#phew this was a doozy to write

[sars-wulf]

I’m at the water boarding part… and then we’ll do the branding. Sasha’s really going to hate the next one.

Then we’ll end off on the toad boy part and Anne coming in.

This is going to be LONG.

[memento-morri-writes]

Hey!!! Since you said you have a lot figured out for your WIPs I'm interested in your answers!!

what natural resources does each nation have that the others don't? do they export/trade it at all? (For any WIP you wanna answer for!)

@bloodlessheirbyjacques 👀❤️‍🔥

JACQUES, I LOVE YOU!!!!!! I'll try to keep this at least somewhat brief, but be warned, you have NO idea what floodgates you have just opened. (I actually intended to make a post like this literally over a year ago, so thank you for helping me make it!!)

Get ready for:

Econ 101 - A Crash-Course in Continental Trade Policy

Before we get started, here's some things you might find helpful:

a map of the continent (see below)

an explanation of why Anvia and Oryn don't get along

under the cut because hoo boy, this is a LOT.

Anvia, the kingdom where ATQH takes place (and which Fallon rules) is primarily an agricultural society. The country's position in the middle of the continent, plus the river running through the kingdom providing fertile land, gives makes it the best-suited area for agriculture on the continent. (Side Note: It gets colder as you got west-northwest on this continent. Oryn is cold, with long winters and short summers, while Oraine is extremely hot and the land dries up quickly.)

They grow crops and raise animals not only for their own survival, but for export to the neighboring nations. Anvia also has a decent number of craftspeople living in its larger cities, who use crop byproducts (or non-food crops) and animal products to make other products, such as textiles, leather products, etc.

Thus, Anvia's main products/exports are food crops (apples, wheat, strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, lettuce, cabbages, carrots, peas, hops, among other things), created food products (wine, ale, baked goods, jams, jellies, preserves) as well as animal products (largely wool, but things like eggs, cheese, and milk may also be exported), and craftsproduts (textiles and leather products, for example).

Due to the fact that most of Anvia is farmland, be it crop fields or livestock pastures, there is very little opportunity for logging. Even the areas that haven't been developed for farming are largely prairie-like areas. Also, Anvia lacks substantial access to mountains or mineral deposits for mining. So they are lacking in construction materials such as timber, stone, and metals.

Oryn, on the other hand, is ripe with construction goods. They have massive mines scattered throughout the kingdom, especially along the mountain range that borders with Anvia. (Ironkeep, the fortress to the Northeast of Westcliff, is a major stronghold built to protect Oryn's most profitable mines.) Additionally, a massive portion of the kingdom is covered in forests, so logging is another major industry.

(Side Note: Kristopher's father and the current king of Oryn, Pierre, has increased both of these industries massively. The working conditions in both tend to be hazardous, with many people being injured or killed. (Fun Fact: If you want to know how Pierre runs his kingdom, listen to Eat Your Young by Hozier.) Kristopher believes that his father is ruining Oryn, not only by ruining much of its natural land, but also by working the people so hard.)

Notably, Oryn is also home to significant number of craftspeople, specializing in blacksmithing, metalworking, and jeweling. Orynian weapons and armor are said to be stronger and more durable than any others, and jewelry made by Orynian jewelers with Orynian stones is highly prized across the continent and beyond.

Oryn's main exports are lumber, stone, metal (raw, processed, and crafted into items), and jewels (raw, processed, and made into jewelry).

However, what Oryn severely lacks is fertile farmland. Not only is most of the land covered in trees, but the soil is quite rocky -- far from ideal for large-scale farming. (The hilly, mountainous terrain doesn't help.)

So, you can probably see why Oryn and Anvia need each other. They are forced to trade with one another to ensure the survival of both kingdoms. However, as I've explained in the past, the two kingdoms have a long history of tension between them -- which actually was the result of conflict over resources to begin with. However, despite this obvious codependency, neither one has been willing to suck up their pride and open direct negotiations between the two nations. (Fallon has tried several times during her rule, but has never once received a response from Pierre.)

So, this is where Oraine steps in. Oraine has a very hot environment, and aside from a few choice crops, not much of trade value grows there. (Their main exports, aside from a few "exotic delicacies", are fancy goods, such as fine clothes, art, and fancy furniture.) However, what Oraine does have is massive amounts of accessible coastline. Because of this, they have a long history of ship-building and maritime trade. Fortuitously for Oraine, Anvia and Oryn's border is mostly treacherous mountains, which makes overland travel difficult.

So, at some point in the past few centuries, some clever Orainian had an idea, and Orain graciously stepped in, offering to conduct trade between the two kingdoms -- for a fee, of course. Eager to continue their mutual cold-shoulder treatment, Anvia and Oryn were quick to accept the proposal. It was agreed upon that both Anvia and Oryn would be able to use Orainian ships to send their goods to each other, to Oraine, and beyond.

There are multiple companies (each owned by wealthy merchant families) that offer these services, both within the continent and beyond, and each is free to set their own price and negotiate their own service contracts with individuals, companies, or the nations themselves. However, they are charge a hefty tax that goes directly to the pockets of the ruler (currently Empress Adrienne) of Oraine.

Not only that, but Orainian merchants are well aware of how necessary their services are to both Anvia and Oryn. As such, their fees are often ridiculously overpriced. And Anvia and Oryn pay them, because they don't have any other choice. (Well, they could choose to talk to each other and begin their own trading initiatives instead of settling for Oraine's horrid prices, but why would they ever do that?)

To tie all this back to the messy international politics of the continent, the Empress of Oraine has her own fleet of trading ships that carry out trades on her behalf. It is these ships that the rulers of Anvia and Oryn are required to use when they wish to send something more between them for political purposes. Orainian leaders have long claimed this is to "supervise" and "prevent increased hostility", but in reality it's just another way to line the ruler's pockets.

The rulers of both kingdoms have signed contracts with the Empire, including a rate of charge for the service. The Empress continually pushes to raise said rate, with the monarchs attempt to negotiate a lower price -- or at least keep the same one they had before. But it's a precarious slope, because if they push too hard, the Empress could retract her offer altogether, which would be disastrous (at least in the short term) for the two kingdoms, until they were able to communicate in a civil manner and establish their own trade barriers. (Of course, the Empress has no intention of actually rescinding her offer -- it's far too profitable -- but the monarchs don't know that...)

And that's all, folks!! To anyone who read all 1,092 words of this, I am hugging you (if you accept), and buying you your favorite meal. Hopefully this isn't too boring of a read...

[leggywillow]

Chapters: 10/? Fandom: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age (Video Games) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Carver Hawke/Female Surana Characters: Female Surana, Female Hawke, Carver Hawke, Male Trevelyan, Anders, Nathaniel Howe, Original Grey Warden Character(s), Ruvena, Hugh, Fade Spirit(s), Avernus Additional Tags: Warden Carver Hawke, Grey Warden Secrets, Mage-Templar Dynamics, The Taint, Established Relationship, Kirkwall, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragon Age II Quest - The Last Straw, Minor Anders/Female Hawke, Pregnancy Series: Part 3 of The Mistakes of Men and Monsters Summary: After (supposedly) killing Corypheus alongside her partner Carver Hawke, Warden Adara Surana is determined to cure the Taint that dooms them to an early grave. When Anders blows up the Kirkwall Chantry, however, her plans are thrown into chaos. Carver rushes to Kirkwall to help his sister, Champion Vivial Hawke, and Adara chases after him.

Templar Dacre Trevelyan is lost and grieving. He’s determined to drag Anders to Starkhaven to face justice, and he’s willing to go through Hawke—and anyone else—to do it. He crosses paths with Adara Surana instead. It’s kind of a disaster.

This is Part 3 of Warden Surana’s story, to cover DA2 endgame events and the immediate aftermath. POVs from Adara Surana, Dacre Trevelyan, and Carver Hawke.

[daisynik7]

Double the Fun

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x f!reader x Reiner Braun

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Word Count: ~3.9k

cw: next-door neighbors Eren and Reiner, modern day au, all characters are mid-twenties, explicit language, p*rn no plot, smut – threesome, vaginal sex, anal sex, anal play, spit play, nipple play, cunnilingus, face-riding, blowjob, hand job (M/M), double-penetration, multiple orgasms from the reader, sex toy use (anal plug), cream pies (in both holes), Reiner is a bit of a perv and sniffs panties (just like how he sniffed Historia’s letter in the finale LOL), pet names (baby, sweetheart, sweetie), slight degradation (use of slut, cock slut, whore, and cock sleeve to address the reader), slight breeding kink, sex without a condom (assuming reader is on some form of birth control)

Summary: You’ve been having a bit of a dry spell recently with how busy you’ve been at work. When you finally manage to snag a date with one of your online dating matches, you’re unfortunately stood up, leaving you in a worse mood than before. Lucky for you, your two hot neighbors are more than willing to cheer you up.  

Author’s Notes: Phew! This one is a doozy! Please make sure you read the content warnings before reading. This is filthy and shameless; I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I LOVE Eren and Reiner together, idk, they just always scratch this everlasting itch I have. I’m still getting used to writing threesomes, so I hope this is okay! Also, this is my first foray into butt stuff and I may have awoken something inside me, LOL. MDNI divider by the loveliest @/cafekitsune. Thank you for reading! 

Taglist: @batafuraikisu @neverlandlostchild @bloompompom @dprkento @a-listaire @man-knees @slvt-for-smut @antique-remains @aiyaaayei

part 4 of to all the boys who live next door anthology series

“Are you sure you don’t want me to sit, like, two tables away? What if this guy is sketch?” 

You can spot the obvious concern in Pieck’s voice through the speaker of your phone, which is currently face-up on top of your vanity as you get ready. You finish the last steps of your makeup, inspecting yourself in the mirror, satisfied. “Don’t worry, I’ve got pepper spray in my purse in case he tries anything funny,” you assure your best friend. It’s been a while since you last went on a proper date. Pieck’s always been a worry-wart about you meeting strangers from your online dating apps, constantly reminding you to stay vigilant. Tonight is no different. 

“You should at least let your hot neighbors know that you’re going out, so they can keep an eye out for you,” she suggests, throwing that in casually. Ever since you moved in a few months ago, she’s been rooting for you to hook up with either of the two men next door, Eren Jaeger and Reiner Braun. She’s met them plenty of times in passing and would much rather you date one of them instead of the countless of mysterious men on your current roster. 

There’s no denying that they’re attractive. Eren with his long, dark hair, striking eyes, and toned physique. Reiner with his sharp jawline, broad shoulders, and well-groomed goatee. They also happen to be incredibly friendly towards you, always greeting you in the hallway with a genuine smile, asking how your day went or what you’ll be up to. They’ve invited you for dinner on several occasions, which has always been pleasant, sometimes leaning towards the flirtatious side. You’re sure they’re just nice guys, cordial neighbors looking out for one another. There’s nothing more to it than that, even if a small part of you wants there to be. 

You step back from your reflection, checking yourself out once one more. “I’ll be fine, Pieck.”

“What if I can’t reach you? There should be at least one other person who’s aware of your whereabouts, right?” This is what binging too many true crime documentaries does. Still, you’re grateful for your friend’s concern, knowing it’s all out of love. You can tell she’s actually distressed about this, so you end up agreeing, mostly to appease her. She wishes you well before hanging up as you slip into heels by the door. 

You tug at the hem of your skimpy black dress, hand motionless on the doorknob. It’s your first date in over a month. Work has been so busy that you haven’t had time for romance or sex. The variety of sex toys tucked away in your drawer has been your only solace these past few weeks. To say you’re ready for some real action is an understatement. You’re also incredibly nervous, afraid you’ve lost your groove. That’s why you’ve taken extra measures to fully prepare yourself for anything tonight. 

With a deep breathe, you step out into the hallway, following Pieck’s advice. You knock on your neighbor’s door and Eren is the first to answer. His expression brightens when he realizes it’s you. “Hi,” he greets you, flashing that charming smile of his. He scans you up and down, taking in your appearance. “Wow.”

“Is that a good wow or a bad wow?” you grin, twirling for him. 

He swallows hard, checking you out once more. “Definitely a good wow.”

It’s that extra boost of confidence you need for this date, so you’re appreciative of him. “Thank you, Eren. You’re always so sweet.” 

He crosses his arms over his chest, smirking. “So, hot date tonight?”

You decide to be honest with him. “Yeah. It’s been a minute, so I’m a little nervous.”

“Don’t be. Any guy would be lucky to date you.” His eyes twinkle at you kindly.

You imagine Pieck screaming at you from twenty miles away, begging you to date Eren instead of going out with this random swipe right. Eren is simply a sweet guy paying his neighbor a compliment. There’s nothing more to it than that. Before you get the chance to thank him, Reiner’s deeper voice calls out from inside the apartment. “Who is it?”

Without taking his eyes off you, Eren answers with your name. Soon, the blonde joins him, jaw dropping when he notices you. “Fuck.”

Eren elbows him in the chest, to which Reiner mutters a strained apology. “Sorry. You just look amazing.”

The flattery is almost too much, cheeks warm with embarrassment, stomach fluttering. “Thank you.” Reiner is usually the more forward of the two, blurting out whatever is on his mind, though you’re not complaining. 

Grinning, Reiner asks, “So, who’s the lucky guy?”

“Someone I met online. My friend said I should let my wonderful neighbors know my whereabouts tonight, in case I end up missing,” you explain casually. 

“How morbid,” Eren chuckles. “We’ll keep an eye out for you later so that your friend doesn’t have to worry.”

“I would appreciate that.”

Reiner raises a brow at you. “Unless you’re planning on sleeping with him. We probably won’t see you if it does go well.” He hunches forward when Eren lands another blow to his chest, shutting his roommate up. 

You giggle, agreeing with him. “No, you’re totally right. I’m going to stay optimistic and say that if I don’t come home tonight, that’s a good thing.”

“We’ll hope for the best, then,” Eren replies, beaming. 

You turn to leave, waving farewell to them. Reiner yells out, “Have fun tonight! But not too much fun!”

~~~

You return to your apartment complex less than two hours later, heels clicking loudly on the tiled steps, feet heavy with disappointment. After taking a twenty-minute taxi ride to the restaurant you agreed to meet him at, you proceeded to wait an entire hour only to realize that you’ve been stood up. No text, no reply, no call. You’ve been made a fool, completely humiliated, the night and the rest of your weekend absolutely ruined by this asshole’s no-show.  

It takes you a while to dig through your purse for your keys, patience already worn thin. Frustrated, you groan out loud, staring up at the ceiling. “Why me?”

In the worst timing ever, the door to your left swings open. Eren pops his head out, saying your name curiously.

Reluctantly, you turn to face him. “Hey.”  

He comes out, dressed casually in sweats, hair wrapped in a messy bun with the few stray strands draping the back of his neck. “That was quick.”

With an unconvincing smile, trying to hide the shame that currently consumes you, you admit, “I got stood up.”

His demeanor changes instantly. The concern on his face is endearing, and when he drifts towards you, he reaches out, then drops his arm, unsure how best to console you without crossing any lines. “No way.”

You nod, sighing. “It’s true.”

“Fuck, I’m so sorry.” He steps closer to you, hesitantly placing his hand on your shoulder, testing the waters. 

You smile at him, enjoying this simple touch of comfort. “It’s fine. It is what it is.”

The two of you linger like this, Eren gazing into your eyes, holding you. His palm is hot on the fabric of your dress, and for a split second, you wonder how pleasant it’d be on your bare skin. And maybe it’s your wishful thinking or your desperation for human contact after being rejected tonight, but you can feel the heat of a spark between you now. Before you let your fantasies drive you to do something unprecedented, you search your bag again, finally retrieving your keys. He lets you go, watching you shove them into the keyhole, unlocking the door. “Are you okay?”

In all honestly, you’re not, but there’s nothing him or anyone else can do about it, right? “I’ll be okay. Sucks that I got all dressed up for this, though. What a waste.”

He doesn’t respond right away, choosing his words carefully. “Well,” he starts, the faintest blush tinged on his cheeks. “It doesn’t have to be.” 

You stare at him, heart beating faster, making sure you’re understanding him correctly. “Really?”

He clears his throat, licking his lips. “Yeah. Maybe we can get some use out of it.”

“We?”

As if on cue, Reiner emerges from inside their apartment, having heard everything. “Fuck that shitty asshole. You’ll have way more fun with us.” He stands next to his roommate, grinning at you.

This time, you do listen to Pieck’s voice in your head, yelling at you to go for it. To let these two alluring neighbors of yours take care of you the way you deserve. Already feeling better, you give them a coy smile, opening the door to let them in. “Okay, then. Come on in.”

~~~

It’s the first time they’ve ever been inside your apartment, though you save the formal tour for later. As soon as the three of you are inside, door shut, shoes off, they’re both kissing you fiercely. Eren faces you, slipping his tongue into your mouth, hot and heavy. He caresses your sides, squeezing the curves of your body through your dress. Reiner is behind you, grip just below Eren’s, firm on your hips. His lips brush delicately on the nape of your neck, groin pressed to your backside, the bulge protruding from his pants growing harder and harder between your ass cheeks. You moan into the kiss, pussy throbbing in your lingerie, eager to be touched by either man, by both of them. Why did you even bother trying to hook up with strangers online when the perfect matches were beside you all along?

Reiner chuckles, breath hot on your ear, voice low and rugged. “You’re really horny, aren’t you? All dolled up and ready to be fucked, huh?” There he goes again, blunt and straightforward and so fucking sexy, exactly what you need tonight. 

And here is Eren, soft and gentle, committed to kissing you, whispering sweet nothings any chance he gets. “You’re beautiful. Such a gorgeous girl. So pretty for us.” Also exactly what you need. 

You lead them into your bedroom, Eren flipping on the light switch, keeping his lips on you while Reiner strips out of his clothes, starting with his pants. Eren does the same, hoisting his shirt off, revealing his impressive figure. You attempt to slip out of your dress, but Reiner stops you. “Keep it on,” he rasps, down to his underwear now, boner more obvious, poking out from his briefs.  

Eren pinches your butt, snapping the tight fabric to your skin. “We’re not letting this go to waste, remember?”

You nod mindlessly, brain hazy with lust, too eager to be fucked. “Fuck me,” you beg, spit smeared all over your lips. 

They both laugh softly, walking you towards the bed. “So impatient, so needy,” Eren coos, positioning himself in front of you, toying with the hem of the skirt.

Reiner sits up against the headboard, propping you up on his lap, your back pressed to his muscular chest. “What’s the rush, baby?” he teases, licking a stripe behind your ear. “We’re going to take care of you. Right, Eren?”

Eren bites his lip as he works your dress up past your thighs until it’s bunched up at your hips, exposing your soaked thong on your wet cunt. “Oh fuck yeah,” he huffs, salivating. “Gonna make you feel so good. Make you come so fucking much.”

You spread your legs wider for him, a pathetic whine escaping your throat, more and more desperate by the second. He hooks his finger on the crotch of your panties, smirking at the string of arousal that stretches between the fabric and you. “So fucking wet, holy shit.” 

He tugs it all the way off your legs, tossing it over to Reiner, who brings it up to his nose, taking a big whiff. “Such a slut for wearing these on a first date. Our naughty girl.” He lets your lingerie fall from his grasp onto the floor, sliding to the plush of your thighs, keeping your legs spread apart. 

Eren dives in, spreading his wide tongue flat on your clit, moving it side-to-side, stimulating you into your first orgasm. Your knees twitch from the sensation, the pleasure rippling through you like waves of ecstasy. You turn your head towards Reiner’s, opening your mouth, pleading him for a kiss. He obliges, sticking his tongue inside you, slurping up your saliva, hungry for it. “You’re so fucking nasty,” he growls, reaching for the drawer beside the bed. “Bet you have toys hiding in here. Why don’t we have some more fun and play with them?” You whimper wantonly, keen on the idea of Reiner using whatever he wants on you to make you come again. 

He finds exactly what he’s looking for: your precious anal plug, tapered on one end, heart-shaped gem on the other. When he pulls it out, he barks out a laugh, almost like he can’t believe his luck. “You really are a whore,” he whispers in your ear, sinister and wicked, about to have too much fun with this. “Did you prep yourself to be fucked in the ass? Be honest.” Even Eren pauses, peering up at you, curious. 

“Yes,” you mewl, squirming with arousal, body tingling all over.

Eren’s chuckle reverberates against your clit, releasing you from his mouth to lap at your wet slit. “Good girl,” he muffles, collecting your cum on his tongue. “So perfect for us.”

The dynamic between them spurs you on, Eren playing the good guy, Reiner playing bad. Both of them work together with a common goal in mind: to cheer up their pretty neighbor from what would have been a bummer of a night. But already, you’re thankful that you were stood up; you’re certain now that this is the much better alternative. 

“Eren, switch spots with me,” Reiner demands. “And you,” he says, giving you a quick peck on the cheek. “On your stomach.”

You both obey him without protest. Eren leans against the headboard with a dazed look in his eyes, licking his shiny, cum-coated lips. He smiles as you gaze up at him, wrapping your fingers around his shaft, stroking him. You open wide, tapping the tip of his dick on your tongue before sinking down on him until you’re too the hilt, swallowing him into the back of your throat. He cups yours cheeks, caressing you gently. “So fucking pretty with my cock in your mouth. My gorgeous girl.” You accept the praise shamelessly, relishing the distinct taste of him.

From behind, Reiner worships you, squeezing your ass cheeks, spreading them apart to ogle at your fluttering hole. Without warning, he hocks a frothy wad of spit directly onto it, teasing his thumb on the rim. “Fuck, baby,” he utters as you moan on Eren’s cock. “I’m gonna put it in now, okay?”

You nod, taking Eren deeper, your nose pressed to his groin, drool leaking from the sides of your mouth, bracing yourself. The plug is slick with lube as Reiner pushes it in carefully until the heart-shaped jewel is flush to your hole. He swears under his breath, marveling at the sight before him, cock pulsating in his fist. You stay like this for a while, adjusting to the toy inside you. It really did help that you prepared for this earlier. 

“So sexy,” Eren murmurs from above you, staring on your backside. “You take it so good, sweetheart.”

“Like an obedient slut,” Reiner adds, using his thumb to push the plug the slightest bit deeper. He lifts your hips to position himself below you so that you’re straddling his face. “Can you come again, baby?”

“Of course she can. She’s our good girl,” Eren purrs, petting your head softly as you continue to blow him. 

Reiner eats you out sloppily, different from Eren, who’s intentional with his every move. It sends you into another frenzy, pushing you closer and closer over the edge, especially when he begins playing with the plug, pumping it in and out of you slowly. You’re overstimulated with Eren’s hot cock throbbing in your mouth, clit swollen on Reiner’s tongue, and asshole puckered around the smooth glass of the plug. You reach your climax easily, gushing all over Reiner’s face, riding out your orgasm until you’ve completely soaked him in your juices. He drinks it all up, messy and greedy for every drop of you he can scour. He really is as insatiable as you imagined he’d be. 

You release Eren to catch your breath, to which he tips your chin up to face him. “You’re incredible,” he says, the familiar twinkle in his eyes making your heart race. You paw at his chest, crawling up to meet him for a kiss. 

Reiner quickly joins the two of you, not wanting to be left out, rubbing his hard cock between your ass cheeks. You kiss the both of them at the same time, all of your saliva mingling together into a hot, wet mess that you’re currently intoxicated by. After a moment, Eren pulls back. “Does our pretty girl want to get fucked now?”

“Show us how big of a cock slut you are,” Reiner grunts, circling the jeweled end of the plug, teasing your hole. 

Eren helps remove the dress off you completely, hoisting it off your body. He stretches his arm towards the drawer. “Are the condoms in here too?”

You shake your head briskly, bringing his attention back to you. “I want it raw. Want you to fill me up.” 

They both moan, clearly fond of your request, kissing you feverishly. Eren nudges your breast into his mouth, latching onto your nipple. Reiner sucks the skin all along your neck, leaving his love marks, growling, “You want us to breed you, huh? Want all this cum inside these tight little holes of yours. Oh fuck.” His voice is rough and husky, gradually losing his composure. 

Eren’s remains tender, his breath soft on your bosom. “We’re going to breed you so good, sweetheart.” He shimmies down the bed, lying flat on his back, peering up at you with adoration. You straddle him, rubbing yourself on his shaft, needy for friction on your aching clit.

Reiner’s embraces you from behind, groping your chest, focusing on his roommate’s dick and your wet cunt gliding along it. He reaches between you and Eren, fisting his friend’s cock with fast strokes. “Look how hard he is for you. He’s going to fuck you so good. Make you cream all over the sheets.” Your pussy is sopping with arousal from the dirty talk alone, but watching Reiner touch Eren has you dizzy. 

“Fuck, Reiner,” Eren moans, throat bobbing as he swallows hard. “That’s so fucking hot.” He lets his roommate jerk him off while you continue to grind yourself on him. Soon, he replaces Reiner’s fist with his own, cockhead glistening with precum. “Are you ready, sweetheart?”

Reiner moves to your swollen bud, tapping it with his thick fingers. “Oh yeah, she’s fucking ready. Come on, cock sleeve. Put it in.”

Without wasting another second, you line yourself up with him. Eren slides in smoothly, his entire length in you, pussy stretched around him perfectly. You whimper from the fullness, his cock to the hilt and the plug nestled in your backside. Reiner places his hand on your posterior, urging you to lean down so that your chest-to-chest with Eren, who kisses you passionately, remaining still inside you. “Eren,” you whimper his name, drooling into his mouth. He smiles against you, delighted at how fucked out you are for him.

Reiner adjusts his stance, hovering over you by planting one foot on the bed to prop his knee up, giving him enough leverage. He focuses on the plug, tugging it out just barely only to push it back in, repeating this several times, causing you to cry out in pleasure. Finally, he removes it completely, staring wide-eyed at your gaping hole, oh-so-inviting for his fat cock. “Look at that,” he croons, circling your rim with his finger, sensitive to his touch.

You want so badly to be stuffed full by both of them. In a trembling voice, you whine, “Please, Reiner.”

Laughing, he delivers a harsh smack to your ass, skin immediately stinging from it. He dribbles more of his spit onto you, teasing the tip of his dick on the rim. “Not yet, slut.” You can’t see him, too immersed in kissing Eren right now, but you can practically hear the wicked grin on his face, watching you squirm below him as he torments you.

Eren intervenes, annoyed with his friend’s behavior. “Come on, Reiner. Give her what she wants. She deserves it.” He nuzzles his nose to yours. “She’s been a very, very good girl.”

Eventually, Reiner relents. “You’re right. She’s a good girl. And good girls deserve to get fucked in both holes.” 

You shiver at his perverse words, bracing yourself. At last, he guides himself inside you, filling you to the brim. It’s better than any fantasy you could dream of, the sensation so intense, tears begin welling in your eyes.

They start thrusting simultaneously, Eren pummeling your cunt from below, Reiner pounding your ass from behind. It’s messy and raunchy, their hands slippery all over your body from lube, slick, and sweat. The air surrounding you is laden with lust and desire. The collective moans from all three of you echo off the walls of your small bedroom, along with the squeaks of your mattress creaking under the weight of your vigorous lovemaking. 

Reiner is rendered speechless now, totally concentrated on pumping his cock in and out of your fluttering hole, the only sound from his mouth being his ragged breaths. Eren slips one hand between you, his digits pressed to your puffy clit as he fucks up into your pussy. The other fondles your tit, thumb flicking your nipple until it’s perky. He continues to praise you, constantly musing about what a good girl you are, how perfect you are for them. 

At this point, you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve come. You’re in a perpetual state of ecstasy, surrounded by the two hottest men in your life who are voracious for your orgasms. The sour memory from earlier has completely faded and all you can think about is the sweet bliss you’re currently indulging in. 

Eren is the first to come, no longer able to endure it. His even thrusts turn erratic. “Fuck, I’m coming. I’m coming inside you sweetheart, oh fuck.”

You kiss him languidly, drinking up his moans as he floods your cunt with his load. Soon, Reiner swears loudly, announcing his own climax. “Fuck, gonna breed this slutty hole.” His cock swells, spurting his warm seed inside you.

You relax on top of Eren, who’s equally as spent as you. Reiner pulls out slowly, fixated on his own cum dripping out of you. “Fuck. Let’s see the other one, baby.” You lift off Eren, who almost seems reluctant to let you go. Both of them watch with hazy expressions as his creamy load spills out of you and onto his lap. 

The room is musty with the scent of sex, the sheets messy and stained beneath you. Despite that, you’re on cloud nine, soaring high from having the nastiest ménage á trois with your next-door neighbors.

Maybe you should try getting stood up more often. 

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: people say suffering is what it means to be a shroud. you could not think more different.

WARNINGS: mentions of blood & self mutilation.

COMMENTS: PHEW THIS ONE WAS A DOOZY!!! idia stop being my muse pls 🙏🙏 i keep writing 2k - 3k word fics in one sitting because of you

“Don’t you wish the world treated him better?”

You blink, entranced by the swirls of green. The voice beckons you closer.

How was that door open...? It should have been closed, right...?

“Don’t you wish you three could live up on the surface, like everyone else?”

More voices have joined.

“Don’t you want that for him and his brother?”

It sounds beautiful, like a symphony.

“This is what it means to be a Shroud.”

You step closer, muscles relaxing as you slip under their spell. The voices are right. They deserved better. They should have been able to live where they pleased, to escape this island and their fate.

The voices giggle—they know they’re right.

They’ve reached you.

Black consumes your vision, blocking out the glowing green. You shut your eyes. Your world grows darker. There's a seizing in your chest and a fluttering in your heart as something pours into your body, staining you.

“This is what it means to be a Shroud.”

“Set us free, and we’ll set all of you free.”

—

The hallways are blaring red, but all Idia sees is the floor swimming in his vision. Ortho is by his side as he punches access code after access code into the door panels, running like he’s never run before. He has a stitch in his side but he keeps going, your face flashing in his mind.

He lost Ortho once. He’s not losing someone again.

It’s like the stairs last forever, winding deeper and deeper into the Earth. Idia doesn’t stop running once, even though he feels like he’s going to fall over and throw up. He’s almost one-hundred percent certain Ortho has carried him at some point but his mind is too messy and his vision is too muddled to care.

Time seems to slow as he reaches the bottom. He raises his head as his ears ring, and the second he lays eyes on you it’s like his vision is clear again. Ink pours out of you and the black markings on your face are all too familiar. Blue fire spits out from behind you and your shrieks are heartbreaking, like you’re wailing for something you want so badly but could never have. Wings sprout from your back, broken and crooked, feathers twisted and clumped. Your hands are worn and bloody from stretching at the walls, and that’s when Idia realizes—

You want to be free.

Guilt crashes over him and it's a critical hit. Of course. He should have been sure this is what you wanted. He should have known you’d get sick of life here, even though you said you loved him time and time again, even though you held him on all those nights that he couldn’t sleep because the thoughts were too much, even though you bonded with Ortho and stepped back for him, letting him set boundaries even though that meant not doing things you wanted to do, like holding his hand or kissing his forehead or playing with his hair.

He should have known this wasn’t the life you wanted.

The ring on his finger feels like nothing more than a heavy stone now.

—

It took years for Idia to open up to you about his family situation. In fact, he seemed to be braced for the possibility that you’d leave him in a heartbeat after hearing it. Your heart ached for him when he explained his past and his inevitable future in a soft, low voice, rushing through the whole thing as if it was the scariest thing he’s ever done.

You placed your hand on his knee once he stopped, letting his words trail off into the night.

“I understand you.” you’d said, looking him straight in the eyes. They seemed to glow in the darkness of his room, flickering like a fire about to be put out.

Idia curled in on himself that night, dragging a clump of his hair over his shoulder and twisting it into knots. You’d reached over and gently grabbed his hands, stopping him from tangling his precious hair. You’d gently smoothed out the fiery strands before kneeling in front of him, looking up at him as if paying him reverence.

“I want to stay with you.” you’d said softly, cradling his shaking, fragile hands in yours.

In that moment, it felt like his very heart was beating between your intertwined hands.

Soft sniffles filled the room that night, and you kissed each tear away. More kept coming, more and more and more, his eyes blotchy and red as he tried to keep quiet. You kept quiet too, whispering how much you cared about him and how if he would let you, you’d stay with him forever because you loved him and he deserved someone by his side. You kissed each tear well into the night, fighting his overwhelming sorrow with your love.

—

Your memories are patchy. It’s like you don’t remember who you are, or where you are. In the dark expanse of your mind, you remember two things.

Idia Shroud and Ortho Shroud.

Your throat feels heavy as your heart starts to palpate—what happened? Where is the green glow? Where are all the comforting voices that whispered your new future to you?

Where were the people you were fighting for?

“Vitals stable.” a faraway voice calls, a sharp clatter piercing through your quiet, inky haze, “Commencing full body scan for blot.”

Blot...

Your eyelids pry themselves open. All the energy has been sapped from your body, your limbs heavy and useless. The strings holding them up have been cut, and it's scary that you can’t remember how you were strung up in the first place.

“Mx, we ask that you please stay still.” the man above you is in a white coat, his hands holding a clipboard and a pen.

You nod passively. Something about him seems familiar enough.

His voice drones on statistics about your well being as your eyes slip shut again, and arms of sludge reach out from your mind and pull you back under the ink, into a deep sleep.

—

Idia is chewing on his fingernails again.

He wishes you were here to scold him for it and paint a new coat over them so he wouldn’t chew on them anymore, being too sentimental to mess up your hard work and too repulsed by the taste, even though he would only ever tell you the latter and—

You were still asleep.

Your vitals are stable, You are fine.

You are fine but there are still black scars all over your body.

Your vitals are stable but the marks will stay there forever.

You almost died and it’s his fault.

You want freedom and he took that away when he said “I do.”

He kissed you and he sucked the soul right out of your body, keeping it clutched in his hands because he’s selfish and stupid and why in the world did you even fall in love with him in the first place?

He has nothing to offer you.

Nothing but this.

Suffering and loneliness and contempt and headaches and cold nights and machines that fill your whole day, leaving no room for the whimsical leisure you enjoyed before. There are no more board games, no more trips to the school store, no more fresh air and nighttime walks, no more watching movies and eating gummy worms, no more talking to anyone who isn’t him.

The ring on his finger burns.

—

You don’t know how long it's been since you went to sleep.

You wake up to a room with dark walls and metallic shelves above your head. The bed (cot?) is firm underneath your body, which is adorned by a gray uniform. There’s a desk right across from you with a tablet and a chair. You can’t see anything it’s hooked up to. The one constant among all of these things seems to be the triangular details, criss-crossing and curving and connecting with each other.

They make your vision spin, so you look away.

You stay in bed.

For some reason your face and neck sting, as does your back. You trace the parts of your face that burn, finding that the areas are almost symmetrical on both sides.

What happened?

“...Idia?” you whisper, your left hand resting over your smoothly beating heart.

The door opens.

Your heart lurches into your throat when you see a dark uniform, fiery blue hair that swings well past his elbows, and eyes that are sunken in. His skin is as pale as ever, his lips chapped and bitten by worry, his nails stubbed and torn, but—

He came.

But it’s him.

He came when you called.

“...Idia—!” you gasp, choking on your words as you lurch forward and cough, black ink splattering all over your gray shirt.

“Easy!” he yelps, rushing to your side. You feel his cold hand press against your back and you lean into the touch, starved for it.

“What happened?” you ask between smaller coughs, following his hand and he lays you back down.

Idia bites his lip. He does not answer.

Instead, he turns his back to you and moves over to the desk grabbing the tablet. He still doesn’t look at you as he taps a few bottoms. He gnaws on his lower lip before twisting the chair to face you and sitting down.

“How much do you remember?” he counters your question with another question, eyes heavier than usual.

“I remember green.” you whisper, the intriguing whispers poking into the corners of your mind again, “I remember voices...they said sweet things to me.”

Idia winces as if that’s the last thing he wants to hear.

“You overblotted.” he says, so blunt it surprises both of you, “You went...deeper than you should have, and you overblotted.”

You touch your face. The burning sensation wiggles as if it’s been recognized, and is pleased. It’s like there's something under your skin, something alive and yearning,that was waiting for him to say it.

“Oh.” you whisper, and in turn, the voices begin to beckon you again.

“This is what it means to be a Shroud. Don’t you wish you three could live up on the surface, like everyone else? It’s not fair, is it? He deserves better. His brother deserves better. You all do. We can help you, we can make that happen, you just have to help us—”

“They were phantoms.” you breathe, tracing the lines on your face over and over and over and over and over—

You don't notice when he gets up and reaches for you. Idia grabs your hand when it looks like you’re pressing too hard, your nails digging into your skin. You stop immediately, looking up at him with glossy eyes and trembling lips.

“Idia...is this what it means to be a Shroud?” you ask, forming each word carefully.

The phantoms said as much.

But he says nothing.

“I don’t blame you if you decided this isn’t what you want, you know.” he says, tone flat and disinterested, like you’re someone he doesn’t even know.

“What do you mean?”

“Your phantom looked like it wanted to be free.” he says, tablet still in his hand.

He pulls up the footage of your rage and shows it to you—your crooked, clumped wings and your bloody, inky hands and your screams as you cry for freedom, freedom—

He misunderstands.

“Not for me!” you seize his wrist, squeezing it so hard you fear it’ll break but this important, “For you! Freedom for you! It’s always you and it always will be you! I wanted you to be free and Ortho to be free. I wanted all of us to be free—!”

You start coughing again, this time even harder. Ink splatters on your bed and this time Idia is on you, he’s truly with you, cradling you against his chest as the ink stains his uniform as well. It pours out of you like a dead, polluted river, and yet in a twisted way it’s a symbol of how much you care.

You vaguely feel his nose pressing against your head in the haze, whispering what sounds like swears and pleads but none of it reaches your ears over the sound of your coughing. By the time you’re done, both of you are thoroughly painted with the remnants of blot.

The voices are gone.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” he whispers it into your head like it's a confession, meant for your ears and your ears only, “I thought you...wanted to leave here. Leave me.”

His arms are around you like a vice grip.

You’re grateful you’re alive to see him be selfish.

“Idia...my love.” you say, equally as soft, “How many times do I have to tell you that I want to be with you?”

“It’s hard to believe!” he protests, voice cracking.

He pulls away from you, just enough to look over your face. His eyes are watery and he’s so vulnerable—you really scared him. His thumb traces down the parts of your face that burned, the parts of your face you know will be scarred for life now.

“Good thing I’m still here then.” you smile weakly, cupping his face, “I’ll remind you every single day.”

His ring no longer burns.

His left hand rests over your left, and your rings clink together as they connect.

You’re okay. You still want him. You’re alive.

“You’re crazy.” Idia groans, stepping forward and falling into your arms, “You are absolutely crazy. Any normal person would be running for their life right now, calling me a freak and hyperventilating. A normal person would never want to come back—”

His slumps over you like a big cat, arms encircling you in warmth once again. It’s his way of hiding his expression when he’s getting a bit too into his feelings—you know this by now.

“Goodness. It’s a good thing I’m madly in love with you then.” you laugh, hands splayed out on his shoulder blades as he hugs you again, “You know what they say about love making you do crazy things.”

“Please don’t ever do that again—oh Great Seven.” he squeezes you even tighter and you let him, putty in his hands.

“I’m not planning on it. I promise.”  you reassure him, “I don't want to leave you—”

“It’s not about leaving me, you could have died!” he protests, cradling the back of your head, “I’d be fine if you just left! If you were somewhere else...somewhere safe!”

“You would not be okay with that. Don’t pretend to be.” you chastise him quietly, and you know you’ve won when he goes quiet, “You want to keep me here, and you want me to stay. I want the same thing. You don’t have to pretend I’m a sacrifice that can be made. I didn’t fall in love with you because you’re noble or a goody-goody.”

He doesn’t say anything for a few moments. Then—

“I love you so much.” he mumbles.

It’s a rare confession, one that has never lost his sweetness even after years together.

Now this, this is what it means to be a Shroud.

It means staying with each other no matter what.

It couldn't be farther from loneliness.

“I love you too.” you murmur back, and his thumbs trace your blot scars as he presses a single, barely noticeable kiss to your forehead.

[tddott]

JOCK WEEK 2024: DAY 3

Phew, this one was a doozy to write.

[demonicsaintess]

The Most Pointless Mob Psycho 100 S2ep3 Rant Ever

warning: there’s a bit of spoilers here

Hello hello it’s me again, Holy~

So I’ve been binging Mob Psycho 100, because everyone started suddenly talking about it, and being the nosey bitch that I am…. I needed to get to it. So, of course I did. I spent about an hour writing this. I wanted to get this right. Especially since I felt some if the parallels lined up with my personal life experiences. So, it’s time to cut the cake.

*note, stuff that can be casually skipped over, will be written in orange

Damn this episode was a doozy.

Season 2 Episode 3: One Danger After Another ~Degeneracy~

I love Reigan. I really, really fucking love Reigan. He cares for Mob and is honestly a good mentor to him, although he himself is shady. He is seen as the one who is emotionally shaping, and raising Mob. I have issues with the way Reigan has been going about it though; and I don’t feel like that’s an unfair accusation. Like, sure, during the first season, he goes from lightly manipulating Mob, to taking notice of the effect of the actions he is making Mob take. Now in the second season, it seems as though he has now acknowledged that whether he wanted to or not, Mob has come to take his words as law; and Reigan is now a father figure to him. Here is the growth path it seems to be going down in my opinion. Now, I’m just speculating, but this season’s going to be a huge awakening for Reigan, to the fact that he has probably been the unconscious catalyst for a considerable amount of emotional turmoil to Shigeo’s adolescence . It’s almost laughable how Dimple can see it before Reigan. Yes, it may be because of underhanded motives, but to be fair, isn’t Reigan also using underhanded tactics? On the other hand though, I also see Reigan starting to become more honest; even if he doesn’t stop scamming. (Come on, we all know Reigan is stupidly good at cons; we love a bad bitch okay? Girl boss??) But I don’t see this season going further than this aspect regarding Reigan.

Mob on the other hand, I believe he has learned something about himself, each time he has exploded.

So, a little backstory. Once upon a time there was a little girl back in the 90s, who was diagnosed in the early days of mental health awareness, with ADHD; and eventually ended up with a final diagnosis 20 years later, of bipolar and schizophrenia, Trust me when I say, it took YEARS for me stabilize, with medicine. It was hard, scary, and way too much to have to deal with through my adolescent years; and I had a good, caring support system. Okay, end of flashback (phew).

This season has eerily similar undertones to the struggles I had faced, okay, scratch that; it’s screaming in my face; the similarities are quaking, alright? The most ironic thing I can say about this is, it’s fucking puberty my guys! Right now Mob is what? 14/15? That’s a really sensitive age for kids. Not to mention, imagine having the unfortunate issue of WHEN you reach emotional overload, you black out, and destroy things. Many mental illnesses come with loss of memory to outbursts, and even black out rages or mental breaks. When I was a child, I’d get so emotionally stressed where I’d sort of “go to sleep,” and it’d end with me “coming to” with myself, or others hurt; sometimes both. Mob is essentially experiencing that.

Mob is dealing with his emotions getting bigger, as he’s starting to try to be PART of the world now. He’s still desperately trying to keep control in the way he was taught: bottle it up. He went from trying to deny himself it felt like. Almost as if he didn’t consider himself as… anything. Almost feeling unfortunately born, but not wishing to leave the loose support system he does have. Everything he has learned about being a good person, unfortunately came from Reigan. Let me make this clear, I’m not shitting on Reigan. I actually love him. THEREFORE, being honest, I have to also fault him. I will give him back his points though for the following reason:

I think, being at the age where I would have children, I feel Reigan’s rule of don’t fight humans, is the smartest option for Shigeo. Think about it; at the end of episode 3, what did he say? “If I were to ever use my power to eradicate a person, is there anyone who would be able to stop me?” That’s a pretty heavy thing to have to think of around 14 years old. Mob is struggling emotionally this season. I can already see him having a breakdown. I hate to just bluntly say this, but I just have a bad feeling on episode 3, that is just steadily growing more gnawing. I feel like Shigeo starting to voice his opinion, and slowly learning to make his own boundaries and realizing his own morals, is also becoming his “undoing” of sorts. Acknowledging and learning about your emotions, and how to healthily cope with them, is honestly probably the most irresponsible to think a 14 year old to manage perfectly. Therefore, requiring a 14 year old boy to deal with situations where he has to make permanent decisions by himself (think the family of ghosts and whether to exorcise them “for the customers.”), is asking for way too much. I for one, think its super fucked up that he has to even think for one second about something like this, over his FOURTEEN YEAR OLD LITTLE BOY FEELINGS. (Thanks a fucking lot REIGAN).

I have a lot of hope for Shigeo this season. Just like little reporter girl said, “Mob-kun needs to grow much, much more.”

Thanks for reading yet another review by

The Holy Villainess~

[punkpandapatrixk]

🌱DEVELOPMENTS🪴

Heeey cute and capable peeps~👩🏻‍🌾I've got so much news I actually don't know where to begin! But I'll try to summarise some new developments that have been going on and will be rolling out in the coming weeks~ Kyah!🌞

For starters, Patreon actually upgraded itself massively last week and now the platform has a SHOP feature!✨I've published my Mini Reading🧸 and Unplugged Reading🎻 there, so now you can simply order a reading of your choice without applying for a membership🍀Details can be found in each service's description🔻

Feedback/reviews are on the comments section of my [Paid Readings] post😉I'll be delighted to answer any questions you may have~🌷

✨ON TO THE NEW STUFF~🍩

You may have noticed that now I have a Moon Panda Pick-A-Pic. This, of course, is a monthly PAC and will be based on the gentle guidance of the full moon🌝

I don't think there will be a New Moon PAC because I genuinely think new moons are a time when we need to dive inside and get our deepest Soul's guidance on our own. New moons, basically, you just need to rest a lot and clean your house!🌚HAHAHA

And if you feel a great affinity towards the Moon, my side blog Punk Daily Read is finally up and running💐I post daily readings there🔻

You will love it if you work with the Divine Feminine energy—even if you're just starting to embrace this gentle, loving, compassionate-yet-unabashedly-bitchy energy😈🩰

🍊EVEN MORE NEW STUFF!🎨

For the longest time, I've been talking about wanting to publish stories on Wattpad. It's been difficult to divide my ATTENTION between passionate creative writing and what’s generally a doozie writing😴On the Full Buck Moon though, I’ve decided to strictly invest my precious energy on just my passionate work. I couldn’t deal with the boredom and energy drainage caused by my muggle job anymore😅🤪

Voila, at once I’m able to post weekly again, with less resistance🫦Writing for things that actually matter makes me happier and in time, I’m sure publishing my stories will just come along naturally effortlessly—I just know it📚

Secondly, I have a plan for a new mini segment called Punk Panda Affirmations. Oh well… If only I knew how or had the technology to create subliminal tracks I certainly would go that way instead😃But because I don’t, I will do this in the meantime. If you’re a sub maker, you’re absolutely free to take Punk Panda Affirmations and incorporate them into your own work🪄

The reason I want to do this is because I want to infuse a more advanced understanding of affirmations and subliminals into the collective🤡I’ll definitely expand on that later! I plan on working with specific concepts that hopefully would be interesting to you. Please look forward to how it will all turn out💗😍

Lastly, I have been invited to a PAC collab that's currently in the preparation stage🍜I've never done a collab before!🍣I'm quite excited and hoping something pretty can come from me🐣The reader who's invited me totally offers a very pretty, calming, and healing aesthetic on her blog🍃Please look forward to this collab as well~ Kyah!🙊

Phew, if this isn’t the longest blog update I’ve done so far💛That’s all I’ve got for now. Much Love and please remember how much I am grateful for your reading this!💋Have a great summer!🌻

[coffee-in-veins]

What are your headcanons for DD characters' eyes? We never see them, and as much as it is a hidden gem of a design choice, I've always been curious what other people think of this.

hello hello! o/ thank you for the ask

In fact, I actually do, quite a few of those. I love overanalyzing things, and eyes were a thing I loved poking (figuratively! mostly...) in my characters. I wish naming eye colours wasn't so exhausting, though, because let me tell you it is a mess! It almost feels like everyone tries to outshine the name from another site, so I'll try my best to be descriptive but won't add images because finding proper ones is a doozy.

Please note that mostly I have headcanons for characters used in the fic the most (since most of those headcanons are for writing RRR), and some will be far less thought-through than others.

Abomination/Bigby – dusty green eyes with a bright, yellowish-green shine to them when he transforms or is close to transforming or uses his power; imagine the colour of the veins on his beast form arm's veins.

Antiquarian/Josephine – light, amber eyes, almost the colour of linden honey. Because of them, she looks trustworthy, sweet and approachable, and she knows that. Do with this what you will.

Arbalest/Missandei – light brown eyes with a bit of yellow and a dark limbal ring, which can make them appear black at a glance under a right angle.

Bounty Hunter/Tardif – brown eyes with grey flakes, but very few people ever saw those.

Crusader/Reynauld – bright blue eyes with a steel tint to them and a ring of tiny yellow flakes around the pupil, but those are almost impossible to see from afar.

Flagellant/Damian – striking, pale baby blue eyes which look amazingly out of place on his face and with his stature.

Grave Robber/Audrey – prominent bottle green eyes with a darker ring around the pupils. Prefers dusty-blue clothes to make them look shinier.

Hellion/Boudica – bright, leafy-green eyes with a prominent limbal ring and sparse yellow flakes.

Highwayman/Dismas – dark, almost black, brown eyes with tiny yellowish specks around the pupils, but very few people know about their existence due to him not liking people being close to his face and squinting quite a lot.

Houndmaster/Willam – grey eyes with prominent green flakes, darkening and more green than grey around the pupil.

Jester/Sarmenti – he has incomplete heterochromia; most of his eyes are dark hazel green with sectors of brown in each eye. This was one of the reasons he was forced into the role of a jester, who often had deformities in the middle ages.

Leper/Baldwin – pale brown eyes with milky, hazy pupils due to his deteriorating condition. Used to be brown, maybe with a bit of amber flakes.

Man-at-Arms/Barristan – dark grey eye, paling in colour to the pupil.

Musketeer/Margaret – sapphire blue eyes with hazel flakes around the pupils.

Occultist/Alhazred – dark carob eyes with a greyish ring around the pupil. His eyes probably look dark wine-red/purple if the light falls under a right angle, but that is mostly a result of his Pact.

Plague Doctor/Paracelsus – steel-grey with a prominent, thick dark limbal ring. They appear foggy behind her glasses if she's without her mask.

Shieldbreaker/Amani – dark brown eyes, almost the colour of buckwheat honey, since those are considered the prettiest colour in the part of the world she supposedly is from, and she is 'a beautiful thing' after all.

Vestal/Junia – warm brown hazel eyes with gray flecks which appeared in them after her 'enlightenment'. She believes this was because of her 'rejuvenation' by the Light.

Phew, that was a lot! Hope you liked my ideas ^^ Did they match any of yours?

[the-writers-bookshelf]

hi there! happy fab friday! on anon because sharing my writing makes me shy, but i've been thinking a lot about this excerpt i wrote at like 2 am. i have two main characters, and this one has such a big self-sabotage problem that i go crazy yelling at him whenever i have to write him doing it lol!

Milo looks at me — through me — and I'm assaulted by heartache. I wish I didn't have to hide from him anymore. I want to sit with him, tell him my story while I listen to more of his, maybe hold his hand. He seems like the same guy, but I think I'd like him no matter the kind of person he turned into, because as long as you're with him, you feel like nothing bad could ever happen to you. I think he's the only person in the world who's made me feel that safe. He might be the only person who ever will. "Are you okay?" he asks me. It hurts being held like this and trying not to burst open. I know he's too good for me, and selfishly, I want to stay with him, anyway. So the words tumble out of me before I can process what I'm saying. "Can I kiss you?" And I wince at a single tremble at the end of my sentence. Too vulnerable. There's a shift in the room's air. Milo's eyebrows raise, and his face transitions from surprised to warm. It's the warmth I've been missing from him all these years, cities apart. "Go ahead," he jokes, "Took you long enough." So I lean in and kiss him. My heart pounds out of my chest as I hold him like my life depends on it. I expect him to tear away from me in disgust, telling me he shouldn't have agreed to this, but he doesn't. He cups my cheek, caressing it with his thumb, and it's enough to make my eyes sting with tears. I shouldn't be doing this. Why is he even letting me? My ears ring from the chatter of people. I abandoned him, and now I'm kissing him as if nothing happened. Isn't this taking advantage of him? He smiles against my lips. No wonder Milo wants to do this, actually — I gave him those abandonment issues. I made him depend on me. This is taking advantage of his happiness. Why do I always hurt the people I care about? I snap away from the embrace, stepping backward. "Oh... Uh, are we done?" he asks awkwardly, looking at the wall, then back at me. The room's spinning. My throat tries to gag. I just made it worse by cutting it short. If I end up throwing up, it shouldn't be in front of him. "I'm sorry," I say, breath barely escaping me. And I rush out the back door to gather my thoughts.





holy hell, the emotions I just went through!!! 😭😭😭

The longing! The pining!!

The tension of that kiss!!!

And then having it crumble at the end, torn apart!!!!!!!!

PHEW i gotta lie down, I feel lightheaded my god that was a doozy! Great job!!

[gildedcrown]

@rivalbede​ asked: 🍵 shipping

*cracks knuckles* oh. oh we’re starting off strong with this one!!! SO LEMME TELL YOU MY SALTINESS ON SHIPPING!

shipping is great! it can add some fun dynamics to interactions. i love shipping! it makes me happy to do it with friends and have fun with it! but here’s where my whiplash comes in. because i went from rping in the kingdom hearts community, which is about awesome, platonic (and romantic) relationships, to entering this current rpc of just. constant shipping. like not even platonic ships. just. all romance all the time. 

and i do not like it. at all. i am someone who would rather have a platonic ship, where they’re super close friends who can share a lot with each other. i enjoy those types of dynamics. it’s what i miss the most about the kh rpc. i could go into any interaction and have fun because it’s just kiddos being friends. i go into this rpc and immediately see that there are people who are just here to ship romantically. that is such a turn off for interaction. i have so many that i would love to share and have interact with people. 

now luckily? my mutuals all respect boundaries and actually enjoy platonic ships. this isn’t about any of y’all because i enjoy plenty of shenanigans that come with interacting with the lot of you.

BUT THAT’S ONLY THE SURFACE LEVEL. ALLOW ME TO GO DEEPER.

you know what else makes me the saltiest about shipping? when female muses get shit on for being in ships or wanting to have ships. romantic or platonic. for whatever reason, people just. avert themselves when they see a female muse. and you can’t tell me that it’s not true. because just from personal experience, i’ve had WAY more people want to ship with my male muses than they ever did with any females. on any blog that i’ve had, not just this one.

it’s ridiculous and!!! let female muses have some love too!!! canon or oc, they should be able to have just as much fun as their male counterparts. i can’t tell you how many times i’ve gotten flack on some of my blogs for even so much as thinking of shipping with other people. simply because they didn’t like female muses. i just want to build relationships with my girls, platonic, romantic, antagonistic, whatever! let women have their time to shine!!

[roman-writing]

Increments of Longing (1/4)

Fandom: Warcraft III / World of Warcraft

Pairing: Sylvanas Windrunner / Jaina Proudmoore

Rating: T 

Wordcount: 12,337

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

“So this is how the sea starts: increments of longing,

Mostly in half darkness

Then a white light as waves rush through.”

— Meena Alexander, from “Nocturne”

Jaina had read once that teleportation could provoke a feeling of nausea not unlike seasickness. At the time, she had counted it as something that only ever happened to other people. She was the last daughter of a long line of sailors, and magic came to her as reliably as the tides came in to Kul Tiras. She had never known her stomach to roll on the deck of a ship or when stepping through a portal, and had expected that she never would. Until today.

Today, Jaina stepped through a portal from the deck of her mother’s flagship to the spires of elven Quel’Thalas, her insides churning all the way. The uniform of the admiralty was heavier than she was accustomed to, her usual robes left behind in Dalaran in favour of something more befitting the situation. It cinched too tight around her waist and forced her shoulders back, the greatcoat pinned and buttoned in more ways than she could count, and she cursed every bit of thread holding the outfit together in the near-tropical heat of the elven city.

She could taste the magic in the air here, magic that she was most familiar with in the way it radiated off the Kirin Tor high elves she studied under, like the warmth of the sun on a summer’s day. In Dalaran it was like resting by a brazier; here it was like standing next to a bonfire, and the magic only added to the cloying heat her uniform and nausea travelling provoked.

It was just nausea, she was certain.

She glanced back, but Katherine Proudmoore was already delivering orders to her admiralty staff and the captain of the fleet. Jaina opened her mouth to say something, but the portal was obscured by Proudmoore guardsmen. They stepped through beside her, and the portal winked shut behind them, leaving her alone. These were her mother’s men, not her own. They were not the people she could confide in, and this was not a place to confide in them.

Elven guards were upon them immediately, royal Spellbreakers with formal uniforms and flared shields, ready to escort them, to escort her to Prince Kael’thas without delay.

“Lady Proudmoore, thank you for coming so directly,” the leading guard said in a lilting accent, bowing deeply.

Jaina had to fight the urge to wring her hands. Instead, she returned the bow and greeted the guard in practiced Thalassian. “Anar-alah belore. The pleasure is mine.”

He straightened, and replied in Common. “Prince Kael’thas sends his most sincere apologies he could not be here to greet you himself. Unfortunately, his duties have detained him elsewhere for a time. I am to escort you to a courtyard to wait for the prince and your betrothed, the Ranger-General. If you would follow me, my Lady.”

Was her broken Thalassian so bad he felt the need to speak in Common? Or was he just being polite? Jaina never could tell. The high elves in Dalaran had never looked at her twice -- until recently, for reasons she paled to think of -- and when they did, it was always with a distinct air of disdain. As though she had muddied the hems of their elegant silk robes just by walking near them.

Or perhaps that was simply what all elves were like. This guard, while polite to the letter, certainly gave a haughty impression without even trying. His casual mention of why she was here at all made her stomach swoop down past her knees.

An engagement between the sole heir of Kul Tiras and the leader of the high elven armies. A military alliance in all its finery. Today was the day Jaina would be meeting the Ranger-General, and she felt sick just at the thought. She swallowed past the panic that bubbled up her throat.

The elven guard turned to stride away, and Jaina followed. Her own Kul Tiran guards trailed behind her, two-abreast. Far from appearing official, Jaina felt they looked drab in contrast to the sparkling minarets, lush scarlet banners, and golden-branched trees -- herself included.

Especially herself. She smoothed her hands down the front of her ceremonial greatcoat, feeling sillier than ever. She would melt before the day was over.

Quickening her step, Jaina caught up to the elven guard who had addressed her before. “Your city is very beautiful,” she said in Thalassian, determined to not let her few practiced phrases go to waste.

One of his long ears twitched. Surprise? Aversion? Maybe her accent was particularly grating. Regardless, he replied once again in Common. “Thank you, Lady Proudmoore.”

Jaina may not have been particularly adept at social situations, but she knew a rebuff when she saw one. Flushing, she fell back a step and let herself be led in silence.

They passed by an opulent water fountain in the centre of a square. Jaina paused to admire it before hurrying along with the elven guards, who had stopped the moment they noticed she had done so. She did not stop again, much as she wished to take a diversion down a street that led to a glimpse of a marketplace bustling with life. She craned her neck as they passed, but kept her feet moving. With a grimace she shrugged against another uncomfortable prickle of heat, feeling a drop of sweat sliding down her spine.

The guards led her beneath an intricately carved archway and through a series of open colonnades. At last, they came upon a private courtyard, empty save for a few guardsmen flanking the entryway.

The lead elven guard bowed to her again. “If you require anything, do not hesitate to let one of us know.”

He turned to leave, but stopped when Jaina said, ��Um?”

“Yes?” he asked.

She hesitated, before asking, “I’m sorry to impose, but could I please have some water brought out? It’s awfully warm.”

“Of course.”

He murmured something in his native tongue to one of the other guardsmen, and the group of them left without another word, so that Jaina was alone with her own Kul Tiran guards, who had already begun to fan out along the perimeter of the surrounding colonnade. At a loss for what to do, Jaina lingered at the edge of the courtyard. If she could even call it that. It seemed more accurate to call it a private garden. A large tree shaded a stone bench with its golden leaves, and a small stream winded its way through the centre of the space, feeding a bank of artful wildflowers that bloomed with vibrant reds and oranges. She crossed over to the tree in the hopes that its shade would provide a cooler atmosphere than the sun-warmed stones of the colonnade pathway.

No sooner had she sat down on the bench, than two of the elven guards returned. Jaina immediately jumped to her feet once more, anxiously looking over their shoulders to see if anyone else was accompanying them. As it turned out, they were only delivering the water she had asked for.

She thanked them as they placed the fluted crystal pitcher and goblet set on the ground beside the bench, and received only a bow in return. They then returned to their posts, leaving her alone in the centre of the courtyard. Gratefully, Jaina sat and poured herself a glass, but wrinkled her nose when she took a sip.

Tides help her. Even the water in Quel’Thalas was served warm.

With a sigh, she took another begrudging sip before placing the goblet aside. She leaned her head back and looked up at the sky. A breeze sloughed through the canopy. A pair of birds winged overhead in a flit and dip of vivid yellow. The clouds were streaked with vibrant colours -- blues and warm peach tones that would eventually fade to a dusky purple come the evening.

Soon driven to boredom, Jaina was making a tendril of water from the nearby stream weave patterns in the air with one finger, when the elven guards suddenly snapped to attention. Their shields slammed smartly against the ground, and Jaina jerked in surprise. The water she had been manipulating with magic dropped to the earth and scattered along the wildflowers. Someone new entered the courtyard.

Again, Jaina shot to her feet. She kept her arms stiffly at her side to resist the temptation to fiddle with her own fingers. The newcomer -- an elven woman with silver-gold hair, wearing opulent armour -- stopped at the edge of the garden. She exchanged a few sharp words with the guards that Jaina could not hear from this distance. Whatever reply they gave seemed to satisfy her, for she tucked her hands behind her back in an officious pose and strode directly towards Jaina, her footsteps lithe as a cat’s.

Or, perhaps not a cat. Something more deadly than a mere housecat. A panther or sabre. The closer she drew, the more Jaina realised just how tall she was. High elves naturally stood a bit taller than average humans, but Jaina’s family was known for their height, and she was used to standing taller than most. As the woman stopped and stood before her however, Jaina could already tell she was no longer the tallest one here.

“Lady Proudmoore?” the woman asked.

Jaina nodded. “Yes?”

The woman’s eyes, glowing a soft blue like many of her kin, swept appraisingly over her. Jaina squirmed somewhat beneath that intense scrutiny, before realising what she was doing and lifting her chin to meet the woman’s gaze head on. At that, the woman cocked her head, and introduced herself, “Sylvanas Windrunner. You must forgive the tardiness. I’m afraid everyone in Silvermoon is bogged down with work these days.”

“I hear war will do that,” Jaina quipped, trying and failing to make light of the situation.

Still, it earned her a smile. A fleeting, tight-lipped smile, but a smile nonetheless. It was more than Jaina had managed in Quel’Thalas so far. Beneath her gilded pauldrons, Sylvanas’ shoulders were rigid, her posture impeccably militant.

Clearing her throat, Jaina pointed to Sylvanas’ armour. “So, you’re a Ranger, then? You must know the Ranger-General.”

For some reason, that simple observation caused Sylvanas’ eyebrows to rise, her long ears canting up in surprise. Jaina was still wondering what sort of offense she must have accidentally caused, when Sylvanas answered slowly, “I am. And I do.”

When Sylvanas offered no more information than that, Jaina said, “Well, I appreciate him sending you along to keep me company. Though I understand it must be an imposition on your time, what with -- you know -” she waved her hands towards the walls around them, “- the Trolls combining forces and threatening to take over both our lands, and all that.”

“It is no trouble,” Sylvanas replied coolly. After an awkward pause, she added, “This is, after all, meant to be a union to solve that particular problem. Or so I’m told.”

The dryness of her tone made the corner of Jaina’s mouth curl up in spite of herself. “Yes, I remember getting that talk as well. What was it my mother said? ‘A military trade by less than military means’?”

Sylvanas hummed a quiet laugh, and fine lines appeared at the corners of her eyes when she smiled. She did not look old, but Jaina never could tell with elves. As far as she knew, Sylvanas could have been a thousand years old, and she would be none the wiser.

“Your mother is an excellent leader,” Sylvanas said, and for the first time she seemed to relax, more in her element as the conversation continued. “I have admired her strategies for some time. I hope our people can learn much from one another.”

“That’s very liberal of you,” Jaina replied before her head could catch up with her mouth. Her eyes widened when she heard what she had said. “I mean -! I just -!”

“- Know that my people are notoriously xenophobic?” Sylvanas finished for her, amused at Jaina’s stammering. “Yes, I am well aware.”

“Well, I -” Jaina couldn’t help but wring her hands now. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“And what would you say?”

Jaina fumbled for the right turn of phrase. “‘Parsimonious with your cultural heritage?’”

At that, Sylvanas laughed and the sound was infectious enough that Jaina could not help but smile in turn. Mostly, she was relieved that Sylvanas found it funny rather insulting, and that she had avoided some sort of potentially disastrous diplomatic incident.

Sylvanas’ gaze gleamed when she stopped laughing. “You have a way with words, Lady Proudmoore.”

A flush that had very little to do with the heat crept across Jaina’s face. “I can’t say that’s the impression most people have of me, but I’ll take it.”

“Yes, I’d heard something about you being the bookish sort.”

“News travels fast even in Quel’Thalas, it seems.”

“Don’t you know?” Sylvanas tsked when Jaina gave her a quizzical look. “I was sure you would have read about it in those dusty old history books. Elves invented gossip, you know.”

“Bullshit,” Jaina said before she could censor herself. She clapped a hand over her mouth, but Sylvanas was grinning at her again.

Now, Sylvanas appeared positively impish, and she teased, “A wordsmith in more ways than one, I see.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Jaina warned. “I'm supposed to be on my best behaviour.”

Sylvanas mimed locking her lips with an invisible key. “I wouldn’t dare.”

If any of the guardsmen -- elven or human -- were eavesdropping on their conversation, they didn’t show it. Jaina tried to look past the elven guards to see if anyone was coming. The elven guards exchanged glances, a flicker of their eyes beneath their winged helms. Sylvanas followed Jaina’s gaze, turning towards the elven guards as well. Whatever they saw on her face had them standing up straighter, as if they’d stepped on a lightning ward.

Sylvanas turned back to her and said, “The Prince shouldn’t be much longer.”

“The Ranger-General -” Jaina began. She cleared her throat and tugged at the high collar of her cravat. “- what’s he like?”

A long silence followed her question. Sylvanas was watching her very carefully. “Do you want my honest opinion?”

“Would you give me anything else?”

Sylvanas gave a huff of laughter. “In that case,” she paused before continuing, “The Ranger-General has a bit of a temper, is incredibly vain and meddlesome, and -- quite frankly -- needs a long holiday.”

Blinking in shock, Jaina replied, “That’s - Well, that’s quite honest of you.”

That officious tone came back when Sylvanas answered, “Candour is strongly encouraged among the ranks of the Rangers. It fosters camaraderie.”

“Yes, but -” Jaina shook her head. “He can’t really be that bad.”

Sylvanas shrugged, the plates of her pauldrons sliding together with the motion. “I suppose it depends on who you ask.”

“Well, shit,” Jaina sighed. This time she didn’t even bother trying to stop herself from swearing. She merely tugged at her cravat again, reaching up to wipe at a bead of sweat that darkened the hair at her temples.

Tilting her head to one side, Sylvanas said, “If you’re too warm, you should just take that coat off.”

“I would, but I need to -” Jaina motioned towards herself and her attire. “- look the part. Something about all ceremony and etiquette before the prince.”

“The prince won’t care,” Sylvanas said. Then added, “Well, he will -- I’ve never met a man more concerned about appearances in my life -- but that doesn’t mean you should die of heat stroke before he arrives.”

Jaina rolled her eyes. “Well, thanks. Now I feel a lot better.”

“No, but you will once you take off that gaudy thing.”

Eyebrows rising, Jaina gave Sylvanas’ own attire a pointed look. “Where I’m from, we have a saying: that’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

Sylvanas flashed her a grin, and for the first time Jaina noticed that she had fangs that were surprisingly long and sharp. “But, Lady Proudmoore, how would you be able to recognise I was a high elf, if I didn’t look unbearably snobbish?”

The wayward stroke of humour was far more self-deprecating than Jaina had been expecting from a person who looked so serious. In spite of herself, Jaina let loose a snort of graceless laughter. Sylvanas continued to smile at her, warm if still a bit stiff. As if on her guard. As if someone important could walk into the courtyard at any moment.  

“Thank you,” Jaina said.

Sylvanas frowned. “For what?”

“Making me laugh.” Jaina started tugging at the many buttons and buckles of her greatcoat, loosening it one latch at a time. “Tides, but I needed a good laugh.”

With an inscrutable expression, Sylvanas remained silent while Jaina shrugged off her greatcoat. Flinging it onto a nearby bench, Jaina tugged at her white shirt, pulling it away from where it stuck to her sweaty skin, and scrunching up her nose in distaste at the ruffles spilling from the cravat tightly bound at her neck.

“Ugh,” she muttered, sinking down onto the bench as well. “I miss my robes.”

Sylvanas did not join her on the bench, standing a decorous distance from her. “I’d heard you were training to become a member of the Kirin Tor?”

“I’m surprised a Ranger would know that.”

Sylvanas shrugged. “I like to be kept well-informed.”

Jaina sighed, fiddling with the end of a ruffle. "I honestly wish this whole marriage of convenience thing wasn't so...inconvenient."

Sylvanas raised a brow at that. "Oh?"

"I was looking forward to continuing my studies at Dalaran," Jaina admitted. "It took me so long to get Antonidas to even think about training me, and now it's -"

She cut herself off with a shrug.

Sylvanas looked at her for a moment, the tip of an ear flicking as she pointed out slowly, "There are many fine mages in Silvermoon. If they're not up to your high standards, I'm sure we can arrange for wards to portal you back to Dalaran whenever you require."

“Why would they go out of their way like that for me?”

Sylvanas gave her an odd look, bordering on incredulous. “Do you not realise the privileged position to which you are being elevated here in Quel’Thalas?”

“Trust me, I know privilege. This?” Jaina pointed to the lush courtyard sprawling around them. “Feels like a cage.”

At that, Sylvanas went rigid, her posture more martial than even when she first entered the courtyard. “If you don’t wish to go through with the engagement, you needn’t do so. Nobody will force you into this, least of all -”

Before she could finish, she cut herself off with a clench of teeth, her mouth twisting to one side.

“You’re very kind,” Jaina said. “But really, it’s fine.”

Sylvanas took a step forward. Her eyes, which had previously glowed a soft blue, were suddenly very intense. The change was startling enough that Jaina leaned back in her seat. “If you have reservations, you must confide them.”

“In who?” Jaina asked.

“Somebody.” Sylvanas insisted. “Anybody.”

“I -” Jaina started to speak, but paused. Pressure pushed down on her shoulder, on her sternum and throat, until she felt like she was going to cave in upon herself. She swallowed thickly, staring down at her hands. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes, it is. I assure you: it is.”

When Jaina neither replied nor looked up, Sylvanas sighed. For a brief moment, Jaina thought Sylvanas was going to be angry with her, that she was going to storm off and do something brash. Instead, she shocked Jaina even more by walking over and gently moving the greatcoat in order to sit beside her on the stone bench. Sylvanas leaned her elbows on her knees, and when Jaina snuck a hesitant peek, it was to find her staring down at her clasped hands in much the same fashion.

Sylvanas’ voice was soft when she spoke, “If you want, I can make this whole situation go away. You need only say the word, and I promise I will do everything in my power to make it so.”

Jaina stared at her. Sylvanas looked up and met her eye, and Jaina had no doubt that she could make good on such a promise.

Finally, Jaina shook her head. “No.”

“You’re certain?” Sylvanas pressed.

“Yes.” Jaina took a deep breath. “It’s not my first choice -- by any stretch of the imagination -- but it is my choice.”

For a moment, Sylvanas said nothing in reply. Then, she surprised Jaina yet again with faint laughter. “And now it is my turn to thank you.”

Jaina blinked in confusion. “Why?”

“For setting my mind at ease,” she said, and this time her smile was gentle enough to make Jaina’s breath catch.

Footsteps approached, rapid and quickly approaching. Jaina could hear the faint strains of male voices talking, and Sylvanas’ ears twitched. Abruptly, Sylvanas stood and motioned for Jaina to do the same. Jaina followed suit. She reached for her greatcoat, but stopped when Sylvanas shook her head.

Before Jaina could do anything more, Prince Kael’thas entered the courtyard, accompanied by the lead elven guard that had led Jaina from the portal. All of the guards -- human and elven alike -- stood at attention, but Kael’thas took no notice of them, as if they were mere fixtures along the walls.

He shooed the lead elven guard away with an irritable wave of his hand. “Yes, you were right, Ithedis. No need to be so smug about it.”

Far from appearing smug, Ithedis bowed low at the waist as Kael’thas continued to cross the garden courtyard alone. A friendly smile bloomed across Kael’thas’ face as he strode towards them, and Jaina felt more than saw Sylvanas stiffen beside her.

“Ah, Sylvanas! I was searching for you in the Walk of Elders, but here you are, keeping our esteemed guest company. Been getting to know one another?”

Sylvanas made a smart gesture, clasping her fist over her chest in what appeared to be a salute. “We have.”

“Excellent.” He turned his attention upon Jaina. When he opened his arms, Jaina was half afraid he was going to offer her a hug -- she hadn’t known high elves to be liberal with physical displays of affection -- but he only indicated their surroundings. “Lady Proudmoore, it is very good to see you again. You are most welcome in Silvermoon.”

Jaina bowed. “You are generous to receive me, Prince Kael’thas. It is my sincere hope this is the start of a long and robust alliance between our two nations.”

When she straightened, he was positively beaming with satisfaction. “Then our visions are aligned. Come!” He turned heel and started to walk back the way he came, not pausing to see if they followed. “Grab your coat and let us repair to someplace more suited to these kinds of formal discussions. Now that we’re all here, we can -”

“Uhm -?” Jaina interrupted. “Excuse me?”

Stopping in his tracks, Kael’thas blinked and turned, momentarily flummoxed at being interrupted. “Yes, Lady Proudmoore?”

Pointing between the three of them, Jaina said, “Aren’t we missing someone?”

Kael’thas glanced between Jaina and Sylvanas in puzzlement. Then, he smiled at Sylvanas as if she had intentionally left him out on some sort of inside joke. He turned back to Jaina apologetically, “I’m afraid I do not follow.”

“The Ranger-General?” Jaina prompted, a little testily.

Slowly, incredulously, Kael’thas aimed his full attention back upon Sylvanas. “You didn’t tell her?”

“Tell me what?” Jaina looked at Sylvanas, but Sylvanas was studiously avoiding her eye. Something stirred at the back of Jaina’s mind, suspicion floundering at the edge of outright understanding.

Sylvanas’ voice was strained. “It never quite came up.”

Oh. Oh, no.

“Well, then. Allow me to be the one to properly introduce you two.” Kael’thas gestured first to Jaina then to Sylvanas, like an officiant presiding over a ceremony, his blood-red robes sweeping with every motion. “Lady Jaina Proudmoore, Heir to the Kul Tiran Admiralty, Scion of the Fleet. And Lady Sylvanas Windrunner, Ranger-General of Silvermoon, of Quel’Thalas, and of the Farstriders.”

Jaina’s stomach sank, like an anchor plummeting to a rocky seabed. The sun burned in the sky, but ice squeezed Jaina’s chest in a vice-like grip. Sylvanas stood tall, straight-backed, and stony-faced. She glanced sidelong in her direction, and this time when their eyes met, Jaina felt like she’d been plunged into an icy lake.

Sylvanas bowed to Jaina, her every movement rigid, and murmured, “A pleasure to formally make your acquaintance, Lady Proudmoore.”

The negotiations took weeks and weeks. Partly because Kael’thas insisted that Jaina be seen around Silvermoon City for what he called ‘a sufficient duration of time’ in order for her and the citizens of Quel’Thalas to acclimate to the idea that she would be marrying their Ranger-General. Mostly though, it was because it took so long to get everyone in the same room together. Meetings were pushed back or cancelled. Katherine Proudmoore couldn’t make it one week due to Zandalari activity to the southern seas. Kael’thas couldn’t make it the next week due to a meeting with the Council of Elders. Even Sylvanas had to extend her apologies, when a skirmish with the Amani trolls called her away to the borders.

Meanwhile, Jaina remained in Silvermoon, restlessness and boredom building under her skin like the sweltering heat of Quel'Thalas.

Rather than staying cooped up in the quarters given to her in the Court of the Sun, she had taken to walking around the city, accompanied by her omnipresent mix of personal Kul Tiran guards and elven Spellbreakers. In the first week, this had sparked a flurry of Thalassian whispers and stares when she had walked through the marketplace. Ithedis, who had been permanently assigned to Jaina’s protection detail by Kael’thas, had informed her that most foreign dignitaries were strongly encouraged to remain in the boundaries of the Court of the Sun during their brief visits.

Jaina wasn’t sure about being a ‘dignitary.’ She certainly didn’t feel particularly dignified with so many people gawking at her. She also wasn’t sure that rule applied to her.

“Didn’t the prince say that the whole point of my stay here was for me to be seen?” Jaina pointed out to Ithedis, when she continued to roam the city in the second week.

“He did, Lady Proudmoore,” Ithedis conceded in his usual stiff monotone. His expression was difficult to read behind the ornate flanges of his helm.

She ignored the way people gave her a wide berth on the streets, preferring to instead admire the fluted architecture of Farstrider Square. “Then, are you -” she stopped to peer into an open-plan building. “- ‘strongly encouraging’ me to remain in my quarters? Does this shop sell anything?”

Ithedis blinked at her in confusion, glancing between her and the building. “Weapons, Lady Proudmoore. And I would not presume to tell you anything that was against your best interests.”

Patting him on the shoulder, Jaina said, “And I thank you for that, Ithedis. Would you like to accompany me into the shop while the others remain outside?”

If anything, he seemed even more puzzled than before. His head flinched back, as if she had struck him.

Jaina quickly withdrew her hand, eyes wide. “Oh! I’m - I’m very sorry! If I overstepped -!”

“It is fine, my Lady,” he insisted, even as he glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone had noticed. “I would be happy to accompany you inside, if you so wish.”

Right. No touching. Was it an elf thing, Jaina wondered, or a station thing? She didn’t have the courage to ask him. Or, more appropriately, she didn’t want to put him on the spot even more than she already had done.

Jaina told her Kul Tiran guards to remain outside the shop, while Ithedis murmured the same in Thalassian to his own men. As the two of them stepping through the arched entryway, Ithedis removed his helm and tucked it under one arm. He was of a height with her, which seemed off-putting to him, for one of his ears gave a near imperceptible flick when he glanced at the top of her head.

The owner was speaking to an elven customer, and their voices dropped the moment Jaina walked inside. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Jaina instead tried offering what she hoped was a welcoming smile, which they did not return. Ithedis remained completely silent and stony, dutifully trailing after Jaina while she ambled round the perimeter of the shop, admiring the wares on display.

Jaina circled a stand of armour. The red lacquered plates had been polished to a shine, so that she could see her own shadow drifting in reflection across the surface. Not looking at Ithedis, she asked, “How well do you know Sylvanas?”

As usual, Ithedis expression gave away nothing. “The Ranger-General is an excellent military leader, just like her mother before her. Cunning. Shrewd. A staunch defender of our people.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jaina sighed.

He did not ask for clarification, and Jaina took that to mean he did not want to know what she had meant. Either that, or he knew what she meant and had no answer that could help her. Eventually he managed to say, “Lady Windrunner -” he smoothed his thumb across the edge of his helm. “- is an accomplished huntress.”

Well, that was something at least. Drawing in a deep breath, Jaina pointed to a lavishly chased war axe hung upon the wall, its heavy blade stylised in the shape of an eagle’s beak. “Do you think she’d like that?”

Ithedis stared at her as if Jaina had just asked him to jump into a fountain. “You wish to buy the Ranger-General a war glaive?” he asked slowly.

“I wish to buy my betrothed a gift,” she corrected. “Is that inappropriate? Where I’m from, that would be considered quite a common thing to do, so please tell me if I’ve blundered.”

He seemed to relax, if only a fraction. “Ah. I understand. That is acceptable.”

“But not the axe?”

He did not answer.

Sighing, Jaina moved on and pointed to a sword. “This?”

Again, Ithedis did not answer, but his jaw tightened slightly, as if he were clenching his teeth.

“I’m going to take that as another ‘no.’”

Jaina continued walking, taking note of the many exquisite pieces of craftsmanship. She passed by a tower shield not unlike Ithedis’ own -- somehow Sylvanas did not strike her as the type to use a shield. A spear caught her attention, but Jaina paused at the bow beside it.

“You mentioned she was a huntress?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

Reaching up to trace the bow’s curved limb with her fingers, Jaina turned away. A wall adjacent her was layered with shelves that bore all manner of smaller items. Knives and quivers. Arrows and tinderboxes. Leather travel pouches, belts, and spare links of chain mail for repairing armour in the field.

She approached, immediately turning over an assortment of different sized and shaped arrowheads, as well as a wickedly sharp skinning knife that gleamed with oil when she revealed a finger-breadth of damascus steel from its sheath. When her eye fell upon a narrow little box however, Jaina placed the knife aside in favour of the box. It had been expertly carved from pale ivory and inlaid with golden ceremonial Thalassian script all around the edge.

Jaina held it up to Ithedis. “What does this say?”

He leaned forward. “It is an idiom, my Lady. ‘Prey hung is prey skinned.’ It means -” Pausing for a moment to think, he explained, “It means that there are often alternative solutions to a single problem.”

Humming a contemplative note under her breath, Jaina carefully opened the box. It was lined in red velvet, and nestled within was a dark slab of rock. A whetstone.

Jaina closed the box once more, and waggled it at Ithedis. “Yes?” she asked.

Again, Ithedis did not answer, but this time he gave a tiny nod that Jaina would have missed had she not been looking for it.

She bought the box, enjoying the shop owner’s open surprise that she was purchasing anything at all, and that she had picked what seemed to be the most practical and least gaudy item in the room. It was small enough to fit into her pocket when she walked back out onto the street with Ithedis shadowing her every footstep.

He placed his helm back over his head and remained as formal as ever, but for the remainder of the day he would answer her in Thalassian when she boldly tried to practice a few phrases on him. And as the sun began to slip towards the horizon, and they strolled back in the direction of the Court of the Sun, the little box was a welcome weight in Jaina’s pocket.

By the fifth week of her stay, people no longer stared and muttered as she passed, and Jaina had long since taken to wearing more simple Kul Tiran clothing. By the sixth week of her stay, Jaina had explored every street of Silvermoon City. At least, all the ones Ithedis would allow her to walk down. Some, he advised, were ‘ill-suited to the Lady’s disposition’ which Jaina took to mean ‘unsafe.’ By the seventh week, Jaina was just about ready to drag her mother, Kael’thas, and Sylvanas into the same room by the scruff of their necks. Luckily -- for all of their sakes -- they managed to finally arrange a day to settle the negotiations.

Most of the paperwork, Jaina knew, had already been drawn up; she had paled at the sight of stacks and stacks of documents in an official looking room of Sunfury Spire. Her wrist was already aching at the thought of signing those pages.

At least then it would be done. Better to get this over with than have it hang over her like a sword dangling by a silk thread.

Another otherwise uneventful morning found Jaina finishing up a light breakfast, attended as she always was by Ithedis and her Kul Tiran guards. She was seated upon a secluded bench in the corner of the bazaar and people-watching, when Kael’thas found her. She looked up in bemusement when she heard a murmur extend through the marketplace, half convinced that it was due to something she had unwittingly done. Seeing royal guards, she wrapped her half eaten meal in the cloth she had bought it in, and set it aside. She was standing and brushing crumbs from her breeches just as Kael’thas approached.

“You’re a difficult woman to find, Lady Proudmoore,” Kael’thas greeted her with a smile. He nodded to both sets of guards, who all walked a ways off to give the two of them space to speak in private. All except Ithedis, who continued to stand at Jaina’s elbow.

“My apologies,” Jaina said. “I thought I had until the afternoon before the meeting began?”

“Oh, you do. You do. I simply wanted to have a quick chat before the final negotiations. Check in on you, so to speak.”

“Thank you,” she said slowly. “I’m doing very well.”

Kael’thas smiled. “I have no doubt,” he replied. Without turning, he waved a dismissive hand at Ithedis and said, “A moment, please.”

Ithedis did not move.

For a moment, Kael’thas stared at Ithedis in confusion, then growing anger, his brow darkening as Ithedis remained staunchly by Jaina’s side. Kael’thas’ mouth opened, but before he could speak, Jaina murmured to Ithedis, “Thank you.”

Immediately, Ithedis bowed and strode exactly five paces away, watching. Kael’thas scowled after him, then glanced at Jaina thoughtfully as if adding numbers together.

Jaina cleared her throat. “You wanted to speak to me about something?”

“Yes,” Kael’thas muttered. In an instant, his veneer of false cheeriness returned, and his words were buoyant. “Yes, I did. You seem to be acclimating admirably. You’ve been the talk of the town ever since you arrived.”

“Oh - well, that’s -” she fidgeted with the ends of her sleeves before realising what she was doing and putting her hands firmly at her sides. “Good?”

His voice lowered and he assured her. “It’s excellent. I only bring it up because I also hear you and the Ranger-General have not taken the time to -- how shall I put it? -- grow better acquainted.”

Jaina opened her mouth, but no sound came out. It was true; she and Sylvanas had barely exchanged more than a few passing pleasantries since their first encounter in the garden courtyard. The one evening Sylvanas had found the time to join Jaina for dinner in a public venue, a breathless Ranger had raced up to their table and whispered something in Sylvanas’ ear that had her standing and apologising for the need to cut their meal so short.

Jaina had stayed to finish eating alone, and discovered upon leaving that Sylvanas had already taken care of any payment.

Kael’thas was still talking. “I understand -- believe me, I understand -- that our beloved Lady Windrunner can be a polarising personality. If she is not to your liking, then it is best we have that discussion before any official proceedings.”

“I don’t - I mean - she’s not -” Jaina floundered for exactly what to say, but Kael’thas continued as if she hadn’t spoken at all.

“If I’m to be perfectly honest, the Ranger-General was not my first choice for this union. Your mother was adamant however, that the alliance be military in nature. Both literally and symbolically. What with the Ranger-General answering solely to the Council of Elders, that military angle was of utmost importance. And while there are many fine Captains who could have taken my place -”

“Your place -?” Jaina’s eyes widened when she realised exactly what he was implying.

“- It did not seem befitting a lady of your station to marry at a level so beneath you. That and the fact the Ranger-General is known to be a -”

“Prince Kael’thas,” she interrupted, voice firm enough that she could get a word in edgewise. “While I appreciate your concern, I think any drastic changes this late in the negotiations would be unwise.”

At that, he appeared confused. As if she had snubbed an offering that he had spent a long time choosing just for her. His answering smile felt more forced than usual. “Quite right, Lady Proudmoore. Quite right.” Kael’thas offered her his arm. “Shall we head for the Spire? I know it’s early yet, but best to get everyone together before another disaster strikes.”

She hesitated for but a moment before placing her hand on his arm and allowing herself to be led from the bazaar. Ithedis fell in close behind them, followed by their combined unit of guards, until Jaina felt like she was leading a small cohort of armed soldiers that clanked with every step. Kael’thas talked the entire way to Sunfury Spire. All Jaina had to do was make noises of interest, and he seemed more than satisfied with the conversation.

Jaina used crossing the threshold of the Spire as an excuse to remove her hand. Kael’thas made no comment, though he did pause before continuing to lead her to the meeting room. More guards flanked the doors. They snapped to attention upon their monarch’s approach. As she passed by, Jaina gave them a weak smile that neither returned.

Someone cleared their throat behind her, and she turned in the entryway. Ithedis stood just outside, giving Jaina a meaningful look, as if waiting to be either invited inside or dismissed.

“Oh! Uhm -” Jaina winced sympathetically, “It’s probably best you wait outside for this.”

Without a word or the faintest flicker in his expression, Ithedis bowed and joined the rest of the guards outside the room.

When Jaina turned back around, it was to find that Kael’thas had been accosted by a steward. They spoke in rapid Thalassian. She had trouble following, only picking out words here and there among the fluid syllables.

Then, Kael’thas offered Jaina a respectful nod. “Excuse me. I must attend to something momentarily.”

“Another disaster?” Jaina quipped.

He grimaced. “Of the paperwork variety.”

“My condolences, Your Majesty.”

He chuckled, waggling a finger at her as though she were a small child caught with her hand in the biscuit tin. “You’re funny! They didn’t tell me you were funny!”

And with that he swept past her, followed by the steward. Jaina watched him go in slight bewilderment. Shaking her head, she stepped further into the room. A large oval table was perched in the very centre, spread with a ruby-coloured cloth and stacked with papers. Her mother stood near the head of the table, deep in conversation with her second-in-command. Based on the furrow in Katherine's brow, Jaina could tell the conversation was not going well. Best to steer clear.

On the far side of the room, open windows streamed with late morning light. Sylvanas was silhouetted against the glass, and beside her stood another elven woman Jaina had never seen before. They spoke quietly yet sharply, and they fell silent when they noticed Jaina rounding the table to join them. As they turned towards her, Jaina was struck by the resemblance of the two women, although the other elven woman was shorter by far and with hair so pale it appeared a shade shy of silver.

“Lady Proudmoore,” Sylvanas greeted with a respectful nod. She gestured towards the other woman and said, “Allow me to introduce my little sister, Vereesa.”

Without thinking, Jaina stuck out her hand. “It's lovely to meet you.”

Rather than bow, Vereesa grasped her hand without hesitation. “Likewise. I'm only sorry I couldn't do so earlier. Sylvanas has kept me busy in the field. I barely managed to escape the front lines. She'd have me working through her own wedding, if she could.”

Sylvanas’ gaze flicked up towards the ceiling, as if praying for patience. “Who else am I supposed to trust the Rangers with in my absence?”

“Heaven forbid you actually delegate for once in your life,” Vereesa shot back.

“Oh, I see. You'd prefer me to promote Falean?” Sylvanas countered in a tone that was far too sweet.

Vereesa aimed an ugly look at her sister. “Only if you want all your hair to be mysteriously shorn off in the night.”

Sylvanas tsked, and sounded bored when she said, “How rude, sister.”

“Well, I'm glad you did manage to get away,” Jaina said, clasping her hands before her.

“That makes one of us,” Sylvanas drawled.

Elbowing her sister in the flank for that comment, Vereesa smiled at Jaina. “Thank you.”

Sylvanas rubbed at her ribs, but a faint smile played across her face. “I must apologise again for having to abandon our dinner,” she said to Jaina. “I’ll have to make it up to you.”

“I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time for you to think of something,” Jaina replied, then brightened. “Oh! That reminds me!”

As Jaina began digging around in her pockets, Sylvanas and Vereesa exchanged puzzled glances. Vereesa shrugged.

Pulling the ivory box free, Jaina held it out to Sylvanas. “I bought this for you. I know we’re not official or anything, but I figure we’re signing everything today, so -- here.”

Both Sylvanas and Vereesa had gone stock-still. Vereesa was watching her sister’s reaction, and Sylvanas was staring at the box as if Jaina had offered her a live serpent. Slowly, she reached out and took the box from Jaina, moving carefully so that their fingers did not touch. She did not open it.

“I -” Jaina hesitated, confidence wavering. “I thought this was alright? I mean -- I asked Ithedis, and he said it was alright for me to give you something?”

Sylvanas’ brow furrowed. “Ithedis? You mean that stuffy old Spellbreaker?”

Jaina bristled. “Hey! He’s nice to me!”

At that, Sylvanas’ eyebrows rose in surprise. “And he told you that you should give me a gift?”

“Well, no,” Jaina admitted. “I said I wanted to buy you a gift, and he sort of steered me towards something appropriate.”

Pointing at the box now in Sylvanas’ hand, Vereesa asked, “As opposed to -?” she trailed off, waiting for Jaina to tell them.

“A war glaive,” Jaina mumbled.

Sylvanas made a faint choking noise that she covered with a poorly disguised cough. Vereesa looked like she was biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing aloud.

In the meantime, Jaina could feel heat creeping up her cheeks. She clenched her hands at her side, and her words held more of a snap than she would have liked. “Alright, what? What is it? Is a gift considered bad luck or something?”

Clearing her throat, Sylvanas smoothed her features as best she could, though her eyes still gleamed with amusement. “Forgive me. In my culture people do exchange gifts when they are to be married. However, the gift is supposed to be a sort of representation of the marriage itself. As a general rule, you would avoid any sharp objects. They represent severed ties.”

Slowly, realisation dawned on Jaina. “So, giving a big axe would be like -”

“- announcing to the world that you think the marriage will end in bloodshed,” Vereesa finished for her, unable to keep the grin from her face.

Jaina spluttered wordlessly. When she found her voice, she asked, “What - uhm - what would be a good gift, then?”

Idly tapping the fingertips of one hand against the box, Sylvanas answered, “That depends. Clothing is traditional. A fine steed perhaps? Or -- if you’re feeling adventurous -- a dragonhawk. Though I wouldn’t advise that.”

“Worst wedding reception I’ve ever attended. Dragonhawk got loose,” Veressa added aside.

“Then you’ll be pleased to know this is not a dragonhawk,” Jaina said.

“And thank the stars for that,” Sylvanas chuckled. She looked down at the box. She stroked the ivory grain and traced the elaborate script that scrolled along its edge. With utmost care, Sylvanas opened the box. Some unreadable expression flickered across her face.

“This is -” she started to say, but stopped.

“Perfect,” Vereesa finished, shooting Jaina a covert wink.

Jaina breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank the Tides.”

Sylvanas admired the whetstone for a moment, before placing the lid back on and tucking the box into one of the leather pouches that lined one side of her belt. “Thank you. I shall treasure it.”

Something fluttered in Jaina’s chest at the small, warm smile Sylvanas gave her. Before she could say anything foolish, she was saved by the return of Kael’thas and the steward.

“If we could all be seated?” Kael’thas sighed even as he sank down into his seat at one of the heads of the table. The steward followed after him, arms laden with documents and scrolls which he placed on the table before his liege lord. Kael’thas watched with an air of distaste before waving the steward away with an irritable glower.

Sylvanas and Vereesa sat on Kael’thas’ side of the table, though nearer the middle, leaving Jaina to hesitantly make her way over towards her mother. Katherine had dismissed her second-in-command, and was pulling back a chair to sit. “Problem?” she asked.

“Nothing that we can’t handle,” Kael’thas assured her. “A numbering issue on a few minor clauses referenced later in the agreement. Now that it’s fixed, we can -”

When Jaina tugged at the high-backed chair directly opposite Sylvanas, the legs squealed against the marble floor, loud enough that it cut off what the prince had been saying. With a wince and a muttered apology, Jaina sat down.

Clearing his throat, Kael’thas continued, “As I was saying, now that the issue has been fixed, we can settle the last few details, and our happy couple -” he gestured to Sylvanas and Jaina “- can sign everything in front of witnesses.”

“Finally,” Vereesa muttered under her breath in Thalassian. Sylvanas shot her a warning look out of the corner of her eye, and Jaina had to bite her lower lip to keep from grinning.

“You have the pages with the new numbering?” Katherine asked, holding out her hand towards the steward, who stood at attention by the closed door.

Kael’thas nodded. Immediately, the steward moved forward to give Katherine a copy of the pages. She squinted down at the fine print, held it further from her, then gave up and pulled her half-moon spectacles from a pocket of her greatcoat. After settling them on the bridge of her nose, she began to read.

“Your scribes write too small,” Katherine remarked.

“To not waste good parchment,” Kael’thas pointed out. “They have to make duplicates in Thalassian as well, remember?”

Waving him away, Katherine placed her finger on one page. “Yes, yes. This bit here -- trade restrictions. I thought we’d agreed upon a more laissez-faire system.”

“Some consumer protections are a necessity, Lord Admiral. I’m sure you understand. We can’t have bad blood over something as banal as a bad shipment of fruit.”

With a begrudging grunt, Katherine conceded. “And the tariffs? I suppose they’re simply to protect elven agricultural production? I’d hate to think you were attempting to gouge your new allies, Your Majesty.”

“Perish the thought.” If Kael’thas was insulted by his guests’ bluntness, he did not show it. He maintained a presence of calmly smiling poise, while Katherine’s brow darkened.

Tossing down the page, Katherine flipped to another. She glared at him over the top of the parchment and growled, “No tariffs. The consumer protections can stay.”

That sparked a forty minute long debate between the two of them, in which Kael’thas wheedled and pretended to ring his hands, and Katherine grumbled and blustered. Meanwhile, Sylvanas and Vereesa bowed their heads together and spoke in soft tones, leaving Jaina to fiddle with the edge of the tablecloth. Sylvanas did speak, but rarely, and only when the conversation turned to military matters, weighing in on the like of border patrol and merchant protection.

Jaina was trying to catch the steward’s eye in order to ask for a glass of water, when her mother and the prince turned to a fresh page of the documents.

“There is one topic we have avoided during our initial consultations,” Kael’thas said, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. “I mean, of course, the subject of heirs.”

“The Trolls are today’s problem,” Katherine sniffed with a dismissive little flutter of her gloved fingers. “Future heirs are tomorrow’s problem.”

“But we cannot leave the issue undocumented,” Kael’thas pressed.

Katherine’s sharp, pale gaze fixed upon Vereesa across the table. “I have been informed you have children, Lady Windrunner?”

Straightening, Vereesa nodded. “I do. Twin boys.”

“Good.” Katherine turned the page over in her hands and set it atop the growing stack to one side. “Then that side of the bloodline is settled, and Jaina can adopt any one of her host of cousins for an heir.”

Hearing that, Jaina scrunched up her nose.

“What is it?” Katherine sighed.

“Nothing,” Jaina mumbled.

“Don’t mumble, dear.”

Jaina ducked her head. “Sorry.”

“Well, spit it out,” her mother said, watching Jaina with dry amusement. “You have us all rapt.”

Lips pursing, Jaina admitted, “They don’t like me very much. My cousins, I mean.”

Katherine rolled her eyes. “It’s not about ‘like.’ They don’t have to ‘like’ you to be honoured for the opportunity to inherit your titles and carry on our family name.” Her voice gentled when Jaina grimaced at her bluntness. “What about your second cousin?”

“Which one?” Jaina couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her tone, and flushed when her mother shot her a warning look.

“You know which one. The one who was just recently appointed lieutenant aboard the ‘Restoration.’ What was his name?” Katherine frowned and tapped at at her lower lip. “Fitzsimmons?”

“Fitz hates sailing,” Jaina pointed out, and her mother appeared taken aback that any Kul Tiran could hate such a thing as sailing. “He only got the position because of his older brother, who served under dad.”

“Well,” Katherine conceded with a disdainful sniff for Fitz’s character. “Your father’s side of the family has no dearth of nieces and nephews. I’m sure you’ll find someone suitable when the time comes.”

And that seemed to settle that. Kael’thas and Katherine made notes in their separate copies and moved on, leaving Jaina flummoxed. When they moved on to discussions of Jaina’s movements to and from Quel’Thalas, Jaina tried speaking up. Every time she did so however, her mother or Kael’thas would talk over her as if she hadn’t started to form a sentence.

“She needs to be seen to tour around Quel’Thalas with her wife,” Kael’thas insisted.

“And they shouldn’t have to do the same in Kul Tiras?” Katherine countered.

“But what about -?” Jaina began.

“I’m not implying that they’ll never visit Kul Tiras,” Kael’thas continued. “Simply that the first year or two should be spent in Quel’Thalas.”

That earned a derisive sniff from Katherine. “She’s a mage. Frankly, I don’t see why she couldn’t teleport the two of them to and from each nation every month.”

Kael’thas bristled, “Because we need to show some stability. Appearances are everything.”

Rolling her eyes, Katherine leaned back in her seat. “Oh, here we go again.”

Before the two of them could launch into another fully fledged debate, Sylvanas raised her voice, smoothly cutting them off, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to hear the Lady Proudmoore’s opinion on the matter.”

Silence fell across the table, and every eye turned upon Jaina.

Her first instinct was to slip down further in her seat, but she forced herself to sit upright. Taking a deep breath, Jaina lifted her chin. “The first year or two in Quel’Thalas, but I want to spend at least one day a week continuing my education with the Kirin Tor.”

Both Katherine and Kael’thas mused over that idea. “Your magical education could be well supported here in Silvermoon,” Kael’thas pointed out.

“I’d prefer that to be supplementary to my studies under the Archmage,” Jaina refused to back down. “Studying under Antonidas is not an opportunity I want to pass up.”

“Nor should you have to,” Katherine added.

Fingers drumming against the tabletop, the noise muted by cloth, Kael’thas considered the proposal. Then, he nodded. “Agreed. Shall we put it with the appendices?”

“I think that would be easiest.”

Already they were moving on, and Jaina sighed in relief. She glanced across the table to find Sylvanas watching her, utterly impassive.

‘Thank you,’ Jaina mouthed silently.

In answer, Sylvanas inclined her head.

Through the windows, the sun was beginning its slow descent towards the horizon when Kael’thas and Katherine finally seemed satisfied. Katherine flipped to another page. She adjusted her spectacles with one hand while reading aloud, “We confirm that Lady Jaina Proudmoore, Heir to Kul Tiras, Scion of the Fleet, etc. etc. is of marriageable age. Yes.”

From the other side of the table, Vereesa asked, “Out of curiosity, how old are you exactly?”

“Nineteen,” Jaina answered.

Both Sylvanas and Vereesa went stiff, their ears tilting up in shock. Sylvanas’ eyes were wide, and she was staring at Jaina with a look of horror. A chill of unease walked down Jaina’s spine, settling in her gut and remaining there.

“Oh, good,” Vereesa hissed to her sister. “She’s nineteen.”

“I heard, thank you,” Sylvanas ground out between grit teeth. One of her hands was gripping the tablecloth tight, and she let go, refusing to meet Jaina’s eye across the table now.

“My kids are eight, Sylvanas. Eight.”

Sylvanas’ jaw clenched as she replied to Vereesa, “I am aware.”

Bristling at the way they were talking as if she weren’t right there and could hear them, Jaina asked, “Well, how old are you then?”

Sylvanas still would not look at her. “Older than nineteen.”

“It does seem rather young,” Kael’thas said to Katherine.

Her mother paid them no attention as she continued skimming the page. “It’s a perfectly legal marrying age for humans. This all seems to be in order.” She tossed the page atop the others and gestured to the steward, “We can begin the signing now.”

The steward brought forth two identical quills and inkwells. Jaina scraped back her chair, as did the others, and they rounded the table.

Sylvanas took the place directly to Jaina’s left, the two of them standing side by side before each inkwell. She stood in such a way that she would not accidentally brush against Jaina, even going so far as to pull aside her cloak. She did not look over at Jaina as the steward placed the first page before them. Instead, Sylvanas picked up her quill, tapped a swell of black ink from its nib against the well, and bent down to sign.

Her signature was a spidery scrawl against the pale parchment. When she had finished, Jaina reached over to take the page, but the steward coughed and made an abortive motion forward, as if he were about to swat her hand aside.

Jaina snatched her hand back. “Oh! Sorry!”

The steward pointed to the bottom right corner of the page. “If the Lady Windrunner could please initial here? And here, where amendments have been made.”

Sylvanas sighed, “I see we’re going to be here a while yet.”

Only then did the steward pass the page along to Jaina for her to do the same.

Then the next page.

And the next.

And the next.

With the first few pages, Jaina’s hand had trembled from nervousness. Halfway through however, her wrist and lower back had begun to ache. By the time they’d finished, both their signatures had grown sloppy, but still legible enough to satisfy the steward’s exacting eye. At every other page, Vereesa had to step between Sylvanas and Jaina to sign as the official witness, which only made everything take even longer.

The moment Jaina and Sylvanas finished, setting their quills back into their inkwells, the steward stepped between them and the documents, all but herding them aside so they could get out of the way and let him work. Jaina blinked, startled, and stepped back. Sylvanas was already turning to walk away, her stride stiff. Vereesa fell in beside her, and the two were speaking in rapid hushed Thalassian once more, heading towards the exit, while Jaina stared after them.

“My blessings to the happy couple,” Kael’thas smiled warmly at Jaina. He brushed a hand across his robes and said, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must attend another meeting. Until I see you all at the ceremony.”

He nodded to Jaina and Katherine before sweeping from the room.

Jaina started when her mother grasped her gently by the shoulder. “Well done, my dear. You were very poised during the negotiations. I’m afraid duty calls for me as well. The Fleet experienced another casualty yesterday, and a portal is waiting to ferry me back to the flagship.”

Jaina opened her mouth to protest that she hadn’t done anything during the negotiations, but fell silent when her mother pressed a kiss to her cheek and murmured, “Be well. And get some rest. You deserve it.”

And then she, too, was leaving, until Jaina was alone with only the steward for company. Her words caught in her throat as she blinked at the open door through which everyone else had disappeared. The steward began to unceremoniously shuffle all the pages together and prepare to take them away. He eyed Jaina askance, then offered a bow before leaving as well.

Jaina was still standing there, dazed, when Ithedis entered the room looking for her. Removing his helm, he crossed over to her just as she pulled out a chair and dropped into it feeling winded, as if she had just sprinted a nautical mile.

Ithedis hesitated. “Are you well, my Lady?”

“Yes,” Jaina breathed, rubbing tiredly at the lightheadedness building in her temples. “Just married, I guess.”

He stood beside her chair, gripping his shield. For a moment he said nothing, and then he murmured, “Congratulations, Lady Proudmoore.”

Jaina nodded faintly. “Yes. Thank you.”

The wedding ceremony itself was intentionally set in the Court of the Sun, with invitations dispersed to every inhabitant of the city. Jaina should not have felt so nervous about acting out a symbolic ritual of something that was already set in stone. They were fully legally married. She knew for a fact that the militaries of both nations had already begun to redeploy according to the union, and that the borders had been tentatively opened.

Moreover, when he wasn’t shadowing her every footstep, Ithedis had taken to overseeing the transference of Jaina’s personal items from her diplomatic quarters in Sunfury Spire to an estate southwest of Silvermoon City, which would be her new home. It was not, she had been told, the old Windrunner family estate, which lay further to the southern border of Quel’Thalas. Rather, Sylvanas had dusted off an estate purchased by her family generations ago and left uninhabited but for the rainy season, when they would venture further north to be nearer the city and -- more importantly -- the Sunwell.

Jaina had visited the estate just once after the papers were all signed, and even then it had only been for Sylvanas to walk her briefly around the spire manor and its grounds. They would not reside there together until after the ceremony.

Which, as it turned out, Jaina was dreading for reasons unknown.

The roiling of her stomach from when she first arrived in Quel’Thalas had returned in full force. It had happened very suddenly. One day she was exploring the library of Silvermoon, perfectly content to sit and read for hours while Ithedis stood at her side or carried books for her. The next day, she was getting fitted for a wedding dress and trying not to be ill.

Like a wave rushing back to shore it would periodically wash over her, the feeling. When Vereesa was mischievously sneaking Jaina down those side alleys Ithedis had refused to let her wander for an ill-advised midnight jaunt. When Jaina was at lunch with Sylvanas in a public garden, watching the languid gestures of Sylvanas’ fingers, the expressive movements of her long ears. When she lay awake at night atop the sheets, unable to sleep in the sweltering heat. Whenever she checked the time and realised the ceremony was quickly, steadily approaching.

And then without fail she was being bustled into a room by a group of elven attendants so they could prepare her for the day ahead. It took far too long. She had to fight the urge to fidget and bite her fingernails ragged. They squeezed her into a white dress fit for a traditional Kul Tiran wedding but for its more elegant elven cut and understated silver brocade. They applied kohl around Jaina’s eyes. They gossiped about the upcoming ceremony, who would be attending, where they would be sitting, how odd the clash of cultural touches appeared in the grand courtyard of their homeland.  

Jaina was standing, her feet already beginning to ache, when the two hairdressers -- Jaina still did not know why she required two hairdressers -- got into a very polite argument in Thalassian about whether Jaina’s hair should be worn up or down. Jaina listened with half an ear. She could not understand every word, but the gist of the argument was apparent.

After the passive-aggressive bickering went on for a good five minutes, Jaina said in Thalassian, “Hair down?”

The hairdressers and all of the other attendants as well froze. They went stiff and still with shock at the idea that she had understood their conversation, and that they had not been curbing their tongues in her presence for the entirety of that morning.

“I agree,” said a voice from the doorway. “Down.”

All of the attendants straightened at the sight of Sylvanas standing at the entrance. Sylvanas crossed the room and stopped in front of Jaina, who felt her mouth drop before she could close it. She had only ever seen Sylvanas in various sets of armour, but today she moved just as gracefully in a dress. Whereas Jaina was clad all in white, Sylvanas was resplendent in red. Her arms and shoulders were bare, her skin golden against the crimson of her dress. The train of her sleek gown trailed in her wake like a streak of blood across the marble floor.

“May I speak with you in private?” Sylvanas asked.

Jaina tried to speak, but could only nod.

With a sidelong glance, Sylvanas sent the attendants scurrying from the room. The door shut behind them, and they were alone. Sylvanas stood as she always did, straight-backed, tall, hands clasped officiously behind her.

When Jaina finally found her voice, it was to blurt out, “It’s bad luck to see each other before the wedding.”

Sylvanas frowned. “That seems like a silly superstition. Do you want me to leave?”

Shaking her head, Jaina stammered, “No. It’s - It’s fine. You’re fine. In fact, you’re -” she bit back whatever foolish thing she had been about to say, cleared her throat, and asked, “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Sylvanas tilted her head, and a lock of her pale gold hair curled against the dip of her collarbone. “Last we spoke, you seemed out of sorts.”

“I’m -” Jaina breathed in deeply. “I’m fine. Really. It’s nothing.”

Sylvanas was watching her very keenly. “In every legal sense, we are already married. If you do not want this -- being paraded around before a gawking crowd -- I will personally escort every last snooping busybody from the premises.”

With a huff of wry laughter, Jaina said, “Yes, because I imagine that will go down so well.”

A lofty shrug lifted one shoulder, and Sylvanas replied, “No, but when has that ever stopped me? At this point, it’s almost expected I’ll do something brash.”

“And here I thought I had dibs on ruining the ceremony.”

Jaina tried to sound lighthearted, but something must have shown on her face, because Sylvanas’ impeccable posture gentled somewhat. “You’re going to be fine. You look beautiful, Lady Proudmoore.”

A laugh verging on the hysterical bubbled up in Jaina’s throat. The idea that she could have looked anything but drab next to Sylvanas, who burned like a torch in the noonday sun, was enough to make her stomach lurch again. Placing a settling hand over her abdomen, Jaina said, “Please, just call me ‘Jaina.’ We might as well start with first names now.”

“As you like,” Sylvanas murmured. She moved her hands, and Jaina noticed that she had been holding something the whole time. “I have a gift for you as well, if you’ll have it.”

A necklace slithered between her hands, a small pale stone with a blue sheen like a shard of ice strung from a simple golden chain. As it turned in the light, dangling from where she held it forth, Sylvanas explained, “It is said to have once belonged to the great sorceress, Aegwynn. Whatever power it once held has long since dwindled, but it is a piece of history all the same.”

Sylvanas held up the pendant, strung between her fingers. “May I?”

Jaina blinked, as if broken from a trance. “Oh! Yes, of course.”

As Jaina turned around, she gathered her hair over one shoulder. Sylvanas stepped up behind her, reaching around to settle the stone at Jaina’s throat and fix the clasp. Jaina touched the stone where it rested atop her sternum, savouring the chill radiating from it. She could not mask a shiver when Sylvanas’ fingers brushed the nape of her neck, a fleeting graze of warm skin before the clasp was shut and Sylvanas stepped away once more.

Turning to face her, Jaina said, “Thank you. It’s -” She peered down at the pendant. “I’ve always admired Aegwynn. How on earth did you find a relic like this?”

“I have my ways,” Sylvanas drawled with a cryptic smile. She crossed the room, pausing with her hand on the door. Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “Until later, Jaina.”

Now, the sickening feel returned tenfold. Her stomach boiled. Despite the pervasive heat of Quel’Thalas, Jaina desperately wanted to soothe her nerves with a cup of tea. When she had tried the tea of Silvermoon City a few weeks ago however, the bitter herbal concoction steeped in sunlight had put Jaina right off the idea of elven tea entirely.

Soon, two of the attendants were lifting the train of her dress so she could walk through the door. Soon, another was pressing a bouquet of blood red flowers bound with a white silk ribbon between her fingers. Soon, Jaina was being led towards the Court of the Sun as the sun itself glared directly overhead, painting the land in light.

She could hear the buzz of the crowd the moment she stepped outside. Jaina fidgeted with the ribbon tied around the bouquet, worrying the silk between her fingers. She wished she had a veil to cover her, something to hide her when she walked down the aisle, but veils were only worn to elven funerals and had therefore been deemed unsuitable for the occasion.

Her mother met Jaina at the entrance to the Court of the Sun, stately in her Admiral’s finery. She smiled at Jaina, taking one of her hands and leaning close to kiss her cheek.

“You look radiant, my dear,” Katherine whispered in her ear, before pulling back and offering Jaina her arm. Jaina took it, gripping her mother’s sleeve tight.

“Ready?” Katherine asked.

Jaina could only nod. And then they were striding in time towards Sunfury Spire. Their footsteps were muffled by a long length of rich red cloth stretching all the way to the opposite end of the Court, where a bower had been erected atop the steps leading to the Spire. The walkway had been festooned with alternating Kul Tiran and elven banners. Waves of guests rose to their feet as Jaina passed. Mages had woven an enchantment into the air so that small white blossoms drifted from the sky like snow.

Jaina hardly noticed any of it. She was focused instead on her breathing. How stifling it felt, the heat, the dress, the moment. She walked and did her best not to trip.

Sylvanas already stood beneath the bower, which had been strung with cloth and vines that grew all along its frame. She waited until Jaina and Katherine approached, then stretched out her hand. Katherine passed Jaina over to Sylvanas, who took Jaina’s hand. She leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to the back of it before drawing Jaina up the steps to stand beside her.

Jaina’s palms were sweaty and her fingers trembled. Sylvanas caught her eye and gave her hand a gentle squeeze, then released her. And in that brief moment, the roiling of Jaina’s gut hitched, like a skipped heartbeat. It did not completely quiet her nerves, but for the remainder of the ceremony Jaina felt she could at last breathe.

Katherine moved to stand beside Kael’thas at the front of the ceremony, where he was acting as the officiant, the two leaders of their respective nations symbolically heading the union. A brazier burned before them. Jaina could feel the heat from tongues of flame that shimmered the air.

When Kael’thas began to speak, lifting his voice with a magnifying spell to address the crowd, Jaina hardly heard the words. For all that the time leading up to this moment had seemed to drag on for an eternity, now that it was actually here time seemed to spin out of control. It was all she could do to focus on saying the right words at the right time, and not on the way her hems brushed against Sylvanas’ gown in a silent whisper of silk.

Then Katherine was sprinkling three handfuls of dried grain into the brazier, and Jaina and Sylvanas held their hands over the flames while they burned. Kael’thas waited for the grain to reduce to ash, then with a flourish extinguished the brazier. Two attendants -- one elven, and one human -- moved forward from the wings. They gathered the ash in golden cups and carefully sprinkled the ash in a tight circle around where Sylvanas and Jaina stood together.

A breeze stirred the banners. The entire congregation seemed to hold its collective breath as the attendants joined the circle of ash on the ground, until Jaina and Sylvanas were enclosed in a dark ring that still drifted with tendrils of smoke.

Once more, Sylvanas took Jaina by the hand, turning to face one another. This time, it was Jaina who squeezed Sylvanas’ hand, and Sylvanas traced the ridge of Jaina’s knuckles with her thumb. Jaina’s breath caught in her chest when Sylvanas reached up with her free hand to tilt Jaina’s chin up. Sylvanas leaned down. Instead of kissing Jaina as she was supposed to, she hesitated, as if some small uncertainty were holding her back.

Something unfathomable flickered in Sylvanas’ eyes. They were close enough that Jaina could see the trace of an old scar that sliced across one cheek, so faint that she would have missed it had they been any further apart. Standing up on her toes, Jaina closed that distance and pressed their mouths together.

The kiss was brief and warm and soft. Long enough for Jaina to angle her head and grasp Sylvanas by her bare shoulder. Short enough that when they pulled apart, Jaina was left chasing after the feeling.

For a moment, Sylvanas remained motionless but for the steady rise and fall of her chest. She leaned back. She grasped Jaina’s hand more tightly. Then, Sylvanas pulled up the long hem of her dress just enough that she could kick open a break in the circle of ash that surrounded them on the ground. The ashes scattered in a dark narrow streak, and together they walked back down the aisle to the roar of thunderous applause.

[burgerrat]

Damn Daniel yet another Black Christmas 1974 analysis.

Today, my good fellows, we will be tackling the most famous scene in this whole movie, you know the one- I'll he adding some of my own dumb little interpretations of some things, so let's get to it--

((I'd like to leave another TW in here too, since there are going to he topics about sex, violence, and bad mental health episodes from the man of the hour mr. Attic rat.))

((Also this is gonna be a long post so bare with me if you wanna read it all))

Let's start from the very beginning, AKA when Billy first enters Barb's room and she ends up having an asthma attack:

- Billy most likely knew exactly where Barb's room was by either exploring the house when everyone was out, or he heard Barb enter a specific room often. Or...as it would sound more in-character: Billy might have had no idea in which room she was and the door he happened to open was out of pure coincidence.

- since you all are so keen to headcanon Billy is into somnophilia, and given that Billy was staring directly at her for a split second and at an uncomfortably-close level to her before his first-person attention turned towards the glass figures during one scene, I'm picturing this guy was slightly horny before his thoughts quickly shifted and he decided to go on and grab at one of those glass figures.(I don't think Billy had immediately planned to kill her, at least not until he heard her voice, which I'll explain soon why, I'm just imagining that, since the unicorn was the first sharp thing he saw in the room, he probably had the impulsive thought to just take it because it was sharp and shiny, but he had almost nothing planned out during his first entrance to her room)

- realizing the presence of the glass figures there, and that sharp on in particular, he probably goes on to try and grab the unicorn and I noticed,

That thing is sitting right above Barb's head, and the only way for Billy to get his hand on it would be to fucking slowly lean over her, all of this while being completely silent. Also, given how Billy is, I wouldn't be surprised if he was staring down at Barb the whole time while trying to grab the glass figure, to which, he probably ended up missing his grasp on the unicorn, might've made a small noise, and Barb woke up to this disturbing sight of a shadow looming over her while staring directly at her. Her having an asthma attack as a reaction to this scene most likely scared Billy himself due to the sight of her eyes opening and the sudden gasps for air she started making.

- okay so, we established how clumsy this man is from our last analysis, in here it's no different- Billy probably stumbled his ass out of the room as quick as possible, probably almost falling over Barb as he retreated from trying to grab the unicorn figure.

- I think Billy didn't even recognize this was the woman that started picking at him on the first phone call, not until she had that asthma attack and he (probably) hid in another room since he was not done there, and recognized her voice. I picture this realization only helped on adding fuel to the fire.

- and during his second entrance in Barb's room, Billy is visibly careful and gentle when he goes to grab at the unicorn a second time, when he feels he has a stable hold on the object you can notice he slightly tightens his grip to pick it up. (This'll be mentioned again during my dumb symbolism infodump).

Okay, so, now we have that, and to go in on what the fuck was going through Billy's mind a little more, I'm mostly imagining that he is not thinking during any of this, he's got no lucid thoughts at all, much like when he killed his parents, he has nothing else in mind but the desire to hurt and do what his mind wants, because he feels in control, tragic irony since he's not in control of himself, especially given that in one of the phone calls he's screaming and literally crying to be stopped.

I think he takes a step back to realize what he has done each time he kills someone, he most likely starts crying or silently whispering to himself that, much like in the novel, they're 'sleeping'.

When Jess opens the door to Barb's room to find both Barb and Phyl dead, I noticed two things:

First of all, I made a grave mistake in my last analysis, since guess what-

Yes, on the upper corner, you're seeing it correctly, that is the unicorn figure, yes, Billy has placed the glass figure back where he got it after he was done, you know, using it as a weapon to murder (most likely) two people in cold blood. I still like to imagine he picked it up again before he went after Jess but still- just a little detail I hadn't noticed before.

Secondly they're arranged in different positions on the bed, which leads me to think this is the following train of disaster-thinking Billy is going through as he realizes be just murdered two women, but flat-out proceeds to deny it to avoid having to deal with the guilt of the act:

"they're just sleeping! They're just sleeping, Billy! They'll wake up...yes......it doesn't matter their eyes are open! People can fall asleep with their eyes open..you do too((inspired by a friend's drawing, u know who u are)).....you do..do I? And the.....the blood? That's no blood, Billy, you rotten child! IT IS NOT! it's just...th-they were having a party! Yes! They were having a party, some juice accidentally spilled on them and they forgot to clean it up and now they're sleeping....soundly-..th-....they're not dead.....they aren't.."

And he just lazily re-arranges them in weird positions on the bed, and if my overanalyzing ass is correct: I think he attempted to make Phyl look like she was posing with her arm resting behind ber head.

And now, my favourite part of this- my own dumb the symbolism of the creature portrayed as that glass figure, and some small talk about Billy's sexuality.

Okay so, this is probably just me going too deep with this but- I just find it very interesting that out of all the shapes and objects the directors could've chosen to use as a glass figure for Billy to use as a weapon, they chose something as wholesome and pure as a unicorn.

So, I went on a little research about unicorns, and found some interesting stories:

- according to mythology, unicorns are shy and elusive creatures, and they would run away from anyone unkind or 'not pure', however, they only allow to be approached by those who are pure of heart, or 'untainted'(AKA, a virgin).

- apparently, the horn of a unicorn brought good fortune and could heal, so, unicorns were hunted down, and sometimes people who were virgins were used as bait to lure unicorns out, since they tended to come to comfort them.

- the unicorn has also become a symbol of the LGBT+(given it's diversity and non-conforming nature when it comes to gender) and also rapresents pride and masculinity.

In my interpretation of Billy, he is a gay man, who is ironically very closeted about this despite his obscenities during phone calls. It'd make sense since, given that he's a grown man in the 70's(when Black Christmas came out), he probably grew up around the 50's or so, I don't think anyone who was part of the LGBT+ was well-seen back then, and considering how abusive Billy's household was, even more so. It mostly scares him to admit to that he has a preference for men in front of others or publicly, he may have lied to himself that he was strictly heterosexual at times.

Interpreting the Unicorn stabbing scene in a more 'abstract' sense, assuming that Billy, when he first entered Barb's room, he tried to grasp at the unicorn in an unkind way and 'not pure', therefore resulting in him awakening Barb on accident and having to flee the room. When he goes grab it a second time, he's gentle and careful, and he succeeds on 'luring out the unicorn', and when his grip tightens on the figure, I imagine it kind of shows that his intentions were not as careful or as gentle as he made it look before. As stupid as this might sound, in my mind it has a nice contrast with the mythology tale of people who were 'untainted' used as bait to lure out a pure creature.

And with the whole stabbing part and the unicorn being used towards a woman, I interpreted that as Billy forcing himself to think that he's into women, not men, despite how aggressive he is towards them in the movie.

[terribleoldwhitemen]

delighted to have been tagged by @laissezferre to answer some fic writer questions!

1) how many works do you have on AO3? 39

2) what’s your total AO3 word count? 230,440

3) how many fandoms have you written for and what are they? over the years I've probably dabbled in 50-75, but according to ao3 I've published in 22 (not counting "- All Media Type" umbrellas).

4) what are your top 5 fics by kudos? The Devils Before Us (fitzier) Scenes From a Not-So-Clandestine Romance (barduil) One Hundred Twenty-Six Dollars (barduil) These Small Hours (fitzier) magneticisque corporibus (fitzier)

5) do you respond to comments, why or why not? I try to--I don't think authors are obligated, but I see it as a way of saying thanks for the feedback I get.

6) what’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? CHRIST. I guess my chernobyl one-shot is an unambiguous downer, but though many of my fics contain angst, usually the goal is to arrive at a cathartic and/or satisfying resolution.

7) what’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending? you know what. what IS a "happy ending" anyway. who's to say that what one person thinks of as "happy" isn't another person's "ambiguous"? AND ANOTHER THING--

8) do you write crossovers? if so what is the craziest one you’ve written? I do not. truly a strange gap in my oeuvre, given my formative ffnet days

9) have you ever received hate on a fic? speaking of ffnet--someone once uploaded a non-fic rant to the fandom about what its author perceived as an unacceptable spate of ooc-ness in recent fics. several were lambasted in detail, and though none were named outright, one of mine was immediately identifiable. I was 14 and had been writing for probably 6 months at time time so, yes, it was an ooc fic. but who does that???? what a petty and sad life that user must have led. high-quality, lovingly characterized fanfic does not pop up fully-formed like a greek creation myth. awful cringe fic is a crucial and even ongoing part of a writer's journey.

anyway, a fandom bnf immediately called this person out, and then also privately messaged me in support; so all's well that ended well.

10) do you write smut? if so what kind? a) yes, b) the mediocre kind

11) have you ever had a fic stolen? not to my knowledge

12) have you ever had a fic translated? yes! a few of my terror fics have been translated into russian and spanish. the work that goes into translation is insane, so it's honestly such a compliment knowing there are people motivated to put that kind of effort into poring over my words (and also a little bit intimidating).

13) have you ever co-written a fic before? yes; although it was never finished. I've also collaborated very closely on and written independently within several shared AUs.

14) what’s your all time favorite ship? this is an IMPOSSIBLE question which I REFUSE to answer

15) what’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? having recently resurrected and completed a five-year-old heretofore-abandoned wip, I'm less likely these days to say "never," but I do think my old galennic longfic Sum Total is probably something I won't ever bring to fruition to the degree I'd originally envisioned.

16) what are your writing strengths? dialogue, outlining, subtlety (I would like to think)

17) what are your writing weaknesses? transitions, internal narrative, Actually Finishing the Damn Thing

18) what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? if I'm tolstoy and my audience is native russian and fluent in french, as was common contemporaneously, then yeah maybe I'll fuck around and open my magnum opus with several paragraphs of unfootnoted french dialogue.

but since I'm not, I would probably do something different. it would depend on the context, the reader, the narrator's degree of subjectivity/omniscience--etc, etc.

19) what was the first fandom you wrote for? sherlock holmes!

20) what’s your favorite fic you’ve written? it'll be a long time before anything I write affects my life as deeply as The Devils Before Us, but as far as fic I'm happiest to have brought into the world? fic that brings me the most joy to know Exists? has to be my west wing rarepair manifesto, last full measure :')

tagging uhhh OH DEAR I have a lot of writer mutuals, don't wish to exclude anyone, just off the top of my head: @wouldyoulikeacupofteadear @tinykings @hensons

[zencharmed]

So, who are Maka’s siblings and where are they and what are they up to anyway? Under the cut for length!

Mitsuko is the eldest at 27. She was the first to undergo Burst training under their mother and is bonded with a Rapidash. She was also the first to leave home. She’s very level-headed, a quick thinker, and good to have around in a crisis as she doesn’t panic easily. Mitsuko is a bit on the prissier side and prefers the finer things in life, but doesn’t forget her more humble roots. She is currently training at the base of Mt. Silver in Johto.

Aside from her Rapidash (her Burst Heart), Mitsuko’s Pokemon team consists of Espeon, Nidoqueen, Lapras, Aurorus, Swanna, and Mienshao.

Mondo is the second oldest and is 25. The second to undergo Burst training under their mother. In contrast to Mitsuko he is incredibly hot headed and will pick fights with anyone and everyone. He can (usually) back up his talk and won’t hesitate to rub his victory in people’s faces. By the same token, he is an incredibly sore loser. He is bonded with a Houndoom and is the only one of the siblings capable of Mega Evolving his Burst form. He is currently in Kalos as a result, studying at the Tower of Mastery to further harness his Mega Evolved form. (Maka thinks he’ll be there for a while, since he’s not a very good student...)

Aside from his Houndoom (his Burst Heart), Mondo’s team includes Scizor, Mandibuzz, Malamar, Krookodile, Dhelmise, and Dedenne.

Finally are the twins (and babies) of the family, May and Max. They are 17 years old. Despite being twins, they don’t share the same birthday; Max was born at 11:50pm while May was born at 12:05am the next day. Max will remind May that he’s the older twin any chance he gets, much to her chagrin. They are very mischievous (more so than Maka!) and love playing pranks... though, when they get caught, they’re prone to crying. They’re also pretty lazy, so their father gave them jobs as receptionists at the Shinzo branch of Elroy Express. Neither of them showed any interest in Burst training and instead chose different fields. May is a competent Sky Battler and Max shines at PokeRinger.

May has an Alolan Meowth that helps her around the office, and an Emolga that she uses for Sky Battles. Max has a Galarian Meowth that helps him around the office, and a Taillow that he uses for PokeRinger.

[llamagoddessofficial]

For the yandere Break up ask: What if MC manages to escape unnoticed by Sans with a well-planned plan and she manage to flee to another continent and change her name and identity? Would he at some point give up and how would he react if he should find her?

I usually headcanon that yandere Sans became yandere because he lost his Papyrus somehow. His brother was his world, and losing him was just too much for Sans’ mind to handle… He (overnight) moved far away from everyone he loved, knowing that the moment they offered him help he’d have to face what really happened and he’d shatter like a thin sheet of early spring ice. He withdrew completely and forcefully locked away the part of himself that was still trying to grieve over his dead little brother, and to avoid ever feeling that or similar pain, he also locked away his ability to empathise or form attachments to people; a cold emotional stasis he remained in for perhaps a few years.

… But then came Mc. He wasn’t sure what it was. It could’ve been her genuine smile, it could’ve been her constant comforting waves of empathy, it could’ve been her strange sense of humour that seemed to always make him laugh… It could’ve been a mix of everything. But either way she drew him out of his shell, encouraged him to start caring for her and feeling vulnerable again, to see he had another chance to love and be loved. Her arms were a warm, safe place to process what happened to Paps- to break into little pieces and know that she would be there to put him back together.

And the years of warped pain, of hidden desperation for someone to love, for someone who understood, for someone he could feel for again… it came surging out, all directed at one person… and manifested into something ugly. Something unhealthy and possessive. He’s just a howling ball of pain that latched onto one good thing and refused to let go.

So when it comes to her, Sans will never give up. It could take him literal decades to find her and he’d never even consider it. Finding her is no surprise, it’s to be expected; no one can ever really escape him. She’s his obsession, his reason for living… everything he does, everything he is, it all revolves around her. She’s the only one who makes him feel anything.

It doesn’t matter whether or not she wants to be with him. He knows what’s best for the both of them. 

She doesn’t get to run.