally just a large brown square with shifty eyes and two short legs, unusual nonsense even for a child.

"Does this picture frighten you?" Mirloc asked.

The boy shook his head. "This is Daddy's book," he said, pointing at the brown square. Another tear rolled down and he scrubbed his arm across his face with a sniffle, but after a moment, his weeping began in earnest.

A distraction was in order, but Mirloc had no interest in reading about an anthropomorphic shape the color of loam. However, if human children were like other types of children he had known, then any yarn would do.

"Would you like to hear a different story?" he asked.

* * *

The day went from too long to too short in an instant.

After a fruitless afternoon in the search for Sky, a lead finally came through in the evening, albeit a tenuous one. The manager of a superstore on the east side of town had filed a theft report with the PD after noticing a most unusual thief while reviewing the day's security footage. Gene had in turn shared the report with SPD immediately when he noticed the kinds of items that had been taken—baby food, cereal, cookies, a picture book, and some children's clothing.

Jay reviewed the footage with Nate and Mori in the command center. It showed a distinctly non-human character wandering through several aisles of the store before he began plucking items off the shelves. Each one he selected seemed to disappear into thin air before he moved on to the next. The three Rangers exchanged puzzled looks.

"Maybe he has a picky kid at home?" Nate mused when the perp paused in the cereal aisle to look up and down the literal wall of choices.

"Or a few?" said Mori. "The target age for those supplies ranges from zero to four or five. The cereal's kind of a tossup. My guess though? He doesn't have a clue what he's doing."

They continued watching as the perp went on to pick up some nonfood items, then entered an unoccupied aisle in the home décor section and vanished.

"Hey!" Jay slapped the control to pause the video. "Where'd he go?"

They reversed the video and re-watched the segment several times before Mori had the sensible idea to slow the playback speed. It took several tries and adjustments, but finally they were able to see that the creature hadn't vanished into thin air after all, but into one of the decorative mirrors on display.

Jay was vaguely aware of his teammates watching his reaction, but all he could think of was the mirror in Sky's room at home. It was part of an old dresser that held Sky's clothes and spare blankets. If this creature, whatever he was, had in fact taken Sky, was that mirror the way he had gotten in and out of the house unseen and unheard? What exactly happened to the things he made disappear that way?

Elsewhere in the Delta Base, Kat was running a facial match against SPD's vast databanks. So far nothing had come up, but the perp's image had been shared with all PD and SPD units anyway. If nothing else, he could be picked up on shoplifting charges.

As Jay watched him in the video though, troubled by the purple skin and sinister eyes, he wasn't sure whether or not to hope this was the person who had his son after all.

* * *

The boy awoke crying in the middle of the night, frightened by bad dreams and refusing to go back to sleep. Perhaps the mercenary's earlier stories of nebular serpents and walking shadow monsters had not been the best choice.

Mirloc went to the washroom to wet a cloth and wiped the day's grime off the boy's face along with his tears. The cold dampness made him shiver, but the gesture seemed to soothe him nonetheless. Mirloc then squeezed the cloth hard to wring a single droplet of water into his palm. It lit up with a golden light that matched the glow of the mercenary's eyes.

Curiosity trumped fear as the child crawled out from the safety of the bedclothes towards Mirloc's hand. The light from the droplet reflected in his widened eyes like twin candles, making them look almost as yellow as Mirloc's own.

"Is it magic?" he asked.

Few places in the universe had a word for what Mirloc could do, and Earth was not one of them. He said no and braced himself for more questions, but they never came. Instead, the boy lifted his own hand and that mysterious blue energy he had demonstrated the day before flashed briefly around his small digits.

"I can too," he said.

Mirloc glanced at the shielding device around the boy's waist and wondered if this might be the time to solve that particular mystery. "Will you show me if I remove this?" He tapped the device with a finger.

The boy nodded.

Hoping he wouldn't regret his decision, Mirloc unfastened the device and laid it aside. The boy made a fist and this time the blue light rippled and pulsed uninhibited around his entire forearm. He moved it in a clumsy circle to create a translucent blue wall that hung in midair like nebulae out in space. His young eyes were narrowed in un-childlike concentration.

Mirloc cautiously stretched a hand towards the glowing wall and was astonished to feel neither heat nor the potent charge of electricity emanating from it. Then he remembered what the boy had said about the forcefield in the doorway.

The child was a living weapon.

The mercenary stopped just short of touching the blue energy—because that would have been foolhardy—and when he dropped his hand, so did the boy. The blue wall dissipated in an instant, gone like it had never been, and the child seemed unaffected by the effort.

"That is very good," Mirloc said. "You have a very special power."

"What yours?" the boy wanted to know.

"I can travel through reflective surfaces." From the child's blank stare, it was clear this explanation was beyond his comprehension, so Mirloc tried a different one. "Anywhere I can see my own face, no matter how small—" He gestured at the water droplet in his palm. "—I can use it to go anywhere I wish."

"Anywhere in the world?"

"Anywhere in the universe."

The boy's eyes widened. "How?" he demanded.

"How do you make your forcefields?"

"Science."

That was not an answer the mercenary had expected at all. "How do you know that?"

"Mommy says so."

Not his Ranger father, Mirloc noted.

"I want to go home," the child said, a whine creeping into his voice just as Mirloc was starting to find him tolerable, amusing even.

"Only if you behave," the mercenary reminded him. "If you like, I can tell you a story about my home."

The boy nodded eagerly, so Mirloc sifted through his memories for an appropriate one. Thus far, his life had involved far more stories of darkness than of light, but the latter were not forgotten even if it took him several moments to find his way back to them, back to the time before he began wandering the stars. Few knew—and most would not believe when they looked at him—that his life had begun in a place of light and of great beauty.

The memory he finally chose was older than this babe could ever fathom. It was of a place with three suns, shining walls, and heat so fierce, it scraped your insides to breathe it in. It was the last place Mirloc had known peace, and belonging, and the last time he had walked in light instead of dark.

As the mercenary recalled this fondest place, the child fell asleep and did not wake again until the sun had risen.

~

Chapter Notes

The picture book that Mirloc steals for Sky featuring “a large brown square with shifty eyes and two short legs” is a real book. It’s called Square.

[emospritelet]

Extracurricular verse, bc we can't forget these happy fuckers : 84 “The more, the merrier!”

I haven’t written any Extracurricular since last Christmas, which is a crying shame, but this is going to be my 100th fic on AO3, and I thought making it these three was somehow appropriate. Unfortunately you’ll have to wait for the next chapter for the smut, but there will definitely be threesome smut :)

[AO3]

x

As he drove slowly along tree-lined streets in the north of Berkeley, Professor Gold reflected that life could be incredibly strange. If anyone had suggested to him two years ago that he would be house-hunting on Christmas Eve with the love of his life he would have scoffed at the very idea. If they had then suggested that he would be house-hunting for three, with Professor Rush being one of the party, he would have thought them certifiable. And yet that was how they had chosen to spend at least part of their Christmas holidays. In fact it was how they had spent the past four weekends, with no luck finding a place they all liked.

It wasn’t that they couldn’t compromise when it suited them—two years as a threesome had made that very necessary—but they were each very certain about what they wanted from the house they were to share and to make a home in. None of the properties they had viewed thus far ticked all their boxes. Either the rooms were too dark for Belle’s liking, or there wasn’t enough quiet, contained space to put whiteboards for Rush’s liking, or the kitchen wasn’t up to Gold’s usual standards, or the garden was too overlooked… They had spent weeks searching with no luck, until Belle had spied the place they were headed to, recently reduced in price and therefore within the budget they had set themselves, although admittedly most of the money was coming from him. He didn't mind that; he was by far the wealthiest of them, and it was worth paying extra to get a place they all liked and could call home together. Perhaps this house would be the one. If Rush made it on time, of course.

“It’s here,” announced Belle.

Gold turned the wheel, steering the car into another tree-lined street, this one quieter, with large houses set back from the road and well-kept lawns outside. There were strings of coloured lights on every house, and in the trees, which made Belle smile delightedly, even though the large plastic Santa and reindeer in one of the gardens looked out of place in the California sunshine. It seemed a pleasant, quiet neighbourhood, and a little calculation in his head showed it to be reasonably close to the university. All good so far. The house they were to see was at the end, the real estate board outside proclaiming that it was being sold by De Ville’s. Gold parked up, opening the door and getting out before going around to open Belle’s. She was looking around excitedly, her cheeks flushed with the relative chill of the winter day, and he wanted to kiss her.

“It’s so green here!” she said happily.

Well, that was certainly true. Each house had a neat, well-kept garden and a large stretch of lawn. Some even had white picket fences to add to the quaintness. Trees and privet hedges bordered the gardens between neighbours, and Belle peered at the house, rising up on her toes as though that would give her a better view. She was itching to go inside, he could tell. Still, the realtor had told them to be there at twelve, and it was almost that now. Not long before her curiosity could be satisfied. So where was Rush? Gold looked at his watch, tapping his foot impatiently.

“He’s late,” he observed.

“You sound surprised.” Belle’s voice was teasing, and she glanced across at him with a grin. “Did you remind him?”

“Yes, I reminded him, I sent him a bloody text!” said Gold impatiently. “And I might add that I’m not his bloody PA. If he can’t organise his own bloody appointments I fail to see why I should be inconvenienced.” 

“The realtor’s not even here yet,” said Belle soothingly. “He’ll be here.”

Gold grunted.

“He’ll be nose-deep in some bloody ridiculous theoretical crap,” he said, and straightened as a sleek silver car pulled up onto the long driveway. “Look, here’s the realtor. I told you he’d be late!”

“Would you relax?” Belle turned to face the realtor’s car. “Remember, if he doesn’t make it, you get to have first choice of the rooms.”

There was that, he supposed.

“Well, we can always look around the house ourselves,” he agreed. “Serve him right if he didn’t show and I put his office in the basement.”

The car door opened and a woman swung pale, slender legs out of the door, pushing to her feet with a toss of jaw-length blonde hair. She was tall and thin, wearing an elegant black dress beneath a short white coat that Gold was fairly sure was made of real fur. Red lips curved in a smile as she held out a hand.

“Mr Gold, I presume?” she drawled, in a very English accent. “Cara Deville-Waters. Delighted to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Gold shook her hand. “This is my partner, Belle French.”

He gestured to Belle, who stepped forward to shake Cara’s hand.

“Right,” said Cara breezily. “Well, here is the house. Lovely, quiet neighbourhood. Mainly professionals, some with young families. The owner has moved to Europe, as I understand it, so we’re maintaining the property in her absence.”

“It seems a lovely area,” observed Belle.

“Yes, very pleasant. The area itself is stacked with amenities, and has very good schools. Do you have children?”

“No,” said Gold.

“Not yet, anyway,” added Belle, making Cara grin.

“Well, best to plan ahead for these things, I always say. This is the sort of house that has the space for a large family, as you’ll see when we go inside. Shall we?”

“Oh, we’re just waiting for the third member of our - uh - family,” said Gold. “He should be here any minute. Or at least he would if he had any sense of punctuality and common courtesy.”

Belle gave him a level look as Cara looked intrigued, brows lifting.

“Oh, so there are three of you?”

“That’s not a problem, I trust,” said Gold, in a very even tone, and she waved a languid hand.

“The more, the merrier!” she said. “And the house is certainly large enough. Do let me know if you have any other requirements, and I can point them out as we go.”

“The listing mentioned a hot tub,” said Belle.

“It’s out the back,” said Cara. “There’s a section of raised decking leading out from the kitchen. If you like we can—”

She was cut off by her phone ringing, and after glancing at the screen she pulled a face and sent them a guilty look.

“I do apologise,” she said fervently. “It’s my wife. She doesn’t call during viewings unless it’s urgent, so—”

“Oh please, take your time,” said Belle hurriedly.

She grasped Gold’s hand and pulled him up the driveway as Cara answered the phone, and Gold ran his eyes over the large brick-built garage with its painted roller-shutter door.

“Enough room for both our cars, easily,” he remarked. “Rush’s Ford will probably drip oil all over the paving, though.”

“He says it’s your car that’s the leaker,” said Belle absently, and Gold frowned.

“The Cadillac does not leak, she just - gets a head cold every now and then.”

“Mhmm.” Belle looked amused. “What do you think of the neighbourhood?”

“Pleasant,” said Gold, looking around. “Lots of green space, which I’m sure you’ll enjoy.”

“Yeah.” Belle whirled on her toes to face him, eyes sparkling. “Can we get a dog?”

“A dog?” Gold pursed his lips. “Who’s going to look after it when we’re at the university all day?”

“You could take it to class,” suggested Belle. “That’s an eccentric thing to do, isn’t it? You can get away with it because you’re Scottish.”

“I doubt that,” said Gold dryly.

“Well, it’s not too far from the university,” she persisted. “I could cycle back every lunchtime and walk the dog.”

“We’ll talk about it if and when we buy the place,” he said, and she huffed.

“Okay, that’s fair enough.”

“We can certainly get a couple of cats,” he added, and Belle squeaked in excitement, making him grin.

Cara had put her phone away and was hurrying towards them, looking harassed.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, almost wringing her hands. “My wife’s car has broken down. She’s stuck on the side of the road waiting for a tow-truck. Unfortunately, she was on her way to the airport to pick up her father, who’s coming to visit for Christmas. She’s asked if I can go instead. I’m so sorry, but I’ll have to postpone our viewing until later.”

“Oh.” Belle chewed her lip, looking disappointed, and Gold raised an eyebrow.

“Well, as we’re still waiting here anyway, why don’t we look over the house?” he suggested. “We could drop the keys back at the office in a couple of hours if you’re not back by then.”

“I really should be here to answer any questions you might have,” she said, running a hand through her hair in agitation. “Although I suppose two hours would get the job done. Are you sure you don’t mind looking around by yourselves?”

“Given that we have no idea when the third of our party will finally remember he has somewhere to be, I doubt it’ll be an issue,” said Gold, in a very dry tone, and Belle gave him a look.

“I’ll make a note of any questions we have as we’re going around,” she said, and Cara sighed heavily and dug in her bag, fishing out a set of keys and a sheaf of papers.

“Property particulars and room dimensions,” she said, handing them over. “I’ll be back by two, barring unforeseen circumstances.”

She hurried back to her car, heels clicking on the paving, and Belle and Gold shared a grin.

“Well,” he said. “Let’s take a look.”

The entrance hall was spacious and warm, a tiled floor leading to a sweeping staircase that led to the upper floor. The banisters were in warm, shining wood, and the tiles gleamed as though they had been mopped that morning. Gold suspected they had. He took a step forward, testing the surface with the end of his cane, but to his relief it wasn’t slippery. Getting around with a limp made some floor surfaces treacherous. Sunlight was shining in from the top of the stairs and from a window at the far end, and overall he thought it was a pleasant, welcoming space.

“Looks good so far,” he said, tucking the property particulars inside his coat. “Shall we explore?”

Belle went first, opening the first door she came to.

“Here’s the lounge,” she announced.

Gold followed her in. The lounge was large, the front windows of the house letting in plenty of light. The floors were covered in pale cream tiles, and Gold’s cane clicked as he walked. It was still furnished with a couple of large leather couches and an easy chair, grouped around a glass and chrome coffee table and a wide stone fireplace. The room had been emptied of anything else that might have hinted at the tastes of its owners, but the couches gave it a comfortable air.

“Ooh, we could have a log fire!” said Belle excitedly.

“In California?” remarked Gold, and she sent him a look.

“It can get cold here!” she insisted. “It’s cold today, isn’t it?”

“I suppose.” He walked slowly around the room. Beyond the hearth, the room turned a corner into a large open plan dining area, and he turned back to Belle before heading into it. “This is a nice room. Plenty of space, and enough light to read by for most of the day, I should think.”

“There’ll be more light at the rear,” she said. “It faces south.”

“So perhaps that’s where we should install the library,” he said, and wanted to grin at her beaming smile.

“Oh, so I get my library?” She walked towards him, swaying her hips in that infuriatingly alluring way she had when she was getting exactly what she wanted. “I knew I could talk you around.”

“I hardly took much convincing, as I recall,” he remarked, and Belle pouted, sliding her hands up his chest and letting her fingers push into his hair.

“Pity,” she said. “I thought of a few more methods of persuasion I could use to ensure we get a dog.”

Gold chuckled, one hand sliding around her waist to pull her closer.

“Oh, you can still use your wiles against me, Miss French,” he said lazily. “But perhaps we ought to finish looking over the house first.”

Belle rose up on her toes to kiss him, soft lips pressing against his before she settled back on her heels.

“I wonder if there are any other university types in the neighbourhood,” she said.

“Unlikely, unless they have another source of income,” said Gold. “We could ask the realtor what she knows about the residents of this area, though.”

“I’ll add it to the list of questions,” said Belle, still stroking the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m surprised she let us look over the place ourselves. I thought she’d tell us to come back another day.”

“I imagine the commission on this sale would be an extremely welcome Christmas present,” he remarked.

“I suppose.” She looked around. “It has a nice feel to it, doesn’t it?”

Gold thought about it for a moment. He was far from the superstitious type, preferring to go on facts and figures, and tangible evidence. On paper, at least, the property was both a good investment, and appeared to meet most, if not all, of their requirements. They would have a better idea of whether it was correctly represented when they had been over the place, but he thought he understood what Belle meant. There was a pleasant atmosphere, a warmth that didn’t just come from the underfloor heating.

“It’s - it’s certainly a good start,” he said, and kissed her again. “But I think we should look beyond the lounge before making a decision on this place.”

“Like the kitchen?” she said knowingly. “Okay, you’re on.”

Gold glanced out of the window over her shoulder as a flash of dark red caught his eye. His mouth flattened.

“Looks like someone finally got here,” he said, and Belle chuckled, wriggling from his arms and trotting into the hallway.

Gold followed more slowly, trying to keep the smile from his face as he saw her sprint down the driveway and fling herself on Rush almost before he had gotten out of the car. The force of her greeting knocked his glasses askew, and he was clearly trying to simultaneously keep his balance, close the car door and hug Belle. He made it by shoving the door shut with one hip and frantically grasping at his glasses before they could fall.

“You’re bloody late!” called Gold.

“Only five minutes.”

“More like twenty, but who’s counting?”

“You, apparently.”

“Stop bickering!” chided Belle, still hanging onto Rush. “Come on, I want us all to look over this house! I think it could be the one!”

“You said that about the last four,” said Rush, clutching her around the waist as they walked back up the driveway.

“Yes, and I have to be right at some point.”

He grunted in amusement, running a hand through hair already messy from the day. His stubble was growing through again, the winter sun glinting on his cheeks and chin. His shirt was also very wrinkled, and Gold suspected he had spent the previous night at the university, head down in some sort of research. He and Belle had spent the night at his place, curled up in each other’s arms, and had spent the early morning eating breakfast at his kitchen table before heading out. Rush’s own breakfast had probably been a pint of coffee and a few cigarettes, and if nothing else, he suspected that them all moving in together would be good for Rush’s health. At least he’d have two people around to nag him into eating and sleeping properly.

“And don’t even think about going back to the university when we’re done here,” added Belle. “It’s Christmas Eve, and I want both of my men firmly committed to the festive season. Here.” 

She pulled out of Rush’s grip as they reached the doorstep, pawing through her shoulder bag before pulling out a large handful of red plush and white faux fur and brandishing it with a beaming smile. Rush sighed heavily.

“What’s that?”

“Santa hats!” she said gleefully. “Come on, it’s Christmas!”

As if to demonstrate, she pulled one of the hats down on her dark curls, white pom-pom bouncing. Belle held up the other two hats, shaking them back and forth.

“I can already tell you that doesn’t go with my outfit,” remarked Gold, and Belle pouted at him.

“If you don’t have a Santa hat, you don’t get inside.”

“I’m already inside,” he pointed out, and Belle smirked.

“Who said I meant the house?” she said lightly.

Minx, he thought, and she grinned at him, bouncing on her toes as though she could read his mind. Rush grumbled under his breath, but reached for one of the hats.

“Tis the bloody season, I suppose,” he said, and tugged it down on his head. “Come on Gold, don’t be such a bloody Scrooge.”

Gold sent him a very level look, then sighed and held out his hand.

“Alright,” he grumbled. “But no pictures.”

“Oh, I’m not promising that,” said Belle airily, giving him the hat. “Now let’s go check out that hot tub.”

[raywritesthings]

Dog’s Best Friend 2/6

My Writing Fandom: Harry Potter Characters: Rubeus Hagrid, Sirius Black Summary: When Rubeus Hagrid is placed in the cell next to notorious murderer Sirius Black, truths are revealed and events are changed. *Can be read on my AO3 or FFN, links are in bio*

It had been a long time since Sirius had had company down here.

The truth was, he preferred it that way. No one around meant the more time he could spend in his Padfoot form, which helped dampen the effects of the Dementors in the moment. Even now, just standing here staring at his new dorm mate of sorts, he thought he could start to hear it…

“Lily and James! Sirius, how could you?”

Sirius gave an irritated shake of the head, trying to rid himself of the traitor’s voice. Across from him, Hagrid stepped back, fear and anger in his eyes.

“They can’ have placed me with yeh!”

“Don’t take it personally, Hagrid. You wouldn’t be in good company anywhere in this place.”

“Don’ yeh talk ter me.” Hagrid glared at him and nodded to the far wall with his head. “Go back an’ skulk in yer corner where yeh belong.” The giant man marched over to his own far corner and sat with his back to Sirius. He should have expected as much.

Sirius sighed but did retreat as asked. Of course Hagrid would hate him, thinking he had done what Peter claimed. He might still hate Sirius even if he knew the truth, because Lily and James and those innocent Muggles were all still dead over his mistakes regardless.

As if the Dementors had sensed both their dark moods, a guard glided down the steps towards the cells. Sirius did shrink back in his corner as Hagrid had requested, though more out of self-preservation than consideration.

He could hear Hagrid’s whimpers still, and it both grounded him in reality and frightened him, because as open as the Hogwarts gamekeeper had always been with his emotions, Sirius had never heard him sound abjectly afraid as that.

What was he doing in this miserable place? What crime had the Wizarding World decided to falsely ascribe to one of their own once again? He knew, of course, that his asking wouldn’t be welcomed.

Over the next few days, Hagrid grew worse. He moaned and mumbled in his sleep, sometimes words that sounded like Giant more than English. Sirius picked up a couple patterns, though.

“It wasn’ Aragog, Tom, yeh’ve got it all wrong!”

“Jus’ a little more water, dad… yeh need ter keep yer strength… please, dad…”

“I’ll miss yeh, Norbert. Yeh’ll be happier out in Romania, but- but yeh’ll always have a home here!”

These weren’t the murmurings of a hardened criminal. Any doubt Sirius might have had was cleared away, and he crept over to the bars between their cells.

“You’re innocent, Hagrid. Remember that. Hang onto it like it’s all you’ve got. You’re innocent.”

He could see the haze of misery and torment slowly leave Hagrid’s face as his words sunk in. His breathing grew less labored.

“You’re innocent,” Sirius repeated.

“Blimey,” Hagrid croaked weakly. He crawled over to the dish of somehow stale water that was refilled for each prisoner once a day. When he drank his fill — and Sirius was sure it wasn’t nearly enough for a man his size — he turned his dark eyes on Sirius with suspicion. “How’d yeh know that works?”

“Because it’s how I’ve retained my sanity here,” Sirius said, refusing to bow under Hagrid’s glare.

“Think yer innocent, do yeh?” He growled.

“Of murder? Yes. Of James and Lily’s deaths? No. I am to blame, Hagrid, because it was my plan that led Voldemort—”

Hagrid jumped. “Gulping Gorgons! He let yeh say his name?”

“He didn’t let me do anything. It will be a cold day in Hell before I ever obey Voldemort’s orders.” Hagrid still jumped, but refrained from saying anything. 

Elsewhere in the prison, the inmates were stirring. Perhaps they could sense their dear master’s name being uttered, for it was some of the most crazed whose voices echoed through the stone corridors.

“Curse the traitor! Curse him to ashes!”

“The Dark Lord, he will return for us!”

“If the double-crosser lived, I’d wring his neck like the Muggles! Filth!”

He could see Hagrid eyeing the steps that led up to those higher levels with fear.

“Who’re they talkin’ about?”

“The traitor in the Order. The one who ruined everything that Halloween night, for Voldemort and for me.” Sirius sighed. “Which is why I should have remained the Secret Keeper.”

“Thought yeh were their Secret Keeper.”

“That’s what we told everyone. That was our plan, to use me as a decoy. We thought we were so clever.” He huffed something like a laugh, but it came out weak and brittle. “Peter was the real Secret Keeper.”

“Peter Pettigrew? But yeh killed him,” Hagrid said as though he thought Sirius might have forgotten.

“I wish I had. That was the only thing I could think of once I let you take Harry. Revenge. The rat was counting on it, too. That’s how he lured me out in front of all those Muggles to shout that I had done it before cutting off his finger and blasting the rest of the street apart.”

“But then where’d he go?”

“Down the sewer, I expect. It’s where he belongs,” Sirius said with derision.

“Codswallop,” Hagrid said, leaning away again. “No sense Apparatin’ into a sewer.”

“He wouldn’t have Apparated. He’s got a much better way of disappearing.”

“Oh?”

Sirius eyed the large man. Hagrid was difficult to persuade, but once he was decided would be a friend for life. With no way of knowing how long he’d have to share this section of the prison with him, Sirius didn’t think he wanted to endure the hatred forever. And as long as Hagrid distrusted him, he wouldn’t be able to transform, one of the few creature comforts he had here.

He could have left Hagrid to the madness, of course. Waited till the place drained him of his sense of reality and then just let him believe he was seeing a Grim curled up in the corner. But it wouldn’t have been right.

“What I’m about to tell you has only ever been known by five people. Two of them are dead, and one presumed to be. Do you want to hear it?”

He watched and waited as Hagrid thought it over, both hoping and dreading that he might say yes. There would be no going back once he did.

---

Rubeus didn’t know whether it was the madness they said that set in here or something else, but the more that he thought over the things Black was saying, the more they started to make sense. More sense than what had happened, at least.

Why would the Potters have told the Order who their Secret Keeper was if they’d all known there might be a spy? James and Lily had been a clever pair; they wouldn’t have risked it.

Black was willing to say his own supposed Dark Lord’s name. Even Professor Snape up at the school never dared do that, and Professor Dumbledore vouched for his dedication to the light side personally.

Though if Black claimed he hadn’t been the one to blow up the street, why hadn’t they checked his wand? Why had none of this come up at the trial? Except, come to think of it, Rubeus couldn’t remember anything about a trial in the first place.

Surely there’d been one? Yet there’d been none for Rubeus himself either of the times he’d been accused of this Heir of Slytherin business. It wasn’t impossible that they’d chucked Black into Azkaban the same way they had him.

“Well, yeh can’t promise to tell someone somethin’ an’ not tell ‘em,” he said eventually.

Something flickered in Black’s eyes, like a little light sputtering briefly to life. “Alright. This is how Peter would have gotten away.”

He moved back onto his haunches and fluidly shifted form, fur sprouting from his arms, legs and face as his nose lengthened out into a snout and his ears stood straight up. Rubeus’ mouth dropped.

“Yeh- yer an Animagus!”

The great black dog stood in the next cell watching him. A different sort of fellow than Fang and far less healthy at that. Rubeus could easily count each of the animal’s ribs beneath the dirty fur. He padded forward, meeting him there as Rubeus only then noted he’d reached a hand out. Black allowed him to pat the top of his head once before sitting back, tail wagging twice before stilling.

“But yeh’ve got ter be illegal.”

The dog gave a nod before Black was suddenly sitting back in his place. “We all were. James, Peter and I. We taught ourselves the transformation in school, to keep Remus company in the Shack.”

Rubeus wondered at that for a moment. Three students mastering that kind of Transfiguration work, and under Professor McGonagall’s watch at that! All to help their friend, poor Remus Lupin.

“An’ yeh think Peter survived ‘cause of his bein’ an Animagus?”

“He could have easily slipped away. His form should have really been quite telling to us. He was a rat.”

Rubeus frowned. He personally believed rats, like many creatures, had an unfair reputation amongst humans, wizards and Muggles alike. But he’d read enough about Animaguses in the Hogwarts library to know that the form they took often spoke of some part of their true nature. As a symbol, the rat was clear.

And so was the dog. Loyalty, companionship.

He’d been so dismayed when the story had come out about Sirius betraying the Potters all those years ago. It had seemed unthinkable. Had that really been because it was unthinkable?

He retreated back to the far side of his cell for a time, needing to think some things over. If Sirius had been out for revenge after You-Know-Who’s fall, he wouldn’t have given little Harry up, would he have? He would have killed him. And with no trial, they never really had proved his guilt. Just like Rubeus.

The occasional rantings of the Death Eaters in their cells about the traitor filtered down to his ears. “Pettigrew! I’ll rip his sorry excuse for a spine out of his throat!” A frightening cackle followed that particular declaration from who Rubeus knew in his bones was Bellatrix Lestrange. The knowledge that he was laying only a few floors below You-Know-Who’s right-hand woman filled him with dread. But she would know better than anyone, wouldn’t she?

One night, after the Dementors finally drifted past their cells, Rubeus locked eyes with Sirius. The man responsible for him even still having his wits about him. “I believe yeh.”

Something almost like a smile twisted the thin lips in his waxen face.

Azkaban Prison, while by no means less miserable, became a far less lonely place now that he’d realized he had a friend to rely on.

Sirius knew the schedule of the Dementors like clockwork. He knew when food would be coming, and he even knew how many days Rubeus had been here. It helped to remind him he had had a life outside of here once. They both had.

He never asked about Harry, and that bothered Rubeus until he realized why. The few times he thought about those kids, the Dementors would swoop in, sensing the fond memories. They hungered for them. So soon, Rubeus did his best not to think about Harry, Ron or Hermione either, except when he worried about them.

The days went on, and no word or visits from Professor Dumbledore sank his spirits. Was he really so busy, or was it his dislike for Azkaban keeping him away? He knew the Headmaster believed in his innocence, unlike with Sirius. But if Professor Dumbledore would only come to see him, Rubeus could help to explain all of that, too.

He told Sirius all about the Chamber, how he had been blamed fifty years ago and gotten expelled, and how Minister Fudge had gotten the papers together to have him sent here now that people were being petrified again.

“Forgive me if this is blunt, but Hagrid… you’re half-giant, yes?”

Rubeus frowned. “An’ if I am?”

“It seems ridiculous to me that you would care anything at all about petrifying muggleborns, then.” Sirius leaned his head back and arched an eyebrow. “Particularly when purebloods are the ones who have given the giants such trouble over the years.”

Rubeus shrugged helplessly. “Don’ like drawin’ attention to it. Makes things more difficult for me.”

“Yes, I suppose it would.” Sirius lapsed into silence then, and Rubeus allowed it. They could go days sometimes just saying nothing, each of them wondering how long this might go on.

Once in a while, Rubeus thought of a question.

“Why don’ yeh just slip the bars an’ leave here one o’ these days? Yer thin enough in yer Animagus form.”

“And go where? I couldn’t see Harry, couldn’t check on anyone from the old days. I’d be hunted down until I was recaptured for the Dementor’s Kiss.” They both shuddered.

Tom’s voice still came now and then when the Dementors were near. His dad’s feeble gasps of breath, too. But they were never as intense as those first few days, now that he had the mantra of innocent, innocent drilled into his head.

Sirius visited him in his cell in his dog form often, for which he was grateful. In that stage between sleeping and waking, he could pretend it was Fang’s head resting on his leg back home in his hut.

And that’s when the idea came to him. “Yeh do have somewhere ter go. With me!”

The great black dog looked up at him, blinking in a way that clearly said he thought Rubeus had cracked again.

“Soon as the real Heir goes back ter terrorizin’ the school, they’ll have ter see they were wrong abou’ me,” Rubeus reasoned. “They’ll have ter let me out. And when they do, I’ll be goin’ back ter Hogwarts.” He sat up straighter in his excitement as the plan started to fall into place in his head. “Yeh wait a few days, slip out o’ here and swim ter shore. I’ll meet yeh, and say a friend o’ mine gifted me a new dog fer all the trouble I’ve had lately. Then yeh can stay at Hogwarts with no one the wiser!”

The dog stood up and changed back into Sirius. “That’s not a bad thought. You’re sure Dumbledore won’t want to know where I’ve come from?”

Rubeus waved a hand. “Never asked before. Respects me privacy, he does. He’s a great man, no matter what Lucius Malfoy an’ his ilk have to say.”

“This is all assuming you ever get out of here, mind,” Sirius pointed out, and he felt his excitement drain as quickly as if a Dementor had just glided into the space. Sirius transformed again and returned to his own cell, curling up on the floor.

It had been nearly two months. Was he really going to be here the rest of his days?

[girls-scenarios]

Tripping Into You

Idol: Dami (Dreamcatcher)

Prompt: witch!au where dreamcatcher dami stumbles into reader's little witch shop and accidentally knocks potions over and hurts reader in the process. tyyysm

Writer: Admin Kiwi

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this one! Also, I was thinking about starting a Dreamcatcher horror!au so be on the lookout for that!

Dami had always been prone to being clumsy. Her friends teased her that she couldn’t get a drink without spilling it all over herself, ad she had a tendency to trip over her own two feet. And although she’d gotten better through the years, it seemed like she was just going to be clumsy for the rest of her life.

Which was why she shouldn’t have been surprised when taking shelter in a tiny store from a sudden thunderstorm ended in broken glass.

She’d passed the shop before, tucked back behind the bigger buildings and a little off the beaten path, but she’d never actually stepped inside until today. As she dried her feet on the welcome mat and tried not to drip water everywhere, she looked around.

The store was just as small inside as it looked on the outside, but it was decorated with soothing colors and gems on shelves. As she stepped down into the shop, it hit her that she’d never seen anything advertising what the store was for, which was weird. How did it stay open and operate when it didn’t even show up when she searched nearby shops on Google?

Curious, she moved closer to a shelf full of vials and bottles of varying sizes and shapes, some with clear liquid inside and others with colors and plants inside that she’d never seen. The shelf where they were sitting had labels under each row of bottles, put they were strange. Healing, Love, Calming, Sleep. Were they essential oils, maybe?

“Hello there, can I help you find anything?” Dami jumped violently and flailed her arms as she spun around, causing one of the bottles to go flying off the shelf. You moved quickly, but not quickly enough, and she watched, frozen, as the bottle shattered, sending liquid and glass up at your hand. You let out a little yelp, and Dami’s heart sank. She’d done it again.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry, I’ll pay for it- are you okay?” As you came back up, Dami noticed the wince on your face and the blood on your hand.

“I’ll be fine, I just need to grab some things from the back,” you said, giving her a pained smile, but she couldn’t help but feel incredibly bad, wringing her hands together.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, I’m sure it was an accident.” Quickly, Dami reached into her purse and pulled out a band-aid. Your eyebrows shot up.

“Please at least use this. It’s all I have so I hope the injury isn’t too bad.... I wish I wasn’t so clumsy.” Slowly, a real smile made its way onto your face, and you accepted the bandage in her hand.

“Thank you. Do you want to sit down? I’ll be right back out.” You stepped back and nodded towards a few chairs near the beaded door to the back, and Dami swallowed, nodding slowly and tucking her hands into her pockets to keep them safely away.

As you disappeared into the back, she sat down carefully and continued to look around. Where she was sitting, there was a small coffee table surrounded by a few chairs, and she could see more shelves now. Some were covered in crystals, others in books, and there was even a section that looked like it was full of spices. But she had a feeling that they weren’t for eating.

“Okay, I’m back.” The beads rattled as you came back through with a broom and mop, bandage on your finger, and she winced.

“Do you want me to help clean up?” You raised your eyebrows, a smile on your face.

“No offense, but from what I’ve seen, it might be better if you stay there and let me handle it.” She could feel her face heating up, but she knew you were right, and settled back into her chair, busying herself with reading the title of the book on the coffee table.

Understanding Your Future

She narrowed her eyes and took one more look around the shop, finally getting an idea of where she was.

“Alright, that’s done,” you said, walking back over and dusting off your hands on your pants, knocking her out of her thoughts. “Now, did you come in looking for anything in particular?” Dami let out a little laugh and tugged awkwardly at her hair.

“Well, not really. I was just trying to avoid the storm outside.” Speaking of the storm, she glanced out the door. It was still pouring outside, and she didn’t have an umbrella, so she wasn’t going to be able to go anywhere.

“I thought so.” She raised her eyebrows and looked back at you. You were smiling as you sat down in the chair in front of her. “You don’t know what this shop is, do you?” Were you reading her mind?”

“I don’t, actually. Sorry.”

“No need to be sorry. Everyone starts somewhere.” You gestured around the shop. “Welcome to my store, Witch’s Corner.” Dami had been right. But instead of being a little freaked out, like she’d thought she’d be, she found herself interested. And it probably had something to do with the fact that she kept getting lost in your eyes.

“I have plenty of time before this storm lets up. Why don’t you teach me a little about what you do?” You beamed, and Dami felt her heart jump a little in her heart. Maybe this storm wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

“I would love to. Let’s start with names first. I’m (Y/N).”

“I’m Dami.”

“That’s such a pretty name.” You smiled and pulled out one of the drawers of the coffee table, and Dami could feel butterflies forming in her stomach. “What would you like to learn more about?”

“I’m willing to learn whatever you’ll teach me.” You were so bright that, for a moment, Dami forgot all about the storm and the errands she was supposed to be running, watching you spread out cards and little booklets on the table with an excited twinkle in your eyes. She wouldn’t mind staying here forever.

“Then let’s get started!”

[draw-you-coward]

post-shadowbringers! will contain whatever spoilers are relevant.

ao3

~*~

“Are you sure Urianger will want to go swimming?” Ryne sounds as if she knows the answer to her question, and it is ‘no.’ “I don’t think he likes the water very much.”

“Nonsense!” Thancred mouths the word along with Ikael’s loud exclamation. Ikael continues, oblivious, “He will be very excited, I am sure. I bought a bathing suit for him and everything!”

Thancred had, unfortunately, accompanied him on that particular shopping trip to Eulmore. “Ikael thinks his excitement about something is unavoidably infectious,” he calls over his shoulder. “Wait until he bullies you into a shopping spree ‘because it’s fun, Thancred!’”

He pitches his voice into a whiny approximation of Ikael’s. It must be accurate, because Ryne’s wide eyes go wider, and she claps her hands over her mouth to stifle a laugh. It doesn’t work, although funnier yet is the look on Ikael’s face.

“I—J—Wh—Oh,” he stammers, tacking on what Thancred is sure is his attempt at a glower. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy that. Who was it who spent half a bell in the children’s section worrying over two identical bathing suits because you ‘didn’t know whether Ryne would like the green or the purple one better? Help me pick, Ikael, ohh,’” He lays a dramatic hand across his forehead. “‘I am so-o-o lost without your amazing fashion advice, won’t you please help m-e-e?’”

Thancred refuses to be made to feel embarrassed over his diligence. Still. “I don’t sound like that,” he gripes. His voice can't go that high.

He pretends not to notice Ryne’s stare, and continues to march forwards, keeping his head high. Inwardly, his heart warms at seeing hers so light at their banter, even if the actual shopping trip had been decidedly less innocent and had mostly involved… Ikael only, of course, making suggestive comments about the… shapes of the merchandise on offer. In what was most decidedly not the children’s section. City of paradise indeed.

Maybe he’ll tell Ryne about the flaming nipple brassiere when she’s older. Maybe. Because that one had actually been quite funny.

“Did you really buy me something?” Ryne has trotted up to him. “Thancred?”

He glances down at her, which is a mistake, because it makes him smile and he is still supposed to be stoically taciturn to balance out Ikael. “Of course,” he says. “The opportunity to pointlessly spend even more time here but in less clothing cannot be missed. More to the point, Ikael loves wasting money on things like these.”

“Mhm!” Ikael hums brightly.

“See?”

“But… what else is in the bag?” Ryne shoots a furtive glance at the large sac Ikael is hauling on his back, heavy and fit to bursting. “It can't just be clothing, right?”

Thancred snorts. “You’d be surprised,” he says dryly. “But not all of it, no. Ikael has simply gone over the top. Trust me when I say that I stopped him as much as I was able to.”

(“I am not wearing that thing around Ryne,” Thancred warns. Ikael rolls his eyes, but nods, and then tosses it in their shopping cart nevertheless. Thancred takes it back out.

“And neither are you,” he adds glacially.)

“We’re here!” Ikael declares, dropping the bag. It flops gracelessly on the ground. He glances around the decidedly empty beach. “Where is Urianger?”

“Either in Eulmore on a last-minute shopping trip for arm-floats,” Thancred intones, “or late from fishing out the information from his contact here that we are actually meeting for.”

“It isn’t like him to be late.” Ryne looks around worriedly, cradling her hands to her chest. “Do you think he got into trouble?”

“And delay his chance to spoil you rotten?” Thancred smiles at her lightly. “Do not worry; I am sure he’s fine. Here, why don’t you go change?”

He kneels down and tugs the bag open, beginning to sort through it. More towels than the four of them will need, dresses for Ryne… sleeping clothes for Ryne, socks for Ryne, leggings for Ryne, at least five completely differently styled shirts for Ryne… is that an umbrella? Thancred shakes his head. Gods help him. And Urianger is the one who spoils her.

He finally finds the (purple) bathing suit. It is nice, he thinks: simple, with little frills on the arms and a cute picture of a unicorn on the front. …The green one had a frog. They weren’t completely identical.

“That outcropping over there.” He nods at it as he hands the bathing suit to Ryne. “Go on.”

She goes. Thancred looks at Ikael, and asks, “Be a good chap and search for Urianger?”

“Fifty gil that he’s drowning,” Ikael replies sadly, but nods and trots off. He is good at this sort of thing—Thancred is certain he will arrive just in time to pull Urianger from the jaws of (possibly aquatic) death, or something of the sort. He even thinks he notices Ikael jot something down in his journal as he leaves. Odd fellow.

Thancred takes his coat off, laying it on the ground to sit on as he undresses. He had worn his new and soon-to-be-thrown-away bathing suit underneath his armour, because he does not want to risk flashing a child. He hesitates to put his gunblade aside, silly as it might seem, but they have done a thorough perimeter check, and should be safe.

Probably. Thancred lays it trigger side facing him, just in case.

Ryne comes back out as he is sorting through the—many, many—towels, and he ties her hair into a bun and he reassures her that yes, Ikael will be back soon, and yes, surely Urianger will be fine, and no, of course he didn’t skip out on beach evening, because why would he do something like that? He probably got eaten by a fish or something of the sort; Ikael will fish him up. Yes, he is certain Ikael somehow has a fishing rod hidden somewhere on his person.

Ikael does indeed come back soon, with an Urianger that looks no worse for the wear in tow. If he is holding himself a little stiffly, that is of course neither here nor there. If Thancred will take a peek in Ikael’s journal afterwards to find out what happened, that is also neither here nor there.

“This is the part where you give me money!” Ikael declares in a lackluster sort of voice.

“What?” says Thancred.

“Prithee forgive me for mine tardiness.” Urianger bows deeply. Ryne rushes forward to hug him, and he straightens up with a ridiculously soft expression. Great. Thancred is surrounded.

Ikael walks over to him. “Norvrandt keeping you in shape, yeah?” he says alongside a lingering look.

“I thought you didn’t approve of my ‘regression from rugged mountain man?’” Thancred comments. He nods at the rocky outcropping. “Don’t strip in front of Ryne, please.”

“I still have eyes, Thancred,” Ikael complains, and begins to strip not in front of Ryne, who isn’t looking, but at least in front of Urianger, who unfortunately happens to be facing in his direction. The latter tries to both keep Ryne’s attention and subtly shield his eyes, which is incredibly amusing to watch, Thancred will admit. Thankfully, Ikael seems to have done as Thancred has, although he could have said so before pulling his brais down and nearly giving him a heart attack.

Thancred's eyes are immediately drawn to a new scar along Ikael’s stomach; still fresh and pink, although seemingly magically reduced. He notes the placement (painful), estimates the age, estimates the recovery time, and frowns internally. Ikael has… gone back to the Source only once since journeying with Ryne and himself, right? Other than that, when…?

“I must say, I appreciate the attention,” Ikael says with a slanted smile. It is just as Thancred is about to shelve thoughts of how aware he should be of his companion’s injuries (Ryne’s he can notice without much difficulty, but the fact that he cannot with Ikael is more troubling to him than it should be). “Do you want me to do a spin?”

Thancred quirks his lips and makes a rotating motion with his hand. Ikael gasps in faux delight before preening and doing a showy little twirl, his tail curling extra dramatically at the end of it.

He bows, to singular applause. “Oh, wow!” cries Ryne, looking as if she is being completely genuine. “You know, you could be a dancer!”

“Thine star wouldst be ill prepared for such a turn of fate’s wheel,” Urianger tells her. Thancred holds back a snort of amusement, not wanting to tip Ikael off that he is being insulted. Ikael himself does not seem to know what to make of the comment, but after a second or so he seems to give up trying to puzzle it out and beams, bowing once more.

“Thank you, thank you!” he says. He cocks his hand on his hip. “So, Urianger, guess what I bought you…?”

~*~

The sunset over Kholusia is still a new sight, and they are all taking the time to appreciate it. Ryne especially so. She is sitting in the shallows with Ikael, apparently content to simply share his company in silence. Thancred and Urianger are lying on the shore on a pile of many towels, having finished their debriefing some time ago.

Urianger wrings out a corner of his skirt. He and Ikael had compromised; Urianger would go in the water, but only if he did not have to change into “yonder scant… garment.”  The result had been some teasing, a lot of enthusiastic splashing, and one very nervous astrologian arching his neck as much as he could.

“So,” Urianger says into the setting sun and the beach’s gentle breeze, “How fareth thine nascent liaison with Ikael? To mine own eye, all seemeth well.”

“’Tis not a liaison,” Thancred returns, half-hearted but still aware just in case Urianger is reading things the wrong way. “He does not quite… work like that, you know.”

“Full aware am I of the reach of his heart.” Urianger’s voice is warm with something like fondness, and when Thancred glances at him, he sees nothing but understanding in his gaze. “Thou must forgive me; I thought it an apt word regardless of its nuance. Thou wilt admit ‘tis an ambitious venture to find a suitable substitute.”

Thancred looks away. “I suppose so,” he says. “Well, things are going well. Quite well, I’d say. He has made me aware that some of my goals may require more than simply mine own efforts to fulfil properly. He notices where I’m lacking, when I might not.”

“’Tis foolish to not accept aid when it ist readily given,” Urianger agrees sagely. “There lieth no shame on yonder path.”

“I know.” Thancred leans back, staring up at the sky. “I will admit it is difficult to let my guard down enough to, say, be more affectionate. But it is easier when we are alone, and Ikael says that is enough for him and Ryne to know that I care.”

Even now, it feels somewhat awkward to speak of things like these, accustomed as he is to avoiding the subject. But now what is done is done, and he does not have to avoid anything any longer. Urianger nods.

“’Twill take time to adjust, and thou hast that now in spades,” he says. “Thou hast also Ikael, and his patience. And Ryne’s barest expectations to exceed.”

“Ouch,” Thancred says dryly. But he acknowledges the apt commentary with a faint smirk. “Yes, I do. I have my second chance, and I will not despoil it. Not like I did with Minfilia.”

Urianger eyes him knowingly, but says nothing. After a moment, he slowly lies down next to Thancred.

“Speaking of Ikael,” Thancred remarks, keeping his tone light, “Did you notice the scar on his stomach? Do you know when he got that injury?”

Urianger’s pause is telling. Still, Thancred does not wholly expect it when he answers, “Three suns ago, he hath told me.”

Three days? Thancred looks at Ikael instinctively. He is telling Ryne some kind of story, enthusiastic and animated. And yes, now that Thancred is looking, he notices the slight stiffness in his gesticulations, and how he is not moving his arms too high. Godsdammit. And if Ikael was speaking to Thancred, expecting his observation? Would he notice then?

“You were the one who expedited its healing.” Thancred speaks to the cloudless sky. It couldn’t have been anyone else, not that recently. Urianger nods, and Thancred's lids droop.

“Did he want you to ease the pain, or…?”

“He wished to reduce the wound’s appearance to hide it from thy discerning gaze.” Urianger’s voice is kind and quiet. “He didst not wish for thee to worry.”

Thancred says nothing. Urianger continues, in the same tone, “He ist not indomitable, thou knowest very well. Although perhaps thine visible attitude on the matter hath affected the extent of what he is prepared to reveal to thee. I wouldst fain assume thou art not the only soul who hath learnt to hide his pains.”

Thancred counts his breaths. After three of them, he says, “It’s always the nice ones who hide it the best, isn’t it?”

Urianger replies, “Kindness ist an act of voluntary will, and not a state of being as many wouldst presume.”

Thancred smiles wanly. “Then you, being a kind man, will forgive me when I say that I still feel as if I should have noticed. And… Ikael of all people. It hasn’t even been that long for him; I should have…”

Urianger shakes his head. “Do not insult him with thine presumption that he ist not as complex as one such as thyself,” he says. “And do not despair over his desire to not be known in whole. It shall come in time, as it will with thee also.”

Thancred exhales a warm puff of air. Urianger is right, he realizes. Besides, Thancred himself would be a hypocrite to lecture Ikael on not revealing the full extent of his injuries. It doesn’t mean either of them should be doing it, but…

Thancred reaches out blindly, searching for Urianger’s shoulder. He squeezes it briefly before letting his hand lay limp. “Thank you.”

“I am ever here to be of service,” Urianger replies in a somewhat pointed tone. Thancred almost rolls his eyes; what was it Alisaie had said? Ah yes: to live somewhere less annoying next time. Then maybe they will visit him more often.

Ryne and Ikael are coming over to them, the latter somehow managing to walk in a crooked line that directly blocks Thancred's sunlight (he is doing it on purpose, Thancred is nearly certain). Ryne smiles at him, happy and bright from whatever fun she had been having with Ikael, and he finds himself smiling back.

“Come on,” he mutters, patting the space between him and Urianger. There are enough towels layered across the beach for the entirety of the Scions to lay on without so much as touching a grain of sand. Ryne’s face lifts, and she scuttles over.

 “Wherefore art these sandy feet sullying mine robes?” Urianger bemoans dramatically. Ryne giggles, dragging her toes against his skirts. “Alas! Thou hast bested me, scourge of the sands.”

“Is he trying to tell me to fight Ravana again?” Ikael murmurs as he settles in on Thancred's other side. Thancred feels the wet smack of a tail against his leg.

“No, he is saying that you are dirtying all of these lovely towels that you bought with your disgusting little monk feet.” Thancred tips his head to fall towards Ikael. A warm arm presses against his. “More or less.”

“Is that what Urianger is saying or is that what Thancred is saying?” Ikael mumbles. Predictably, his eyes begin to close.

“Thancred is saying that if you start making like an octopus while you sleep, he will leave you here with only your exorbitant towels for company,” Thancred warns. Even as he says it, Ikael’s arm stretches out across his abdomen, trapping him. Thancred thinks he feels a leg start to move.

“’Tis too late now,” Urianger rumbles sagely. Ryne giggles, reaching out to join Ikael’s hand. Five minutes later, she is also asleep.

“Like one child, like another,” Thancred mutters to himself, although he does not mind. Why does everyone keep falling asleep on him all the time? He blames Ikael for starting it.

“Thou art childish enough to protest,” Urianger responds, which Thancred thinks is his way of telling him to shut up. “Now lay near thine family and be at peace.”

So Thancred does just that.

~*~

[stillthewordgirl]

LOT/CC fic: (I Don’t Believe in) Destiny (Ch. 2 of 11)

Leonard Snart is back, finally pulled from the timestream where he's spent the last four years. But he wasn't alone, and the repercussions of that will echo through the Legends, the Time Bureau, and beyond.

----

Can also be read here at AO3 or here at FF.net.

Title: All the Stages We Passed Through

Present

“You haven’t seen her at all?”

Mick Rory folds his arms and scowls at the woman on the Waverider’s main screen. “Answer ain’t changed in the past minute.”

Ava pinches her nose with her fingers, looking like he’s making her headache worse. Mick feels victorious.

He figures that if that’s the most he does to Bureau Chick considering that she’s talking about bringing back the same damned thing that killed Snart—well, she’s getting off easy. (And he doesn’t believe for a second that Sara’s gonna let her get away with that, or he’d be doing a hell of a lot more. He’s already decided he’s going to kill Druce. Again. The question is simply when.)

But Bureau Chick really doesn’t seem aware of any of this. Which seems kinda odd, because Mick might not like her, but she’s not stupid.

“Well,” she sighs, as Mick hears at least one of the others—Haircut, he’s pretty sure it’s Haircut, and probably Pretty too—wander on to the bridge behind him. “If…when…you see her. Tell her… it’s not what she thinks.”

Mick doesn’t ask. “Got it.”

The screen turns blank, and Mick turns around, noticing Haircut’s frown and Pretty’s look of confusion. (So what else is new?)

Ray stares at the screen, then looks back at Mick. “She’s looking for Sara?” he asks. “But…Sara went to the Bureau, to try to get a time courier. Hours ago. What happened? Do you think she’s OK? Should we go looking for her?”

Mick sighs, put upon. “Tell ‘em, Gideon,” he instructs, leaning against a jumpseat.

The AI speaks up promptly. “Ms. Lance has been in contact with us, Dr. Palmer,” she says. “A while ago. However, she asked that Mr. Rory and I not tell Director Sharpe that. She said just to wait, and she’d be back in touch.”

Haircut looks confused. “You lied?”

Mick rolls his eyes. And Gideon’s silence is the sort that he knows could easily be translated as “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“I obeyed the command of my captain, Dr. Palmer,” she says finally. “And you may wish to consider why she asked me to do so. Especially given recent events.”

*

When Sara had first started visiting the Time Bureau in this time and place, the dynamic had been so contentious that it’d seemed only practical to figure out a safehouse of sorts nearby. She’d found a place—a former office building in an unlikely section of town, unlikely to be sold or rented to anyone new—and set it up, figuring it was better to have a bolt-hole than not.

She’d never expected to be hauling one Leonard Snart in there.

Leonard seems…dazed. Far from his usual sharp intellect and gaze. He just stares at Sara as she gently pushes him down on the battered secondhand sofa there. And then she sees his wrists—and the ragged, raw wounds around them.

“What the…” She takes a deep breath, holds it a moment, then lets it out slowly. Her first thought, running into Leonard in the Bureau hall, had been that they’d found him after all, and that Ava had lied. But it’s not adding up, none of these little details, and she needs to know more.

Especially just who or what Snart this is.

And so, she sits down opposite him, trying not to hope, and tries to sound like the businesslike captain and not a woman who…who…

“I need to know,” she tells the man, trying for calm. “If you’re the Leonard Snart from this time and this Earth, tell me something only I would know.”

Leonard’s brow furrows as he looks at her. “This time?” he murmurs. “This Earth?” But then he shakes his head roughly and focuses, blue eyes intent in a way that does things to Sara’s stomach.

“You kissed me,” he says quietly. “At the Oculus.” He looks down at his arms. “You had to pull yourself up, and I couldn’t let go, but…”

It’s enough and too much. “OK,” Sara says abruptly, getting up as quickly as she’d sat down. “You’re you. OK. I’ll be right back.”

Because this safehouse is meant for the Legends, of course there are plenty of first-aid supplies. Sara fills a basin with warm water, and takes that, a soft cloth and some disinfectant back to where Leonard is still sitting, brow furrowed, a rather distant expression still on his face. A variant of shock, she thinks, barely willing to truly accept that it’s him now, really him.

Sara puts the basin down next to him, then wrings out the cloth, reaching out tentatively to take his left hand. Same callouses, she notes. The very same.

Leonard doesn’t flinch or pull away. Shock, Sara thinks again. She gently starts wiping at the raw wounds, and he still doesn’t move, despite what must be considerable pain.

“Did the Time Bureau do this?” she asks quietly, after a moment.

It takes Leonard a long minute to respond.

“I don’t know what the Time Bureau is,” he tells her, sounding just a little more like the sardonic Len she knows…remembers. His lip curls. “Sounds annoying. But, no, that rat bastard Druce did this.”

Sara freezes, then keeps working. “But…”

Leonard doesn’t seem to hear her. “One minute I was in…in the same nothing I’d been in since the Oculus blew up, then I’d landed hard on the floor.” He shakes his head roughly. “He’d been ready, and I…I wasn’t in good shape. Next thing I knew, he had me bound, and…that was it. Not sure how long.”

“How?”

Leonard manages to focus on her, and he seems to realize what’s behind the intense question. “He has this watch gadget,” he mutters. “It opened some kinda portal. Boom.”

No doubt what that is. “Druce has a time courier? But…” She stops. It doesn’t matter right now. The water in the basin is pink, and she starts on the other wrist, letting Leonard rest the other on the basin rim.

“Sara,” he says after a moment, roughly. “How long?”

She’s not going to pretend. “About four years,” she tells him, feeling his flinch then. “A little less.”

“Mick?”

No other words are needed in the question, but Sara’s pleased to be able to give good news here. “Mick is fine,” she tells him, eyes on her work, trying to remove ground-in debris without causing more pain than she has to. “He’s good. He’s still a Legend, and he…did you know he writes? He’s published now. He’s OK, Leonard.”

She’s sure it’s not her imagination that a little tension goes out of him. Then: “Lisa?”

Now Sara hesitates. “You have to realize…” she says carefully, “we all thought you were dead…”

“And you told her.” Leonard’s voice is calm, more accepting than she would have thought. “But…is she OK?”

As OK as she can be. “Yes.” Sara wrings out the cloth again. The water is a much darker pink now. “She is. Cisco keeps tabs on her. She’s traveling, checks in from time to time.”

Leonard sighs. He’s quiet as Sara carries the basin back across the small room, and quiet as she sits down again, taking his left hand again and starting to wind some gauze loosely around his wounds.

After a moment, Sara starts talking again, just to get it out. “Rip’s gone,” she tells him, eyes on his wrist. “Presumed dead.” A pause. “Martin…he died.” She really doesn’t want to go into it more, not at the moment. “And Jax left the team. So did Kendra and Carter—yeah, that’s a long story—after we defeated Savage.” She finishes that wrist, lifts her eyes to his. “It’s just me, Mick, and Ray left, of the original eight.”

Leonard’s gaze is steady. “And you’re captain.”

“Yes.”

She waits for more questions, but in vain. He’s silent, and so is she, as she wraps his other wrist, securing the gauze with a clip.

“There’s a shower,” Sara says after a moment, “and there are some shaving supplies in there, if you want. I kept this place stocked up for any of the Legends who might need to use it.” She glances up at him. “I mean. If you want to.”

Leonard smirks, just a little. “What,” he drawls, and oh hell, she’s missed that drawl, “you don’t like the beard?” He reaches out to touch it, as if he doesn’t remember just how long it’s become, then frowns and glances in the mirror to their left. “Gray,” he mutters.

Sara almost smiles at his vanity because, well, it is—though not unattractive. But she also can’t avoid noticing just how thin he looks.

“Food?” she asks. “I can go get some kinda takeout.”

Leonard’s eyes flicker. He understands what she’s not saying.

“Wouldn’t say no,” he says, and they’ve both won another brief reprieve from feelings.

*

“Oh, bloody hell!” Charlie shouts, turning and scowling at them all indiscriminately. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?!

The Waverider’s bridge is in an uproar, but Mick is just standing there, staring at nothing in particular and letting the chaos wash over him. He’s still digesting this, trying to figure out how he feels, if he believes it. Sara…Sara wouldn’t tell him this, of all things, without being sure, but…

“Snart,” Constantine muses, leaning against the holotable. “Leo’s doppelganger here? Presumably without the guy at home?” He nods, once, smirking. “Sign me up.”

“Leo’s his doppelganger,” Mick mutters, but not loud enough for anyone to hear him. He turns to face the others, still unwilling to chime in more…yet.

Zari rolls her eyes at British. “I don’t think that’s the part of all this that’s got everyone upset.” She glances at Haircut. “He was one of the original Legends? The one you all thought died at the Vanishing Point?”

“Yeah.” Haircut looks upset. Well, Snart had taken his place—or, Mick’s place, after everything. “Sara doesn’t think the Bureau knew Druce had him…but we can’t be sure, not yet. She said they’re gonna lie low, in case the Bureau is watching the ship, and we can pick them up tomorrow.”

Charlie folds her arms, still scowling. “I don’t know why any of you lot, with what you told me about this Oculus thing, are giving those wankers the benefit of the doubt at all,” she points out. “They want to control people, to control time. Your boy Snart was being held captive there and from what Sara said, he was a bit the worse for wear. They have this Druce character, the one who was your real big bad back in the beginning. What else is there to know!?”

“This is also the one that was part of the Legion, though,” Pretty points out, looking a bit uncomfortable as he glances at Mick. “Are you sure…”

But Haircut glares at his friend before Mick can. “That was an earlier Snart. Right, Mick?” He looks earnestly—well, he does almost everything earnestly—at Mick. “Before the Flash, before the Legends. And the Legion kinda lied to him. That wasn’t the Snart we knew.”

Mick still thinks there was more to it than that, but… “Yeah.”

And Sara would know, he thinks. She’d know. He’ll still feel better when Gideon confirms it, but she’d know.

He doesn’t pray. He hasn’t done that since before his mom died. But he hopes.

He really, really hopes.

*

The man who walks back out of the bathroom, more or less clean-shaven and scrubbed, looks far more like the Leonard she remembers, except for the odd tentativeness in his eyes where there used to be snarky confidence.

And the fact that he’s not wearing a shirt. Yeah, that too.

Sara rips her gaze away from scars and skin to focus on the gaze again, registering the mix of amusement and awkwardness there. Leonard lets the black leather jacket in his hand fall to the floor by the door and shrugs, folding his arms.

“There weren’t any shirts in there,” he says, with a quick glance down at the borrowed sweatpants that are both a little too big and a little too short. “And I’ll be damned if I’m putting the…the dirty one back on.” His shoulders hunch, and Sara wonders just how long he’d been trapped. “Prefer to save the jacket, if I can. But…”

“It’s OK,” Sara tells him quickly. “I think there are a few out here.” She gets up, waving a hand at the take-out boxes on the table. “Um. I didn’t want to go far. Chinese OK?”

Leonard takes a step forward, eyebrows lifting. “I’ve been getting Druce’s leftovers, if that, so…

It’s an opening, but Sara chooses not to take it. Not yet. She doesn’t want to think of Leonard at Druce’s mercy, because Druce isn’t anywhere she can make him pay right now—and she’s very, very sure she’s going to want to.

Instead, though, Sara just turns away, clearing her thoughts, going to a battered dresser and pulling out a blue T-shirt in approximately the right size, which she tosses his way without looking. “If you want,” she says, staring briefly at the cabinet and thinking of the tracery of pale scars before turning around. “Just…if you want.”

When she does turn around, Leonard has pulled the shirt on, giving her a brief smile as he reaches for a carton of kung pao chicken. So Sara smiles too, and grabs another container, and that’s enough seriousness for now.

*

“What are we going to do about Druce?”

Haircut’s voice is low and serious. Mick looks up from his typewriter, ready to protest this intrusion into his quarters, then sighs at the look on the other man’s face.

He’s changed, he thinks. Snart wouldn’t…won’t recognize him. But he knows, he knows how Haircut’s feeling, given that Snart had ultimately taken his place and his death. (Mick’s place. Mick’s death.)

“We kill him,” he says shortly. “One way or another. I don’t care what Bureau Chick says. He’s trouble. More than trouble. Disaster.”

Ray perches gingerly on one of Mick’s chairs. “You think Sara will be OK with that?”

“Don’t care.” But Mick sighs. Haircut is the last one, besides Sara, who really gets this. “Well,” he says, taking his glasses off and putting them aside, rubbing his forehead, “yeah, I do.” They’re the only three original Legends left, he thinks with a pang. He hadn’t really wanted to come on this wild ride—that’d been Snart, and he’s still not sure ultimately why—but he had, and he’d changed, and that was how it was.

“I think…” he says, choosing his words carefully—and that’s a big difference too, a huge one, “I think that Sara’s gonna want to do the killing herself. An’ if anything, we might have to stop her from doing it too messy.”

Haircut blinks at him. “But,” he says slowly, “the Bureau…”

“Won’t matter.” Mick hesitates again. This ain’t his story to tell, not really. And frankly, he’d only put a lot of pieces together afterward.

“Won’t matter,” he repeats, looking down at the keys. “Blondie’s gonna want to off him herself. You’ll see.”

*

Leonard, after eating a fairly decent amount of spicy chicken, has put his head back against the armchair and closed his eyes. Sara watches him for a while, still amazed at his presence, but eventually rises and moves quietly into the space that passes for the bedroom.

She rather wishes that there’s more than just a mattress on a rudimentary frame there, but it’s a king, and it’s comfortable, and that will have to do. She grabs clean sheets and makes it up, adding pillows and an old but soft quilt, then goes back to the main area.

Leonard opens an eye and regards her as she approaches him, but Sara can see the weariness in his face. How long has it been since he’s had a decent night’s sleep? Does the time in the Oculus even count? It certainly doesn’t seem, from the little he’d said, that it was very restful.

“There’s a bed…well, a mattress, in the other room,�� she says, jerking her head in that direction. “Not much, but comfortable. I’ll stay on the couch. Sleep as long as you want.”

Leonard opens his other eye, watching her, then gets to his feet, moving in a way that shows Sara just how stiff and sore he is. He hesitates, then glances toward her, then away again.

“I…wouldn’t mind having someone nearby,” he mutters, not looking at her, “I mean, there. In the same room.” A pause, and he wipes a hand over his face while Sara realizes he must mean in the same bed, too. “It was…I couldn’t tell how long it was, in the Oculus, but it was kinda like…maybe sensory deprivation. Sometimes I wake up, and I still…”

He pauses another moment, then gives a thoroughly humorless laugh. “What’d you say? More than three years ago now?” Another pause. “Lonely. Like everyone I….everyone was a million miles away.”

He lifts his gaze and meets her eyes. “I’m not talking about…more, just…stay? I…please.”

It’s a plea, from a man who’s always made a practice of being cool and needing no one. Sara pauses just a moment, then nods.

“Sure,” she says, just as quietly. “Of course I will.”

[roman-writing]

Increments of Longing (2/4)

Fandom: Warcraft III / World of Warcraft

Pairing: Sylvanas Windrunner / Jaina Proudmoore

Rating: T

Wordcount: 26,980

Summary: The Zandalari trolls have joined forces with the Amani trolls, and Prince Kael’thas seeks a new military alliance with the seafaring nation of Kul Tiras by arranging a marriage between the Ranger-General of Silvermoon and the sole Heir to the Kul Tiran Admiralty.

Author’s Note: shoutout to @raffinit for being a champ and reading over this for me

read it below or read it here on AO3

The estate, Jaina discovered a few days after the wedding ceremony, was called Goldenbough Manor. She could faintly recall being told that before, but the last few weeks had been reduced to a blur in her mind. Now, she was standing before the manor, gazing up at its many ruby-studded spires and minarets in the lilac glow of the setting sun, which cast the earth in warm honeyed tones. All high elven architecture, as far as she could tell, involved spires and minarets, though Jaina could not understand the fascination personally.

It was a far cry from the staunch bulk of Proudmoore Keep. In comparison to impassive grey stone and walls fit for an invasion, Goldenbough Manor appeared lofty and delicate. It sat upon a hilltop overlooking its estate grounds and inland village, branching up towards the sky, each tower connected by a magically-sustained bridge around the fluted main belfry. The heat here was no less unbearable than it had been in Silvermoon City, but when Jaina closed her eyes she could hear the sea beyond battering the white cliffs facing west, salting the air with a familiar tang.

It was just enough for an aching tug of homesickness to wrench at her gut. Close enough to home, and yet far far away.

“Enjoying the cool evening air?” a voice said behind her.

Opening her eyes, Jaina turned. Sylvanas stood not far behind her, dressed in casual leathers and a half-cloak that hung rakishly off one shoulder. Further beyond, a group of liveried servants in Windrunner colours were being directed by Ithedis as they unloaded a carriage filled with Jaina’s personal belongings.

“This is supposed to be ‘cool’?” Jaina asked.

Sylvanas hummed and stepped closer. “We’ve had a temperate spring this year. I can feel the rains coming. Won’t be a few months now.”

She nodded towards the horizon far across the sea. Glancing over her shoulder, Jaina saw what she was referring to; storm clouds gathered, tall billowing pillars of black that were lanced through with lightning. They drifted distantly enough that Jaina had disregarded them, thinking they would pass by the mainland, just another set of offcasts from the Maelstrom.

Jaina shuddered. “If this was temperate, I don’t want to know what hot feels like.”

“Quite lovely, actually.”

“Says the elf.”

Sylvanas flashed her a grin that lacked any real warmth. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Hmm,” was Jaina’s reply.

Jaina did not say that she very much doubted that fact. Already she had spent nearly three whole months in Quel’Thalas, and still she had trouble sleeping at night and woke up every morning groggy and ill-rested. The days seemed to sap her of energy, until it was all she could do to drag her sorry carcass out of her quarters in Sunfury Spire, and sit in the bazaar clutching a warm drink -- because Tides forbid she actually enjoy a cold beverage. The one time she had tried chilling a glass of water, the frost had shot from the palm of her hand so viciously, it had shattered the crystal goblet. She had been left apologising to the shop owner, using Ithedis as a translator to convey her deepest regrets.

A few of the servants bustled past, bearing trunks full of Jaina’s things. Ithedis barked at them in Thalassian when one of them dropped a case, and Jaina winced in sympathy.

“I believe dinner has been prepared for us,” Sylvanas said as she drew up beside Jaina, and then stepped by her, striding towards the manor. “Shall we?”

Jaina followed. She trotted to catch up and walk at Sylvanas’ side. “It’s a bit later than I usually have dinner,” she mentioned as they passed together through the elaborately carved front gates and into the sweeping ground floor.

Sylvanas’ stride paused ever so slightly, before she continued walking. “And what time do you usually eat dinner?”

“About two or three hours earlier.”

Making a face, Sylvanas hummed a contemplative note under her breath. “Can I propose a compromise? Dinner an hour earlier?”

Jaina stuck out her hand. “It’s a deal.”

With a low chuckle, Sylvanas clasped her hand and shook it. Her fingers were warm and calloused, and she dropped Jaina’s hand quickly in order to usher her into a dining area off the main hall.

The dining area itself was large enough to host generous events, but the servants had assembled a smaller section of the room for everyday use. Two couches had been pushed parallel to one another, and between them a low table was piled with platters of what appeared to be a variety of hors d’oeuvres. Jaina had long since learned that this would be the entirety of the meal. She still wasn’t very good at handling her food without utensils however, and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw a small stack of cloth serviettes that had been folded along one corner of the table.

Sylvanas leaned her knee atop one of the low-slung couches, before gracefully lowering herself onto her side, propped up on one elbow. Jaina hesitated to do the same on the other couch. She didn’t think she would ever get used to eating while half lying down.

Sylvanas watched her, studious and expressionless. “Would you prefer a chair?”

“Oh, I would,” Jaina breathed. “I really would.”

Sylvanas said something in Thalassian, a series of words that Jaina only partially understood. A few moments later, and a servant appeared from behind a door, carrying a high-backed chair. He placed it down, pushed the couch to one side, and situated the chair in its place.

“Thank you,” Jaina said, and received a bow in return. When she sat however, the chair was far too high for such a low table.

“We can order in a Kul Tiran dining set,” Sylvanas assured her.

With a sigh, Jaina draped one of the cloth napkins across her lap. “No, it’s fine. I should really get used to this anyway.”

Sylvanas reached for a dish and began to eat without preamble. “If it’s any consolation,” she said around a small bite of food, “I will be just as lost in Kul Tiras as you are here.”

“That’s not what I want either.”

“But you would tell me what you want?” Sylvanas asked in a voice that was far too controlled to be truly nonchalant.

Jaina had been trying to balance a bit of meat and sauce upon a flat piece of bread, when she fumbled and dropped the meat on the ground, where it fell with a splat. She grimaced at Sylvanas and conceded, “Cutlery? And plates? At this point, I would kill a man for an honest plate.”

“No need to go that far,” Sylvanas drawled. “Though I’m sure Ithedis would jump at the honour.”

She said it right as Ithedis was entering the dining hall, and though there could be no doubt that he had heard, his expression never faltered. Sylvanas must have known he was coming, for she aimed a sidelong smile over her shoulder at him. “I never would have thought it true if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, but I believe he’s taken a liking to you, Lady Proudmoore.”

Ithedis said nothing as he took his post at the entrance. Jaina smiled at him, and could have sworn she saw his eyes flicker towards her in a silent greeting.

“Ithedis is safe from my wrath,” Jaina said, leaning down to clean up her mess with the napkin before a servant could come scurrying out to do it for her.

Sylvanas continued eating as she watched, lounging upon her couch, while Jaina struggled to bring a morsel to her mouth without dumping it either on the floor or herself. “You should familiarise yourself with the manor after dinner. Explore a bit.”

“I remember you showing me around last time.” With a small sense of triumph, Jaina managed a bite, even if her fingers did get a little smeared with richly spiced sauce.

“I’ve made a few changes since then. You may have noticed.”

That, Jaina could not deny. Even her brief walk through the foyer and main hall had revealed that much. The last time they’d been here, the manor was still dusty with disuse, its shades drawn, its stables empty, and all of its furnishings shrouded in white cloth. Now, the halls were lit with yellowish magelight, and the patterned marble floors all but sparkled.  

Jaina tore apart another section of flatbread that she and Sylvanas were sharing. “Anything in particular you think I should see?”

Breezily, Sylvanas said, “For starters, there’s a halfway decent private library in my brother’s old quarters, now.”

Jaina’s eyes widened, and she nearly choked. Chewing her food quickly, she swallowed. “You got me a library?”

“Oh?” Sylvanas said, all sweetness and innocence. “Should I not have? I thought you liked libraries? I heard you frequented Silvermoon’s finest these last few weeks.”

“I did! I mean -- I do! I just -” Jaina wiped her hands clean on another serviette. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Like I don’t have to buy a Kul Tiran dining set?”

“But I haven’t done anything for you,” Jaina said, wringing the serviette between her hands.

Sylvanas waved her concern aside. “You gave me a lovely gift already.”

“Yes, but - wait.” Jaina blinked. “You have a brother?”

Sylvanas hesitated, a momentary pause as she reached for another piece of bread. “Had,” she murmured. “I had a brother. I had many siblings, in fact. Now, there’s just Vereesa.”

Jaina could have kicked herself. Instead she settled for squirming in her seat at her complete lack of tact, and saying lamely, “I’m sorry.”

Another one of those inscrutable elven shrugs, though this time Sylvanas’ usual air of calm detachment was sullied by the way she would not meet Jaina’s eye. “It’s in the past.”

A long silence stretched between them. A servant emerged through a door to offer wine and -- Jaina blinked in surprise -- Kul Tiran tripel. Warm, she noticed, scrunching up her nose and shaking her head. Sylvanas declined as well, requesting water instead, which was brought out in a steaming glass teapot. Jaina’s heart sank at the sight of it, but she sighed and nodded when Sylvanas asked with a gesture if she wanted a drink.

Jaina set the drink aside and waited for it to cool somewhat. Sylvanas was sipping at her own glass. While Jaina watched her, she had to stop her leg from bouncing. She straightened her back, and said, “I had brothers as well. Two of them.”

Sylvanas’ eyebrows rose, but she said nothing.

“To be honest,” Jaina continued, smoothing the serviette out across her lap and fiddling with its edges. “I was never the first choice for Heir to the Admiralty. After my father and brothers all died though, there really wasn’t any choice. If even one of my brothers had lived, you probably would’ve married him instead of me.”

To her surprise, Sylvanas let out a huff of laughter and said in a dry tone, “I very much doubt that.”

Brow furrowing, Jaina asked, “Why’s that? If the threat of trolls was still prevalent, then surely Kul Tiras and Quel’Thalas would have been pushed towards an alliance.”

Sylvanas sipped delicately at her water, steam drifting from the little glass between her fingers. “Because everyone knows that my preferences run solely towards women. Well,” she tipped her glass towards Jaina, “Most everyone, that is.”

Jaina could feel a flush rising to her cheeks. She could recall the conversation between herself and Kael’thas in the bazaar, cutting him off just as he’d been about to tell her something along those lines -- though, she hadn’t realised it at the time. Now, she snatched up her own glass of water and drank, coughing at the stinging heat. Meanwhile, Sylvanas hid her amusement by continuing to graze at the table.

Clearing her throat, Jaina admitted, “It hadn’t occurred to me that might be the case. I just thought that -- you know -- this was the product of a lack of any alternatives. Not that you - uhm -”

A bemused frown creased the space between Sylvanas’ brows. “And what about you?”

“Me?” Jaina all but squeaked.

“Yes. Didn’t anyone take into account your preferences?”

“Oh, I don’t know about -- that is to say --” Jaina cut herself off before she could ramble, and said weakly, “I haven’t given it much thought.”

For a moment, Sylvanas stared at her. Then she snorted with laughter. “You married me without question, and you didn’t pause to think if you were even attracted to women?”

“I didn’t think attraction was a key requirement of this marriage,” Jaina countered. Straightening in her seat, she reached for another piece of food, studiously avoiding the way Sylvanas was grinning at her, and her own burning face.

A wry chuckle was her reply. “I suppose that’s true. I would have noticed a clause like that in the paperwork. And here I thought you were lamenting the missed opportunity of marrying Kael’thas himself.”

Jaina rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.”

Sylvanas continued, "He did seem quite upset when I agreed to replace him. I'm surprised he hadn't walked up to you and formally apologised for marrying you off to someone lesser than he."

Rather than answer and confirm her suspicion, Jaina stuffed another bite into her mouth. As it turned out, that was answer enough. Sylvanas seemed utterly delighted. "Of course he did. And yet you turned him down?” Sylvanas’ grin widened. “What a shame. I wish I could have been there to see his face.”

Reaching for another bite, Jaina shook her head. “No, you really don’t.”

Sylvanas had leaned forward, propping her chin upon her hand and smirking at Jaina like a leopard lounging atop a high branch. “I must admit I’m surprised. I hear he’s quite the catch. For some people.”

“Desperate people, maybe,” Jaina grumbled around a bulging mouthful of food.

At that, Sylvanas laughed. She pressed her forehead to the couch and laughed into one of the cushions, the noise stifled by the crook her arm. By the time she stopped, she had to wipe carefully at the kohl lining of one eye. “At least there’s no chance the next few months will be dull with you around.”

Frowning, Jaina asked, “Why? What’s happening in the next few months?”

Sylvanas rolled her eyes. “My prince, in all his infinite wisdom, ‘suggested’ that I take a leave of absence from the field. Vereesa will be in charge of the Rangers in my stead, and I am to be seen with you around Quel'Thalas doing -” she waved her hand in a vague gesture. “- whatever it is married couples of our station are expected to do. Go riding through the countryside. Attend banquets. Argue about things of little consequence.”

Jaina gave a mock shudder. “I'll pass on the last two, thanks.”

Sylvanas pretended to look taken aback. “You don't want to start a fight with me at an insufferable nobleman's classy banquet? But think of the fun we could have.”

Tearing off a piece of bread, Jaina threw it at her. “You're going to be a bad influence on me, I can tell.”

Sylvanas caught the bread in a fluid motion, and popped it into her mouth. “Only if I do my job right.”

Jaina had not spent much time dreaming about what married life would be like. In fact, she had hardly given it a passing thought until a year ago, when the negotiations had first been opened and the proposal extended. This though -- the easy banter, the warmth of the moment, the glint of Sylvanas’ sharp-edged grin -- she could get used to this.

Draining the last of her water, Sylvanas set her glass on the low table and rose smoothly to her feet. Puzzled at the sudden turn of events, Jaina folded her napkin and started to stand, but Sylvanas waved her away.

“Stay. Finish.” She plucked at her half-cape so that it fell properly across one shoulder after she’d been sitting. “I have to be up early tomorrow to initiate some new recruits at Farstrider Square, so I’m going to bed. Don’t feel obligated to come with, if you’re not tired.”

Jaina slowly sat back down in her chair. “Oh. Of course. Um -?”

Sylvanas cocked her head. “Yes?”

Lacing her fingers in her lap, Jaina said, “In the marriage contract, they said I could supplement my training in Silvermoon, but I don’t know where I should go for that.”

“That’s because Falthrien Academy is technically on Sunstrider Isle and not in Silvermoon City itself. Ithedis can escort you there whenever you like.” She pointed to Ithedis when she mentioned his name, and he bowed slightly in confirmation.

Jaina relaxed somewhat. “Thank you. Do I need some sort of introduction?”

Walking towards the door, Sylvanas flashed Jaina a signature impish smile over her shoulder. “Lady Proudmoore, you are now well known enough that you require no introduction anywhere in Quel’Thalas.”

She didn’t know if she should take that as a compliment, or a warning. Instead, all she said was a very pointed, “Jaina.”

In the doorway, Sylvanas offered her a mock bow. “My deepest apologies, Jaina.”

And with that, she was gone. The moment she left, Jaina could have sworn she heard Ithedis give a faint sniff.

Picking at the food, Jaina said to him, “You don’t approve of her?”

“It is not my place to approve or disapprove, Lady Proudmoore,” was his stock reply.

“But you think she’s too waggish.”

He blinked, turning his head to look at her. “‘Waggish’, my Lady?”

“Mischievous,” Jaina explained. “Irreverent. A bit of an ass.”

“Ah, I see.” After a pause, he admitted, “Yes.”

With a small smile, Jaina took another bite and hummed around it. “So do I.” She smiled. “I think I like that.”

--

After dinner, Jaina did indeed wander the halls of Goldenbough Manor. She peered into parlours and private studies. She walked the bridges between spires, kneeling down to poke her head over the edges and read the magical runes that scrolled along the bottom of the walkways. She found the library, a broad open space with its own balcony that faced the sea, and immediately began tilting her head to read titles upon the shelves that stretched to the ceiling. She could not resist the urge to pull a few tomes down and flip through them.

Books on transmutation. Books on glyphs. Rare elven histories that never crossed the borders. Jaina made a stack upon one of the tables to read later, already vibrating at the thought of pouring over this collection for many an hour.

And of course Ithedis followed wherever she went. He stood, silent and stalwart, as she muttered under her breath and frowned down at dusty tomes. When she stood up on her toes to try to reach for a particularly high shelf, he pushed a wheeled ladder in her direction.

Night had long since fallen, washing the earth in dark jeweled tones, by the time Jaina rubbed at her eyes. She marked her page, and rose from a comfortable armchair near the balcony doors. She closed the glass doors and murmured goodnight to Ithedis as she left the library. He nodded respectfully as she passed by, and did not follow as she made her way towards the stairs that led to her private quarters.

Well. Their private quarters, more appropriately. Jaina had lit the way with a bluish ball of magelight over her palm, but she extinguished it with a whisper when she stood before the doors leading to their private quarters. She stood out in the hallway for a few long seconds, staring at the scrolled handles, before finally plucking up the courage to open the doors and slip inside.

It was dark. She faintly remembered touring this section of the main tower before, but with so many new changes, she waited a moment to let her eyes adjust before moving around. The furniture loomed, black shapes against grey stone. Twin armoires. A door leading to the ablutions. Paintings hung along the walls. A length of carpet like a streak of darkness along the ground. Two trunks at the foot of the four poster bed. And a figure curled up among the sheets on one side.

All but holding her breath, Jaina cross to the other side of the room. As quietly as she could, she creaked open the armoire’s various compartments, and felt around for a suitable nightgown. With relief, she found something. Stripping out of her Admiralty garb, which she left in a pile on the floor, she stepped into the nightgown, pulling the arms into place over her shoulders.

Turning, she tip-toed towards the bed, lifted a sheet, and slipped underneath. The sheets were blissfully cool against her warm skin, almost silky, though they had the feel of fine cotton beneath her hand. Sighing, Jaina burrowed deeper into the bed, dragging one of the many pillows into just the right angle.

A shuffling at the other side of the bed. Jaina held her breath. Sylvanas stirred, but did not wake. The mattress was large enough that Jaina could stretch out her arms and still not touch the curve of Sylvanas’ turned back. That pale golden hair was a spill of silvery ink against the pillows. One long ear flicked, before settling into drooping inaction once more.

All the while, Jaina’s heart beat rapidly in her chest. Until tonight, she had never shared a bed before with anyone but her brothers. Proudmoore Keep had always been vast enough that they had each been assigned their own rooms, but that didn’t stop Jaina, the youngest, from pestering her older siblings into letting her into their beds when she’d suffered a nightmare. She tried to tell herself that this was no different, but her heart refused to agree.

It took her an age to fall asleep. Jaina closed her eyes, but sleep seemed to evade her despite the slant of moonlight through a distant window, sliding towards the edge of their bed as the night went on.

At one point during the night, she awoke to find that she had discarded the sheets entirely, and instead curled up to the curve of Sylvanas’ back, her forehead lingering at the nape of Sylvanas’ neck. Blinking one bleary eye, sleepy Jaina merely tucked her knees up and fell back into a dreamless slumber.

When Jaina awoke to late morning sunlight streaming through the window on the far wall, she was still on Sylvanas’ side of the bed, and Sylvanas had long since departed.  

--

Craning her neck, Jaina shielded her eyes with the flat of her hand. Falthrien Academy’s multiple platforms hovered over a brackish lake, which sparkled in the light. The bronze-capped main building glanced in the sun, bright enough that Jaina winced and had to look away.

“It’s certainly -” Jaina blinked past purple spots in her vision, “- impressive.”

Ithedis grunted in reply. Hordes of Novices and Apprentices trailed by the two of them in packs, and it was a toss up which of them received more attention. A Spellbreaker was hardly a common sight in a mage academy, and a human was hardly a common sight in Quel’Thalas at all. Especially when Jaina still walked around in her casual Kul Tiran clothing, which set her apart from the crowd like a sore thumb.

“I suppose we just go inside?” Jaina asked, pointing to the main building. They would have to climb multiple platforms to get there, and already Jaina was dreading that much exposure to the heat. Perhaps she should invest in a parasol.

Ithedis nodded. “You should be able to find a Magister without issue, my Lady.”

Steeling herself, Jaina took a moment to roll up the sleeves of her white button down shirt, preparing herself for the climb. “Alright, let’s -”

A group of Apprentices stopped nearby. They whispered behind their hands, giggling and pointing. Jaina should have been used to such reactions after she had spent so many weeks in Silvermoon being gawked at, but it still made her hesitate and flounder for what to do. She cleared her throat, ducked her head, and made a start towards the nearest walkway.

As she passed by the group however, one of their members -- a willowy elven girl with auburn hair -- stepped forward. “Excuse me, Lady Proudmoore?” Her voice was lilting, heavily accented, but her Common was perfectly understandable.

Startled at being approached at all, Jaina faltered. “Y-Yes?”

The Apprentice smiled, and Jaina did not like her smile. “We were just wondering, the others and I -- you’re wearing such a high collar today, but don’t your people prefer the cold? You shouldn’t feel afraid to unbutton your shirt a little.”

At her side, Ithedis went stiff.

“Um - I - I guess -?” Jaina reached up to pull the top button of her shirt free. It slipped loose, just revealing her collarbone, and every Apprentice in the group seemed to lean forward with bated breath, their eyes fixing on her neck.

Suddenly, Ithedis was standing before her, shielding her from the others. He loomed, imposing in his scarlet armour and tower shield. His free hand had drawn the double-bladed polearm that normally hid in the underside of his shield, and he gripped its handle so tightly his gauntlets creaked. In a voice dark and threatening, he snapped in Thalassian a short phrase that Jaina could only catch a few words of, before the girl and the group of Apprentices scampered away, cowed.

Utterly bewildered, Jaina watched them go. “Ithedis?”

“Yes, my Lady?”

“What the fuck was that about?”

Beneath his helm, his jaw tightened, but he did not answer.

Glowering, Jaina said, “If I ordered you to tell me, would you do it?”

Without hesitation, he answered, “Anything you ordered, I would do, my Lady.”

She pursed her lips, watching the way he shifted his grip upon the polearm. If it had been anyone else, Jaina would have been tempted to say he was fidgeting.

Finally, Jaina sighed and shook her head. “Thank you, anyway. Can we just go, now?”

“Of course, Lady Proudmoore.”

Nobody else dared approach as Jaina walked up the winding walkways, arching from platform to platform. The sun rose overhead, growing stronger as the day grew long. By the time they finally reached the grand entrance of the main building, Jaina was wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, and wiping it dry on her breeches with a grimace.

Inside, the temperature dropped almost instantly. Jaina could feel a cool wave of air wash over her like a kiss. She stopped to close her eyes and sigh with pleasure. No matter how much high elves preferred the heat of their beloved Sunwell, they could not stifle the natural cold that radiated from intensely clustered arcane energies. When she opened her eyes again, she smiled and breathed in deeply.

“It must be the crystals holding this place up,” Jaina mused.

She looked down at the floor and began to pace the patterns carved into the ground like leylines. A few people stared at her as she walked with her head down, scowling at the floor, but she took no notice of them. When she’d made it a quarter of the way around the ground floor, she stopped, and her face lit up in a smile.

She pointed down at the ground, and looked at Ithedis in triumph. “I knew it! It’s a rune! See? Is it in High Thalassian? I don’t know this figure here.”

He tilted his head, and his long pale hair brushed along his pauldrons; he had removed his helm upon entering the premises. “My apologies, Lady Proudmoore, but I could not say. I am only able to sense the presence of magic and counter it, when the need arises.”

Jaina opened her mouth, but before she could speak she was interrupted by a mild, cultured voice to one side. “Noral’arkhana falor. It is, indeed, a rune that uses the lake beneath us as a source to keep us afloat, so to speak.”

An elf in black robes with fine gold needlework had approached them while Jaina was excitedly studying the floor. He held a tall spindly staff with a wicked scarlet tip, and he watched Jaina with cold eyes that glinted the colour of burnished steel. He seemed to take pleasure in startling her, for his mouth curled up on one side when she jumped and turned to face him.

Still, he bowed. “Magister Duskwither. At your service. How may I help you, Lady Proudmoore?”

Quickly, Jaina returned the bow and straightened. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. You have a fine school here.”

His answering smile looked more like a sneer than anything else. “Why, thank you. You’re too kind.”

Flustered, Jaina nevertheless forged on. “I was hoping to continue my studies during my stay in Quel’Thalas, and Sylv -- I mean -- my wife -” she stumbled over the phrase; it would take some getting used to “- told me that this was the best place to do so.”

“Of course, Lady Proudmoore. We would be honoured to enroll you here,” Magister Duskwither said. “We simply require a few simple tests to ensure you’re placed at the correct level for training.”

With a frown of confusion, Jaina said slowly, “But -- I have already been apprenticed by Archmage Antonidas? Shouldn’t that give some indication of my skill?”

“The Archmage, while brilliant, is a human. And we have very exacting standards here at Falthrien Academy. I’m sure you understand.” That was definitely a sneer this time. No doubt about it.

Beside her, Ithedis took an abortive step forward, but Jaina held out her hand. She smiled at the Magister and said brightly, “That won’t be a problem. When do we begin?”

“Now, if you wish.” He traced a rune in the air, and a portal winked into life. With a mock little deferential nod, Magister Duskwither said, “After you, my Lady.”

Jaina hesitated only a moment before stepping through the portal. She emerged on the other side, followed quickly by Ithedis, into a circular room lined with identical doors. The domed ceiling arched overhead, engraved with a map of the stars set out in constellations she had never heard of before, though she recognised some of the patterns.

The sound of a staff clicking against the dark marble floor announced the Magister’s presence. The portal shut behind him. He stretched out his hand towards one of the many doors and said, “Open it.”

“This is the test?” Jaina asked in utter bewilderment.

Magister Duskwither nodded serenely. “Yes.”

“To open that door?” She pointed to the one he had referred to.

The tip of one of his ears twitched like an irritated cat’s that had been grasped by a child. “Do I really need to repeat myself? Yes, that door.”

“It just seems a bit silly for a test, is all.”

His teeth clenched, yet he gave her a forced smile. “That’s because you haven’t opened it yet.”

“No. Because it’s an illusion. See?”

Jaina flung her hand out, and a bolt of ice careened from her open palm. It struck the door, dead centre, and the door swirled into mist, leaving behind a frost-scorched crater in the wall behind it.

Wincing, Jaina said, “Oh. Whoops. Sorry.”

Magister Duskwither glared at the crater, then at Jaina. “Very good. Now, the next door, if you please.”

Jaina pointed to the door just to the right of the one she had just evaporated, “This one -?”

“Yes, that one,” he snapped.

Holding up her hands as if in surrender, she approached the door. Her footsteps echoed faintly around the circular room. Ithedis remained standing near the Magister; he had put his helm back on and glowered at Duskwither from beneath the flanged plates.

Hands behind her back now, Jaina stopped in front of the door. She rocked back on her heels and hummed, thoughtful. She leaned to one side. Then to the other.

Turning back towards Magister Duskwither, she smiled triumphantly and pointed to the handle, careful to not actually touch it. “This one has an electricity glyph etched on the interior of the metal. It’s very small. Just enough to give someone a fright and a bit of a shock when they tried to open it.”

To make her point, Jaina grasped the handle. The glyph inside flared to life, but from the wrist down her skin was sheathed in a glimmer of arcane energy. A small current of electricity fizzled out of existence, and Jaina opened the door to reveal the wall behind it.

Duskwither looked like he had bitten into a lemon. “Next door.”

The next door was enchanted to turn into a lynx that tried to bite her hand, only to find that both its upper and lower jaws had been replaced by pillows. Jaina let it gnaw on her wrist for a moment, before dispelling the enchantment and turning the creature back into a door.

The next began to branch in every direction, growing along the walls and sprouting leaves. Jaina murmured to it, urging it back to a seed that she then picked up and tossed over her shoulder before moving on.

The next released a flood of water that spilled out onto the ground. Or at least, it would have had Jaina not held it in place with a shield that shimmered with purple sparks. She turned the water into a flash of steam with a wave of her hand, then closed the door.

The next bristled with a fear spell that she overcame with a countercharm.

The next actually had a room behind it, that tried to transport her back downstairs, but which she altered to instead transport her to a door directly across from it.

One by one, she worked her way around the room, thwarting puzzles of increasing complexity. Near the end, Jaina had to take her time, stopping to inspect each door carefully and mull over its hidden secrets before she could crack the puzzle. The second to last door, an Infernal minion that towered above her breathing gouts of green flame, had her panting and gasping for breath after banishing it back to its own demonic realm. It shrieked as it fell into a great gaping chasm on the floor that burned with black and sickly fire, the noise grating enough to make Jaina’s bones itch.

She stopped before the last door to catch her breath. Behind her, she could hear Ithedis arguing with the Magister.

“Dangerous -!” was one of the words she caught in Thalassian, along with a few choice curses that Jaina had been taught by Vereesa when they’d been exchanging tips on how to swear in their own languages.

She ignored them and leaned on her knees. Then, pushing herself upright, Jaina approached the final door. She squinted. By all appearances, it looked exactly like the other identical doors, but for the fact that Jaina could sense nothing odd about it whatsoever. She checked its hinges, its handle, the painted woodgrain and handsomely arched frame. She even got down on her hands and knees and peered beneath the gap along the floor, seeing only darkness within.

With a grunt, she clambered to her feet once more. Tentatively, suspiciously, Jaina reached out and opened the door.

An inky nothingness existed inside. Jaina frowned. She shot a bolt of ice inside, but it disappeared, swallowed by shadow. She skimmed her palms along it, and all she felt was air. No shimmer. No sound. No light.

Glancing over her shoulder at Ithedis and the Magister, who were still arguing, Jaina took a deep breath and stepped inside.

The darkness extended in all directions, blank and all-consuming. She could hear no whisper of the Void, nor feel the chill of Death. Just a barren black. She did not even know the door had shut behind her until she turned around, only to find that it was gone.

“Shit.”

She could feel herself vocalise the word, but no sound came out. Reaching blindly in the direction of the door, Jaina walked a few paces -

-and kept walking.

She should have touched the door by now. She should have heard something, sensed something. She tried to speak again, but only silence answered. She inhaled and exhaled, and though she could feel no air filling her lungs she did not strain for breath. When she looked down at herself, it was to find that she still wore the exact same clothes, but that everything appeared dim and wan, as if viewed through a curved lens or a slant of water.

“Huh,” she did not say, and sat down on the non-existent floor.

Crossing her legs, Jaina leaned her elbows on her knees and rested her chin on her knuckles. She thought. And thought. She tried to summon up a spell, a tiny flame in the palm of her hand, but even the barest spark would not ignite. She clapped her hands together once, but no sound issued forth. She tried to blow against her fingers, but could feel no passage of air.

Finally, she reached around her neck and took off the pendant Sylvanas had given her as a wedding gift. The stone glinted like pale blue glass between Jaina’s fingers. Holding it up before her, Jaina dropped it, and the necklace remained suspended in midair, its gold chain drifting as if floating in water. Gently, she prodded it with one finger, watching in fascination as it hovered further from her before stopping in mid-air.

Jaina’s face lit up with realisation. “Oh! I get it! Clever!”

She snapped her fingers, and time moved again.

The pendant dropped to the floor, clattering there, solid and noisy. Triumphant, Jaina snatched it up off the ground and pushed herself upright. When she turned around, it was to see that the door had reappeared behind her. Clasping the necklace back into place, Jaina walked forward. She opened the door and stepped outside.

Back in the circular room, she froze and stared. Ithedis had one of the bladed ends of his polearm pressed against the Magister’s throat. A line of blood trickled from the edge, and the Magister’s nose was broken. Magister Duskwither tried to slam one of his hands into the side of Ithedis’ helm, his fist pulsing with arcane energy, but Ithedis grabbed his wrist with a free hand. Eyes flaring with the magic he absorbed, Ithedis tightened his grip until the Magister cried out in pain.

“Where is she?” Ithedis snarled.

The door shut behind Jaina with a click, and both of them looked around to see Jaina standing there, unscathed.

Smiling awkwardly, Jaina raised her hand in a little wave. “Hello!”

Immediately, Ithedis released the Magister and moved to stand before her. His eyes had returned to their usual soft glow, and he took inventory of her appearance. “Are you hurt, my Lady?”

She waved his concern aside. “I’m fine, thank you. How long was I gone?”

His face hardened. “Three quarters of an hour.”

“Oh, that’s not too bad!” Jaina mused. “I was sure I’d been in there longer.”

Behind Ithedis, Magister Duskwither was rubbing at the cut on his neck. He reached up to touch his nose, and hissed in pain. The sound drew Ithedis’ attention back to him, and the Magister flinched back a step. Fury burned in his eyes, and he bared his fangs.

Jaina shot Ithedis a reproachful look at the damage he had done, but Ithedis appeared entirely unapologetic. Shaking her head, Jaina clasped her hands together and stepped forward. “Magister Duskwither, unless I’m very much mistaken, I have passed your tests.”

Wiping his bloodied hand on the front of his robes, Magister Duskwither snapped, “So, it would seem.”

“Great! When do I start my lessons?”

He gave her an extremely ugly smile, his teeth slicked with blood. “Three times a week in the afternoons. Classes take place on the second floor with the other third year Novices. I’m sure you’ll find yourself right at home.”

“Third year Novices -!” Ithedis started to growl, but Jaina shook her head at him. He stood down, fuming silently at her side.

Returning the Magister’s smile, Jaina said, “Thank you for your time. I look forward to starting right away.”

This time, she opened her own portal back to the main floor beneath them. Before she could step through it, Duskwither sneered, “Don’t forget to take your hound with you.”

If Ithedis’ glare could be any more murderous, the Magister would have died on the spot. Jaina touched a hand lightly to Ithedis’ armoured shoulder. Stiffly, Ithedis turned away from Magister Duskwither and followed her through the portal.

Downstairs once more, Ithedis clipped his polearm to a shorter length with a flourish of his wrist, and tucked it back into a slot of his shield. Jaina waited until he had done so before starting towards the stairs that winded upwards. “I’m sorry about him,” she said.

Ithedis’ jaw tightened. “You have nothing to apologise for, Lady Proudmoore.”

“Yeah, but I feel like I should anyway.” Jaina shrugged, at a loss for what to say. “Well, we might as well scope out where these classes are being held.”

Sighing, she climbed the steps. Everywhere she went, she and Ithedis seemed to walk in an invisible bubble through which nobody else passed. The Academy was no exception. Novices and Apprentices would rather squeeze along the walls, single-file, rather than venture too close. Soon enough, they reached the second floor, and Jaina wandered down one of the hallways that circled around the perimeter of the main building.

She poked her head into the first room they came across, and blinked in surprise. A class full of what seemed to be children were chattering away inside. They sat at their desks, or atop them, eyes bright, long ears crooked yet alert. If Jaina had to guess, she would have said they were aged twelve, though she had no idea how fast or slow elves aged when they were young.

The moment they noticed they had a newcomer in their midst, all excited jabbering stopped. All of the kids turned to stare at her, not in alarm but with mild curiosity, as though she were a stray and exotic bird that had somehow managed to wander into their midst through an open window.

“Um - Hello -?” Jaina said.

“Are you the Apprentice standing in for the Magister?” One of the children asked.

“Why are your ears funny?” Another piped up from the back, followed by a chorus of resounding nods and accompanying questions about her appearance.

“Uh -” Jaina repeated eloquently. Then, finding her voice, she managed to say, “Is this the class for third year Novices?”

That earned her a few nods as well as a number of rolled eyes, as though she had asked something very silly.

“And how old does that make you?” Jaina asked.

“Sixteen!” a few voices from the back answered, while others answered “Seventeen!” and one raised his hand with a desultory, “Eighteen.”

Jaina’s mouth went dry. She stared at their youthful faces in creeping horror.

“I - uh - excuse me.”

Turning and pushing past Ithedis in the doorway, Jaina fled.

--

When Jaina and Ithedis arrived back at Goldenbough Manor two and a half hours later, Sylvanas’ horse was in the stables. Dread had settled in the pit of Jaina’s stomach during the ride back from Falthrien Academy, and it only seemed to drill a hole deeper into her gut as she dismounted from her own horse.

She started to lead her mount into the stables, but beside her Ithedis held out his hand and said, “Allow me, my Lady.”

Reluctant, Jaina nevertheless passed the reins to him. She went into the manor alone and tense, expecting Sylvanas to be around every corner. The fact that Sylvanas was nowhere in sight only seemed to make it worse.

At first, Jaina snuck up to the library, hoping to find solace in a good book, but she soon found herself turning pages without reading them. That, or she felt herself feeling sick when she came across a spell that reminded her of the trials she performed today, which of course, were varied and all-encompassing enough that no magical subject seemed safe. After a daring attempt at boring herself with ancient elven history -- the elves sure did love cataloguing long lists of noble family trees -- Jaina gave up. She dropped the book onto the stack beside the armchair that she had claimed the night before, and leaned her head back, closing her eyes.

Afternoon sunlight streamed through the glass balcony doors. Heat pricked at her skin. After the long ride to and from the Academy, Jaina could feel a fine layer of sweat and grime sticking to her skin. With a groan, she pushed herself to her feet and left the library.

A truding walk down three flights of stairs to a floor beneath the main belfry found Jaina in the Manor’s bathing complex. The first time she had been brought down here, the three different temperature pools had been empty and filled with cobwebs and more than one rat. Even elven household wards grew old and struggled to keep the vermin out, it seemed.

Now however, the atrium was fully renovated. There were no doors, but the doorways were draped with long lengths of cloth, and the space warmly lit with magelight. Stone cubby holes cut into the walls had been filled with an assortment of towels, robes, slippers, oils, soaps, scrubbers, and a host of other instruments that Jaina did not recognise. Peeling her clothes off, she tossed them into a woven basket by the entrance without looking until all she wore was the pendant. She did not bother with slippers, and instead simply wrapped herself in a towel before entering the first set of baths.

Had Jaina been in the right mindset to be paying attention, she would have noticed that the basket had already contained a set of Ranger leathers, and that one of the cubby holes was missing a few items. As it was, she was rubbing at a growing ache behind her eyes, when she pushed aside the cloth barrier between the atrium and the hot pool. She had even taken a few steps inside before she heard a gentle splash.

Brows knitting in bewilderment, Jaina looked up only to go stock-still. In the long pool, sunk deeply into the floor and trailing with tendrils of steam, Sylvanas sat. Various ledges were tiered along the pool’s walls, and she occupied one at a level so that the water reached her waist. On the floor behind her was an assortment of towels and vials and what seemed to be a flat wooden stick. Her hair was wet and slicked back from her face, and her skin was faintly pink from the heat. It was the first time Jaina had seen her without the carefully applied kohl around her eyes, and it made her appear bare-faced, younger. Without it, her gaze was less severe, but no less keen-edged.

Sylvanas tilted her head. “You’re back earlier than I expected. How was the Academy?”

“Fine,” Jaina croaked, looking quickly away. She clutched the towel more tightly to herself. Clearing her throat, she asked, “How - uh - how was your -” she struggled to think of the word and ended up just saying, “- thing?”

A soft chuckle, and Sylvanas replied, “My ‘thing’ was fine. I swear the new recruits look greener and greener with every passing year, but what else are we supposed to do in times of war?”

“Mmm,” Jaina hummed behind clenched teeth.

Another soft rippling of water, and Sylvanas asked, “Well? Aren’t you going to get in so we can have a proper chat?”

“Just -” Jaina’s voice squeaked, and she had to swallow thickly before she could continue, “Just a chat?”

The pause that followed was long. When Sylvanas spoke, her voice had gentled, “Of course. Forgive me, I forgot that humans tend to be a bit prudish about these things. If you want me to leave, I can -”

Jaina shook her head, “No, no. It’s alright. I’ll just -”

Approaching the exact opposite side of the pool to Sylvanas, she waited until she was by the water’s edge before letting the towel slide to her feet. Then, Jaina slipped into the water as quickly as she could, hissing at the scalding temperature. On any other occasion she would have worked her way from ledge to ledge, slowly lowering herself into the heated pool until she could barely stand it and had to make a dash for the tepid bath in the room beyond. This time however, Jaina sank down as far as she could manage, wrapping her arms around herself.

With a curious tilt of her head, Sylvanas watched the way Jaina ducked down until her chin almost touched the water. She made no comment, though. Instead she asked, “So, tell me.”

“About what?” Jaina asked slowly. The pendant Sylvanas had given her pressed against her skin, remaining preternaturally cool despite the heat of the water.

“Your visit to the Academy,” Sylvanas said, and though Jaina kept her eyes firmly on the rippling effects of light at the bottom of the pool, she could see movement from the corner of her vision as Sylvanas lifted herself up to a slightly higher ledge. “Did you find a Magister to take you under their wing?”

“Not exactly,” Jaina grumbled. Her words made the surface of the water waver. The tips of her fingers and toes still felt like they were on fire, but the sting of heat was slowly fading. Finally she admitted, “I saw a group of young Novices. They were all sixteen or so.”

The clink of glass on stone, as Sylvanas picked up a vial. “Ah, yes. You can imagine my initial surprise during the signing, then.”

Scowling at the way her legs dangled in the water, Jaina said, “You don’t still think I’m that young, do you?”

“No. It just took me some time to adjust, is all. And Vereesa is hardly one to point fingers, especially after I found out her husband is only thirty-five.”

“And what’s that in elf years? A teenager?”

“I think comparing the two is like comparing dates to pomegranates. Ultimately fruitless.”

Jaina rolled her eyes. “Was that a pun?”

“Only if it made you relax enough to be annoyed with me, instead of trying to drown yourself in the bath.”

Jaina huffed with laughter, then realised she had indeed glanced up. Sylvanas was smiling at her, and the small creases at the corners of her eyes were more apparent like this. The next thing Jaina noticed was that Sylvanas was running a hand down her own arm, and that her skin glistened in its wake.

Oil. She was oiling herself.

Jaina just about sank right to the bottom of the pool.

“Are you alright?” Sylvanas’ voice sounded hesitantly concerned. “You probably shouldn’t have jumped straight in like you did.”

Jaina started to say ‘I’m fine,’ but stopped when the words wouldn’t form. Her throat worked, and finally she admitted, “I lied. Earlier, I mean. I lied about the Academy. It wasn’t fine. It was terrible. I think I may have done something incredibly foolish.”

“I have a hard time believing that,” Sylvanas said, her tone soft. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

Inhaling deeply, Jaina did just that. She detailed everything that Magister Duskwither had done and said, and how she had reacted in turn. How she had proven herself, but only done so by rubbing her talent in his face, and not stopping to think of the consequences. Sylvanas listened, letting Jaina ramble and detail all of the spells she had managed to pull off, and how tired she was now that it was over.

When Jaina told her about the last door, Sylvanas sniffed, dismissive. “If anyone did anything foolish, it was this Magister. What happened next?”

Splashing a bit at the water with one hand, Jaina said, “I escaped the room, and found Ithedis trying to rough up Duskwither. I put a stop to it, naturally -”

“Did you?” Sylvanas hummed. “What a shame.”

“Sylvanas!”

Rather than be chagrined, Sylvanas reached behind herself and picked up the long wooden stick from the ground, using it to scrape the oil and grime from her skin. “Perhaps the old nag isn’t so bad, after all.”

“Be nice to him!”

Sylvanas’ eyes sparkled. “Oh? Should I be jealous?”

Jaina rolled her eyes. “Please, don’t even go there.”

“It’s none of my business what you do, you know. This can be as amenable a marriage as you wish.”

Jaina could feel her face flame, and this time it had nothing to do with the bath. “That’s -!” she stammered, “That’s not what I -! I don’t -! That is to say that I would never -!”

With amusement, Sylvanas scraped herself clean and watched Jaina twist in the breeze. “No?”

“Definitely not.” Jaina was adamant.

Though that grin lingered on Sylvanas’ face, her eyes remained steady, unblinking, and piercing. “As you like, Lady Proudmoore.”

Jaina shot her a mock glare. “No titles. And what about you?”

“What about me?” Sylvanas asked with faux innocence.

“You know -! Are you going to -?” Jaina waved her hand at Sylvanas, casting a series of drips from her arms and fingers into the pool. “-with anyone else? If that’s what you want?”

The façade of amusement faded from Sylvanas’ face, and she studied Jaina with a serious expression. “No, I will not. It would not be fair to you.”

“Please don’t make yourself unhappy because of some fucked up sense of gallantry.”

Sylvanas brandished the stick at her, admonishing. “What language!”

“There’s nobody else here! And you already know I don’t exactly have the cleanest vocabulary.”

Sylvanas hummed a laugh. “You needn’t worry yourself. I have no interest in pursuing anyone else while married to you.”

“Oh. Well. That’s -” Jaina’s eyes widened. “Wait - you don't expect us to -” She gestured between the two of them, “- do you?”

At that, Sylvanas’ ears shot straight up, and she tensed. “No! No, that’s not what I was implying. At all. I would never intentionally do anything that might make you uncomfortable.”

“You haven’t,” Jaina assured her, and Sylvanas seemed to relax somewhat, though the line of her shoulders remained stiff. “I only bring it up because -”

She cut herself off then, and Sylvanas’ eyes narrowed. “Because -- what?”

“Nothing. It’s not important.”

“Has Vereesa been telling tales again?” Sylvanas asked, her brow darkening. She dragged the stick over her oiled skin with a particularly vicious flick.

“No!” Jaina insisted. “Nothing like that! I just heard -- I mean -- I heard a few whispers at the Academy.”

Gaze flashing, Sylvanas lowered the wooden tool and asked in a level tone, “What whispers?”

With a sigh, Jaina pinched the bridge of her nose before answering. A drop of water slid down her nose, and she wiped it away. “Some of the younger Apprentices were -- uhm -- making some comments to me. Not all of which I understood, granted. I didn’t want you to get angry, but whatever it was they were asking seemed to really set Ithedis off, so I figured it wasn’t anything good -”

“Jaina,” Sylvanas said in a warning tone. “Tell me.”

Wincing, Jaina confessed in a rush, “I was wearing a high collar, and they wanted to see my neck.”

Sylvanas’ nostrils flared as she drew in a deep breath, and her voice was a deadly hiss, “They what?”

“It’s not -- It’s not a problem. I can handle it. I can handle all of this! The Magister, the students, the kids’ classes. Just please -” Jaina closed her eyes and leaned her head back so that she stared up at the steam-fogged ceiling. “- please let me do this on my own.”

Silence, followed by a dull clatter as Sylvanas tossed the wooden stick onto the floor behind her. “Don’t you want to know what they were asking?”

With a snort, Jaina said, “I may not understand all the cultural undertones, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that what they meant was sexual in nature.”

Sylvanas smiled an unpleasant smile, it had a dangerous quality as her fangs glinted in the low light. “Are you sure you don’t want my help? I can have words with this Magister, at least?”

“Just words, though, right?” Jaina asked. When Sylvanas lifted one bare shoulder in a distinctly elven shrug, Jaina said, exasperated, “Sylvanas, please. Don’t do something rash on my account.”

“I’ve done far more rash things for far less. And what kind of spouse would I be if I did not stand up for my wife?”

“I can stand up for myself,” Jaina grumbled.

“I think you’ve already proven that.” Sylvanas grinned at her, teasing and a touch affectionate -- though that may have been Jaina’s imagination.

That smile was as infectious as ever. Jaina laughed softly and shook her head. “How was I so lucky?”

At that, Sylvanas tilted her head to one side. A drop of oil rolled to the dip of her collarbone, and Jaina had to study the ceiling again. “What do you mean?”

“Well, think of it from my perspective. I was expecting to marry some stuffy old elven general, and instead I got -” without looking, she gestured weakly to Sylvanas, who sat, partially submerged in water from the legs down, slick with oil, and golden in the amber magelight.

“Appearances can be deceiving.” Sylvanas’ grin widened. “You just haven’t uncovered my humourless arrogant side yet. Give it time.”

“I’ll be old and grey by then,” Jaina drawled.

Chuckling, Sylvanas stood. Jaina kept her gaze fixed firmly upwards, listening to the sounds of Sylvanas wrapping herself in a towel and gathering her things. She began to walk towards the exit, but paused as she lifted the draped cloth.

“A time anomaly?” Sylvanas asked over her shoulder. “Really?”

“And an Infernal minion,” Jaina confirmed.

“Huh.”

Sylvanas left, and Jaina couldn’t help but think that she almost sounded impressed.

--

After Sylvanas left, Jaina languished in the cold pool long enough that her fingers became wrinkled as prunes. And still, she soaked, enjoying a rare moment where she did not feel at all overly warm. Even after she had stepped out of the pool and wrapped herself in one of the robes provided, Jaina’s skin remained pleasantly cool. In a surprisingly relaxed daze, considering how the rest of her day had went, she climbed the stairs to the main floor.

There, Ithedis greeted her with a stiff bow, and an added murmur that the Lady Windrunner was waiting for Jaina to join her for dinner in the banquet hall, whensoever she was ready. Sparing a glance at her robes, Jaina relented. She walked into the banquet hall and sat across from Sylvanas at the same table as last night.

While Sylvanas had taken the time to dress in casual wear, Jaina had to keep rearranging the hems of her bathrobes to keep her bare knees from poking through the fabric. Sylvanas made no comment, and their meal passed in much the same way as it had the day before. Easily. With plenty of conversation and banter. If the long soak hadn’t made Jaina relax, then good food and good company certainly did the trick.

Whereas yesterday, Jaina had been filled with a nervous energy, today she felt drained down to her bones. She yawned at the dinner table, and Sylvanas made an off-handed comment about the two of them both heading to bed early that night. Jaina did not protest.

Soon, they were climbing the steps together, still chatting aimlessly about their days and any other topic that happened to crop up during the conversation. The moment they reached the doors to their personal chambers however, Jaina’s mouth glued shut.

After sharing a communal bath together, changing in front of her spouse should not have seemed so daunting. And yet -

She faced her side of her room and slipped the robe down her shoulders, listening to the sound of cloth and stone not far behind her. The chill that had been trapped by her skin from the bath had long since faded, and Jaina pulled her thin cotton nightgown on with relief. The pendant remained a cool presence against her chest, the gold chain glinting as the moon began to peek through the windows.

By the time Jaina turned around, Sylvanas was already pulling back the sheets and sliding into her side of the bed. Jaina did the same, careful that they did not touch while she rearranged her pillows just so. To her surprise, Sylvanas rolled over to face her.

Reaching out, Sylvanas touched the short sleeve of Jaina’s nightgown. “Remind me to buy you something silk.”

Face burning, Jaina said, “I can buy myself silk, you know.”

Sylvanas offered a crooked grin. “Then remind me to take you shopping for silk.”

And with that, she rolled back over, showing Jaina her back. Jaina waited a few heartbeats, then reached out to tap her shoulder.

“Sylvanas?”

“Hmm?”

“Remember to take me shopping.”

A snort of laughter, and Sylvanas swatted Jaina’s hand away. For the first time in weeks, Jaina went to bed feeling oddly content.

--

Over the next few weeks, Jaina fell into a rhythm at her new home in Quel’Thalas. Most mornings she would ride with Ithedis to the Academy. There, she would skip the Novice classes that had been assigned to her by Magister Duskwither, and instead sneak into the Academy library for a few hours of self-tutelage. Usually, she could find a minor Magister to explain a particular incantation, or failing that she could get Ithedis to translate a few phrases for her from the books she would pull down from the shelves. Her Thalassian was slowly improving, but never quickly enough for her tastes.

Then one blessed day a week, Jaina would portal directly from Sunfury Spire to Dalaran. Archmage Antonidas and Modera were always eager to continue her training. Every time she left, they would laden her arms -- and usually Ithedis’ as well -- with books and scrolls and instructions on what she was to practice for her next visit. Brimming with energy from those brief visits, Jaina would cart the new material back to the manor, where she would ensconce herself in the private library Sylvanas had procured for her, a library that was slowly yet steadily growing in size with every trip she took.

And of course, most evenings she and Sylvanas would share dinner together. Not every evening, but often enough. Some days Sylvanas would travel east for a day, only to promptly return with some trinket or tale of her latest visit to the troops on the home front. For someone on forced leave, she certainly worked a lot.

Though, Jaina was hardly one to talk. After dinner, she would hurry back to the library and bury herself in her studies until she blinked wearily at the height of the moon in the sky. Only then would she drag herself to bed and clamber in beside Sylvanas, who was already fast asleep. A Thalassian half-phrase would sigh from Sylvanas’ lips, and some nights Jaina would hold her breath for fear of waking her fully.

It only happened once. A particularly riveting dissertation on interdimensional portals had seen Jaina burning the midnight oil, and she was less than graceful when falling into bed that night. Sylvanas had started awake, and she had squinted blearily, her eyes cutting slits of bluish light through the darkness.

“Shh,” Jaina had clumsily patted her shoulder, half asleep herself.

With reflexes faster than Jaina could follow, Sylvanas had snatched her wrist. Her lips pulled back and she bared her sharp teeth, before she blinked and furrowed her brow at Jaina. Her grip had slackened and she mumbled, “Oh. It’s just you. Sorry.”

She had not rolled back over, though. Nor did she let go of Jaina’s wrist. Instead, Sylvanas’ hand remained a warm weight over her own, and Jaina did not dare rouse her again. Counting the steady thrum of Sylvanas’ heartbeat through her fingers, Jaina waited to move for so long that when she blinked, it was morning, and Sylvanas was gone.

--

Months passed. Her routine shifted abruptly, when she went to the Academy one morning only to find that she was barred entry to the library. Jaina didn’t know how Magister Duskwither had found out she was sneaking around when she had been so carefully keeping out of his way. She had even compiled a timesheet of his schedule at the Academy so as to avoid him. For all he knew, she was attending kid’s classes on the second floor. One of the Apprentices must have ratted her out.

Jaina had to start employing the kids of her class -- the class she was supposed to be attending, but which she usually skipped, unless one of the children saw her and dragged her over by the hand -- to steal books from the library for her. She would give them a list of titles that they would fetch for her, in exchange for help with their homework. After a patient hour or two teaching them whatever it is they were struggling with -- one day it was a minor polymorph spell that soon saw them transforming their quills into tiny red-breasted sparrows that hopped across the table, the next it was an enchantment that made their notes flutter through the air on an invisible breeze -- Jaina would wait in a corner outside the library and they would bring her stacks of scrolls and books. The kids would complain at the weight and tease her for her taste in reading, but they would always look for her on the ground floor in the mornings.

One such afternoon, Jaina was waiting in the hallway outside the library, trying to draw as little attention to herself as possible and avoid any nosy Apprentices. She fiddled with the pendant around her neck, savouring the coolness of the stone’s smooth surface. Turning it over in the light, Jaina furrowed her brow.

There, in the stone. Some sort of flaw. Or -- not a flaw. An odd clouding, like a chimney that had been blackened with soot and gone uncleaned for years.

Jaina wiped her thumb over it, but the clouding remained. It refracted the magelight that shone along the walls, creating a distortion that seemed to gather beneath the surface of the stone, pressing up against its facets, blooming outwards like a trapped storm.

Glancing around the hallway to ensure she was alone, save for Ithedis, Jaina turned her attention back to the stone around her neck. With her free hand, she sketched a simple glyph in the air, and touched the tip of her finger to the pendant. A burst of arcane energy rippled through the stone, and for a brief moment the cloudiness seemed to dim. It shrank, then slowly reformed.

“Hmm,” she hummed, puzzled.

“Miss Jaina!”

She tucked the stone back beneath the collar of her button down shirt, and straightened. Three young elven boys had emerged from the library and were approaching her with arms laden with books. One of them scrunched up his nose and said, “Why do you want to read the ‘Codex Dracono- Dracanomono -’” He stumbled with the title.

“Codex Draconomicus Rubicus’,” Jaina said helpfully, bending down to take the books from him, while the other two gave their haul to Ithedis. “And because I’m boring, that’s why.”

All three of the kids nodded sagely at her self-awareness.

“Will you be here tomorrow? Are you going to Dalaran again?” one of them asked.

Another swatted his friend on the shoulder. “No, that’s in three days, kahlba.”

Ithedis scowled. “No swearing.”

“Sorry, guys,” Jaina answered, “I can’t make it tomorrow. I’ll be with my wife all afternoon.”

That earned her three bewildered looks. “You’re married?”

“To who?”

Jaina was so used to everyone knowing, that she hadn’t thought there was a single person left in Silvermoon who didn’t. “Sylvanas Windrunner.”

All three of them stared at her. Their ears had shot straight up in surprise.  

“No way,” one of them breathed.

“The Ranger-General?”

“Have you seen her shoot her bow?” another one asked, his eyes shining.

“Is she as tall as they say she is?”

“Is it true she killed a thousand trolls in a single day when she pushed them back to Zul’Aman?”

“Like this! Pew! Pew pew pew!”

Blinking in bewilderment, Jaina stammered, “Uhm -? I mean, she is rather tall.”

“I knew it.”

Jaina cleared her throat, nodding towards the other end of the hall where the stairs descended back down to the second floor. “Don’t you three have a class you should be getting to?”

They rolled their eyes.

“Belore, you are boring.”

One of them elbowed the kid who had said that.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Don’t say that!”

“Why not? She said it!”

“Yeah, but we need her help for the exams.”

Jaina could feel her hands start to slip on the pile of books in her arms. She readjusted her grip. “Exams, huh? That sounds like its worth at least three loads of books.”

“Three?!”

Chuckling, Jaina turned to leave. “We’ll negotiate later. Now, shoo!”

They scampered off down the hall. Before rounding the corner, one of them waved over his shoulder and shouted, “Bye, Miss Jaina!”

Shaking her head with a wry smile, Jaina went in search of a secluded corner of the Academy to do her latest round of reading and note-taking.

--

“Apparently you’re some kind of war hero.”

“So I’ve been told,” Sylvanas said dryly.

The seamstress’ shop was cleverly subdivided by curtains. Sylvanas sat in a chair, watching while Jaina was fitted for a number of new outfits. When they had entered the shop in Silvermoon, it had been near empty, but through the drape of heavy cloth Jaina could hear the murmur of new clients coming in for a fitting or to browse the wares. Ithedis stood just outside, barring entry to any who tried to sneak a peek at the Ranger-General and her human wife.

Bolts of cloth lined the walls in every shade of the sunset. Even now Jaina was continually intrigued by the breadth of colour high elves wore -- void blacks and dusky lavenders, all the way to pale yellows and creamy ivories. And always the presence of delicate brocade and fine embroidery. Jaina admired how different they were to her own usual clothing even as one of the seamstresses pinned a length of silk around Jaina’s waist

“The kids at the Academy were very excited to hear I was married to you. They wanted to know if you’d killed a thousand trolls on the march to Zul’Aman,” Jaina said.

“Did they, now?” Sylvanas’ eyes gleamed with mischief. “Tell them it was two thousand.”

Jaina shot her an incredulous look. “You did not kill two thousand trolls.”

Raising her eyebrows, Sylvanas said, “Oh? That’s news to me.”

“Your quiver doesn’t even hold a hundred arrows!”

“I have an excellent supply chain division,” Sylvanas countered. “World class, really.”

Jaina snorted with laughter. “Oh, shut up.”

The corner of Sylvanas’ mouth quirked in a lopsided smile. Meanwhile, the seamstress pretended to not be eavesdropping on their conversation, though Jaina noticed the way her hands fumbled when Jaina told the Ranger-General of Silvermoon and all its armies to kindly shut her mouth. She did an admirable job of hiding it however.

Sylvanas lounged in her seat, leaning her elbow upon the armrest, and resting her cheek against her fist. “You’re still saddled with the Novice classes, then? I thought you said you wanted to take care of the problem yourself?”

“I am taking care of it,” Jaina grumbled. When the seamstress pressed lightly at her hip, silently urging her to turn around, Jaina did as instructed. “It’s just taking me a while, is all.”

“It’s taking you more than a few months, apparently.”

“Well, I - I don’t like to rush things,” Jaina insisted lamely.

“Mm hmm.”

“I’m being diplomatic.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

Glaring over her shoulder, exasperated, Jaina said, “And you’re being an ass.”

Sylvanas seemed utterly thrilled by the combination of Jaina’s crassness and the seamstress’ wide-eyed shock at their banter.

After the fitting, Jaina put in an order for a handful of new mage robes, a more traditional elven outfit should she ever need to attend a formal occasion, and of course a new silk nightgown.  While Jaina put her own clothes back on, Ithedis poked his head through the curtains.

“Lady Windrunner, Lady Proudmoore,” he said, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the floor, “I am sorry to disturb you, but there are a few more people here than when you first arrived.”

“Thank you, Ithedis.” Jaina nodded to him, and he retreated back behind the curtain.

Rising to her feet, Sylvanas tugged at her half cloak so that it hung rakishly from one shoulder, revealing her tight-fitting leathers beneath. Jaina found herself admiring the understated elegance of Sylvanas’ more casual attire, before she realised that she was staring, and glanced away with a cough.

When Jaina had tucked her shirt into her high-waisted Kul Tiran breeches, Sylvanas pushed back the curtain and held it open for her. “Shall we?”

Jaina gave Sylvanas an appreciative smile and ducked through the curtain. On the other side, she blinked in surprise. Word must have spread through the surrounding streets like wildfire. The seamstress’ shop was now bustling with people all pretending to browse. The moment she stepped out, Sylvanas hot on her heels, every set of eyes flicked in their direction, even as the other ‘customers’ continued to peruse bolts of cloth and walk around wooden mannequins.

Sylvanas tapped Jaina’s shoulder. “This way.”

The seamstress led them to a counter near the front. Everyone gave them a wide berth, most likely because of the sheer force of Ithedis’ glare. There, the seamstress pulled out a broad ledger and painstakingly wrote down their order. Meanwhile, Jaina tried not to fidget, resisting the urge to peer back at their sudden audience. If the attention bothered Sylvanas, she did not show it; she stood as straight-backed and unruffled as ever.

It took an age, but the seamstress passed over a copy of the order to Sylvanas, who immediately passed it to Jaina. That seemed to boggle the seamstress even more, though she merely bowed her head and thanked them for their generous patronage. When Jaina reached for the coinpurse at her belt however, Sylvanas shook her head and gently steered Jaina towards the exit.

Confused, Jaina looked back at the seamstress, then at Sylvanas. “Don’t I have to pay?” Jaina hissed.

“You will,” Sylvanas murmured, leaning in close to lower her voice so that Jaina could feel the brush of words against her ear. She tapped the paper in Jaina’s hand. “Give this to the bank, and they’ll oversee the transfer.”

“That seems like a very cumbersome way of paying for a few outfits.”

“Didn’t you know? Handling your own money is so dreadfully plebeian. That’s why you pay other people to do it for you.”

“Oh, I see. Elven snobbery at its finest, I assume?”

Taking Jaina’s hand and leading her from the shop, Sylvanas winked slyly. “Now, you’re getting the hang of it.”

--

The next few weeks drew a grim silence over Falthrien Academy as exam time came around. On the one hand, it meant that Jaina was pestered more than usual by her desperate young classmates, who were driven near to tears and sleeplessness with anxiety. Jaina, who had no exams to speak of, sighed and led a few impromptu study sessions in a spare room, which ended up attracting a large enough group that she feared being discovered by Magister Duskwither.

On the other hand, it also meant that everyone was so distracted by exams that Jaina could sneak into the library without notice. She found a shaded alcove and wove an illusion spell so that it looked like a group of students had fallen asleep while studying at the table, their faces pressed against the open pages of their books. Nobody spared her little alcove a second glance, and she could work in peace.

Jaina had taken off her pendant and set it upon the table beside stacks of books she had pulled from the stacks. On a blank scroll, she sketched out various spells and incantations. She took notes from a number of different open tomes, muttering to herself as she flipped through their pages and pausing to add an annotation here and there.

Leaning back in her seat, she read over her work. Then, she placed the pendant in the centre of the scroll. Her whispered incantation echoed. Tendrils of glowing arcane energy lifted the pendant above the page, rotating it in midair, imbuing the stone with light until it blazed like a star.

In a flash, the pendant clattered back to the table. Jaina flinched from the flare of magic, and rubbed at her eyes. She picked up the pendant, turning it over in her hands, only to find that the small smudge still darkened one facet of the stone.

With a grumble, Jaina crossed out a section of the scroll and crammed a few more notes into the margins. She searched through her stacks of books for a particular title. Sighing, she dropped her quill and fastened the pendant around her neck once more.

“I forgot one, Ithedis,” she said as she pushed her chair back.

Nobody answered.

Puzzled, Jaina looked around. She peered down a few nearby shelves, but he was nowhere to be found.

“Ithedis?” she hissed, reluctant to raise her voice and draw too much attention to herself.

When he did not reply, Jaina felt the stirrings of worry fester in her gut. She murmured a quick illusion spell, draping it over herself so that she appeared to be a young elven Apprentice in plain robes. While in the past she would have preferred using this to sneak into the library, illusions spells never worked on Ithedis, and everybody would know who she was if she was constantly shadowed by a stony-faced Spellbreaker.

She slipped out of the library and began searching for him floor by floor. By the time Jaina reached the higher floors, she was well and truly starting to grow worried. She ran over possible scenarios in her head. Perhaps he had returned to the manor? Perhaps he had stepped out for something to eat? Perhaps he had been cornered by a group of angry Magisters, and was fighting for his life? Or perhaps he had simply gotten something to eat, Jaina told herself again, pushing the last thought firmly from her mind.

The highest floors of the Academy were empty and eerily quiet. Even her footsteps were muffled by arcane energies. Pressing her ear to a closed door, Jaina could hear a dull buzzing sound, like a hornet’s nest. She continued on, wandering the circular hallways in her search.

As she rounded one pillar, she stopped. There, faint voices but voices all the same. Jaina ducked from pillar to pillar until she was close enough to hear, and close enough to peek around the column to see who it was that spoke.

First, Jaina breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Ithedis’ unmistakable silhouette. Then, her blood ran cold. Ithedis stood with his back to her hiding place. His shield was strapped to one of his forearms, and his free hand was lifting Magister Duskwither a foot off the ground by the front of the Magister’s robes. He had slammed the Magister’s back against the wall, holding him there while Duskwither’s feet kicked and dangled.

It was not Ithedis who was speaking however. It was the woman standing beside him.

Sylvanas’s stood with her back turned to Jaina and her face obscured by the drawn hood of her cloak, but there could be no mistaking that authoritative stance or that distinctive voice.

"It’s strange. I've been hearing the most interesting whispers lately," Sylvanas hummed. "I don't suppose someone of your status as Headmaster and Magister of this most illustrious Academy would know anything about such lies being spread about the Ranger-General's wife?"

"N-no, Lady Windrunner -" "Because I'd hate to have to take someone's tongue for it," Sylvanas continued as casually as though she were remarking on the weather. "Tedious, really. Gets everything all bloody."

"You wouldn't dare!” Duskwither snarled. He struggled against Ithedis’ iron-clad grip, but Ithedis remained unyielding. His crimson lacquered gauntlets creaked as he lifted Magister Duskwither up the wall fractionally higher.

"Oh, no. Not me. Can you imagine?" Sylvanas drawled. "But my friend here is far less domesticated than I." She gestured towards Ithedis’ thunderous expression beneath the winged helm. "Terribly skilled with a knife, this one. I've seen him gut deer in the Eversong Forest myself. He’s very thorough."

Jaina distinctly heard Ithedis' voice join the conversation. "An attack on the Lady is an attack on me."

"Now -" the Magister wheezed, "Now, see here -"

"Quiet now. Here's how it's going to play out," Sylvanas crooned. "You're going to assign her to another Magister, one worthy of her time, and you're going to give her full access to the Academy's archives. Are we clear?”

Choking, Magister Duskwither just nodded.

“Good.”

Sylvanas gestured to Ithedis, who dropped Magister Duskwither to the ground. There, Duskwither gasped and clutched at his chest. When Sylvanas crouched down in front of him, he jerked back as if she had struck him with an open blow.

This time when Sylvanas spoke it was almost too low for Jaina to hear, “And if I get word that you've so much as looked at her the wrong way, you'll be seeing us again."

She stood and jerked her head. “Go.”

The Magister didn’t need to be told twice. Scrambling to his feet, he fled.

Jaina held her breath as he passed by her hiding place, pulling her head back so as not to be spotted. She dared to peek around again, and spied Sylvanas and Ithedis walking back the way she had come. They strode side-by-side, Sylvanas with her hands behind her back and Ithedis with his shield. "I see now why my wife has taken a liking to you."

“It is an honour to serve, Lady Windrunner.”

“Somehow I knew you’d say that,” Sylvanas drawled, not unkindly.

A pause as he bowed his head. “I should return to the library. The Lady may have noticed my absence.”

“Did she have a book with her?”

“Several.”

Sylvanas laughed, a startlingly gentle sound after such a brutal display that faded the further they walked from Jaina’s hiding place. “Then you have nothing to worry about.”

--

Storm clouds gathered, sweeping in from the sea, and Jaina did not speak to Ithedis the entire ride back to Goldenbough Manor. She had portalled back down to the library before he could beat her there, and curtly announced upon his arrival that she wanted to leave the Academy. Ithedis had seemed startled by her tone of voice, but made no comment. Once or twice on the ride home, he had tried to initiate conversation, only for Jaina to answer in blunt monosyllables or wordless noises. Eventually, he went silent. His eyes would dart to her, but she staunchly ignored him.

Flecks of rain started to fall from the sky by the time they arrived at the manor. Jaina dismounted, and Ithedis came forward to take the reins from her. She dropped them into his hand without a word, turning and walking towards the manor entrance.

“Lady Proudmoore -”

“Not now, Ithedis.”

“But -”

She whirled around, glaring, fists clenched at her side. “I noticed you were gone this afternoon. I was worried, so I went looking for you, thinking something bad had happened to you. Instead, I found you and my wife threatening to cut out a man’s tongue on my behalf!” When he opened his mouth to speak, Jaina snapped, “I don’t want to hear your excuses! I don’t want to hear anything you have say right now! In fact, you are relieved from duty for the day!”

It was the first time Jaina had raised her voice since arriving in Quel’Thalas. It didn’t make her feel any better, but it did stop Ithedis from following her when she stormed into the manor. She hadn’t gotten very far into the main hall, when she was approached by a servant, who bowed.

“My Lady -” he started in a heavily lilting accent.

“What?” Jaina sighed, rubbing at the prick of pain behind her eyes.

The servant hesitated before continuing. “Forgive me for intruding, but you have received a package from the Lord Admiral.”

Blinking in surprise, Jaina looked up. The servant was holding out a small package, wrapped in brown waxed paper and tied with twine. She took the package, and the servant left with another bow before she could speak again.

Jaina didn’t bother waiting to take it somewhere private. She walked over to the nearest table lining a wall. Her fingers were already trembling when she pulled at the strings and tore open the brown paper wrapping. Beneath she revealed a plain wooden box stamped with a familiar sigil scorched into the surface. Jaina traced the motif. It was the company logo for her favourite brand of Kul Tiran tea.

The first thing she felt was a rush of homesickness so biting, it boiled her stomach with acidity. It was followed swiftly by disbelief and a growing impotent anger, anger that she could be so pleased, so relieved at something as small as a box of tea that was no longer than her forearm.

When Jaina opened the box, she found a letter inside, written in her mother’s loopy scrawl. Her eyes skimmed over the three lines wishing her a happy birthday and all the best. A birthday gift that had arrived a week early.

Outside it had begun to rain in earnest. A swell of thunder rolled in the distance. Mutely, Jaina put down the gift in favour of gazing out the tall narrow windows that arched towards the ceiling. Leaving the box behind, she walked across the main hall, passing beneath the winding staircase and striding past the many side-rooms, heading straight for the back patio.

When Jaina pushed open the doors, she had been expecting a surge of cold air. What she got instead was more heat. Heat poured upon heat. And beyond that, a rain so stifling, she could no longer see the sea. The horizon was hidden by thick sheets of rain that poured from the sky.

Slowly, she stepped from the manor, walking out from beneath the shade of the balcony above her. The first touch of rain hit her skin like an electric shock. The water warmed against her skin, saturating her clothes in an instant. Jaina took a few more staggering steps until her feet squelched, and she came to a halt.

She stood there, her breathing growing quick and shallow, when she heard a voice behind her.

“What are you doing?”

Jaina did not turn around. The rain drummed into her skin; it plastered her hair to her cheeks and neck. She wrapped her arms around herself and wished she were cold enough to shiver, but the rain did nothing to combat the humidity that pressed down around her. The very air in Quel’Thalas seemed to work its way into her throat, down to her lungs until she choked in the heat, until she drowned in it.

“This rain is all wrong,” Jaina mumbled.

Behind her, Sylvanas lingered beneath the shelter of the balcony. “What? What are you talking about?”

Jaina stared down at her feet, at the mud pooling up around her ankles, the earth pounded to life by the pouring rain. “I hate it here.”

The announcement came like a horrible realisation. It fell from her lips in a gasp, and she had to swallow back the raw feeling that welled up in her mouth when she said it.

“I fucking hate it here,” she repeated, louder this time, speaking to nobody. “Ever since I arrived, I hated it. I hate the way everyone stares at me. I hate that I don’t know anybody. I hate that I can’t understand the language. I hate that I’m here instead of in Dalaran. I hate the Academy. I hate the hot water everyone serves me. I hate the tea. I hate how useless I feel, and that I need my centuries old wife and centuries older guardsman to fight my battles for me. I hate that the only people who are nice to me are people who feel like they have to be nice to me. I hate the weather. I hate this rain. I hate -”

This must have been what seasickness felt like. The earth pitching beneath her feet. The disorientation. Never knowing which way was up, which direction was which. Jaina closed her eyes. She grit her teeth. Her fingers dug into her sides and her shoulders hunched. Maybe, if she were lucky, the rain would sink into her skin and she would dissolve into nothing. Better that than staying here.

She didn’t hear Sylvanas walking to her until she felt a gentle touch at her shoulder. Recoiling, Jaina whirled around and stumbled back a step. Sylvanas raised both her hands, as if showing Jaina that she was unarmed. She watched Jaina carefully, and Jaina couldn’t stand the pity in her eyes. She could only have been in the rain for a moment, but already Sylvanas appeared soaked through.

“What can I do?” Sylvanas asked, taking a small step forward, looking like she wanted to reach out, but stopping herself from doing so.

“There’s nothing to be done.”

Sylvanas shook her head, as if not believing the words she was hearing. “There has to be something. Whatever it is, I can help; you just need to tell me what you want.”

“Nothing!” Jaina shouted. “I don’t want anything from you!”

Her words rang out, and the silence that followed was broken only by the uneven bruit of rainfall and the distant rumble of thunder over the sea. Sylvanas looked stricken, like she’d been slapped, and an echo of that all too familiar helplessness crossed her face.

“How -” Sylvanas started to say, but she had to stop before she could continue. “How am I supposed to make this better, then? When you won’t tell me? When you refuse to let me do anything?”

Something dark and ugly roiled in Jaina’s chest, and she countered, “I suppose you’ll just do it anyway. Like you did with the Magister.”

Sylvanas’ mouth snapped shut. For the first time since Jaina had known her, she had been caught off guard and had to fumble for an excuse. “Because I had to. Because you weren’t doing anything about it.”

“I specifically asked you to let me handle it!”

“But you weren’t!”

“It wasn’t your choice to make!”

“You were unhappy! Sneaking into libraries and bribing children to bring you books! They had no right to treat you with such disrespect!”

“This isn’t about whether what you did to the Magister was right or wrong, Sylvanas! This is about -!” Jaina couldn’t keep from shouting now. “This was the one thing -- the only thing -- that was under my control, that I could do my way! And you took it!”

“I’m sorry! Is that what you want to hear?”

“Yes!”

Sylvanas stared at her. The kohl had begun to streak down her cheeks. The rain had drenched her through, her hair darkened to a honey gold, but her eyes were bright and incredulous. “That’s it? ‘I’m sorry’?”

“No! That’s -!” With a growl of frustration, Jaina snapped, “I want you to mean it! I want you to respect my decisions! I want you to treat me like an adult!”

“Then you need to tell me things! I am trying to understand, to do the best I can, but I can’t read your mind! I have to pry information from you and believe it or not, you are very difficult to read!”

“This isn’t my fault! Stop trying to make it my fault!”

“I’m not -!” Sylvanas stepped closer, and her eyes blazed. “You need to talk to me. Stop hiding. Stop trying to fend for yourself. You are not alone. I am here for you.”

Jaina shook her head, but refused to back down. She had been clenching her teeth so hard her jaw ached. “You have to say that. You have to act like you -- We’re married, so you have to say things like that.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do! You don’t -- You don’t care. This isn’t real. This a contract. We signed a contract.”

The anger and confusion on Sylvanas’ face had softened. Not to pity -- Jaina would have died on the spot if it were pity -- but to something bordering on tenderness.

“I care.”

When Sylvanas slowly reached up to brush a strand of hair that had stuck to Jaina’s cheek, Jaina flinched but did not pull back. Looking down at the space between their feet, Jaina bit her lower lip; it had begun to tremble. She hated the burning that stung her eyes.

Sylvanas cupped her cheek and said gently, “You can leave if you want. You can go home.”

Somehow that made it worse. Jaina shook her head against the first sob that rose in her throat. She ducked her head and tried to hide her face behind one of her hands, but Sylvanas took her wrist and tugged her that final step forward. Jaina instead hid her face in Sylvanas’ shoulder, her own shoulders starting to shake. Squeezing her eyes shut, she cried. She barely registered Sylvanas slowly putting her arms around her.

Jaina did not know for how long they stood like that in the rain, only that at some point she had reached around Sylvanas’ back and clutched handfuls of her cloak. Sylvanas murmured soothing noises in her ear, or otherwise remained silent. Eventually, the tremors faded, Jaina’s breathing evened out, and the tears slowed to a stop, until Jaina was simply standing there, eyes closed, forehead pressed against Sylvanas’ chest, enjoying the feeling of being held.

Thunder rumbled across the sea behind them. Closer this time.

“Come on. Let’s go inside. You’ll catch your death out here,” Sylvanas said.

Keeping an arm around Jaina’s shoulders, Sylvanas urged her back towards the manor. Jaina went without protest. She wiped at her eyes. Her entire face felt puffy, and her whole body felt drained. Both her and Sylvanas’ feet slipped in the mud as they trudged back to the manor.

Two servants were already waiting for them at the back entrance with fresh warm towels and robes. They had even spread out a canvas material on the ground of the rear foyer so that Sylvanas and Jaina did not muddy the floor. Numbly, Jaina stripped down to her underthings and toweled herself dry, her movements sluggish. She could hear Sylvanas beside her doing the same, though far more quickly and efficiently.

While Jaina was belting the robe shut around her waist, Sylvanas said, “I saw that your mother sent you an early birthday gift.”

Nodding without looking up, Jaina brushed her damp hair back from her face. “She sent me some tea from Kul Tiras.”

“Would you like some?”

“Yes, please.” Jaina sounded hollow to her own ears.

Sylvanas relayed a few short orders to the servants who had begun to pick up their sopping wet clothes from the canvas. As she did so, Jaina started off towards the stairs. Exhaustion had truly settled into her now, a bone-deep ache. She hadn’t eaten dinner yet, but the thought of food made her feel mildly ill. Food could wait until the morning.

Sylvanas followed a step behind all the way up to their private quarters, silent. She closed the doors behind them when Jaina entered the room. Without bothering to change into a nightgown, Jaina wandered over to the bed and flopped down onto her side, face-first. She felt a dip in the mattress; Sylvanas sat beside her rather than across from her.

“Do you want me to bring you anything?”

Jaina shook her head.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No.” Jaina’s voice was muffled by the sheets.

“Alright.”

Sylvanas leaned back, but stiffened with a quiet knock came at the door. Jaina lifted her head, but Sylvanas said, “I’ll get it.”

Standing, she crossed the room and opened the door. Through the gap, Jaina could just see the armoured figure of Ithedis bearing a tray.

“Is she -?”

“She’s fine.” Sylvanas reached out to take the tray. Her voice lowered when she said, “I received the latest field reports this morning. There were minimal casualties during a border skirmish. Your eldest’s name was not on the list.”

Ithedis bowed. “Thank you, Lady Windrunner.”

She nodded and closed the door with her hip. As she approached the bed, Jaina sat up. “I didn’t know he had kids.”

Sylvanas set the tray down on the end of the bed. “He has five. All daughters. I initiated his youngest into the Rangers not too long ago.”

For a moment, Jaina chewed at her lower lip, saying nothing. Then, swallowed thickly, she scooted forward to sit cross-legged in front of the tray. It held a steaming pot of water, a strainer, a box of the tea her mother had sent, a small pitcher of milk, slices of lemon, and a pot of honey. There were also two cups and two spoons.

Jaina tucked her rain-frizzy hair behind her ears, but it almost immediately fell into her face again. Ignoring it, she scooped black tea leaves directly into the pot. “Do you want a cup?”

Sylvanas moved to sit beside her on the bed. “I would. I’ve never had Kul Tiran tea before.”

Placing the glass lid back over the pot, Jaina waited for it to steep. Sylvanas peered at the tea, her long ears held at a curious angle that Jaina recognised far too well from the young Novices at the Academy.

“It’s red,” she remarked. “Is it supposed to be so dark?”

Jaina began to slowly turn the teapot clockwise, stirring the leaves. “They bake it. It gives the tea a smokey flavour.”

“Hmm,” Sylvanas sounded dubious.

After a few minutes, Jaina poured them each a cup. She put a splash of milk in her own, but Sylvanas shook her head and took her tea black. Cupping the ceramic mug between her hands, Jaina took a sip and sighed in pleasure. A rush of homesickness washed over her, but she cradled the cup to her chest and closed her eyes.

Beside her, Sylvanas took a sip, then made a noise in the back of her throat. “It’s -” she wrinkled her nose. “- earthy.”

“Do you not like it?” Jaina asked.

In answer Sylvanas took another sip. “I am undecided.”

They drank in silence. Rain lashed the windows, and the storm clouds darkened the sky until it felt like dusk already. At one point, Sylvanas added lemon to her tea. She took a sip, and added a dollop of honey as well.

When she reached for the milk after another drink, Jaina said, “I’ve never seen anyone add all three.”

“I’m experimenting.” Sylvanas stirred the milk in, and took another sip. She nodded gravely, as if coming to a conclusion, and placed her cup back on the tray. “Just as I thought. It’s terrible.”

An unexpected snort of laughter escaped Jaina at that. She shook her head, unable to keep a crooked half smile from her lips. Draining the last of her tea, Jaina refilled her cup. She held the spout of the teapot over Sylvanas’ cup in quiet question, but Sylvanas waved her away.

As Jaina added milk to her own tea and sighed blissfully into another cup, Sylvanas pointed to Jaina’s damp hair. “May I?”

Hesitant, Jaina nodded.

Even then, Sylvanas did not immediately touch her. “You don’t have to say ‘yes’ just because I ask something.”

“No, it’s - it’s fine.” Jaina inhaled a shaky breath and said, “I want you to.”

Jaina tensed as Sylvanas moved to sit directly behind her, but at the first gentle scrape of fingernails against her scalp she sighed. In long languid strokes, Sylvanas combed her fingers through Jaina’s hair, and Jaina could feel the tension slowly drain from her shoulders. Soon, she was holding the cup in her lap, tea forgotten, her eyes half-closed and heavy-lidded.

Working from the top of her head, Sylvanas began to part Jaina’s hair and weave it together. The braid curved down one shoulder, and Jaina’s tea had gone lukewarm by the time Sylvanas finished. Of all the things they'd done together -- sleeping in the same bed, sharing communal baths -- somehow this seemed the most intimate.

Sylvanas’ hand lingered at the nape of Jaina’s neck after finishing, before she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. “I’m going to find something to eat. Do you want me to bring anything back?”

Jaina shook her head. Without another word, Sylvanas strode from the room. In her absence, Jaina poured herself a fresh cup of tea and pushed herself back against the cushions. The tea itself did nothing to help with the heat or the homesickness or anything else that had been troubling her these last few months, but she could pretend it did.

Finishing her last cup, Jaina placed it and the tray atop one of the trunks at the foot of the bed. She didn’t bother getting changed. She simply curled up atop the sheets and closed her eyes and tried to sleep.

She was still awake when the room had dimmed in the evening light, when the door creaked open, then shut again, and Sylvanas padded around the room with silent footfalls. Jaina feigned sleep, wishing she had the courage to roll over and ask Sylvanas to put her arms around her again. Instead, she tucked her knees up higher, kept her eyes closed, and waited for sleep to claim her.

--

It continued to rain, and did not stop. The roads of Quel’Thalas ran like rivers across the land, a deluge of mud that carved off chunks of earth. One afternoon, Jaina heard a great crack and crash, thinking it was lightning only to be told by Ithedis that it was a piece of the cliffside sliding into the ocean. At least the rainy season explained why the manor wasn’t built closer to the sea.

Four days later, Jaina received a letter from Falthrien Academy. She left it on a table in the main hall, unable to open it without feeling sick to her stomach. It wasn’t until the next morning that Jaina plucked up the courage to crack the wax seal on the back and read what it said. Her brow furrowed in confusion, and she read it again.

It was, quite simply, a request for a visit to the Goldenbough Manor from a Magistrix Elosai.

“What do I do with this?” Jaina waved the letter at Sylvanas.

Raising her eyebrows, Sylvanas read the letter over Jaina’s shoulder. “Either invite her over, or decline her request.”

“And what does she want?”

Sylvanas shrugged. “I guess you’ll have to just find out.”

“But who is she?”

“I have no idea. I’m not a mage. I don’t go to the Academy that often. And by that I mean, I’ve been there all of three times.”

“Including the last one?” Jaina said dryly.

Looking suitably chagrined, Sylvanas murmured, “I stand corrected. Four times.”

Jaina folded the letter back up. “Duskwither is only sending her because of you. You know that, right?”

Sylvanas met her eye. “Then you should decline.” When Jaina pursed her lips, Sylvanas cocked her head. “Or not?”

Jaina chewed at the inside of her cheek before saying, “I still want a teacher here. I just don’t like the way I’ve gotten one.”

“There’s nothing I can do about that now, apart from apologise again. If that’s what you want -?”

Sighing, Jaina shook her head. “No. It’s fine. Well -” She glared at Sylvanas. “It’s not fine, but it’s fine.”

Sylvanas gave a huff of laughter. She tapped Jaina lightly on the shoulder. “You see? Difficult to read.”

Jaina sent a letter back, and the next morning a slender elven woman in mage robes the colour of deep turquoise arrived at Goldenbough Manor. She had not a speck of mud on her, despite the deluge outside.

She bowed to Jaina upon being shown into a sitting room off the main hall. “Thank you for receiving me, Lady Proudmoore.”

Warily, Jaina nodded in return. “Magistrix Elosai, I presume?”

“That’s correct.” The Magistrix waved away a silent offer to sit on one of the couches. “Oh, no. Thank you. I couldn’t possibly impose.”

She remained standing, and Jaina, feeling awkward, cleared her throat as she sat down herself. Magistrix Elosai was by no stretch of the imagination a tall woman, but she held herself with such calm assurance she made Jaina feel gangly in comparison.

“I would like to start out by apologising on behalf of the Academy, Lady Proudmoore,” Magistrix Elosai began. “My superior severely overstepped. His disregard for your skill and his disrespect towards you were unacceptable.”

Another bow. Jaina was starting to feel weird about all the bowing. “Thank you, Magistrix. And I apologise for anything my wife did on my behalf.”

At that, Elosai seemed taken aback. Her ears pinned back, as though Jaina had said something offensive. Perhaps she should not have mentioned it at all? Elosai tried to smile, a somewhat nervous smile.

“Secondly, I have requested an audience to offer you two proposals,” Elosai continued as though Jaina had not mentioned Duskwither at all. “The first: I would be honoured if you would agree to let me teach you personally. The second: I’d like to ask if you want to make your tutoring of the Novices a more official position at the Academy.”

“In what capacity?” Jaina asked slowly.

“Seminars. They won’t be much different from what you currently do, apart from the fact that with official sanctions comes Academy support. You’ll be given more materials, a room to hold the seminars, and an office of your own.”

Jaina flushed. She could feel her ears burning in embarrassment. “That’s - That’s far too generous. I can’t accept that.”

“It is the least I can do, Lady Proudmoore.” Elosai bowed again. Jaina really wished she would stop bowing.

“But I’m -! I’m still an Apprentice! I shouldn’t have office space! Or students!” Jaina insisted. Of all the luxuries she had been given upon her arrival in Quel’Thalas, private office space in Falthrien Academy seemed like extravagance. She didn’t even know what she would do with an office, apart from sit in it and feel like an imposter who had lied and cheated her way through the system.

“Yet you have been tutoring the Novices regardless, and doing an admirable job of it too from what I understand.” Magistrix Elosai clasped her hands and said calmly, “If your station bothers you, we can expedite your status at the Academy when your Apprenticeship finishes in Dalaran. It shouldn’t be long. I checked with Modera myself -- she and I are old friends -- and she reckons you’re well on your way to becoming a fully fledged member of the Kirin Tor.”

Well, that was news to Jaina. She gaped like a fish, then snapped her mouth shut. Rising abruptly to her feet, Jaina said, “Can I think about it?”

Another bow. “Of course, Lady Proudmoore. Take all the time you need. You know where to find me.”

Jaina escorted Elosai from the Manor. On the front steps Elosai teleported directly back to the Academy, leaving Jaina holding one of the front doors open dumbly. Closing the door, Jaina wandered back into the sitting room in a daze. She collapsed onto one of the couches, her legs dangling over an armrest, and stared up at the ceiling. She only heard Sylvanas’ footsteps entering the room because Sylvanas wanted her presence to be known.

“It went poorly, did it?” Sylvanas asked, standing over the couch and peering down at Jaina so that her long hair fell down around her face.

“You mean you and Ithedis weren’t eavesdropping?” Jaina quipped.

“No. We were not. And you realise Ithedis never tells me anything unless he knows you told me about it first?”

Sighing, Jaina rubbed at her eyes. “I know. I’m sorry.” She raised her voice and said again for Ithedis who stood at his post outside the room, “I’m sorry.”

Sylvanas cocked her head. “So?”

“So -- what?”

Sylvanas rolled her eyes. “How did your meeting go?”

“Oh! Right.” Jaina grimaced, letting her arms fall back onto the couch cushions. “Apparently I’m both a student and teacher now. They’re giving me an office.”

Sylvanas’ eyebrows rose and she straightened. “Are they now? Huh.”

Jaina narrowed her eyes. “Don’t look so smug.”

“Me? I’m not smug.”

Jaina pointed at Sylvanas’ face. “You are! Look at that stupid smirk. I hate it.”

Even though Sylvanas schooled her features, her eyes gleamed. “It’s because you’re lying down and seeing my face from an odd angle. Hardly my fault.”

Jaina stuck her tongue out at Sylvanas, who laughed.

“What was it you said about being an adult?” Sylvanas grinned.

“Oh, shut up.”

--

The rains let up the evening before Jaina’s birthday. When she awoke the morning of, the sky remained a foreboding iron grey, but that didn’t stop Sylvanas from pulling her away from breakfast and dragging her to the stables for a ride through the countryside. Jaina only had enough time to dress in riding leathers and forego the more comfortable mage robes she was going to wear that day.

The mugginess doused her as soon as she stepped outside. Tugging at her collar, Jaina gave up and flicked open the first few buttons. It didn’t help much, but it made her feel a little better. She coated her palm in ice and placed it on the back of her neck, groaning. Still morning -- albeit late in the morning -- and already she was dying in the heat.

Sylvanas on the other hand, still wore a half cloak this time of a heavier material than she had a few months ago.

“How on earth can you stand to wear that?” Jaina asked.

With a shrug, Sylvanas led her towards the stables. “It’s the rainy season. It’s cold. Plus we’re heading south for the day.”

Jaina stared at her, aghast. “This is not cold! This is - wait. We’re going where?”

“I thought I might show you my family home. It will just be a quick day trip.”

“But -” Jaina trotted to catch up and walk beside her. “Isn’t Windrunner Village a three days ride from here?”

Sylvanas turned her head just enough to shoot a mischievous grin over her shoulder. “Not the way we’re travelling.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Sylvanas. Sylvanas!”

Jaina got her answer when they rounded the corner and happened upon a massive sunset-coloured dragonhawk. Upon seeing them, it balked at the rope that tethered it to one of the reinforced sides of the stables. A crack appeared in the wall around the bolt that held the rope in place, and Jaina took a wary step back.

Before she could get very far, Sylvanas grabbed her hand. “Come on,” she murmured, giving Jaina’s hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s going to be fine. I promise.”

Taking a deep breath, Jaina allowed herself to be led forward. The dragonhawk’s serpentine head swung round, and it glared at her with one molten eye. Slowly, Sylvanas drew her up to the beast, moving around its wings so that she could bring Jaina to its narrow flank. There, a long saddle had been attached. Leather straps looped around the dragonhawk’s sinuous body, buckled into place.

“I’ll give you a leg up,” Sylvanas said.

“You can’t be serious,” Jaina replied breathlessly. The dragonhawk was glaring at her over its wing, its body tense as if ready to strike at the first wrong move. “Shouldn’t you go first? Or maybe we should just portal down there. I can summon a perfectly good portal, you know!”

Chuckling, Sylvanas went down on one knee and laced her fingers together. “No portals. We’re doing it the fun way.”

“I’ll have you know portals are very fun,” Jaina said, even as she stepped carefully onto Sylvanas’ hands and was boosted up into the saddle. Despite the boost, she still struggled to get her leg over the dragonhawk’s back, afraid that she might slip down the other side and fall on its wing.

“Says the mage.”

With her usual dash of grace, Sylvanas leapt up behind her. There was only one set of stirrups, which Sylvanas slipped her booted feet into, gently guiding Jaina’s legs forward with a nudge of her toe at Jaina’s calves. Jaina tried not to seem too stiff at the sudden substantial amount of contact, but it was difficult when her back was pressed against Sylvanas’ front. It was even more difficult when Sylvanas murmured an apology and reached both arms around Jaina to grab the reins.

When she had the reins firmly in her grasp, Sylvanas said, “Alright, I’m going to need you to do something for me.”

“What?” Jaina told herself that she definitely did not squeak.

She could feel the warm huff of Sylvanas’ laughter against the back of her neck. Suddenly, Jaina wished she hadn’t taken to tying her hair in a braid after that night.

“Nothing dangerous, don’t worry. You see that leather strap there?” Sylvanas pointed without dropping the reins. When Jaina nodded, she said, “Unhook it, and then hold on tight.”

“Ok.” Jaina breathed in and out a few times. “Ok. I can do that.”

Reaching down, Jaina tugged at the buckle on the strap. It wouldn’t give, and then, finally, she managed to pull it free. The moment she had done so, Jaina grabbed hold of the saddle horn between her legs and held on for dear life.

Nothing happened.

With a light cluck of her tongue, Sylvanas nudged the dragonhawk with her heels and pulled its head to the right. The dragonhawk shook its head against the reins, but turned its body away from the manor. Jaina held her breath and closed her eyes when it stretched out its wings, which glimmered like the dawn. She could feel Sylvanas squeeze her knees together and heard the snap of reins.

The world lurched. Then a rush of air like a torrent. It whipped at them, a furious upwards wind that faded into a downdraft as they swooped so severely Jaina could have sworn her stomach was left behind on the ground. The dragonhawk struggled to gain height in the air, flapping its wings before it had risen high enough that it could fly without bobbing up and down like a buoy.

After a few minutes of Jaina hunched over the saddlehorn, she felt a nudge at her side.

“You can open your eyes now,” Sylvanas teased over the whistle of the wind.

Jain did so. They were gliding just beneath the thick cover of cloud. Quel’Thalas drifted below them, far enough that Jaina felt dizzy when she looked down, and she immediately jerked her head up again. Already she could see that they were going to soon pass over a port lined with elven ships.

“You have a navy?” she asked, not daring to remove one of her hands from the saddlehorn to point.

Sylvanas snorted. “Yes. A shit one.” When Jaina craned her neck to keep studying the port as they flew over, Sylvanas said, “I can take you there another day, if you’d like.”

Jaina nodded. “Yes, please.”

She couldn’t see Sylvanas’ face from this angle, but she could feel Sylvanas shake her head. The wind was too loud to hear much, but she could have sworn she heard Sylvanas mutter affectionately, “Kul Tirans.”

By horse, it would have taken them ages to travel what was in essence the length of Quel’Thalas. By dragonhawk however, it took mere hours. Three quarters of the way through the flight, Jaina finally found the confidence to relax. Plus, her hands ached from gripping the saddlehorn so tightly. When she leaned back a bit however, she tensed again, realising that the motion made her rest fully against Sylvanas.

If Sylvanas noticed, she did not say anything. In fact at one point, Sylvanas said, “Take these for a second,” and pushed the reins into Jaina’s hands.

“Wait -! What?”

But Sylvanas was already leaning back and casually rummaging through one of the saddlebags strapped behind her. “You’re doing great. Just keep him steady. And don’t let him go swooping after anything deer-shaped.”

“That’s not funny!”

A low chuckle, and the clink of whatever Sylvanas was rummaging through. “Oh, I know. I wasn’t being funny that time.”

Which meant Jaina was studiously staring at the back of the dragonhawk’s crested head in the event that it might see something and decide to spin them into a dive so that it could snatch up a meal. When Sylvanas took the reins back, Jaina breathed a sigh of relief.

By the time they landed at Windrunner Spire, it was just past midday. Jaina slid from the dragonhawk’s back and onto blessed solid earth once more. Sylvanas hopped down beside her with one of the saddlebags slung over her shoulder. The dragonhawk gamely accepted a pat on its long neck, and even nudged its beak at the saddlebag over Sylvanas’ shoulder.

“That’s not for you.” Sylvanas pushed its head away. The dragonhawk butted against her arm, and she grunted, staggering back a step from the strength of the impact.

They had landed near the stables, and two attendants had come rushing out upon their arrival. With a wave in their direction, Sylvanas turned back to Jaina and jerked her head towards the Spire, “This way.”

The dragonhawk had begun to snap at the attendants, who were making shooing motions with their hands and trying to get a hold of the long lead that trailed from its neck. Jaina hurried after Sylvanas, glancing over her shoulder towards the attendants as she went.

“Are they going to be alright?” she asked.

Sylvanas made a dismissive gesture without looking around. “They’ll be fine. Welcome to my ancestral home, by the way.” She did not pause, continuing her long-legged strides, as she pointed to various things in their path. “That way is the village. Those over there are actually anchors for the leylines that act like ramparts, or so I’m told. We’ve never had to use them. Not since I’ve been alive, anyway. Those are the three spires. I used to have my rooms in that one over there, but I was always sneaking over into Alleria’s room in that tower because bothering her was my favourite hobby.”

“That sounds familiar,” Jaina quipped.

Sylvanas grinned over at her as they walked. “Youngest sister, yes? Even more annoying.”

Jaina nudged Sylvanas’ shoulder with her own. “I’m telling Vereesa you said that.”

“Good!”

Jaina tried to take in everything as they went, but Sylvanas’ clipped pace meant she didn’t have the time to pause and admire everything Sylvanas pointed out. A circular raised platform was connected to all three spires by a a bridge. Sylvanas strode up onto the platform and promptly sat down at the edge, one leg dangling over the long fall beneath her with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times in the past and who would do it a thousand times in the future.

Jaina hesitated to sit too near that edge herself. The open-aired platform made her feel a bit uneasy even when standing in the centre. She felt like one stiff breeze could knock her right off.

Sylvanas was pulling items from the saddlebag and arranging them on the floor next to her. A meal packaged in waxed paper, and a bottle of wine accompanied by two glasses carefully wrapped in cloth. Jaina sat, cross-legged, beside her so that lunch was spread between them. Carefully, she leaned forward somewhat to peer down over the edge.

“As much as I admire the beauty of elven architecture, I’ll never get over how spindly it looks,” Jaina remarked, sitting immediately back.

With a huff of laughter, Sylvanas uncorked the bottle of wine, its label so aged Jaina couldn’t read it. “And I’ll always think human architecture looks like a giant sat on it.”

Jaina opened her mouth to protest, but paused and thought about it. “Well, yes. That’s fair.”

In a wordless question, Sylvanas held the bottle over Jaina’s glass. Jaina nodded. “Thank you.”

While Sylvanas poured them each a glass, Jaina pulled open the paper that held their food. She blinked in surprise upon seeing a series of glyphs drawn onto the wax paper, tilting her head to one side in order to read them. They were preservation runes mixed with a very minor flame spell, cleverly designed to maintain the heat and freshness of whatever it had been used to package. She froze when she saw what was wrapped inside.

“Sylvanas?”

“Hmm?” Sylvanas set down the bottle.

Jaina pointed. “Are we having fancy elven wine with fish n’ chips for lunch?”

Reaching out, Sylvanas snagged a strip of fried potato and popped it into her mouth. “We are.”

With an incredulous laugh, Jaina pushed the paper down more so that they could both reach it better. Three golden fillets of crumbed fish left grease stains on the paper. Jaina tore off a wide section of the paper and used it to handle a fillet so as to not dirty her hands too much. Before she took a bite however, she glanced around.

“I don’t suppose we have any -?”

Immediately, Sylvanas pulled out a vial of malted vinegar from the saddlebag and tossed it to her. Jaina caught it, startled, then blinked in surprise. “How did you -?”

“I know it may shock you, but I am capable of reading a book,” Sylvanas said with one of her tell-tale grins. “I am also capable of taking full advantage of the newly established trade routes between Quel’Thalas and Kul Tiras.”

Jaina uncorked the vial and splashed a bit of vinegar onto her fillet. When she took that first bite, she closed her eyes and groaned in pleasure. Looking up at Sylvanas, she sighed around a mouthful, “You’re wonderful.”

At that, Sylvanas’ smile faltered. She hid it well, picking up another chip and proceeding to eat in earnest, but Jaina could recognise the slip all the same.

Wait. When had that happened? Jaina’s chewing slowed. She stared down at the pile of fish n’ chips. When had she grown so adept at reading Sylvanas’ micro expressions? Had she always been able to notice them? When had Sylvanas’ cool solemnity become a veneer that could Jaina could peek past, like pulling aside a curtain to see the stage props behind an actor?

Sylvanas recovered quickly, making light of Jaina’s off-handed comment, steering their conversation to safer harbours. Jaina tagged along, more than happy to be amused by her wife’s puckish chatter. Together, they finished lunch until only a few chips remained, having gone soggy now that the glyphs on the wax paper had been broken.

“Thank you,” Jaina said when their talk had slowed. “This was a lovely surprise for my birthday.”

Around the stem of her wine glass, Sylvanas held up one finger. “I do have one more thing. Though I’m not sure it can be considered a gift.”

Curious, Jaina craned her neck while Sylvanas used her free hand to pull something from a pouch at her belt. She put down her own glass -- her second, and mostly drained. Sylvanas turned and held out a letter.

Or -- not a letter. An invitation. Jaina took it. She flipped it over, running her hand along the thick card stock. It hadn’t been sealed yet. Opening it, she slid the invitation out to read its contents. She inhaled sharply through her nose. Not just any old invitation. An invitation to their own wedding anniversary, due to be held in Boralus in a mere five months.

“This a draft of the ones that are set to be delivered in two weeks,” Sylvanas said, sipping at her wine and watching Jaina’s reaction carefully. “We can change the styling on it, if you want.”

“No, this is fine. This is -” Feeling swept, Jaina ran her fingertips over the embossed script. “Has it really been that long already? It feels like I just arrived here.”

Sylvanas hummed. “I know the feeling. When you live as long as we do, time has a way of slowing to a crawl. It can be maddening, but sometimes with the right person a lifetime can feel like an instant.”

Her voice softened while she spoke, and a wistful expression crossed her face. She did not look at Jaina, instead thoughtfully studying the contents of her glass before lifting it to her lips.

Without thinking, Jaina wondered aloud, “Do high elves have divorce?”

Sylvanas choked, coughing on her drink. “What?”

Realising how that must have sounded, Jaina’s eyes widened. “Not like that!” she insisted. “No! No no no! I was just -- you know -- you said all of that as if you’d experienced it before, and I was wondering if this was the first time you’d ever -” she gestured between the two of them, “But then I realised I didn’t know if elves even got divorced, or had laws for divorce, or precedence or whatever. How does your legal system work, anyway? Is it a system of common law or -?”

Putting down her glass, Sylvanas rubbed at her forehead. “One of these days, you’re going to give me a heart attack,” she sighed. “To answer your questions: it’s a civil law system; elves can get a divorce; it’s not technically called ‘divorce’ and it works a bit differently, though I understand the comparison; and no, I have never been married before.”

“And why not?” Jaina asked. “Was marriage something you never wanted?”

Sylvanas laughed, a low chuckle with a wry edge. She shook her head and took another sip of her wine before saying, “When I was young I had a very clear idea of what my wedding would be like, what kind of person I would marry, and how my life would be with them. Needless to say, life has a way of diverting one’s expectations.” She tilted her glass to Jaina as if in a mock toast. “I never expected to marry a human, or to marry for politics instead of love. I certainly never expected to make my spouse unhappy.”

“I’m not -” Jaina almost lied, then cut herself off with a grimace. “I mean -- it’s getting better. Things are looking up. And it’s not you. I swear it’s not. You don’t make me unhappy.”

“What a ringing endorsement,” Sylvanas drawled with that flair of self-deprecating humour she preferred.

“Please. You are the only thing making this situation bearable,” Jaina said with as much earnestness as she could muster. After a moment, she added, “Ithedis helps, too.”

“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to know.”

Sylvanas was refusing to meet her eye, and Jaina’s blood ran cold. Swallowing thickly, Jaina started to ask, “Are you -? Um -?” Her hands were trembling. She had to fight the urge to squeeze them together in her lap for fear of crumpling the anniversary invitation. “Are you unhappy?”

Before this moment, Jaina had never thought to ask that. The idea had never struck her that Sylvanas was anything but perfectly content to sail through their marriage for the good of her people and no other reason. Now, the mere notion that she may have been just as unhappy sent a jolt of fear racing down Jaina's spine.

Rather than answer immediately -- Tides, but Jaina wished Sylvanas had just answered immediately, that she denied it, that she flashed one of her signature roguish grins, made everything better, and put Jaina's mind at ease, like she was so good at doing -- Sylvanas gazed contemplatively into the distance. The sun was sinking towards the horizon, sweeping the world in bright lilac hues; it would be evening before long. She idly swirled the dregs of her glass before setting it down.

“It’s getting better.”

Without further explanation, Sylvanas pushed herself to her feet. She offered her hand to Jaina. “We should start heading back. It’s getting dark.”

--

The weeks passed. Jaina found a new rhythm. She accepted Elosai's proposal. She started personal lessons three days a week at the Academy, and led seminars with the Novices on another day, giving her a day in Dalaran and two days of time for rest, which of course she used to lock herself away in her personal library at Goldenbough for more study. Just as Elosai had predicted, within a month Jaina was promoted to a full member of the Kirin Tor, and presented with a new set of robes at a small ceremony in Dalaran.

Jaina had sent an excited letter to her mother with the news, hoping Katherine could attend the ceremony. In return she received a long glowing letter, complete with an apology at the end saying that her mother was detained at sea and could not pull herself away from her duties. In the end, only Sylvanas and Ithedis attended. Afterwards, Sylvanas insisted on taking Jaina out and being seen at a restaurant in Dalaran.

These days, it was rare for the two of them to see one another outside of the occasional meal at the manor. She still reserved dinners with Sylvanas, but the they were both busy enough that dinner and bed were the only times they reliably saw one another.

If it bothered Sylvanas, she did not complain. Though after their visit to Windrunner Spire, Jaina had grown far more suspicious of Sylvanas’ silences. Her wife seemed to speak as much with silence as she did with words, perhaps more so. Often Jaina found herself studying Sylvanas across the dinner table -- Sylvanas had purchased a Kul Tiran dining set to go on another side of the banquet hall, though she herself continued to eat with her hands rather than use the utensils that Jaina preferred -- but Sylvanas was as adept as ever at deflecting scrutiny with an easy laugh and a terrible joke.

Had her humour grown more self-deprecating over the last few months? Jaina couldn’t tell. Maybe Sylvanas had always held herself in such low esteem, and simply hid it well.

“Lady Proudmoore, are you paying attention?”

Jaina jerked. Elosai was frowning at her, not unkindly but curiously. “Yes!” Jaina said, straightening her shoulders. “Sorry, Magistrix.”

They were standing in Elosai’s office space, far larger than Jaina’s own office space, which -- Jaina had noted with intense relief when she’d first been assigned it -- was little more than a glorified broom cupboard with a single window. Meanwhile, the Magistrix’s circular office had enough space for magical baubles and statues and even an open second floor library connected to the ground floor by a floating spiral staircase.  She had been forced to beg Elosai to give her the worst office in the building, which the Magistrix had granted with great reluctance and no small amount of confusion.

Elosai lowered the scroll she had been reading aloud. Her usual expression of calm had been marred with genuine concern; she had a knack for earnestness that Jaina always appreciated. “It’s unlike you to be so distracted. Is there something on your mind?”

Opening her mouth, Jaina scrambled for a lie and decided instead to settle for a half-truth -- she had never been very good at lying, anyway. “Some of the Novices have been asking me questions that I’m not sure how best to answer.”

“I’m assuming these questions are of a personal nature?” Elosai asked. When Jaina nodded, the Magistrix hummed. “That’s not unusual, especially when the younger ones take a liking to you. I wouldn’t concern yourself too much over it. Answer what you can, and don’t be afraid to tell them they’re crossing a line if they pry too much.”

“Of course,” Jaina cleared her throat. “I just don’t want to anger the institution or any parents with my answers about humans and -- things.”

“You have a level head on your shoulders, Lady Proudmoore. I trust you to not say anything of an inflammatory nature.” Elosai’s voice gentled. “Is there anything else?”

For a brief wild moment, Jaina almost blurted out everything, as if the first friendly face were a repository for all her woes. Her worries that other Apprentices and Magisters were starting to resent her for how quickly she rose through the ranks. Her worries that her pride was over-inflating her actual abilities. Her worries that she wasn’t a good teacher to an ever growing group of Novices that seemed to trail around the Academy after her like a gaggle of excited geese. Her worries that Sylvanas was only ever concerned about Jaina and never about herself. Her concerns that Sylvanas wasn’t talking to her about anything of substance, that their relationship was already starting to stagnate so early in their marriage, that she herself had no idea how to stop it from happening, so that she felt she was standing on a cliff and watching the chasm between them widen beyond her control.

Instead, Jaina swallowed it all down. Maybe Elosai could have helped her with a few of those anxieties, but it wouldn’t do for Jaina to go blabbing about strains in her incredibly politically important marriage. So, she plastered on a smile, shook her head, and said, “No! Nothing at all! You were saying something about arcane constructs?”

--

While intellectually Jaina had always understood Sylvanas’ forced leave would come to and end, she had never quite gotten around to preparing for it. The day came when Sylvanas was reading her latest field report after dinner, and she announced casually at the table that she would be leaving for the border the next morning.

Jaina almost dropped her cup of tea. “I’m sorry -- what?”

Not looking up from the report, Sylvanas repeated herself with the same air of calm assurance, “I need to go early tomorrow. There’s been an increase of activity along our eastern border. Probing attacks and other reconnaissance. Vereesa thinks it’s a tactic to divert our attention from the south and split our forces, but I’m not so convinced. The Amani wouldn’t leave Zul’Aman so poorly defended and push all their resources into a full-on assault from the south. It would leave their capital at our mercy. And if their capital falls, they fall.”

“Oh,” Jaina breathed.

“Mmm.”

Jaina sipped at her tea in an attempt to steel herself; a good strong cup of tea always helped. Then, still cupping her mug, she said, “I think I should go with you.”

Sylvanas blinked, then stared at her over the top of the field report. A thousand questions seemed to run through her mind, before she settled on an incredulous, “Why?”

Clearing her throat, Jaina set her tea down on the table. “Ithedis, could you give us some privacy, please?”

Without question, Ithedis left his post at the entrance and closed the door behind them so that they were alone in their corner of the banquet hall.

Sylvanas watched him go, her face blank with shock, then looked back at Jaina. “Are you feeling sick?”

“What?” Jaina was taken aback. “No! Why is that your first question?”

Folding up the field report, Sylvanas used it to gesture at Jaina. “Because from the looks of it you’re actually initiating a serious conversation.”

Despite herself, Jaina could not help but fiddle with her teacup, running her finger along its rim. “I suppose I am.”

She paused for a moment, but Sylvanas had leaned back and was waiting for Jaina to continue. Straightening in her seat, Jaina drew in a deep breath before starting. “I don’t think having that much distance between us would be good right now.”

“And I think that your studies at the Academy are more important than endangering your life,” Sylvanas countered calmly.

“Technically speaking, I’m a Magistrix now -- low ranking, I’ll grant you -- but I only teach Novice seminars, so I have no real obligations at the Academy. Plus, I won’t be in danger. I’m more than capable of handling myself, thank you.”

At that, Sylvanas’ eyebrows rose. She turned the field report over between her hands, but never took her gaze off Jaina. “Let me see if I understand what you’re saying: you want to go onto the front lines of a warzone, because you’re afraid of us growing distant.”

“I -” Jaina grabbed her tea and took another sip, mumbling around the lip of her cup, “I don’t want to not see you.”

Sylvanas snorted. “Is that your way of saying you’ll miss me?”

“Sylvanas, please. I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

Jaina lowered her teacup. A few months ago, she would have said that Sylvanas’ expression was inscrutable. Now, Sylvanas looked like she was holding her breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It was Jaina’s turn to soften her voice. “I enjoy your company. You know that, right? You always find a way to make me laugh.”

Sylvanas’ ears twitched ever so slightly, and she leaned her head back as if drawing in a sharp breath that Jaina could not hear. Looking contemplative, she murmured, “And apparently you always find a way to surprise me.”

Jaina shrugged and offered an apologetic little smile.

Deep in thought, Sylvanas tapped the field report against her cheek. “I suppose we can find a good way to spin this,” she mused aloud. “We can say I’m giving you a tour of the troops. Involving you on the front lines can be a show of good faith between our militaries.” Then, she chuckled darkly. “If you die, your mother will probably have me assassinated.”

“Oh, no. Definitely not.” Jaina shook her head. “If I died, she’d kill you herself.”

Sylvanas’ grin widened and her eyes brightened. “Now wouldn’t that be a scandal.”

As usual, Jaina couldn’t help but return the smile. “In all seriousness though, let’s not have a troll kill me.”

“You won’t start fights at fancy balls with me. You won’t let yourself be impaled by a troll.” Sylvanas tsked and shook her head. “The list grows longer everyday. And everyday I am disappointed.”

Jaina wadded up one of the napkins from the table and threw it at her. “And you’ll keep on being disappointed.”

Rather than bat the napkin aside, Sylvanas let it hit her square in the face.

--

If Jaina had thought the heat was bad before, it was nothing compared to travelling in the field and living without a proper bath for weeks on end.

“You should have warned me about this.”

Sylvanas rolled her eyes. “I did warn you. You just weren’t listening.”

Fighting back a smile, Jaina schooled her features. “When? I don’t specifically remember you saying ‘Jaina, conditions in the field will be horrible and by week three you’ll wish you got impaled by a troll.’”

“I had assumed that exact phrase was implied every time I said ‘Jaina, we’re going out into an active warzone,’” Sylvanas drawled.

They were riding at the head of a long column of Rangers. Their mounts trudged, side-by-side, as they had since disembarking from Goldenbough. Back in Quel’Thalas, Jaina had been able to employ various magical means to cool herself off while they travelled, but ever since they had crossed into dangerous territory four days ago, she’d had to abandon those tactics. Sylvanas had warned that any superfluous magic use might alert enemy shamans, and Jaina had stopped using magic since then unless otherwise instructed.

Thickly forested mountains rose up on either side of them, raking against the overcast sky. In the past, Jaina had always loved the rain. The smell of it, how it seemed to bring the earth to life, how cool and gentle. It had only taken her one rainy season in Quel’Thalas to come to the conclusion that rain was something to be avoided like the plague. She looked up towards the sky, which bore heavy black patches of cloud, and hoped beyond hope they could make it to the next camp before the downpour began.

“It’s odd, isn’t it?” Jaina said, lowering her gaze and guiding her horse along the narrow path that wound through the mountains. “In all my readings, historians tend to gloss over this kind of stuff.”

“I imagine suffering doesn’t make for good propaganda.” Sylvanas tugged up the hood of her cloak, obviously taking note of the clouds just as Jaina had.

Jaina glanced at her. “A few centuries tarnishes the romance, does it?”

She could just see the edge of a wry smile around the edge of Sylvanas’ hood. “Something like that.”

They continued along the road, quiet but for the march of feet behind them as the battalion of Rangers followed in their wake. Jaina looked over her shoulder at the long line of troops extending along the road. Roughly six or seven hundred soldiers by Jaina’s count. Large enough for limited independent operations. Small enough to slip from camp to camp towards the front lines and reattach itself to a larger regiment. The lieutenant colonel in charge of the battalion itself rode beside Ithedis, and the two of them were conversing in low tones. Apparently, the colonel knew his eldest daughter and held her in high regard.

“Do you remember when we went to the seamstress’ shop? You asked me about the march on Zul’Aman.”

The sound of Sylvanas’ voice dragged Jaina’s attention back around. She turned to look at her, but Sylvanas’ face was still largely obscured by her hood now. “I remember. Why do you mention it?”

Sylvanas adjusted her grip on the reins of her mount before answering. “You thought it was funny -- the idea that I could have killed a thousand people.”

“I -” Jaina tried to say something, but her mouth had gone dry. She swallowed. “Yes. I mean, on your own -?”

“Forty two thousand casualties,” Sylvanas said. Her words lacked any inflection; she sounded far too aloof. “And that was just the enemy losses. In one battle, I might add. Not to mention -” she waved her hand in an all encompassing gesture, “- everything else.”

Frowning, Jaina tried to lean forward in her stirrups a bit to get a better look at Sylvanas’ expression. “I know what you do, Sylvanas. I know that the titles you hold aren’t just for show.”

Sylvanas hummed, a thoughtful hum, as though she were unconvinced. She tilted her head to meet Jaina’s eye, and while her face was not implacable, it was not soft either. “Of course, you do. And I don’t intend this to be some sob story of tortured self-reflection. Only that -- yes. The romance of what I do has died. It died long before I ever reached this rank. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think there are things worth fighting and dying for. If I had the choice, I would kill those forty two thousand trolls again. Except next time I would do it with more artillery.”

Jaina blinked. Whatever she had been expecting, it had not been that. “And what prompted you to bring this up?”

Sylvanas shrugged. “In all likelihood, you will see battle. Possibly on this trip. Most definitely in your lifetime.”

“I’m guessing there’s a moral to this story, right?” Jaina tried to make light of the situation as best she could.

“Oh, yes. There are three, in fact.” To her relief, Sylvanas smiled, but it had a cold steely edge. “A good general is a general who wins. There is no nobility in suffering. And you can never have too much artillery.”

And with that, Sylvanas turned her attention back to the road ahead of them, leaving Jaina mystified. They did not speak again for a while; Sylvanas seemed content riding in silence, while Jaina watched the treeline above them, letting her horse do all the work and not paying much attention to where they were headed. Two birds flew overhead, one darting after the other before they vanished beyond the canopy.

After a moment, the exact same two birds flew overhead, one darting after the other before they vanished beyond the canopy in the same direction as before.

Jaina frowned. “Well, that was -” she made a face. “- odd.”

“Hmm?” Sylvanas hummed beside her, only mildly curious.

Pointing towards the sky, Jaina said, “I thought I just saw -”

Two birds flew overhead. The same two birds in the same direction and in the exact same pattern. Dip and dart and a flash of red-tipped wings.

“Sylvanas,” Jaina said slowly, moving her gaze around to study their surroundings. “When was the last time the lieutenant colonel sent out a scouting group?”

That caught Sylvanas’ attention. She stiffened and pulled sharply at her reins. Jaina did the same, her heat beginning to race in her chest. While Sylvanas said something to the lieutenant colonel behind them in Thalassian, Jaina stared at the treeline. It was so faint, the wrongness of everything in that moment. Tiny details leapt out at her. Not inconsistencies, but rather the absolute consistency of foliage and branches. Even the sounds were too regular, as if everything were repeating a script.

Without looking over, Jaina reached out and grabbed Sylvanas arm. “We need to leave. Now.”

Sylvanas finished what she was saying to the lieutenant colonel, and lowered her voice to speak to Jaina. “We are stretched in a line to fit on the road. If we run, there will be a slaughter.”

“There’s going to be a slaughter if we don’t,” Jaina hissed.

Eyes narrowing, Sylvanas pulled her arm from Jaina’s grasp. “Ithedis,” she snapped.

He rode up beside them. The road barely allowed for them to ride three abreast.

Sylvanas jerked her head back the way they had come. “Take her and go.”

“What?!” Jaina said, aghast, but Ithedis was already snatching up Jaina’s reins and pulling her horse around. “Sylvanas, you can’t just -!”

Ignoring her, Sylvanas barked over her shoulder, “Colonel, are they ready?”

“As ready as they’ll ever be.”

“Then let’s go.”

Jaina tried to pull the reins away from Ithedis, but his grip was iron. He urged her mount as fast as it could go behind his. As they cantered along, the lines of soldiers they passed had picked up their pace until they were running as fast as they could without scrambling over one another.

“What is going on?” Jaina yelled to Ithedis over the pounding of hooves and the stamp of booted feet.

He did not spare her a glance back. “The only way out of the killing zone, my Lady, is forward. Except for you. The ambushers will focus on the main force. They won’t bother coming after us.”

The first sounds of an attack bellowed through the air: the call of horns and answering shouts. Swearing loudly, she twisted her body around to try to catch a glimpse of what was going on behind them. An arrow streaked towards her. She ducked, and the arrow went skittering away through the trees.

With grit teeth, Jaina lunged forward, grabbing Ithedis by the wrist. The first flicker of magic was absorbed, then a jolt raced up his arm, a streak like white lightning that left her blinking smears of purple from her vision. Ithedis grunted, but did not loosen his hold as he took in the magic, his eyes flaring white.

“Let me go!” Jaina sent another bolt of arcane energy careening up his arm. “I have to go back! I can help them!”

“I am sworn to -!”

Whatever he had been about to say was cut off by a sudden cry of pain as she released a focused torrent of magic into his wrist. His armour had begun to trail smoke and the stench of burnt flesh, and his hand spasmed. It was just enough for Jaina to grab the reins and pull back.

Her horse skidding to a halt, rearing back on its hind legs and snorting with a toss of its head. Jaina half fell, half jumped from the saddle, landing on the muddy ground and scrambling upright. She whirled around and raced back the way they came.

“My Lady, don’t -! Stop! Jaina!”

Before he could come after her, she had reached out her arm, a portal spell upon her lips. She fell into it with a gasp, tumbling out the other side. More mud. Jaina slipped trying to stand, barely catching herself. Panting, she glanced around, but found only calm empty road.

Too far. She’d gone too far.

Behind her, a cohort of trolls were firing back along the road, harassing the Ranger battalion, which had turned into the main body of the ambush and were engaging the enemy. She could not understand the glottal language they were speaking, but she didn’t need to. Two ballistas, lines of archers, and a single masked shaman leading them all. All Jaina had was a chance to take them by surprise before she would be discovered and overwhelmed.

Fire? No. She’d have to take them down all at once. Ice? No. Not ice. Even if she did manage to freeze them all, the shaman would find a way to break free. Or maybe -?

Her eyes widened. “Oh! I know!”

She snapped her fingers, and time stopped.

The ballistas froze, coiled back and ready to be launched. Several of the archers were caught mid-fire, their arrows stopped just as they’d been shot. A ball of potent lightning continued to crackle eerily in the shaman’s grasp, though the shaman himself had been rendered immobile.

“Thank you,” Jaina gasped to an absent Magister Duskwither. “Oh, thank you thank you thank you.”

She had mere moments. The rest of the battle below was continuing, her sphere of influence contained around the smaller cohort of trolls that were blocking the road. Rushing forward, Jaina sprinted towards the ballistas first.

They were constructs of wood and rope, but when she placed her hand on one she could feel the glyphs carved into the wood grain, warding them from enemy spellfire. It would take her too long to completely unravel the glyphs and destroy the ballistas. Already she could feel time starting to slip around her, like grains of sand slowly gaining speed as they fell to the bottom of a glass. She couldn’t unravel the glyphs in time, but she could rewrite them.

With a shaking fingertip, Jaina scorched new lines into the major glyphs. The world around her was filling with colour and sound, like a cup being filled as time washed about her ankles. The shaman was slowly turning his head towards her, the eyes of his mask burning with pale fire.

Drawing her arm back, Jaina slammed her open palm into the centre of the glyphs, and the ballistas shattered. Great splinters of wood were flung in all directions like shrapnel. With her free hand summoning an arcane barrier, Jaina warded herself from the bulk of the blow, but the burst of magic flung her back and time started again.

Jaina’s ears rang. Her vision had gone a dull grey. Or -- oh no, that was the sky. She was lying on her back, staring up at the clouds. Shaking the ringing from her ears, Jaina pushed herself into a seated position on the ground, but stopped with a hiss. One of her shoulders ached. A stab of pain pierced when she moved. Cautiously, she reached around and pulled a chunk of wood from the back of her shoulder, tossing it to the ground.

The side of her face stung as well, and an exploring hand discovered smaller splinters all along one cheek and jaw. She winced, but otherwise felt no other injuries. A deep-throated growl snapped her attention back up, and her eyes widened.

The archers were all dead, their bodies sprawled across the gore-streaked ground amidst the twisted remains of the ballistas. A lone figure struggled upright, the shaman’s broad-shouldered form rising above the others to stand. One of his long curved tusks had been cleaved in two from the blow, but his own shield of arcane energy shimmered as it faded from view.

He turned towards her, and Jaina tensed. His mask had been knocked off, but his long narrow face was painted beneath in the pattern of a black-inked skull. His expression was contorted in fury, and he bared long wickedly sharp teeth as he began to advance upon her.

Jaina scrambled back. She tried to stand, but a vine lashed out from the ground at the shaman’s command, chaining her in place. The counterspell was on the tip of Jaina’s tongue, but she stumbled over the phrasing as the troll sprinted towards her with long-legged strides, his fists brimming with the snap of lightning. He snarled, leaping forward, and Jaina squeezed her eyes shut, flinging out her hand in a blind upward strike.

She heard a sickening, wet and crunching sound, then felt cool air gently caressing the side of her face. Slowly, Jaina opened her eyes, her hand still raised. The shaman was impaled through his chest by a glacial spike, his body speared and suspended over her. With a gasp, she shuffled back, but her boots and breeches were already splattered with his blood and other matter that she didn’t care to identify right at this moment. For a moment Jaina thought she was going to be sick, but she swallowed the bile down and struggled to her feet.

She didn’t wait to catch her breath. Staggering forward, Jaina hurried down the road. Without the support of their archers and ballistas, the main body of the ambush had buckled under the chaos of an assault from a disciplined Ranger battalion. The trolls were fleeing, outnumbered and outmatched despite their position, leaving behind a battered but very much living battalion of elves.

Or, at least, mostly living.

A host of Rangers led by the lieutenant colonel were pursuing the trolls that were in fast retreat, firing arrows and tracking their movements to ensure they would not return and attempt to flank them. Others were dragging the bodies of the dead to one side of the road and stacking them up. Others still were helping the wounded to their feet or assessing the severity of the damage done while a pair of healers worked steadily through their ranks.

Some of them glanced up at Jaina’s approach. Most ignored her to focus on their individual tasks, working to get the battalion up and moving again as quickly as possible so that they could make it to the forward camp. Jaina searched among them for a familiar face, walking quickly, her heart sinking with every step.

“Lady Proudmoore!”

Jaina’s head jerked, and she looked up to find Ithedis heading right for her. His damaged arm hung limply at his side, and her stomach seared with guilt. A jagged cut ran along his helm, cleaving one of the flanged plates that protected his cheek, but beneath he was unharmed.

He stopped before her and with his good hand cupped her chin, tilting her face to one side to appraise her wounds. “Superficial, anar’alah. Are you alright? What happened?”

Biting her lower lip, Jaina pulled away slightly. “I’m fine. I just -”

She jerked her thumb over her shoulder to the wreckage behind her. The ballistas still smouldered, and the glacial spike had yet to melt, leaving the shaman’s body behind like a grim effigy. Ithedis’ eyes widened. He stared at the carnage she had caused, then at her.

“You did this?”

Jaina sucked in a deep breath and nodded. She waited for the scolding, the sharply spoken words, but they never came. Instead, his shoulders drooped and he sighed in relief, “Thank the Light.”

“Have you seen Sylvanas?” Jaina asked, already glancing beneath the hoods of passing Rangers. “I looked but I can’t find her, and I’m worried that she -”

Jaina bit back whatever she had been about to say. Vocalising the fear gave it more substance, made it more real. The concern in Ithedis’ eyes certainly didn’t help.

He pointed down the road from the way he had come, where Rangers bustled about. “She’s that way. The healer is seeing to her now.”

“Healer?” she repeated, but she didn’t wait for his reply.

Stepping past him, Jaina strode in the direction he had pointed. Her steps quickened. She dodged around Rangers and upended carts and horses and other beasts of burden. She searched for that distinctive armour, listened for that familiar voice. When she finally found her, Jaina was breathing hard and her hands shook.

Two Rangers had propped Sylvanas’ back up against the trunk of a tree, and a healer knelt over her. They had removed her armour from the waist up, revealing her dark-washed leathers beneath. She was awash with cuts. Cuts along her face. Cuts along her arms and shoulders. And worst of all a throwing spear imbedded low in her abdomen.

“Just do it,” Sylvanas snapped. “We don’t have all day.”

With a murmured apology, the healer broke the spear in two and pushed it all the way through. Sylvanas did not scream, but she flung her head back against the tree, eyes squeezed shut, and groaned through gritted teeth.

“Fuck you,” she gasped when the healer had finished.

“You always say that,” the healer replied, tossing the broken spear aside, her hands already aglow with light. With a single touch, the healer staunched the flow of blood, and Sylvanas’ wounds began to knit themselves shut.

Before the healer could finish her work however, Sylvanas waved her away. “That’s enough.”

“General, you should really let me -”

“Save your energy and attend to the others? I couldn’t agree more.” Sylvanas opened her eyes to glare at the healer and growl, “Go.”

The healer shook her head and muttered something low and scathing in Thalassian as she strode off to do as she was ordered.

“I heard that,” Sylvanas said after her. When she saw Jaina lingering nearby, her eyebrows rose. “Oh, good. You’re not dead. For a moment there, I really thought I was going to be locked in a knife-fight with your mother, but this is much better.”

The Rangers had taken their leave of their General, as casually as though they had done this a hundred times before. The very thought made Jaina’s stomach swoop unpleasantly. She stepped closer. She opened her mouth to say something, but had to clear her throat before she could speak. “No, I’m not dead. I’m -”

She almost said ‘fine’, but stopped. The words refused to come. Jaina knelt on the ground before her, close enough that their thighs brushed. The hard jut of Sylvanas’ armour was cold against Jaina’s knee, but she did not move away. Rangers continued milling along the road, but Jaina ignored them. They might as well have not existed.

The half-healed scars still bloomed across Sylvanas’ face and abdomen. Intellectually Jaina understood they would fade in a few hours time, but the sight of those pale marks made her blood run cold. The punctured armour had been discarded nearby, and now stood as evidence to the very narrow death Sylvanas had evaded. A pang of fear and something else -- distress? desperation? -- clutched at Jaina's chest, seizing her neck until she could scarcely breathe.

Sylvanas was wincing as she pushed herself into a seated position, gritting her teeth and swearing under her breath. Before she could stop herself, Jaina reached out to brush a smear of blood from Sylvanas’ jaw. Sylvanas went very still and looked up at where Jaina was kneeling over her.

It pounded in her chest, the thought that Sylvanas could have been snatched from her life so quickly, so easily, snuffed out like a dim candle by a merciless breeze. Over nine months they’d been married. Two years since Jaina had first learned of the Ranger-General of Silvermoon. No time at all, in the grand scheme of things. Barely a flicker. Jaina had to swallow past the clenched fist caught in her throat.

She stroked her thumb across Sylvanas’ cheek, across her jaw, across the bridge of her nose, tracing old scars and new. Sylvanas did not move. She watched Jaina’s face. She hissed a sharp inhalation when Jaina’s thumb brushed the corner of her mouth.

Without pausing to think, Jaina leaned down and kissed her. The kiss lingered. It was just a simple meeting of lips, but it made her fingers tremble all the same. Her hand continued cupping Sylvanas’ cheek, even as she closed her eyes, even as she broke the kiss and pulled away, just far enough to lean their foreheads together.

“You’re alright,” Jaina breathed. She did not dare open her eyes; she was too cowardly. She did not want to see Sylvanas’ expression, did not want to know if her actions were going to be rejected or rebuked. “You’re alright.”

After what felt like an age, there followed the gentle scrape of Sylvanas’ gloved hand against the nape of Jaina’s neck, holding her steadily in place. She felt the warm exhalation of Sylvanas’ words when she spoke.

“I’m alright.”

[regrettablewritings]

How You Met AU: Rafael Barba

Lifted from this ship meme

He’s back again, you thought, staring at the sharply-dressed man sitting at the bar. Every so often, he took a sip from his glass of scotch, never looking up from the papers strewn about before him. He was nearing the end of his first glass after only ten minutes – that meant the case wasn’t going too well. You preferred not to think of it as stalking, seeing as you worked at Martelli’s and he frequented the place enough for you to recognize his tendencies, but you tried to give yourself some leeway by considering what you knew from the news: That ADA Rafael Barba, notorious for taking on difficult cases and nearly winning all of them, had become a participant in one such situation that was already proving to be one of the harder types. Of course, the news wasn’t the source that allowed you to acknowledge how attractive he was – you did that all on your own, watching at a distance. Or by managing to catch a quick glimpse of him whenever you came by to serve him, rare as that was. The news couldn’t tell you that his eyes were a shockingly lovely shade of green, or that his profile displayed a sharp, yet handsome nose. The news would never show you that if he was particularly deep in a case, he would remove the jacket of one of those snappy suits and strip his top layers until he was down to his shirt and suspenders (of which, you wanted nothing more than to snap). The news couldn’t show you the way those pretty eyes of his focused on his paperwork, scanning each and every word before those slender fingers of his would guide a pen across one section or another to circle a particular word or phrase. No, that was all on you.

You and your stalkerish tendencies, you thought bluntly. That earned a mental elbow to the brain, telling your own mind to shush itself. You watched as he placed his now empty scotch glass on the worn, wooden counter. He’d be wanting another, you knew. Which you know because you’re a creeper. You had half a mind to perform the mental elbowing again, had you not been distracted by the small, odd feeling of victory you felt when you saw him order yet another glass. Though part of you wondered if there’d even be enough room for the grilled tilapia he’d ordered. Speaking of which … “Hey, (L/N), you mind graciously taking time out of your nigh-daily creeping and actually helping out?” You whipped around, panic setting in. “Sssshhhh, you jackass!!” you hissed at your coworker. Daniel, the chef, huffed with bemusement. “Just statin’ the obvious,” he grunted. You made quick work of speed walking back into the main kitchen. “I know, but still!” you insisted. You pointed a thumb behind you, back where ADA Barba was. “But what if he heard you?!” Daniel shrugged. “Then I s’ppose I would’ve made one more move than you. Either way, not my problem. Order up: Grilled tilapia with a side of string beans.” He plopped a plate holding exactly that on the pickup shelf. Your hands twitched; it could only be for the man outside. Not a lot of people typically ate at this place at this time of night. “Uh … Danny? That’s Sylvia’s job; I just clean tables, ‘member?” “Sylvia called off. Said she had a migraine the side of an elephant’s ass.” “Bullshit, both to her saying that and to her actually having a migraine,” you rejected. You then scoffed, “She’s probably just hungover, call her again and tell her to stop trying to get other people to do her job for her.” “That may be,” Daniel admitted with a roll of his eyes. “But even if I did, she wouldn’t be here before that tilapia makes it to the table. Because you’re gonna give it to ‘em long before then. Now quit trying to throw me off, I got other crap to do.” You crossed your arms. “Nobody else even ordered, Daniel.” “All the more reason for you not to get sidetracked and to just give the guy his damn food before it gets cold.” He slapped the metal counter with his spatula to show that he meant business and wasn’t going to take any more of your dillydallying. Well, shit. You’d felt so confident (albeit irritated) when you’d first stormed over and snatched up the plate. It was all you could do to keep the platter leveled just enough to keep the string beans from flying off.

You’d felt so insistent in the beginning. You mentally scowled at yourself for being so juvenile. It was bad enough to partake in some weird and creepy double standard of gawking at a customer you found attractive from a distance; it simply rubbed dirt into the wound that you were letting that effect your ability to actually do your job properly – even if it technically wasn’t the exact position you’d been hired for. And what better way to prove yourself competent and clear-headed than to actually do the damn job without a speck of worry?

This had been your thought process as you strutted out the kitchen and through the threshold leading into the main dining area. But just as soon as they came, they evaporated. The sight of ADA Barba, hard at work with his pen scrawling along the papers, reminded you of the nerves you had. And suddenly, the plate felt heavy in your arm. It threatened to leap out of your hold and send itself shattering to the floor, directing everyone (what few there were)’s attention to you. Including ADA Barba, who would most definitely think something foul of you for not only startling him, but for ruining his meal.

No, you sternly told yourself. Not today, Plate-Satan… . Plate-an. You were going to suck it up, march over there, and do literally the easiest thing you could’ve done all night! … Aaaaany second now.

It was honestly part-miracle, part-actual will that you didn’t drop the meal as you neared its destination. But nearly nothing could stop you from nearly thudding the plate against the counter. Granted, it could’ve been your anxiety convincing you that you had all but smashed the dish down. But then … he turned. And you could no longer hear anything but the sound of your heart beating inside your skull. While this wasn’t the first time you’d seen them, this was certainly the first time those beautiful, beautiful eyes of his were focused on you. And they didn’t appear to be scowling at you as you thought they would, or even staring at you with perplexity over how obviously strange you were coming off as. You were lucky to consider that look as one of courtesy. But, of course, your infatuation told you to read far more into it than necessary. “D-dyouneedanythingelsesir?” you blarbed. You wished for nothing more than for a meteor to crash through the ceiling and strike you down in that moment. But alas, no such natural phenomena befell Martelli’s, nor you. It was probably for the better, however, as ADA Barba still seemed predominately unfazed. “No thank you. But I appreciate the offer,” he said. You gulped heavily.

“Good,” you practically gasped. You forgot when your fingers started to wring themselves nervously before your apron. “Pleaseenjoyyourmeal!”

You swore to yourself that you weren’t running, or that your footsteps weren’t stiff. But you knew that something about the way you retreated was abnormal, given how Daniel was smirking at you from the doorway leading back into the kitchen. You tried to pay him no mind as you made a beeline to a fridge. You placed your scorching face against the cool metal and groaned.

“Wooowwwww,” Daniel teased. “I haven’t seen moves so smooth since my middle school dance on the cusp of puberty.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you groused. “I thought you had shit to do anyway.”

“I did. It just so happened that watching you nearly crap yourself talking to that guy was on of ‘em.”

“Fuck you.”

“I thought that’s what you wanted him to do.”

++++++++

You didn’t watch him for the rest of the time he was there. You couldn’t bear to do so. You were beyond thankful when another coworker arrived for their shift, thereby freeing you from having to provide further contact with the object of your infatuation and cause of your humiliation.

… So why was Erica coming back to you and insisting that you go pick up the tip he’d left at his eating spot once he was ready to go?

“He insists that it’s because you were the first one to serve him,” she shrugged. Shit.

You tried not to think about how awkward you must’ve looked, glancing out from the back before actually making a move. He was gone, but sure enough some green paper money was visible. It was only as you neared it and removed the glass it had been sitting under that you recognized it as being a decently generous tip for a bar of all places.

Usually, to get a $20 tip, one might have to show a little skin, act a little flirtatious. You were pretty sure essentially vomiting up words and acting a fool wasn’t regular good cause for such a generous donation.

It was then that you noticed that the benevolent attorney had left you one last thing. There, also held in place by the scotch glass, was a napkin with writing on it. It was in red ink – the same red ink he’d been using to circle and underline on his notepad earlier.

You weren’t sure what possessed you to handle the tissue so gingerly, as though it were some great treasure instead of a completely disposable paper product. But what mattered more was how you handled it as you observed what was scrawled upon it in clean, swirling cursive:

I can’t imagine it’s any fun just *watching* somebody eat. Maybe next time you’d like to join me? – Rafael Barba You blinked once. Twice. You narrowed your eyes, scrunching your face inward as you brought the napkin closer and then away. But the message stayed the same.

This … This had to have been a joke, right? You glanced at the door, knowing what nonsense there was in assuming ADA – pardon, Rafael Barba would still be there. You were pleasantly and completely surprised to see that he was, in fact, just composing himself after placing his jacket back on and positioning his bag on his shoulder. Even from where you stood, you could see the lovely glint of his eyes. He smiled at you. Not a courteous one as a customer could to any member of the waitstaff – a kind, warm, sweet one, if a hint wobbly at the upturn. As if he were nervous. And then … a wink. The sound of your heart thundering in your ears and the subsequent blurring of your vision from the rush of blood made you miss the exact moment he departed, but the effect took its hold of you for quite some time after that. Even as you cleaned up and clocked out, your thoughts were stuck on that moment, the napkin, everything. Should you tell somebody? Who should you tell?

… Well, wasn’t that a silly question?

++++++++

Sonny Carisi glanced at his phone the moment he felt it vibrating in his pocket. He had been waiting on a message from Rollins, but he was happy enough to hear from you. You will not *BELIEVE* what just happened, dude, you’d messaged your friend. He couldn’t help but smirk. Unfortunately, it was noticed by somebody else. “Gee, I hope I wasn’t called here at last minute just to see some cat video or whatever,” Rafael Barba snarked as he waltzed into the precinct.

“Nah, I wish,” Sonny said, sliding the phone back into his pocket. “Were you havin’ a good evening?”

“Was,” Rafael sighed, trying not to furrow his brows with irritation. “I finally gave that bar you’d been going on about a try.”

“Oh?” Sonny asked, placing his hands on his hips. “Which one?”

“Martelli’s.” “Really? My friend works there, I oughta tell her to keep an eye out for ya!”

[muddy-stereo]

Hat Armor

mudsaw

“Phew! I’m beat…” A young boy said as he leaned on his mop, wiping his forehead. He looked up and out the window, the sound of pelting rain grabbing his attention, “Ugh…It’s been raining all day! I hope it’ll stop soon…I don’t exactly…want to fly in the rain…” He looked at the floor, there were a couple of smudges on the floor from patrons entering the shop earlier. The boy sighed “And I’m tired of cleaning up all the mud and water that THEY bring in…” He straightened up and dipped the mop back into the bucket of water, he then lifted the mop and placed it in the wringer and pulled the lever, wringing the mop of all the water. The Boy quickly stood up as he felt a couple of drops of dirty water hit his face “Ugh…wonderful…” he quickly wiped his face with his glove and continued to clean the floor. “Oh man,…it’s gonna feel so good to shower after this!” He picked up the pace and began humming a cheery tune. It had been a busy day, but he always liked working there. It was such a weird shop, with weird customers, who would buy weird things! Mainly potions and spells, they were treated as novelties by some but others would use them seriously, it was strange. His boss was equally as weird but he wasn’t so bad. His face is a bit off putting at first, kind of like being forced to stare at an old man with a lazy eye, but after a while, he grew to accept what he looked like and it no longer bothered him, in fact, it was normal. Besides, he had agreed to hire him in his time of need, even though he had no need for an employee so he didn’t have it in him to scrutinize his boss.

“Chance darling~?” The voice of his boss interrupted his thoughts “Let’s pick up the pace dear! It’s almost time for you to go home!” “Yes, sir Mr. Smiley Sir!” Chance answered back. “Ah, and don’t forget today is payday! Besides your money I’ll let you pick out a potion today for free!” Chance quickly perked up after he heard the last part. “Y-Yes, sir!” He quickly scrambled to clean up the remaining smudges all while grinning really hard to himself. “I can’t believe I forgot that today is payday!” He finally stopped and looked around inspecting his work. “Mwah~! Everything is spic and span!” He turned to the sound of beaded curtains opening, it was his boss Smiley. “All right dear, time to finish up~!” Smiley said as he floated to the front of the shop. “HEY! HOW ARE YOU DOING THAT??” Chance pointed at his boss who was floating a couple of inches from the floor. “Hmm?” Smiley looked to where Chance was pointing “Ah that!” He then proceeded to turn off the lights in and around the shop “Well, I didn’t want to walk on the floor that you just cleaned. So I took a little sip of a flight potion! It’ll wear off eventually!” He then flipped the sign on the door, locked the door and drew the curtains all while floating gracefully through the air. The bottoms of his feet left behind little sparkles that disappeared behind him. He looked back at Chance, his mouth hanging open, he smiled “You…seem surprised…for one who can already fly naturally that is…” Chance snapped out of his trance “Huh? Oh well, I just think it’s really cool! And I can’t really fly naturally….it’s all thanks to my broom!” Smiley gave him a thoughtful look “Your broom huh? Are you really certain about that?” Chance cocked his head and look at him questionably “Huh? What do you mean by that? I’ve always been able to fly because of my broom!” Smiley’s turned and looked away “Yes…of course, you have…” Chance stared at his boss unsure of what he was getting at when he noticed he was starting to fall slowly to the ground “Hey boss! The potion! It’s wearing out!” Smiley quickly snapped out of his thoughts and looked down “Ah! Thank you for that!” He quickly floated back to the beaded curtains “A-anyway, finish up in here and make your way to the back room asap dear!” “Oh uh yes sir!” Chance rolled the bucket to the broom closet and drained all the dirty water into the drainage “I wonder what he was thinking about…” he wrung the mop one last time and placed in the empty bucket. He then locked the broom closet and made his way towards the back room.

Chance stepped through the curtains “Hey boss?” he asked as he looked for Smiley “Over here deary~!” He was at his desk writing the check for Chance. “Annnnd…done!” He dotted the last line on the check and handed it to Chance “Here you are love~!” Chance grabbed the check and looked at it, it was a check for $920. “Hehe! Sweet! Thank you so much, sir!” Smiley then stood up from his desk and headed towards the closet “No problem deary~! Now come with me.” Chance obediently followed Smiley. They stopped at the closet’s entrance, Smiley pulled out a key with a little Calavera on it from his pocket, placed it in the lock releasing it and opened the door. He stepped inside the closet and flipped the switch beside the door, the fluorescent lights turned on one by one illuminating the large closet. Smiley looked back at Chance and smiled, his face was full of amazement and wonder~! He had seen the closet plenty of times but it was always so satisfying to see him so amazed. Even his paychecks could never make him smile that hard. Smiley then gestured with his arm “Well, go ahead~!” Chance literally hopped up and down in place “Hehehe~! Thank you thank you~!” He then darted past Smiley and started looking around the area, looking at all the potions on the cabinets and shelves and so on. Smiley shook his head and chuckled “Take your time dear! But not too long!” He then looked at the clock right outside the closet “I don’t want you going home really late dear~!” “I won’t be long~!” Chance answered back. Smiley then grabbed a seat and set it next to the closet door. He sat down and sighed “What a day…it hasn’t been this busy in a long time…”

“Oh gosh~! What should I get? What I should I get?” Chance said to himself as he glanced all over. His eyes stopped on a clear potion “Okay that was an invisibility potion but I already tried that two weeks ago…” His eyes then settled on a baby blue potion “That’s a shrinking potion! but it…was not such a good idea…I didn’t think mice would be so mean!” He then spotted three potions in a row “Okay…those are a love potion, a sleeping potion, and a luck potion…I could just buy those at a discount…” Chance jumped up and down repeatedly “Ugh! I can’t choose!” He quickly stopped when he felt himself bump into a potion, knocking it off the shelf “Oh nonononono~!” He quickly got it before it could fall to it’s shattering doom “Phew~!” Chance sighed as he placed the potion back in its place.“Okay…I need to be more careful and more studious~!” He then turned and eyed a couple potions, he carefully took the labels in his hand and read the description “‘This potion grants you the ability to float’ This must be what my boss used! But I can already fly so I’m good!” He looked at another potion next to it “'This potion turns you INTO A DRAGON??’ Eesh! I think I’ll pass on that one…” He continued on to the next potion “'This potion allows you to glow in the dark’ Hmm…..That’s silly! But…it might be fun? Maybe some other time…” Chance sighed and leaned back “Hmm….none of these potions are really doing it for me…” He then turned and looked at the adjacent cabinet “Maybe there’s something here…” He scanned the bottles, curiously, none of them had any labels on them what so ever.

“I don’t mean to rush you deary, but it’s getting rather late and I don’t want you going home so late~!” Chance jumped startled after hearing Smiley’s voice “Oh! Uh..okay, sir! Sorry, sir!” He turned back to the bottles with no labels. “So weird…why don’t they have labels…” He finally stopped on a bottle that was glowing with a white-blue light, inside were sparkles that glowed even more brilliantly! “Ohh~! This one is pretty! I wonder what it does…” He stared at it for a good long while, it was so beautiful, he couldn’t describe it’s beauty. “I think I’ll take this one~!”

Chance stepped out of the closet and saw his boss passed out on the chair, he gently shook him awake “Psst! Hey, boss~! I’m done picking out my potion~!” Smiley let out a startled snore “Eh? Wha-?” He looked at Chance who had finally stepped out of the closet, he let out a yawn “Ah~! Chance my dear! Are you all set?” “Yeah, I found a potion! But…” he then showed the potion to Smiley “It has no tag or label…” Smiley took the potion and inspected it “Ah yes! There’s actually an entire section of potions and spells that I have not labeled yet because I have yet to test its effects on any living specimens….” Chance tensed up a little “You mean…you don’t even know what that potion does?” Smiley looked up and saw the worried expression on his face “Oh well, this particular potion that you picked; I do know what it does! It’s the other ones that I have no idea what they do…I must’ve just forgotten to label this one….” Chance breathed a sigh of relief “Okay so what does it do?” Smiley got up and started walking towards the cauldron “This is actually not a potion but rather a spell! It’s a protection spell to be precise!” He then handed the bottle back to Chance as he started digging out equipment next to the cauldron. Chance opened the bottle and sniffed it. “Mmm~! It smells really pleasant!” He then leaned his head back and took a sip of the potion. Smiley continued rummaging through the cabinets “Yes it certainly smells nice! Just be sure not drink any, it’s not a consumable!” Chance eye’s widened, he quickly spit the potion back into the bottle. “Ugh….so you can’t drink it?” Chance said with his tongue hanging out. “No, It is a spell, it’s meant to be cast, not consumed.” Chance eyed the bottle questionably “So…it’s a protection spell….it should go on my body right?” Smiley stood up wearing a pair of massive rubber gloves while holding some blacksmith tongs “Actually….this spell is for your clothing…” Chance cocked his head “My clothes? How would that help? Why would I want to protect my clothes?” Smiley handed him a pair of welding goggles “Go fetch your hat and I’ll demonstrate!” Chance took the goggles and placed them on his head “My hat? Uh..okay..”

Chance quickly went back to the front of the shop and picked up his hat hanging from a hat rack, he quickly grabbed his broom while he was at it and made his way back to the back room. Smiley was fixing a welding mask to his head. “Tell me Chance, do you like video games?” Chance smiled “You bet I do!” Smiley chuckled “Well, you know how in some games you can buy and equip your character with various clothing or armor and it will grant the character numerous effects? Like one piece of equipment can increase defense while another piece of equipment can grant fire immunity? And so on and so forth!” Chance nodded at everything “Yeah! yeah! I do that all the time in some games!” “Well, this potion is the same! It goes on your clothing and it will grant you protection!” Smiley reached out with his hand “The bottle please!” Chance handed him the bottle “All right! Goggles on! This is very bright!” Chance quickly placed the goggles over his eyes while Smiley lowered his mask. He then grabbed the bottle with the tongs, he then slowly poured the spell bottle in the cauldron. The cauldron let out an intense white light, the goggles weren’t enough to truly block out the light as he shielded his face. He slowly removed his hands from his face and looked around, everything was whitewashed. There was not a hint of color anywhere. Everything was washed in a white light! Smiley placed the empty bottle down “Chance! Your hat! It’s going in there!” Chance snapped out of his thoughts “Huh? What? Will it be okay?” Chance asked a little worried. “Of course it will! But we have to hurry!” “Uhh..okay…” Chance handed him the hat. Smiley grabbed with the tongs and positioned it over the cauldron “All right, be ready it’s going to flash again!” “Okay!” Smiley then slowly inserted the hat into the cauldron the solution flashed and sparked with a powerful white light. Chance once again had to shield his eyes as the goggles were not enough to stop the blinding light. He slowly opened his eyes and squinted as much as he could past the light. The solution in the cauldron started to go down as it was steadily being absorbed by the hat itself. Finally, the bright light began to diminish “All right you can take off your goggles now!” Chance eagerly took off his goggles and peeked into the cauldron. Smiley then slowly pulled out his hat, it was glowing like a hot iron over fire except it was completely white and glowing brightly! Smiley then placed the hat into a separate cauldron of water. The hat let out steam and smoke and white brilliant sparks. Chance bit his nails a little, worried about his hat. Smiley finally pulled it out of the water and set the glowing hat on a nearby table. Smiley then removed his mask

“Good job Chance~!” Chance wasn’t too sure what he was being complimented on but it didn’t matter. He stared at his glowing hat. Over time the hat ceased glowing and it looked as ordinary as ever like it was never dipped into a magical cauldron. Chance turned to Smiley “Uh..may I?” Smiley nodded “You may!” Chance quickly grabbed the hat and placed it on his head, it felt the same as ever. “It doesn’t feel any different…” Smiley put the tongs and gloves away “Really? Well, why don’t you step outside and see?” Chance looked at Smiley “Outside? Really?” Smiley nodded. Chance opened the back door but quickly stopped when he saw the rain. “Aw man, it’s still raining! Do you have an umbrella?” Smiley shook his head “There is no need! Just step outside and see!” Chance sighed and stepped outside as he closed his eyes and braced himself for the droplets of rain to hit him. He slowly opened his eyes and looked at his arms “Did it stop raining?” He then looked up as he heard little splashes of water hit something invisible on top of him. “Whoa! What? What’s this?” Smiley chuckled from the door “That’s the protection spell working it’s magic!” Chance looked around him in awe. His hat was creating an invisible barrier bubble. The only way you could tell it was there was because of the rain droplets hitting it on the outside. “Whoa! This is so cool!” Chance then grabbed his hat “I wonder…” He then removed his hat and quickly regretted as the barrier disappeared and he was pelted with the cold rain. “Ah!” He quickly placed the hat back on and barrier reappeared “Wow…this is amazing!” Smiley chuckled once again “Well I’m glad you like it!” Chance then turned back to smiley, the barrier turning along with him “So…what else does it protect against?” Smiley placed a hand on his chin “Well….remember how I said that most of those spells in the closet don’t have labels because I don’t know their effects?” Chance nodded “Well it’s the same with the protection spell. It’s a protection spell at face value but I don’t know to what extent it will protect you…I guess you’ll have to test it for me!” Chance frowned at him “So you want me to put myself in danger?” “ I didn’t say that! Just….if you ever feel like you’re in danger….put your hat on! Think of it as… a good luck charm that will protect you wherever you go!” Chance looked down a bit “Yeah I guess…” Smiley then extended his hand “I can always remove the spell if you don’t like it…” Chance then straightened up and grabbed his hat “Uh no! It’s okay! I really do like this! It’s just…I can’t shake the feeling that all of a sudden I am in danger….” Smiley looked up at the sky “I understand…if you want…I can escort you home at least.” Chance perked up again “Is it that late already?? I’m so sorry….” Smiley then handed him his broom and began locking the door behind him. “It’s all right, it’s no trouble.” He then grabbed the small potion bottle from his necklace, popped it open, and drank it whole. He then began to float off the ground. “Are you quite ready?” Chance hopped on his broom “Ready! I’ll race you!” He then took off at high speed into the stormy night sky. “You’re on!” Smiley then took after him hot on his tail.

Chance gently landed on his front door and Smiley landed right behind him. He then turned to Smiley. “Well, thanks for taking me home!” “Not a problem dear~! I’ll see you in two days so have a good weekend!” Smiley said as he turned to leave “Ah wait!” Chance quickly went over to him, gave him a tight hug, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek! “Thank you so much!” Smiley’s eyes widened, he returned the hug and blushed “You’re welcome…now go on get inside~!” Chance giggled and skipped inside “Bye!” Chance said as he closed the door behind him. Smiley waved, he then turned around and took off flying. He placed his hand over his cheek where Chance had kissed him and blushed. “Good kid! He just needs to ask better questions…”

-End-