#ranger rare pair round up

[queenvernage]

💕 ranger rare pair round up 💕 | udonna + leanbow for @cupcakes-are-ours

[curiositydooropened]

Ranged • 01: Firetower

You and Steve have been sent on a missing person's case, a park ranger in the Cascades went missing from his post after reporting a large area of downed trees. Could be something up your alley.

Pairing: special agent!Steve Harrington x special agent!Reader

Wordcount: 5742

Warnings: very slowburn, this fic is episodic, coworkers to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, canon-typical gore, weapons, fighting, murder, viruses, decay, monsters *This chapter contains mentions of animal harm, blood, vomit/nausea, potential character death, and whump/bad injuries - also hey, I'm not a doctor and this fic is free, so my inaccuracies might bug you. xo

This blog is 18+ only. I do not give permission for any of my fics to be duplicated, reposted, or put into AI. Thank you!

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Moodboard • 00: Prologue • 02: Home [Coming Soon]

Fire Lookout Tower 647 - Cascades

Fog blanketed the forest floor and just beyond, it coated the tops of trees, covering pine needles in vast, rolling smoke. Everything lacked saturation up here, everything but verdant moss and fern and branch, a sea of grey and green, damp and deep. The sunlight filtered in way far off, to the West, but everything out of its reach had begun to groan under the steady pelt of plummeting rain.

Rain pittered and pat against the tin roof and into the quickly filling bucket in the corner. Its splash zone had been haphazardly mopped with a shaggy old towel. 

You watched the landscape shift beyond the clouds, wrapped in wool socks and a flannel blanket while your partner took his turn retrieving fire wood from its drying spot beneath the tower.

His presence was announced by the groaning of stairs and the creaking of a rusted spring on the door. 

Steve had only smiled a handful of times since you met him, a painful stretch of soft features, the wrinkle never leaving his brow. To be fair, your job rarely warranted more than a polite grimace to townsfolk whose crops you’d left ablaze, whose family members you’d left on a slab.

Today was no different.

“This place is a shit hole,” he grumbled, rolling cut wood from his arms onto the ground in front of the stove. 

You hummed, knowing better than to argue something so trivial before he had his dinner.

He hunched to stoke the fire, now mere ashes and embers that glowed red in the little iron stove. He was soaked to the bone, dark hair clinging to his forehead and around his ears. He’d have to cut it again before your next return to Base. 

His hands were bright red, nipped cold and hard-worked, and you rolled your eyes at the pair of gloves he’d left on the rickety card table near the door. 

“Fucking rain,” he muttered, shoving kindling in hopes for it to catch.

With a sigh, you pushed yourself upright and reached for your own rain slicker on its hook. A puddle had formed and seeped through the floorboards, creating a patch of darkened wood that ringed with all puddles that had come before. “I’m going to get water to boil.” 

“Be careful.” 

The spring creaked. Rain gushed from dips in the roof and splashed loudly against rocks on the hillside. 

You glanced back at Steve. He was hunched in front of a started fire, worry etched between his brows. 

He shrugged. “I slipped at the bottom of the stairs.” He gestured to the mud that streaked his left pant-leg. “Be careful.”

You nodded and stepped out into the deluge.

The window coverings provided a good roof for the porch, save a few leaks here and there, and you clung to the side of the building as your guard rail to round it. You’d put empty buckets on the south end. All five of them had all overflowed. 

You picked the lightest one. You’d managed to haul it back across slippery planks, dozens of feet in the air, to the door before your right foot slipped out from under you. With a yelp, and the sting of bitter cold against your ass cheeks, you fell. The building teetered under your shifted weight, and you clung to the railing with pinched breath.

The spring creaked. Steve stood at the door with lumbered shoulders and that same frown, looking down a freckled nose at you. He picked up the bucket with one hand and held his other for you to take. “I said, ‘be careful’.” 

While the water boiled and Steve grumbled about canned meatballs, you stripped out of wet jeans and remained in damp Long Johns, removing your socks and hat and gloves to hang near the fire. 

The sun had already dipped far to the west, catching on split clouds in purples and oranges before it was swallowed up again by the grey. 

“You get the radio working?” Steve sighed, adverse to the quiet. 

You shook your head and stirred tomato paste around in the pot. After many meals with Steve, you were sure he grew up in the kind of household that only ate their meals on trays in front of the television. He could never really sit and appreciate the stillness. “Go ahead and tinker with it. Is there a game tonight?” 

“There was,” he deployed a long antenna and fidgeted with a few dials. Static buzzed from the plastic between his hands. “Might be too late. What time zone are we in?” 

“Pacific,” you explained. “Two hours behind.” 

You felt lighter after food. Warmth settled over your chest and shoulders, and you huddled further into your blanket. 

Steve’s hair dried a little, and you managed to coax him into taking one of your spare hats. The stitches stretched over the circumference. With a sigh, you slowly ripped out the project you’d been knitting and cast more stitches onto your needle. 

The radio hadn’t worked, too far out of reach to hear the score, and it had been discarded. Instead, Steve hummed, and the fire crackled, and your needles clacked against one another. The rain had died down, too.

“Think we’ll find him?” He asked, picking at the frayed stitching on the baseball he’d been tossing around.

Your target was the missing tower keeper, a man named Les Joplin who hadn’t reported in a few days after he’d gone in search of what he had described to dispatch as a rotten cropping of trees in the east acreage. 

You glanced back up at Steve, never knowing if he wanted you to answer honestly or not. Your fingers kept pace. Knit, purl, knit, purl. “Hope so.”

“My grandmother used to knit.” He nodded to the project slowly making way in your hands. 

You hummed. You’d heard this story before. A few months back, you began to notice a pattern to the information Steve had given you about his former life, only snapshots, hand-picked. You wondered if he had been trained this way, or if he still didn’t trust you.

The repeated stories didn’t stop you from prying for more.

“What’d you call you grandmother?” You asked.

“What do you mean?” He frowned back at you.

“You know, ‘grandma’, ‘granny’, ‘nana’?”

He snorted, rolled his eyes, tossed the ball a few times. “Grandmother.” 

You cocked a brow. “Grandmother? What, like the Queen?” 

There it was, the softest uptick of the corner of his lips, a flash of amusement in his eyes as he rolled them. “Exactly like the Queen. I was lucky if I got to address her as anything other than ‘ma’am’.” 

Another peak behind the curtain. You snickered and pressed on. “Mom or Dad’s mom?” 

“Uh…” He frowned again, mulling something over. “Mom’s. My dad’s parents were old as shit, died before I was born.” Another insight. 

“How’d they meet, your parents?” 

“Huh?” He blinked back at you, brow in a proper frown now. “I don’t know.” 

You’d lost him. You’d pressed too hard. With a sigh, you turned back to your knitting. Knit, purl. Knit, purl. 

He shook his head, and his sleeping bag shuffled as he stood and stretched. He set the baseball back on the little table, and it rolled until it met the pot of leftover spaghetti sauce. “Listen, I’m gonna take a leak, and we should probably think about getting some sleep. Early morning tomorrow.” 

You nodded, tucked your knitting back into your bag. “I’ll wash the dishes.” 

“Thank you.” He said, and he exited the little hut. The stairs creaked his whole way down. 

“Robin? No. No, Robin, no.” 

You awoke to Steve’s muffled cries. His sleeping bag shifted around a twitching body.

This wasn’t the first nightmare, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last. You didn’t know who Robin was, and the fear in his voice dimmed your hope that she’d lived.

You swallowed to clear the sleep from your vocal cords before speaking his name into the darkness. It took several tries, a full shout, to snap him out of whatever version of Hell his subconscious had pulled him in, and when he did rouse, it was with force.

He shot from his pillow, gripping the hilt of a knife stashed under it, and glanced around the room. “What is it? What’s wrong?” 

You sighed, tucked your face into your pillow, and murmured. “I’m cold.” 

“What?” He peered at you. 

It wasn’t a lie. The fire had gone out, and your toes had numbed slightly, and you’d argued with him when he agreed to the floor, so you were sure he was cold too. Maybe that had caused the nightmare. “I’m cold. Will you just get over here, please?”

You heard his groan, and a shuffle of sleeping bag as he pulled himself upright. His back and shoulders were silhouetted, broad and hunched. He wound his sleeping bag up between his fists, joints cracking as he made his way over to your cot. 

“Is there room?”

You shifted impossibly closer to the wall and hugged your sleeping bag to you to expose just how much room was left on the little cot. Not much, if you were being honest, but you were cold, and you had hoped your presence beside him might calm the terrors that plagued him.

He spread his blanket out beside you before asking if you needed a sip of water. 

You shook your head, but watched as he ambled across the room to the rickety card table for a swig from the canteen. 

The rain had stopped, but fog blanketed the windows on all sides. The sloshing of the water in his bottle sent a shiver through you.

“Alright, I’m coming,” he grumbled, and returned to slide himself into bed beside you. 

His arm came up first, once he’d settled, and you stiffened under his hold.

“What’re you doing?” You rubbed at tired eyes, trying to catch any glimpse of the curve of his nose.

“Warming you up, don’t make it weird.” He looped you in, scooping your sleeping bag up between the two of you. His other arm reached around your middle and pulled you close.

You weren’t surprised at his strength. He’d offered you a helping hand with more than one injury in the field. You’d seen him pull women and children from burning buildings. That one time he hauled a sheepdog from the river, both man and beast soaking wet and panting, dog tossed around his broad shoulders. 

“Better?” His gruff voice fanned your forehead, deliciously warm. 

You hummed, reaching aching cold hands out to warm against his chest. 

He hissed under your touch and wrapped your fingers up in his own. “Didn’t I tell you to sleep next to the fire?” He scolded.

“No,” you hummed, letting your eyes grow heavy again. “You told me to take the cot.” 

He grumbled something incoherent and adjusted on the tiny pad beside you. You knew he’d complain about a crick in his neck in the morning. 

“Night, Steve,” you mumbled. 

His nose tipped itself against your temple, and he sighed. “Get some sleep.” 

He slept after that. 

—

The rain made rivulets of mud and Earth. Where trails once climbed the mountainside, rocks and boulders now fell, surging into teeming river beds. 

Your boots squelched beneath you, each step a slip away from disaster. 

Steve stood a few yards ahead, more surefooted. He whipped at overgrowth with the business end of a machete. “Joplin!” He cried out, startling a few birds from their perches.

You glanced around, hand around the gun strapped to your thigh, just in case. If Joplin was eaten by a bear out here, or worse, you had to have confidence in protecting yourselves. “Les!”

Steve called your name. He stood with his machete extended, scrubbing at his tired eyes with the palm of his other hand. 

Just beyond him, the forest had been blighted. Root to crown, these massive conifers were decimated. A widow maker forest, limbs fell at odd angles, having melted from the trunk. Green grass and fern and vine turned to black ash. 

You cursed under your breath and took careful steps to meet your partner to ensure the ground didn’t swallow you whole. When you reached him, the rancid stench stung in your nostrils, watered your eyes. “Well, guess he wasn’t kidding.” 

You glanced back up to the fire tower, now a mere speck on the horizon. 

Steve’s jaw clenched. He nodded. “I’m gonna look for holes. Call it in, will you?” 

With a sigh, you stripped the heavy pack from your back. Your shoulders ached in relief. “Be careful.” You warned, and watched as he took off at a slower pace into the patch of rot. 

You kept an eye on him as you dialed, service spotty, but you were quickly patched through to dispatch. “Yeah, hi.” You offered up your badge number, called in reinforcements for a controlled burn. 

“How big is the affected area?” The woman on the other lined cracked her gum between her molars. 

You glanced around at the rot. This was small, relatively fresh. A chill rolled down your spine. You looked from Steve to the blanket of mist rolling downhill from the clouds. “About ten acres.”

“Alright, hon, we’ll get someone out there in the next day or so. Are you in need of emergency evac?” 

“No, we’re good to hang out until the crew gets here. Thank you.” She hung up first, and you pushed the antenna back into the device. Before you could shove it back into your bag, however, you heard a cry, a moan, really, in the distance, carried on the wind, prickling the hairs at the base of your neck.

“Steve?” You called out, standing up straight to survey the area. 

You heard it again, to your left.

You swung around. Steve was gone. You were alone.

You took off on a run to where you’d last seen him, careful not to trip over any loose roots, trying not to bump any more precariously hung branches from their roosts hundreds of feet in the air. You called for your partner, still clutching the piece at your side in one hand, the satellite phone in the other. 

The noise was louder now, a grunt and a groan, two noises, two distinct voices. 

You stopped, surveyed your surroundings, posted up on the good side of a half-rotted stump. 

“Can you walk?” Steve’s voice hissed from nearby. 

Your heart thumped wildly in your chest. You swung around, gun out, pointed toward the sound. 

“I broke it,” another voice, unfamiliar, croaked. They were beneath you. 

Rounding the stump, you found a hollowed out bit of ground wherein your partner was hacking away at the vines curled around the leg of an emaciated older man. This man was coated in mud and slime, curled hair sticking to his head. You sighed in relief and holstered your weapon. 

“Les Joplin?” You asked, taking a few steps to the edge of the hole. 

Both men jumped. Steve frowned back up at you before hacking away at another root. 

Les gulped, nodded. Shit, you’d left your pack at the edge of the rot. 

“Think you can limp it back to more solid ground? I’m going to call for an airlift.” You uncurled your knuckles from around the phone to dispatch the antenna and dial the number again. 

Les winced, teeth grit, sweat streaking the mud on his forehead.

You pulled your partner’s gaze. His jaw ticked. He pushed hair from his eyes with the back of his hand. He nodded, threw the man’s arm over broad shoulders. “Alright, count of three?” 

—

The rain came back as the air lift set down. Propellers pummeled large drops at you, sideways rain that stuck your clothes to your skin and cut off your breath.

You squeezed Les’s wrist as they strapped him to the gurney. His teeth chattered, face gray beneath a shiny mylar blanket. The ventilator obscured everything but his eyes, tired, frantic. 

Steve spoke to the team. He was shouting, but you couldn’t hear his voice over the wind and the slap of rain. 

Your hair stuck to the corners of your mouth.

Steve backed up to your front, shielding you behind his slim frame. He lifted a hand to wave as the helicopter ascended, clouds bending and melting beneath it. 

When it was a high enough altitude, Steve linked a large hand around your wrist and tugged you upwards, through wind-whipped grass and mud, toward the lonesome fire tower. 

The stairs were just as slick as the grass, and Steve kept a firm grip at your waist. To hold you upright or himself, you weren’t sure, but you felt anchored nonetheless.

When you finally summited, the world around you coated in a thick, grey cloud, you began to strip the soaked clothes from your body. Steve began to lodge firewood from the corner of the room into the little stove. 

“We have to go back out there,” he grunted, lighting a match to kindling before tossing it in. 

You groaned, unsticking your long-sleeve shirt from your back to wheel it over your head. “After lunch.” You pled.

You tried to stand your ground and not cower as Steve’s gaze swept your frame. He licked at pink lips, hair stuck to his face, his own clothes three shades darker than they were when you’d left the tower that morning. 

“After lunch.” He conceded, unbuttoning his shirt. You watched his back muscles shift beneath the outline of a white tank top, the moles placed hither and thither. 

You slipped a dry t-shirt over your head and began boiling water in a pot.

Steve’s knees were pulled to his chest, toes wiggling in dry socks. 

You finished first, famished from your earlier excursion, and continued your knitting. The rhythmic clack of needles a metronome to the rain against the tin roof and pouring from spouts, the crackle of the fire, the steady in-take-out-take of your breath. 

Steve eyed you warily, cheeks puffed around a meatball. He chewed, swallowed, and gestured with a fork toward the project in your lap. “What’re you making?” 

“A hat,” you pinched your smile.

He reached between you to wrap thick fingers around the ball of yarn like a baseball. He pressed the fiber for a moment before nodding, licking something from between his molars. “I really like that color.” 

You agreed. The burgundy would bring out the warmth of his eyes, the flush of his cheeks when he bickered with you.

“It felt good right? Helping Joplin.” 

His words startled you, stitch slipping off the needle before you could catch it. 

You blinked back at him, watched the worry etched between his brows, wondered what he could possibly be thinking, and you forced a bright smile. “Yeah, Steve, it felt great. That’s what this is all about, right? Saving people.” 

He nodded, shrugged, tongued at his molars. 

You can’t save everyone.

You picked your stitch back up and carried on. A few phrases turned in your mind, questions you’d posed to yourself before you dared ask him. ‘Doesn’t every save feel good?’ ‘Do you think Les’s leg’ll be okay?’ ‘Who couldn’t you save?’

You glanced to the spot on the floor where he had been tossing and turning the night before. ‘Who’s Robin?’ You couldn’t. You knew he’d throw himself into one of those broody nightmares, and you had a job to do. 

“So,” you bundled your knitting and stuffed it back into the bag you brought it in, “what’re we thinking? Demodog? Demogorgon? Grizzly?”

“Yeah, you wish it’s a Grizzly.” Steve snorted, making to wash the dishes. 

You did wish it was a Grizzly. At least you could shoot a Grizzly, watch it fall with a groan and lie peaceful against hard ground. Demodogs meant tunnel dwellers, a pack. Demogorgon meant portals. 

“Hey, before we head out there, can I ask you something?” He stood with his hands full of items to be washed, hair finally drying into wisps of curls near his ears. 

“Shoot,” you pulled yourself to a stand, rolled your stiff shoulders, got a little closer to the stove to warm your hands.

“Do I talk in my sleep?” 

You had half a second to make your decision, and “No” came out faster than that. You weren’t sure why you lied, maybe it was the same reason you hadn’t asked him about the name he’d been crying out for. You had a job to do, and you couldn’t afford a sulking partner ten steps ahead. 

His scowl proved he was weighing you up, trying to call your bluff. Apparently he convinced, he shrugged, and said, “Oh, well, you do.” Then he opened the creaky door and let himself outside to do the washing up.

—

The rain continued as you hunted. You slipped twice, twisting an ankle on a bunch of rocks hidden behind tall grass, but you’d had worse, so you persisted until the internal ache wore off and the external ache from the cold had you gritting your teeth. 

“I fucking hate this place.” Steve dropped another meatball into the grass beside you. “It reminds me of that…” He glanced around, in the air, searching for phantom airborne monsters.

You hadn’t gone into the other dimension, not for long enough to really get a feel for it, not like Steve. You knew it was cold and damp and miserable though, and these mountains were starting to feel just as desolate, just as grey. 

You came to the rot again, stench heavier under the blanket of ozone. 

Steve pressed his lips into a whistle, low and slow, coaxing whatever may be lurking. 

Your finger found the trigger at your hip. Bullets didn’t kill an inter dimensional creature, but it’d sure as Hell slow it down.  

Without a response to his call, you carried on, following him and his endless trail of meatballs past the stump in which you’d found Les Joplin. Steve poked his head inside, but vines had already begun to seam it up, devouring the flesh of the tree that rot there. 

“Do you remember what direction he said he saw it?” You asked, back to Steve as you surveyed the area. It could be anywhere, whatever it is. It was probably watching you now, smelling you, sensing you. 

“Let’s head East,” Steve signaled.

You doubled back and headed toward a particularly treacherous outcropping along the hillside. Boulders carved rivulets in the landscape, water gushing over rock and stone in glorious splendor.

Your big toes were beginning to ache from the cold, and the sound of rain and wind and now waterfalls was hurting your ears. With a huff, you seated yourself on a soaked rock and pulled your pack from your back to salvage a chocolate bar. 

“What’re you doing?” Steve snapped. He’d already trudged a good distance from you, and must have stopped when he didn’t hear the patter of your feet behind him. 

“Maybe it was a deer,” you offered, ripping back the mylar packaging and indulging in one semi-sweet bite. It didn’t melt instantly, your teeth and jaw too cold to warm it.

“It wasn’t a deer.” That permanent crease in Steve’s forehead stuck out under a curl of wet hair. 

“Come have a bite.” Your teeth chattered, hand extended. The chocolate was instantly pelted with rain.

Steve sighed and took a step toward you, and then promptly disappeared.

—

The cavern was deep, about ten feet high and thirty feet wide, a whole expanse of the forest that had just sunk in on itself. It looked like the vines hadn’t quite worked their way here, but the blight and the rain had washed away bits of the mountainside. The outcropping fell into the land and Steve had fallen into the rocks.

“Don’t come any closer!” He shouted, teeth grit in pain. He adjusted his leg, and you saw the blood spill from his knee cap to discolor his pant legs. 

“I’m going to radio for help. How bad is it? Do you need to tourniquet it?”

“No , it’s just a scrape.” He lied through his teeth. “I can’t see how far this goes, so go slow, and be careful.” 

With a nod, you made for your pack, muttering under your breath about your bossy partner, always getting himself into trouble. Then the breath was swept out of you as you free-fell into the cavern, too. 

Your ankles rolled, the one from earlier crying out from added injury, and you jaw slammed closed on a portion of your tongue when you hit the cavern floor. It was softer than you expected, wet mud and dirt breaking most of your fall. 

Your name echoed with the pounding of your heart as you regulated and pull yourself to a stand, brushing mud from your hands to your thighs. Water rushed into the cavern from above. Not enough to cause concern, but you stared up at the hole in the sky with a grimace. 

Steve called your name again, and you turned to face him. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, eyes wide with worry. 

You shrugged, nodded. “My ankle hurts.” 

“Is it broken?” 

You assessed the injury, tried to roll it back into place. A sharp, shooting pain spilled up your spinal column. You nodded. “Probably.” 

“I told you to be careful.” Steve scoffed from his lean against the far wall. He’d made no effort to rescue you.

“Is your leg broken?” You mapped your way to him, a slow and steady course through rocky terrain. Each step limped, you gripped the roots tied into the walls beside you. 

“No,” Steve shook his head. “Just a bad cut.” His large hand shook, pressed to a gash that was dying the rainwater red. 

“Well,” you sighed, “if the meatballs weren’t good enough…”

“Shut up,” he shifted in place, hand outstretched to help you over the last huge boulder. “Careful, sharp bit there.” He nodded to a likely culprit, a jagged bit of rock that stuck up at an odd angle. An odd substance pooled near the bottom, and you tried not to wretch when you realized it was likely the fat from Steve’s thigh. 

“We need to get you off your feet.” You instructed, carrying his weight to help him find a good bit of stone that was flat enough, but not too slippery for him to rest. It proved to be quite the undertaking. 

“It stopped raining,” he mused when he’d settled, the two of you wedged into a pit of mud that looked out of the gaping mouth onto grey skies. 

He was right. You hadn’t noticed it beneath the swell of water surging downhill, and the patter that continued on the other edge of the cave, but the rain had stopped, or at least slowed.

“Did you play baseball in high school?” You asked, picking through the rubble for a hefty enough sized rock. 

“Why?” Steve asked, perturbed by your questioning, but you noticed, for once, he didn’t have the energy to argue. 

You could imagine him playing baseball, chewing sunflower seeds in the dug out, hiking around the bases in those tight little white pants. You smiled and tossed him the rock. 

He caught it one-handed, clearly annoyed you’d thrown it in the first place. 

You pointed to the spot you fell. “Throw it really hard. My pack’s up there. Might knock it into the hole.” 

“Your pack-!?” Steve closed his eyes, took a few calming breaths. Then he shot you a look before hocking the rock as far as he could throw. It was very impressive. 

You both waited with bated breath, but the impact created no further damaged, and you slumped into one another, asses wet and legs throbbing. “I have my flare,” you explained, patting the inside pocket of your jacket. You always kept one, and a lighter, filled, just in case.

Steve sighed. “Me too.” He was just loopy enough to flash you a tired smile. 

“Alright, big boy,” you shook at his bicep to keep him alert and shrugged out of your jacket to remove your sweater. The air was warmer down her, and damp. Your breath fogged. “You’re going to have to stay awake until morning. So it’s time to tell me a story.”

Steve winced with each adjustment as you wrapped your sweater around his leg to aid with pressure. His hands still trembled, flesh of his palms bloodied, and you elevated his leg a little higher, pushing him into the mud at his back. 

“What kind of story?” He asked, teeth chattering. 

You hunched beside him and took both of his bloody hands into your own. The whole place smelled of Earth and iron. “Tell me about Indiana.”

He groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Come on. What position were you on the baseball team?” 

He grit his teeth and shook his head. “I didn’t play baseball. Track and field.”

You smiled and unzipped his coat to let yourself in, arms wrapped around his trembling frame. You pressed your face to his throat, nestled under the crook of his jaw where stubble had begun to poke and scratch. “Alright, tell me about that then. Did your high school sweetheart cheer you on from the stands? Steve, Steve, he’s our man, if he can’t do it, no one can!” You actually managed to rah a chuckle out of him.

He winced again, his chin bouncing into your head. “She wasn’t a cheerleader. She was on the school paper.” 

You changed your tone, put on a Trans-Atlantic accent. “Aaaaand they’re off. Steve Harrington takes the lead. Have you ever seen anything quicker on its feet? A horse, maybe.”

He snorted, swung his arm around you. “Has anyone ever told you how obnoxious you are?”

“You have,” you nodded. “A number of times. Kind of rude, actually. I’m always saving your ass.” 

He chuckled and mumbled an apology into your hair. 

“What else can you tell me about Indiana?” Your own exhaustion had begun to creep around the corners of your mind, hearing the dull thud of Steve’s heartbeat match the ache in your ankle and shin and thigh. 

When he didn’t respond, you prodded at his chest. “Steve.”

He shushed you, gripping your arm a little tighter. 

You were suddenly very alert. You could hear birdsong just over the ripple and rush of water over the rocks. You heard it too, the distinct clicking growl of a flower-faced beast. 

“Can you move?” Steve muttered into your hair, barely a whisper.

You nodded, swallowed, reached for the flare at your side.

“My knife,” he said. “Can you see it?” He nodded to where you’d found him.

You shifted in his arms, hoping the beast couldn’t hear the grunt he emitted between clenched molars. There, where rubble met a river of mud, you saw the glint of his knife. 

With a deep breath and a strain of every muscle in your body, you hoisted yourself onto your good leg and began your precarious hobble to your weapon. The rocks twisted under your feet, and the pain churned your stomach. 

“Easy,” Steve guided, his breath shallow. “You’ve got this.” 

You managed to dip yourself low enough, balanced on one leg, to wrap your fingers around the hilt and lift it from the rubble. You caught yourself on the wall and released a breath you’d been holding. 

The knife was a bit muddy, but mostly fine. It glinted in the diminishing sunlight, flashing the walls a pale pink red before your heard the call again. A rattled click preceded the visage that peered over the cavern mouth. 

The dog’s face opened, all teeth and fleshy flower petals, and before Steve had a chance to instruct you, the thing was on you, and you were elbow-deep in Demodog. It’s teeth scraped and tore at the nylon of your parka and one final dying breath rattled from its small frame before it squelched off of your blade and to the ground.

“It’s not alone.” Steve warned from his spot on the floor.

You nodded, grit your teeth, and readied your stance for another. 

—

Three demodogs died at your hands and burned. The acrid sting of burning flesh kept you awake, your body rejoicing at the warmth.

You managed to keep Steve awake, although his skin had paled and his eyelids drooped. 

The smoke alerted the helicopter before your flare did. 

Oxygen mask over your face, you linked your fingertips into Steve’s and offered him a smile. He was already asleep by the time you rose, higher and higher above cloud coverage and rain. You slipped up and away from the fire tower. Up and away from verdant hills and from rot and decay. 

Steve’s grasp was loose in your hand, and you wondered what he dreamt about now. You hoped it was peaceful. 

You finished his hat beside his hospital bed while you watched the latest game. Someone ran a home run. Steve cheered. You looped the last few stitches together and weaved in your ends. 

“This is for you,” you tossed it onto his lap. The burgundy was stark against white sheets. 

Steve frowned back at you, fingers toying with the fabric. “For me?” 

You nodded. “You needed a wool hat. Just put it on and be grateful.” 

He did as instructed, smile refusing to play on handsome features. He cocked an eyebrow to get your input. It was exactly as you’d hoped, a sweet contrast that a brought out the honeyed brown of his eyes, the flush of his cheeks. 

You bit back a smile, rolled your eyes. “Maybe you’re right. Your ego doesn’t need this boost. Give it back.” 

He smiled at that, a ruefully shy thing that had your heart pitter-pattering like rain on a tin roof. “No. It’s mine.” 

“Steve,” you let your question linger on your tongue for a moment, wondering if you ought to ask it, if you ought to push. 

He hummed, attention drawn back to the television. 

You swallowed, let the question die. Maybe another day, you’d find out who Robin was, what happened to them. 

“Yeah?” He glanced back at you, brown eyes wide with concern. 

You smiled. “What did I say in my sleep?” 

Once again, the corners of pink lips turned up, and he shook his head. “I’ll never tell.” 

---

Moodboard • 00: Prologue • 02: Home [Coming Soon]

[fevotinggauntletreal]

Clash of FE Classes Opening Round - Match 7

(pictured: a Troubadour icon from Sacred Stones, a Mage Knight icon from Sacred Stones, and a Horseman icon from Shadow Dragon, on a GBAFE arena background)

introductions to the classes, other closely associated classes, and explanations under the cut

Troubadours are typically cavalry units who carry healing staves. they promote into Valkyries, which usually nets them access to offensive magic, although it's not unheard of for them to pick up swords instead. good mobility tends to make them naturally better for utility purposes than infantry Clerics, but there's usually a catch somewhere, such as lower Magic (which can mean less efficient healing and/or less prospects for utilizing offensive staves like Silence and Sleep) or, at the promoted level, weaker overall combat. Troubadours and Valkyries are almost always female, with Fates again bringing the rare exceptions (and still having a gnc femboy as one of them); this is in spite of the fact that "troubadour" is a masculine word, with the feminine being "trobairitz" (thanks again, treehouse!). other closely associated classes include the staff-wielding Paladin variant from Genealogy of the Holy War and Thracia 776; the Strategist, Butler and Maid from Fates; and the Holy Knight from Three Houses. Mist from Path of Radiance and Radiant Dawn also has Valkyrie as her unique class, promoting from a Cleric variant.

Mage Knights, Dark Knights, and other such forms of offensive horseback magic-wielding have appeared at several points in the franchise, with inconsistent incarnations; for example, sometimes they're a class branch in their own right, and sometimes they appear as advanced-only parts of flexible promotion trees. sometimes they wield magic tomes exclusively, sometimes they can still carry a staff, and sometimes they'll mix up might and magic and get a melee physical weapon type into their kit. whatever the case, though, they will generally be balancing out their unique perks against lower Magic and Resistance than the typical magic-wielding unit.

while the Bow Knight or Ranger or Horseman or what have you brings horseback archery -- a venerable staple in historical warfare -- its presence in Fire Emblem has been quite inconsistent. they've variously been seen as distinct class branches (most notably as Nomads and Nomadic Troopers in Binding Blade and Blazing Blade) or as side-path promotions (usually fitting between the Archer and the Mercenary). it's most customary for them, at least at the promoted class level, wield swords as well as bows; they have at times been locked to the bow, though, usually in games that keep all of their cavalry classes single-weapon. the Oliphantier from Echoes: Shadows of Valentia is closely related. Fogado from Engage plays very similar to a Bow Knight while belonging to a pair of Lord-unique classes.

[augment-techs]

AH gotcha! Song Lyric Prompts:

'Cause we all wanna party when the funeral ends Ba ba ba, ba ba ba And we all get together when we bury our friends It's been ten fucking years since I've been seeing your face 'round here And you're walking away And I will die in this place

or alternatively, from the same song:

Well, you can hide a lot about yourself but, honey, what are you gonna do? And you can sleep in a coffin, but the past ain't through with you 'Cause we are all a bunch of liars, tell me, baby, who do you wanna be? And we are all about to sell it, 'cause it's tragic with a capital T

~MCR (Kill all your friends)

Working Title: up until 3am Fandom Tags: Boom! Comics Power Rangers; Mighty Morphin Power Rangers; Go Go Power Rangers. Relationship Tags: Eugene Skullovitch/Billy Cranston; Jason Lee Scott/Farkas Bulkmeier; to be decided. Character Tags: Matt Cook; Farkas Bulkmeier; Eugene Skullovitch; Violet Arias; Hailey; Tommy Oliver. Additional Tags: Meet-Ugly; Alternate Universe - Role Reversal; Multiverse/Grid Theory. Summary: In another dimension, somewhere in the vast multiverse, the teenagers that Zordon chose to fight Rita Repulsa had a little more attitude. This was not the best Color combination Zordon had ever had, but then again, he supposed, as long as it worked...? Orange, Purple, and Green. All chaos colors, all unstable, all of them very flawed and very beneficial in their turns. Blue and Black. It was rare to get these colors to prefer and tend to the female-presenting Rangers, but Zordon was grateful and didn't question the Power in this. This is not to say that he does not question the Power in its choices going forward with these teenagers that are so different from the ones chosen so often on different plains of existence. Here, there is no Ranger Station headed by Bulk and Skull in a rivalry with an entitled rich kid. These two are not the leaders--this group doesn't have a singular hand at the helm, but a group of loners that will put aside their differences to protect the Earth--but they are powerful in their own right. They have scars from pasts that keep trying to drag them down, down, down once Rita realizes there's really something interesting in messing with people who are a different kind of breed than normal Rangers; Purple and Orange are devastatingly rare for a reason. Here, there was no end of all things when Tommy Oliver became Lord Drakkon, death meeting Violet and Matt so young, so they don't get put in coffins and they find a way to become the better people they want to see in the world. Hailey doesn't grow old and scarred and powerful in her own right leading scores of freedom fighters. Oddly, Matt still breaks away from the friends he's had for years, the girl he thought he might come to love, but because he ends up the liar after one of them is stolen when his back is turned and it's his opposite Orange that sees the truth at first glance when Green was supposed to be so powerful--powerful enough to become a great warrior, but Matt has to become better as a person first. Oddly, it's Violet's Blue and Hailey's Black that draw them to Tommy Oliver trying to stay a loner, stay to himself. Here, he is no super fighter that draws Rita's attention and finds friendship with Jason's group after the fallout of mind control. Here, Tommy finds friendship in Hailey handing him something to keep him mellow in the bathroom stalls behind the football field. Here, Tommy finds friendship in Violet's quiet authority when they're paired up often in school or she helps him and Hailey get rid of the smell on their clothes with rolling eyes. So much is different. So much is better.  It's kind of tragic what an anomaly among dimensions they are.

[infartoomanyfandoms]

I'm in a ranting mood now so I'm gonna give my 2 cents on Supercorp.

Season 2:

In season 2 Kara and Lena were actually written pretty well. They were friends, they hugged, snuggled on the couch had food together, went to gala's together, defended the other behind their back and that kind of thing. And of course all the times Supergirl saved Lena. We'd be here forever if I mentioned everything lol. There was definitely some flirting happening. They were written as friends but there was absolutely something there the writers could have explored.

Season 3:

A little odd in terms of Kara and Lena. It's like the CW said 'I see you Supercorp shippers and I raise you a season of them barely interacting alone.' They fought and made up again at work, Kara tried to convince drunk Lena that she's good, they were sweet at the Christmas party with everyone, just all of 3x12, and then there was the hugs in 3x18 and 3x21. We had some Supergirl saves but Lena's relationship with Supergirl ended up on the rocks. They were written very much 'no homo' this season compared to season 2. There wasn't really any super obvious flirting, there were romantic parallels with the risking of identity though. Overall we didn't really get to see much of them existing together. Plus Lena started dating James. Alex and Lena got some really good development though so that's a plus.

Season 4:

They definitely interacted much more than in season 3. They were happy to see each other at the beginning, 4x02 was a goldmine of hugging, Lena protecting Kara, Kara protecting Lena, the works. Lena made the power rangers suit while she was still mad at Supergirl, she broke up with James, she was worried about Kara at the hospital, they had an argument in 4x19 and made up (after Kara longingly stared at a picture of Lena on her phone), Lena cried on Kara as Kara waxed poetic about how wonderful Lena is, just the entirety of 4x20. Plus Lena and Supergirl's relationship was mended. Season 4b had a lot of romantic undertones imo. The classic red/blue colour scheme, Kara staring at the picture, the sheer concern they both had for each other, how hurt Lena was that she hadn't seen Kara for a while after not seeing her for weeks on end just the season before, and where do I start with 4x20!? The looks they gave each other on the plane, how worried Lena was for Kara when the plane was crashing, all the physical contact, Kara's tape recorder stopped Lena from being stabbed, the concern and hugging again at the end, how defensive Lena got over wanting to apologize and the almost reveal. They obviously love each other, platonic or otherwise. Kara gives much more platonic love vibes at this point. Although the raw panic and concern and "Thank god you're okay"s from Lena this episode made me think that she loves Kara a little more than platonically. I'd always shipped Supercorp for fun but 4x20 made me wonder if they were really going to go down that road. This is me > 🤡 Because then we had the reveal.

Season *gags* Season 5

You watched it, we've all seen it. I'm terribly sorry to bring it up again. Season 5 I understood why people called them queerbait. Up until then I'd been like "yes to us these two are super gay but this can all (mostly) pass as platonic, I understand wanting them together but I don't think it's queerbait." And you don't have to come for me, because season 5 came for my JUGULAR. What the hell. Kara telling Lena she's Supergirl was heartbreaking, Kara has very rarely been that upset, don't even talk to me about the Romeo and Juliet ass shot 5 seconds beforehand. Then at the beginning when everything is 'fine' Kara seems unable to stop comparing herself and Lena to Alex and Kelly. You know? The canon lesbian relationship!? "For a friend like you there are no boundaries" Kara flying around the world to get Lena's favourite food...In the show that said "Maybe giving food is Brainy's language of love." 💀 "You Mean the World to Me" Playing over Kara and Lena scenes and Alex and Kelly scenes. Lena, even though she's mad, knowing that Kara will always save her. Lena's speech in the fortress deserves a post of it's own holy shit. She shot Lex for Kara, Kara made her trust people again, she loves Kara so much and I personally think that part of her anger stems from loving Kara in a more than friendly way and she's mad at herself for allowing that to happen and being so hurt and heartbroken after she finds out Kara's Supergirl. (watching this scene again hurts me just so y'all know) Kara is SO upset. Then we have 5x08 when Lena is panicking when the kryptonite cannons won't go off. "SHUT IT DOWN NOW!" Then there's 'Head Above Water' playing over Andrea and Russell. And then Kara and Lena staring at the same picture of them together. Come on. The whole 100th episode was about their relationship. She followed Kara out of the room Lex was celebrating in to give her a book on grief. Then Lex screams in her face and when she turns up at Kara's door after leaving him, her speech is so heartbreaking. She clearly misses Kara...a lot. Then she looks so SAD when she sees Kara and Alex hugging. She misses Kara's hugs 😭 Then "You can scream at me if you like I know I deserve it." - I hope we unpack that at some point. And she is so so upset when Kara doesn't accept her apology initially. (Although I have to say I find it interesting how much she brings up Kaznia, 5x07 and 5x19. You know how I feel about ep 4x20) Then she lays her life on the line for Kara. And when they FINALLY make up Lena's relief is actually palpable. Even if the writers don't follow through with this, they way they've written season 5 is undeniably romantic. I still get platonic...ish vibes from Kara, but definitely not from Lena.

Season 6:

Episode 2? I don't know her. But omg 6x01. Kara trusting Lena with Myriad "No matter what's happened I know what's in your heart." Kara talking about self sacrifice and Lena "I won't let you turn this into a suicide mission, I can't!" And why not Lena hmm? (This is very canon couple dialogue). Also they are SO VERY CATRADORA ARE YOU KIDDING ME. Kara the self-sacrificing hero (Adora) and Lena, the one who refuses to just accept the hero's sacrifice (Catra). Please even the whole evil or not evil, terrible family, traumatic childhood and hair colour are the same 😂. Anyways then we have "You're the only one in the galaxy I know would do right by it." I don't even know how that could be spun platonically. Kara really just said she trusts Lena more than her own sister. You two just made up 5 minutes ago. Kara opens up about her trauma to Lena!! Lena codes 'Lena Luthor Protocol' in about 2 minutes maybe? Because she needs Kara to stay alive. And to round it all out, she tells Alex to tell Kelly about Kara, because Kelly is Alex's person. Implying to us humble clowns that Kara is Lena's person.

The fact that I've written more about 6x01 than the entire season of flirting and flowers speaks volumes to me personally.

In conclusion, Supercorp is Catradora with a pair of glasses and it's hair tied up. I will go down with this ship and good night.

[super-famicom-star-inactive]

Friday Special #14

March 19th, 2021

Hello friendos, and welcome back to another Friday Special!

So with the recent announcement of Pokemon Brilliant Diamond and Shining Pearl for the Nintendo Switch as well as Pokemon Legends: Arceus, for this episode, we’ll be taking a look into the original titles of Pokemon Diamond, Pearl and Platinum for the DS and how they forever changed the Pokemon world.

The year is 2004.

The Pokemon movie Destiny Deoxys was just released in Japan and it’s the newest Pokemon movie to be released at that time. The Pokemon anime would  still be in Gen 3 (Ruby, Sapphire, and Emerald) for a few more years. 

The film features a new Pokemon that was never seen before: Munchlax, who was the first revealed Pokemon for the next Generation, Gen 4 (Diamond, Pearl, Platinum, Heartgold, and Soulsilver).

Munchlax wasn’t the only Pokemon teased before Gen 4′s release, however.

That following year in 2005, Lucario and the Mystery of Mew was released and it prominently featured several new Pokemon to the gaming public such as Lucario, Weavile, Mime Jr., and Bonsly. This now was five new Pokemon revealed to the gaming public. 

Then came 2006, the crunch year.

Pokémon Ranger and the Temple of the Sea was released and it introduced more new Pokemon in the forms of Mantyke, Buizel, Chatot and the Legendary Manaphy. Also revealed that year were the first of Gen 4 Legendaries Dialga and Palkia for the new games’ box art. 

In the end, Pokemon Diamond and Pearl were officially released in Japan on September 28, 2006, in North America on April 22, 2007, in Australia on June 21, 2007 and in Europe on June 27, 2007. Diamond and Pearl would also be the very first Pokemon games to be released in South Korea on Valentine’s Day in 2008, setting the precedent for future Pokemon games to be released in the region. 

Diamond and Pearl were the first Pokemon games not only to begin a new Generation but also on a brand-new console, the Nintendo DS. In order to capitalize on the new system of choice and its capabilities, Diamond and Pearl were the very first Pokemon games to utilize 2.5D graphics (the effect can best be seen in various objects like buildings and the train in the Great Marsh in Pastoria City). Speaking of sprites, new and never-before-seen trainer sprites were added as well to ever-growing list of types of trainers. The list of Pokemon expanded as well, thanks to the addition of 107 new Pokemon exclusive to the Sinnoh region. 

As the introduction goes for both games, you are greeted by Professor Rowan and you have the choice of either going as Lucas or Dawn, though the player does have the option to create their name for their chosen character. Their rival, Barry, also can be named by the player like in previous versions. 

The game starts with your character watching a broadcast about Johto’s Lake of Rage and its elusive Red Gyarados. You then meet up at Barry’s house, who is also your best friend in addition to being your rival, and the pair go off to Lake Verity to search for Legendary Pokemon. There, you are greeted by Professor Rowan once more along with his assistant and they accidentally leave behind their briefcase and before the pair can retrieve it and return it properly, they are attacked by two random Starly and the player has to pick one out of three Pokemon to fight them with and succeed. Once the battle is concluded, the assistant comes back to retrieve the suitcase, aware of the Pokemon being used and leaves the pair with their new chosen companions. Back home, the player’s mother gives them a pair of Running Shoes to traverse faster across the land and instructs them to meet with the Pokemon Professor in Sandgem Town. Upon arriving, Prof. Rowan bestows upon you the Pokedex, sending you on a quest to retrieve data for the Pokedex of every Pokemon in Sinnoh. 

Thus, the Adventure begins.

In the games, you face Battles, attain Gym Badges and work your way to defeating the Elite Four as well as the Pokemon League Champion. Along the way, you have to defeat Team Galactic, an evil organization who want to erase the entire universe in order to create a new, more perfect universe, and they need the power of the Legendaries in order to accomplish this massive and frightening goal. By defeating them, your home region of Sinnoh, and the universe at large, will be safe. 

Some of the features to make a comeback in a newer fashion was the day/night system first introduced in Gen 2 (Gold, Silver, and Crystal), Pokemon Contests from Gen 3 (Ruby, Sapphire, Emerald, Leaf-Green and Fire-Red) and even a new battle system which allowed for a more versatile set of moves for a Pokemon but ran into trouble with older fans as the attacks were now labeled as either physical or special instead of just by type alone. 

The pair of games were met with commercial and critical success upon release with particular praise being given to the soundtrack, story, the inclusion of Wi-Fi, the voice chat function. Unfortunately, it landed criticism with the graphics with IGN being quoted as saying “everything still has that Game Boy look to it” (Which in retrospect made the games more appealing as they still appeared timeless without looking too dated). Famitsu gave it a 35 out of 40. 

With this massive success, there was a growing need to continue the Generation.

In response, Game Freak created Pokemon Platinum, an enhanced version of the Diamond and Pearl. 

Pokemon Platinum was released in Japan and Taiwan on September 13, 2008, in North America on March 22, 2009, in Australia on May 14, 2009, and in South Korea on July 2, 2009. Like its predecessors, it also received high praise, and was both commercially and critically successful.

There were a few notable differences between the original Diamond and Pearl versions and Platinum:

On the TV in Twinleaf Town, instead of a special about the Red Gyarados, the special instead talks about Prof. Rowan’s arrival back to Sinnoh from Kanto. 

The outfits of the main characters change to be more suited to a colder environment.

Instead of recovering a suitcase in the forest and fighting Starly, you meet up with Prof. Rowan and receive your Pokemon at that time. 

The sprites of important Trainers (like Gym Leaders or the Pokemon League) have their own individual animations like the Pokemon do.

Instead of facing either Dialga/Palkia depending on the version, your Legendary Battle will be with Giratina instead and it will be down in the Distortion World (more on that in a moment).

Platinum also expanded on previously introduced features such as:

Allowing up to 20 people at one time in the Wi-Fi Plaza (it was only a few people before)

Allowing your starter Pokemon to be admitted into Amity Square in Hearthrome City (in Diamond and Pearl, only a select number of “cute” Pokemon were considered)

Players can now challenge other Trainers in certain Pokemon Centers (first game in the mainline series to do this)

Faster animations with HM Moves such as Surf and during Battles

to name a few.

In regards to new Pokemon, 59 Pokemon were added to the Sinnoh Pokedex, rounding the number of entries to 210, including Legendary Pokemon. Legendary Pokemon like Shaymin were also added and other Pokemon like Rotom were enhanced either with new abilities or new forms. 

So about that Distortion World bit from earlier...

For those unfamiliar, the Distortion World is only available in Platinum and it was how the player fought Giratina. The Distortion World level in particular was considered impressive at the time for the Pokemon community as it utilized 2.5D graphics that almost looked 3D.

How did they do this?

They allowed the character to move up walls in order to complete the current level as there were multiple levels. 

Here is a video of the entire Distortion World walkthrough (the video is a little gritty as it was published way back in January of 2009 and it’s the original Japanese version):

At this time, this was considered insane for Pokemon in 2008/9 and it was one of Platinum’s biggest selling points. Although it may look a little dated with today’s newer titles, this the was bridge that connected GBA-styled graphics to more modern 3D ones. 

So with that, Generation 4 was well underway and these games, as well as the ones that followed by the names of Heartgold and Soulsilver (a topic for another time), are still remembered fondly by fans to this day. 

Thoughts From The Head

When I first got into Pokemon, I got into Pearl, making me a Gen 4 kid. I have very fond memories playing this game with my friends back in elementary school as they either had Pearl like I did or Diamond. When Platinum dropped, it was the hottest game to get on DS and I remember everyone and their mother clamoring to get a copy of it. I never did because I was broke at the time, so I wound up having enough to get a copy of Soulsilver, which I just rediscovered the Pokewalker (remember those?). 

I remember the Distortion World bit like it was yesterday. A friend of mine had gotten far enough in the game to get to that point and I remember all of us crowding around behind him and glued to the screen as he traversed into this strange, new world. 

We were blown away to say the least. 

We also utilized the crap out of those Action Replay devices (which I used to max out both the Sinnoh and the International Pokedexes as well as the inventory), making the Champion Fight with Cynthia almost a breeze with the maxed out Rare Candies we had to boost the levels to Level 100 for the entire party. Now a couple friends of mine had managed to even hack the Platinum game to not get the special event Pokemon like Shaymin and Arceus without the special event in question, they were even able to clone Pokemon as well as steal other Trainers’ Pokemon outright with no issues (still not sure how they pulled those off). 

Thanks to the announcements of the Gen 4 remasters and a mutual of mine playing Pokemon Diamond for a YouTube stream via Desmune emulator, I rediscovered my Pearl game and now I’m currently playing my second run! As of this post, I am about to take on Fantine of Hearthrome City so wish me luck!

Here’s the photos of my copy of Pearl!

I was in the process of leveling up my Chatot so she ain’t looking too good right now.

So do y’all think about all of this? Share your thoughts in the comments!

Thank you for reading!

[daleisgreat]

Old Joy

2006’s Old Joy (trailer) is the longest 77-minute film I have ever seen, but I mean that in only the best kind of ways. Director Kelly Reichardt intentionally establishes a deliberate, plodding pace about two distant friends who fell out of touch meeting up to go on a road/hiking trip to find a tucked-away and highly reputable hot springs. The film opens up with Mark (Daniel London) meditating at home when he gets a call from his free-spirited old friend, Kurt (Will Oldham), with an invite for a last-minute weekend trek to discover these mystical hot springs. That opening scene does a masterful job with its minimalist dialog and awkward body language to indicate how Mark is still not quite settling into married life with a kid on the way and comes off a little too eager to jump at the opportunity to get out of the house last minute for the weekend.

The film jumps to sitting in on an extended driving scene with Mark listening to political talk radio, and when he meets up with Kurt is when the intentionally long scenes start to take hold. I like smartly written films with smooth-flowing dialog filled with edgy quips and retorts, but I also appreciate a complete 180 as seen here and in movies like Slacker where the dialog sounds….uncomfortably natural. When Kurt and Mark start off driving, there are many advertent pauses during the conversations where it seems like the two are trying to think of topics to bring up to talk about and catch up. I can 100% relate to that, and it is insanely rare how often I run across that in average big-budget films and pull it off so well like it is done in Old Joy. Highlights from the road trip part of the film include how well shot little moments are like a gas station stop with oblique camera angles that somehow capture the subtle but noticeable moments of the excitement of getting out for the weekend as Kurt and Mark amusingly toss beverage koozies at each other. Watching the pair drive around aimlessly while Kurt tries to remember how to get to the springs and eventually resorting to a makeshift campsite while exchanging philosophical stoner verbiage is another memorable scene of their journey.

I would be remiss to go this long without giving a shoutout to Lucy, Mark’s canine pal tagging along for the journey. In the bonus feature interviews, it was enlightening to hear that it is actually Reichardt’s dog who she had no choice but to include in the film because she could not find a dog-sitter while filming. Reichardt stated she was anxious about how it would work out since Lucy had no film training. Lucy wound up as a perfect third wheel for the adventure. She blended in perfectly, especially with some smart improving with Oldham, where he would instinctually play with her during the hiking spots of the movie. Eventually, the trio found the hidden turnoff to their destination and go on a hike to see the hot springs. The film once again, through exquisite cinematography and intentional drawn-out shots with very little dialog, shows how all the hassle to reach their endpoint was worth it. It is a boldly ambiguous, memorable scene. The film not-so-climatically wraps up with Mark dropping Kurt off, and the movie goes out of its way to capture another little thing so well that few other movies have pulled off in the form of the malaise-filled drive back home and the dread of the return to the normality.

I have the Criterion Edition of Old Joy, and it has four bonus features totaling about an hour altogether. Daniel London and Will Oldham reunite for the first time since production wrapped in 2006 for a conversation filmed in 2019. They exchange many interesting production stories, with the one standing out the most to me being the warning from the park ranger escorting them to the hot springs on how brave they were to go in there because of all the gunk they have fished out of there over the years. An interview with Reichardt is a must-listen on how she decided to film this movie after taking a sabbatical from filmmaking. An interview with the author of the original short story the film is based on, Jim Raymond, on how he met Kelly and how satisfied he was with her treatment of the adaptation and changes she made for the big screen. Finally, Director of Photography Peter Sillen shares a fair amount of production factoids and insights. This being a Criterion release, there is the requisite booklet included, which has a 14-page essay by Ed Halter that thoroughly dissects the film and its production and the entirety of the 22 page original “Old Joy” short story from Jim Raymond. I accidentally stumbled upon this movie browsing through the latest Criterion releases, and the description of the film made it sound right up my alley by how unorthodox it is. This style of filmmaking may not be for everybody with its different structure and laidback style of dialog from the average theatrical movie. I wound up absolutely loving Old Joy, and was thrilled to hear how this film was a hit with critics and was the catalyst for Reichardt directing more beloved indie films following this like Wendy & Lucy, First Cow, and Night Moves. Other Random Backlog Movie Blogs 3 12 Angry Men (1957) 12 Rounds 3: Lockdown 21 Jump Street The Accountant Angry Video Game Nerd: The Movie Atari: Game Over The Avengers: Age of Ultron The Avengers: Endgame The Avengers: Infinity War Batman: The Dark Knight Rises Batman: The Killing Joke Batman: Mask of the Phantasm Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice Bounty Hunters Cabin in the Woods Captain America: Civil War Captain America: The First Avenger Captain America: The Winter Soldier Christmas Eve The Clapper Clash of the Titans (1981) Clint Eastwood 11-pack Special The Condemned 2 Countdown Creed I & II Deck the Halls Detroit Rock City Die Hard Dredd The Eliminators The Equalizer Dirty Work Faster Fast and Furious I-VIII Field of Dreams Fight Club The Fighter For Love of the Game Good Will Hunting Gravity Grunt: The Wrestling Movie Guardians of the Galaxy Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2 Hell Comes to Frogtown Hercules: Reborn Hitman I Like to Hurt People Indiana Jones 1-4 Inglourious Basterds Ink The Interrogation Interstellar Jay and Silent Bob Reboot Jobs Joy Ride 1-3 Justice League (2017 Whedon Cut) Last Action Hero Major League Mallrats Man of Steel Man on the Moon Man vs Snake Marine 3-6 Merry Friggin Christmas Metallica: Some Kind of Monster Mortal Kombat Mortal Kombat Legends: Scorpions Revenge National Treasure National Treasure: Book of Secrets Nintendo Quest Not for Resale Payback (Director’s Cut) Pulp Fiction The Punisher (1989) The Ref The Replacements Reservoir Dogs Rocky I-VIII Running Films Part 1 Running Films Part 2 San Andreas ScoobyDoo Wrestlemania Mystery Scott Pilgrim vs the World The Secret Life of Walter Mitty Shoot em Up Slacker Skyscraper Small Town Santa Steve Jobs Source Code Star Trek I-XIII Sully Take Me Home Tonight TMNT Trauma Center The Tooth Fairy 1 & 2 UHF Veronica Mars Vision Quest The War Wild The Wizard Wonder Woman The Wrestler (2008) X-Men: Apocalypse X-Men: Days of Future Past

[moderndaybard]

CR Inktober, Day 17

CROSSOVER: POKEMON (Because imagining hypothetical teams is fun.)

 It was that time of year again, and it felt like the whole of the Tal’Dorei Region was abuzz with excitement as the opening rounds of Tal’Dorei Pokemon League Championship drew near.

There were quite a few challengers turning heads that year—some, like the rival ghost trainers Kvarn and Vecna, had trained solo; others, like the dragon-type specialists of the Chroma Conclave had formed loose alliances to reach this point.

But, far and away, the biggest talking point of the tournament was the band of eight trainers who’d taken up the name Vox Machina (though some people who’d encountered them early in their journey still spoke of the SHITS). Like many, they’d found the journey to this point easier in the company and with the assistance of others, but after all their adventures, challenges, obstacles, and unexpected encounters with more than one evil team, their bonds were stronger than most, more of a unified, cohesive single unit than any other group that had competed in previous years.

The talk around and about them (positive and negative) was partially due to their unusually strong inner-group loyalty, partially their extremely diverse team composition, mainly their more-than-usually dangerous/adventurous path (in and out of region) to that point , and (perhaps because of that) the fact that every one of them had a Legendary Pokemon anchoring their team, in addition to the Pokemon on their team capable of Mega-Evolution (a pre-requisite for tournament entry, at this point).

There’d been some grumbling about how fair that was, requiring League President Uriel Tal’Dorei to step in and make a formal ruling/statement: They had begun their journey at an appropriate point and time, along with everyone else, and if circumstances beyond their control had made their path here more roundabout and hazardous than most, it merely proved their skill, determination, and luck to have made it through. Yes, they had briefly and occasionally traveled to other regions, but only out of sheer necessity, and the bulk of their training had undeniably been done in the Tal’Dorei region. And finally, as a Legendary Pokemon will not condescend to fight for just any trainer, their remarkable achievement (which, he reminded people, was not entirely without precedent) stood as further testament to their ability and right to compete.

(The fact that Uriel himself has been saved from the evil organization Team Treachery by Vox Machina was well-known, and some detractors claimed he was therefore biased. Still, his points stood as sound as his ruling was both final and official.)

Officially entered in the tournament, then, Vox Machina was an undeniably odd assortment of Trainers and Pokemon:

For instance, there was their newest member, Taryon Darrington, who technically hailed from the Wildemount Region, but who’d come to train in Tal’Dorei after an argument with his family, soon falling in with the already-formed Vox Machina. He’d started out with only Rich, his Furfrou, though admittedly his Rotom, Artificer, had been with him nearly as long. No one was really sure how Tary of all people had acquired a Metagross (or even a Beldum), to say nothing of a Megastone for it so early in his journey, but Doty was undeniably devoted to its trainer. After joining Vox Machina, Taryon had added Sanctuary, his Mr. Mime, and Slayer’s Cake the Slirpuff. Finally, after an unexpected trip home to Wildemount, and even more surprising confrontation with his father, Tary had finished out his team with the legendary Keldeo, who he affectionately referred to as the Darrington Brigade, for some reason that made sense only to him.

Or consider Scanlan Shorthalt, the ladies’ man of the group: his Exploud, Bard, was already growing in fame before Kaylie, his Mawile, found him (as frightening as the little Steel/Fairy was, she was downright deadly when Mega-Evolved). He’d apparently split off on his own for a while, returning to rejoin the group with two new members on his team: Meatman the Zoruark, and Prodigal the Leipard. If Scanlan rarely spoke of how he came to train his Espeon, Ioun, he was even more reticent and uncharacteristically comber if questioned about his Jirachi, simply called Wish.

Pike, Scanlan’s long-pursued, long-suffering girlfriend had begun her journey with an odd-couple pair of partners: Trickfoot, her Gengar, and cleric, her Granbull. Her Zebstrika, Guiding Bolt, had an odd habit of circling his opponents to attack their rears, but it was her Mimikyu, Astral Form, that was considered the powerhouse of the four. Still, most attention on her was understandably split between either Monstah, her Mega-evolving Tyranitar, or the Legendary Ho-oh she called Seranrae—though underestimating her or any on her team was a serious mistake.

Pike’s childhood friend, Grog, had an interesting blend on his team: his first partner the aptly-named Machamp, Barbarian, was usually the first in any battle, supported by the exceptionally-dense Slowbro affectionately (and ironically) called Intelligence. Waddling about and finding, storing, then producing the oddest assortment of items was Holding, the Delibird. It was half-joking quipped that no one could tell if it was grog training Craven Kas, the Aegislash, or the other way around, but the synergy he had with his Gallade, Fighter, was blatantly obvious even before Mega-Evolution. And anchoring it all was Titanstone, the Legendary Regirock.

Vax’ildan and Grog may have often teased each other, but Vax’s seemingly-average team was no joke in battle: Assassin, his Houndoom, was both his first partner and the one capable of Mega-Evolving, but Vax poured just as much care and love into training his whole team, even his trusty, if often-overlooked Arbok, Simon. Boots, the hasty Luxray was a speed demon, to be sure, and his Croviknight, Paladin was a much-needed defensive boost for the whole team. His Florges, Snowdrop, seemed almost out-of-place on his team, but some story behind her presence never failed to earn a small, sad smile from her trainer, though he never spoke of it. And watching over them all was the ghostly Legendary, Lunala, who Vax called the Raven Queen in the most reverent of voices.

Often seen hand-in-hand with Vax was Keyleth, who hailed from one of the Ashari Tribes of elemental-focused trainers.  Zephrah, her first partner, was an Altaria capable of Mega-Evolution, and had been, along with her Sawsbuck, Circlet (a gift from her mother), with her along every step of her journey to learn of the other elements though new Pokemon on her team: Terrah the Golurk, Pyrah the Pyroar, and Vesrah, the Gyrados. After a return to her starting point, Keyleth was surprise to encounter, much less near the loyalty of the Legendary Tapu Bulu who she came to call Mantle after responsibilities she’d been given in her home village.

Vex’ahlia, twin sister to Vax’ildan, began her journey far more comfortable in the woods and on the routes than in the villages and towns, and there had bonded deeply with her firs two partners: Ranger, her Decidueye, and Trinket the Ursaring. She was just as fond of her later additions: Haggle, the Persian, and Rogue, the (Mega-Evolving) Absol. And if her partnering with the Honchkrow, Witchbroom, was under somewhat-dubious circumstances, one could still not deny the trainer’s care. Perhaps even stranger was her coming to have on her team the Legendary Solgaleo, called Pelor by the girl, but it seemed undeniably fitting that the twins have counterpoint legendaries anchoring their respective teams.

Never too far from Vex was Percival—hardly the first (and certainly not the last, if rumors around his sister Cassandra were anything close to true) of the well-known, if somewhat strange de Rolo family to enter the tournament. Of course, he had the signature Pokemon of his family: Glaceon, his named Whitestone. There were some that questioned the inclusion of his second Pokemon, but the general consensus was that there must be some sort of sentimental attachment to an early—perhaps first—capture that led him to keep on his final team Spectacles, the Watchog. Gunslinger, his Mega-Evolving Blastoise was a powerful force, but not nearly as feared as Contract, his Spiritomb. There was something almost laughable about the Klingklnag, Clocks, but all laughter died in the face of the Legendary Yveltal, his dark Orthax.

It was generally considered that the one advantage any opponent of theirs would have would be that each of the eight would have to fight their way through the tournament alone, rather than the group that they’d grown accustomed to working as along their journey. Even then, many didn’t fell that nay challenger outside of Vox Machina had any shade of a chance at victory. Except…

…Except, perhaps, for the mysterious, last-minute entry…

The only name he gave was ‘Matt,’ and though no one knew where he’d come from or where he’d trained, his team was as stacked as any of theirs: His (Mega) Gardevoir, Allura, led the powerful line-up, backed by Kima, the Hitmonchan, and the Alakazam, Gilmore. His Voltorb, Victor, promised to be a Wildcard, and was, in its own way, just as terrifying as the final two members: Briarwoods, the Malamar, and his own Legendary, the Zygarde he called Raishan.

No, there was absolutely no predicting how this year’s tournament would go, but one:

 It would be a story told through the years to come.

[imacrowcawcaw]

Tagged by @beautifulcinephile @satans-helper @therealswanqueen @shes-outta-sight @mountainofthesunn thank you!!!!

1. What is the color of your hairbrush? Hot pink and black

2. What is a food you never eat? Beans and mushrooms eughhh

3. Are you typically too warm or too cold? Too warm, it's why I wear skirts, flip flops, and tank tops all year round lol

4. What were you doing 45 minutes ago? Uhh eating chocolate pudding I think

5. What is your favorite candy bar? Reeses or twix

6. Have you ever been to a professional sporting event? Yes! I go to an A's (baseball) game with my grandparents once or twice a year, it's really the only sport I'm even somewhat into

7. What is the last thing you said out loud? "Are you fucking kidding me" cause the dog shit on the carpet again...

8. What's your favorite kind of ice cream? Hmm, I really want mint chip rn so I'll go with that

9. What was the last thing you had to drink? Water

10. Do you like your wallet? Meh? I mean it works but it doesn't have snaps or anything to keep it closed... I really liked my last wallet though! My mom got it in the 90s then gave it to me, it was blue velvet with embroidered flowers in burgundy, forest green, and mustard

11. What was the last thing you ate? Chocolate pudding

12. Did you buy any new clothes last weekend? Lol no. I have a feeling everyone will say no to this now

13. What was the last sporting event you watched? I don't regularly watch sports so the baseball game I went to in... who fucking knows sometime in August maybe??

14. What is your favorite flavor of popcorn? Butter, all the way!

15. Who is the last person you sent a text message to? My wonderful friend and future roommate @ryetheruler

16. Have you ever gone camping? Yes! Every year at least once, I love going out into the woods

17. Do you take vitamins? No

18. Do you go to church every Sunday? Nope, I'm an atheist

19. Do you have a tan? My arms and chest are hella tan cause I always wear tank tops but the rest of me is ghostly

20. Do you prefer Chinese food or pizza? Well I *prefer* pizza but I'm technically intolerant to most of the ingredients so

21. Do you drink your soda with a straw? Nope! Well not from the can. And I rarely drink soda anyways

22. What color socks do you usually wear? Any color, though I don't wear any pattern but stripes or plain

23. Do you ever drive above the speed limit? Can't drive, but my mom does so I'm used to it. Anything below 70 feels fucking slowwww

24. What terrifies you? Spiders, ladders, getting back to "regular" life

25. What do you see when you look to the left? My puppy sleeping :)

26. What chore do you hate? Cleaning the toilet

27. What do you think of when you hear an Australian accent? Uh... Australia?

28. What's your favorite soda? Not a huge soda drinker but fuck I love root beer

29. When you go to fast food places, do you go in or hit up the drive thru? I get fast food like 4 times a year and it's usually drive thru

30. Who's the last person you talked to? Like face to face? My mom

31. What's your favorite cut of beef? Ohhh I can't even pick I love all red meat. Anything with a lot of fat, and maybe a bone to gnaw on after I like that

32. What's the last song you listened to? Currently listening to "Spellbound" by Siouxsie and the Banshees on repeat

33. What's the last book you've read? Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison

34. What's your favorite day of the week? Idk, Sunday?

35. Can you say the alphabet backwards? Yes! I timed it and it takes me 3 seconds to say the whole alphabet backwards, which is faster than the regular way

36. How do you like your coffee? 80% milk, sugar, and chocolate, but I don't drink coffee regularly anyways so

37. Which is your favorite pair of shoes? My favorite are my ankle boots (heeled black leather and seude Clarks), but I'm honestly usually barefoot or in flip flops

38. When do you normally go to bed? Well I retire to my room at like 21 usually, but I sleep around 23:30

39. When do you normally get up? 7am to 10am, depending

40. Which do you like better, sunrises or sunsets? Sunsets, I can see the sun setting over the whole San Franciso bay from my front porch

41. How many blankets are on your bed? Just a heavy comforter (and sheet)

42. Please describe your kitchen plates: forest green ceramic, and one black one that's the same shape/material

43. What is your favorite alcoholic beverage? Not a big drinker but red wine is good with Italian soda. Or, vodka/7 up/cranberry juice garnished with blueberries and mint is AMAZING

44. Do you play cards? I do! I fucking love me some Canasta

45. What color is your car? Don't have one, but my mom's is dark gray

46. Can you change a tire? Sadly no one has taught me so no

47. What is your favorite state/province? Oregon probably

48. What is your most favorite job you've ever had? Noneeee

49. How did you get your biggest scar? Uhh I think the biggest is on the inner side of my left knee, though it's pretty new so it might disappear. I went on a walk to the park down the road and accidentally ended up on an old closed trail, where I got stuck in knee high mud, walked INTO the lake, climbed through thorny bushes, scaled a small cliff, and walked out of the woods into a gated off section a confused park ranger had to guide me out of. Whoops. I told @satans-helper about some of this lol

50. What have you done today to make someone happy? I've cuddled with my dog! That made him very happy

Not that I didn't enjoy that but fuck I'm tired now lol, I don't have the mental capacity to tag anyone. If you see this and want to share about yourself, though, please do it and please tag me!!!

[sciencespies]

Record-Breaking 60,000 Flamingos Flock to Southern France

https://sciencespies.com/news/record-breaking-60000-flamingos-flock-to-southern-france/

Record-Breaking 60,000 Flamingos Flock to Southern France

Last week, an estimated 50,000 adults and 12,000 baby flamingos flocked to salty marshes in southern France, making this year’s migration possibly the biggest ever recorded, reports Elaine Ganley for the Associated Press.

Thierry Marmol, the guardian of the marsh region, tells AP that experts counted the birds using aerial footage. This “historic” headcount—which includes 25,000 nesting couples—might be the highest ever since the region started keeping track 45 years ago, Marmol says.

As Ganley notes, the birds make the yearly trek to the salty marshes in the Camargue region, near the Aigues-Mortes commune. According to Atlas Obscura, these marshes are sometimes a bright shade of pink, thanks to their ecosystem of algaes. The marshes have been used as a supply of salt since the Roman empire occupied France centuries ago.

Flamingos stand in Aigues-Mortes, near Montpellier, southern France, on August 5, 2020.

(Photo by CHRISTOPHE SIMON / AFP via Getty Images)

Volunteers working during a tagging and controlling operation of flamingo chicks on August 5, 2020

(Photo by CHRISTOPHE SIMON / AFP via Getty Images)

Volunteers tag a pink flamingo in southern France

(Photo by CHRISTOPHE SIMON / AFP via Getty Images)

Volunteers round up flamingo chicks in Aigues-Mortes, near Montpellier, southern France, on August 5 during a tagging and controlling operation of flamingo chicks.

(Photo by CHRISTOPHE SIMON / AFP via Getty Images)

The AP reports that these birds will eventually migrate further south to Spain, Italy, Turkey or North Africa in search of warmer climates. According to the San Diego Zoo, flamingos are remarkably social animals that can live in groups—known as “flamboyances”—containing up to tens of thousands of birds.

Frédéric Lamouroux, the director of the nearby Pont de Gau Ornithological Park, told the Marseille newspaper La Provence in April that his site had witnessed nearly double the amount of flamingos as normal. During lockdown, rangers had also noted other species of birds that rarely appear at the popular tourist destination, such as Plegadis falcinellus, otherwise known as the Glossy ibis.

Male and female flamingo pairs typically breed and nest in pairs, Lamouroux tells La Provence’s Olivier Lemierre. Females only produce one egg per year, so it’s imperative that the couple protect their eggs from danger. The migratory birds use these salt marshes as a safe place to flock together, nest and give birth. According to the BBC, flamingos are born gray but turn pink as they grow up and begin to feed on a diet of invertebrates and algae, which give the bird’s feathers their characteristic hue.

Last week, volunteers tagged about 320 baby birds with bands that fit around their legs. These markers help scientists in other countries identify the birds and track their migration, reports the AP.

Although more research is needed to confirm the theory, some experts suspect that the lockdown during the COVID-19 pandemic might be related to this year’s record numbers of flamingo nests. Lamouroux suggests to La Provence that the lack of tourists—which typically descend on the marshes in the thousands from April to June—might have encouraged more of the birds to set up shop in the marshes.

“Maybe the confinement helped to make a good year,” Marmol tells the AP. “It’s obvious that with confinement there were no disturbances. There were no airplanes, no noise at all.

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#News

[frenchy-and-the-sea]

SC - Turning Page

Original Fiction Prompt: The way they look after a rough night. Project: Seven Cities Word Count: 2570 Warnings/Tags: None 

This was technically in response to an ask prompt, but I grew so fond of it that I decided to give it a post of its own. It’s been a while since I felt the heartbeat in a piece. I hope y’all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. God, it feels good to enjoy it again.

Mood music that caught me when I was working on this piece: [The Boy’s Gone]

———–

There were three patrons still left on the Fairfield Inn’s meager tavern floor.

One was a young man that had stumbled in not long after sunset, and had spent the entire night nursing himself into a drunken, heartbroken stupor. One was a grimy older gentleman with hard eyes and a manner of falling into his cup that suggested that he’d been doing so for quite a while now. And the last, tucked into the furthest corner table, was Tahir, watching the pair of them as he pretended not to watch the door.

The rest of the crew had retired to their suite of rented rooms nearly an hour ago. Adelina had been the last to go, convinced to stagger her way upstairs only by Myrine’s coaxing and the yawning that she had done a miserable job of hiding. She had fought both for as long as she could stand, then had loomed over Tahir’s table with strict instructions that he was to wait for their captain’s return. If he couldn’t, she told him, he was to wake her. Immediately, she had said. 

He had laughed at the time, saluted her, given her his best “aye, aye” and then waved her into Myrine’s care. Now the tavern was almost properly empty, the moon had passed well overhead, and Tahir was beginning to think that there might be some cause for her worry.

He took an absent swig off of his tankard and let his gaze slide back to the door. Alex was private, sure, but she rarely went off without warning. Rarely went off in general; when there was no work to be done, she was usually more inclined to watch her crew from close quarters than she was to assume that they knew how to behave like civilized folk. But he had spent the entire night among them, drinking and dicing and losing card games to Davin, and not once had he seen so much as a single swishing coattail of….

Almost as soon as the thought occurred to him, the door of the inn swung open, and Alex Sheffield shouldered her way inside.

“Well now,” Tahir called from across the room, tucking his relief neatly behind a casual lean into his chair. “Kind of you to show your face around us again, captain! You might’ve said something before we -”

He broke off as Alex turned to face him. Wherever she had been all night had clearly taken its toll. She looked a proper mess, sagging beneath with the weight of a finely embroidered blue coat that Tahir recognized as Finn’s. She usually kept it on retainer for whenever she needed to look particularly stately, but now it hung open, at a slovenly angle that revealed the stained work shirt that she wore underneath. Her hair had been pulled out of its braided tail and trailed over her shoulder in a messy tangle, and there was an unhealthy wreath of pale red and bruise purple around her eyes. When she stopped walking to glare at him, Tahir saw her sway hard enough to have to catch herself on a nearby chair.

He was on his feet almost before he realized it.

“Merciful Lord, Alex,” he said, threading a path quickly around the tables towards her, “you look like hell. Are you alright? Christ, what happened -”

“Fucksake, be quiet.”

Tahir froze halfway through a step. Alex was slurring. Her normal cadence was a drawl, certainly, but always the deliberate sort, and always understandable to his ear. Only great need of sleep made her words run together. Sleep, or…

Frowning, Tahir took a few more steps forward, then recoiled as the nose-searing odor of alcohol met him.

“You’re drunk,” he said softly. Alex’s face twisted into a grimace.

“Brilliant notice,” she sneered. “Ought to let you ride a yard, eyes like that.” 

Scowling, she tried to stagger her way past, and Tahir moved quickly to intercept her. By her own design, Alex had only been properly drunk a precious few times in her life. Tahir had been around to see all but one of them, and knew better than to let her wander.

“Easy, lad,” he said, as she buried a shoulder into him in an effort to shove past. “Easy. Come and sit a spell, hey? Stairs will be the death of you right now.”

Alex grumbled something incomprehensible under her breath, but let herself be led back towards Tahir’s table. Even staggering drunk, she seemed to know that she couldn’t best Tahir in a matter of strength. He silently praised whatever God was looking out for him for that.

She took a seat opposite him, scowling and sullen as Tahir waved the tavern keeper down.

“Water,” he muttered to the man, with the hopes that Alex wouldn’t hear. He had apparently burned clean through whatever remained of his luck, however; when he looked up again, Alex was glaring at him.

“My mum’s been gone a while now,” she growled. “I think I don’t need you to start playing her.”

“‘Course not,” said Tahir, rolling his eyes. “But I’ve been on the bottle often enough to know what comes in the morning. It’s one of the few things I’ve more experience with than you. You don’t want that, Alex. And I sure as shit don’t want to see you suffer it.” 

The tavern keeper returned then, setting two mugs onto the table in front of him. Tahir nodded his thanks, and then pushed both across the table.

“Drink.”

He braced himself for another argument; even sober, Alex always had some toothless insult or slight against his character ready, often just for the fun of it. Instead, he watched as she stared fixedly at the tankards for a long, silent moment, then slowly reached out and took the first one.

“Right,” she said quietly. “You’re right, of course. Sorry.”

She reeled the mug close, bearing it like a cross against her chest and taking sullen sips as Tahir stared back. It was as if every ounce of fight had been leached out of her at once, replaced with a quiet melancholy that she seemed suddenly resigned to. If he had been concerned before, he was truly, properly worried now. 

He waited until she had gotten through about half of the mug before he tried speaking again. 

“Alex -”

“He’s here, you know.”

The interruption came without preamble, as Alex stared hard down at the table in front of her. Tahir’s brow furrowed.

“Who’s here, lad?”

“Why, Mr. Edward Sheffield, of course.” She stole a look at him out of the corner of her eye and smiled grimly. “Recently relocated and fully engulfed in the dockside merchant business once more. A grand coincidence, ain’t it?”

She took another draw off of her mug as Tahir blinked in surprise.

“Your father?” he asked, bewildered. “Your father is here?” 

“Aye. Him, along with a wife and a new brat between them, aged six. The whole fucking family.”

She didn’t bother hiding the bitter edge in her voice this time, and Tahir felt his frown curl deeper. Alex had been quits with her father a year or two before they’d met, but what little she had shared told Tahir that their separation had been more amicable on his end than hers. Relieving himself of responsibility for her had apparently been very easy indeed. 

“Where did you see them?” he asked after a moment. Alex gave a short laugh, dry and humorless.

“At their home,” she said, leaning forward to prop her chin against a hand. “I joined them for dinner, in fact! Was invited just this very morning, after Mr. Sheffield caught sight of me at the dockside. His wife is apparently very keen on cooking for guests.”

Tahir watched, silent, as Alex drained the last of her mug in a motion that seemed too familiar on her by half. 

“So you went along,” he said when she reached for her second cup.

“I did.”

“And?”

“Nothing.” She leaned back in her chair again, making a grand gesture out of her shrugging. “Not a God damned fucking thing. It was as if I was a client, come ‘round to be entertained for an evening. He told me of the move, of his work, about a hundred stories of all of the things his beloved son had been up to. Managed to talk his way all through till dessert, then thought to ask what I’d managed in the last seven years.”

The reminder apparently made itself a knife-twist in Alex’s gut; she grimaced, and then hid the look behind the lip of her tankard.

“I didn’t actually tell him about the Service, mind,” she went on after a moment, very quietly. “Thought talk of a desertion might end with more than a ruined dinner. Told him I’d taken up sailing though. That I had some command of a ship. You know what he asked me?” She snorted. “He asked the name of the captain I’d married, from whom I’d taken command.”

“Christ,” said Tahir, with so much withering disgust that Alex very nearly smiled. The look didn’t hold though, and almost at once, she returned to staring down at her tankard, absently swirling the water inside.

“I’m not a fool. I know my having anything like command on the Ranger is an unusual thing, mostly taken thanks to you, and Dav, and a host of sailors who didn’t have any better choices. I don’t expect it’s always understood. But, Christ.” She took Tahir’s tone on the word, a burst of mingled revulsion and anger. “He didn’t even entertain the notion, Tahir. Not for a moment. I was doing sums and consulting navigational charts when I was ten. He taught me the bloody arts! And even then, even with all of that, still…”

Her voice got very small then, and sunk low into her chair, Alex suddenly looked as tiny as Tahir had ever seen her. He watched in silence as she worried her lip against the edge of her still-full tankard, turning over what she’d said, what he’d seen. Then he scoffed.

“Is your father blind?”

The question caught Alex so off guard that she could do nothing but blink and stare up at him for a few long seconds.

“What?”

“Blind,” Tahir said again, louder this time. “From squinting down at little pieces of paper and all of those tiny numbers and some such. Surely he must be, because I can find no better explanation for how he could take even one single look at you and think that you’d do anything on board a ship but strut around and bark orders at men twice your size.”

Alex’s mouth twitched, the barest ghost of a smile, and Tahir saw her roll her eyes to cover the little huff of laughter that had escaped her. Emboldened, he pressed on.

“In fact, I’d say blind is not nearly good enough a reason. A man might hear you and know your standing! Certainly, he is blind, deaf and mad as well. Or at least doesn’t know a damn thing about you.”

By now, Alex was laughing quietly to herself, trying desperately to tuck it behind a hand.

“No,” she said, around her not-laughter, “no, I imagine he doesn’t.”

“I’d like to think I do, though.” Tahir leaned back in his seat, casual in a way that his words weren’t. “And you know what I think? All mishaps and faults aside - and Almighty hell, there’s been a lot of them - I think there is no one on God’s green earth that could have lead as unholy an expedition, or commanded as unruly a ship as the Ranger, with as much grace and dignity as Alex Sheffield.”

Alex’s snickering vanished easily behind a hand now, and she fixed him with a look so hard and narrow that he felt it in his bones. She opened her mouth, closed it again, then repeated the motion a few more times for good measure, silently trying to mash her sense into something resembling coherence. Tahir stifled a little grin. Sincerity always ruffled Alex, needled her low opinion of humanity until she couldn’t form the sentences necessary to argue. She’d left him little option otherwise, though. She wouldn’t have listened to anything that she considered coddling, and her father was still her father, his miserable idiocy notwithstanding. Renouncing him would have done as much good as agreeing. 

Still, she had been through well enough today already; Tahir could abide giving her a break. 

“Of course,” he said after a moment, “the actual amount of grace and dignity involved is still something of a debate….”

Now the grin came, wry and too quick to hide behind a hand. Snorting, she kicked halfheartedly at him under the table.

"I’ll not hear talk of grace from a man that cannot walk ten paces belowdecks without running headfirst into a beam.”

“Ha! You mistake my talents for flaws.”

They traded barbless insults and blows deliberately aimed to miss underneath the table, stopping only when Alex nearly toppled out of her seat going after Tahir’s shin. She righted herself carefully, suddenly aware of the dubious relationship that she currently had with gravity. 

“I’m for bed, I think,” she said when she had steadied herself again, gripping the edge of the table. “I’ve likely worried Ade enough.”

“Oh, you have,” said Tahir. “She threatened me, you know. Said that I was to stay on watch until you returned. And that I should wake her if I couldn’t. Or else, she said.”

"Did she?” Alex stroked her chin thoughtfully. “Maybe I ought to stay, then. Hide in a corner, wait to see how you fare against her. That would certainly lift my spirits.”

“You are cruel indeed to make me suffer the wrath of a scorned woman, lad.”

Alex gave a deep bow that nearly sent her staggering to the floor. When she found her feet again, Tahir chuckled and pushed her still-full tankard of water across the table. She rolled her eyes, but took it without a fight.

“You’ll tell your lady that I followed her orders, won’t you?” Tahir asked over a shoulder as Alex shuffled past him on the way to the stairs.

“I’ll consider it,” came the reply, not far behind him. Tahir grinned to himself, then leaned back and folded his hands over his stomach. She sounded better, at least. No amount of sneering at her father’s expense would fix quite everything, but at least her slurring was only the drunkard’s sort now.

“Tahir.”

He glanced over his shoulder and found Alex stopped at the foot of the stairs leading up to the rooms above. Her hand had a shaky, white knuckled grip on the railing, but she stood tall.

“Get to bed,” she said. Now Tahir rolled his eyes, turning pointedly back to his tankard. 

“Aye, captain.”

“I’ll need you in the morning.”

“Aye, captain.”

“And… thank you.”

Tahir raised an eyebrow, then slowly turned back to where Alex stood. She met his gaze from her place at the stairs; knuckles even whiter, grip on the railing even more unsteady, but with a stare as firm and unflinchingly open as he had ever seen on her before. Still not running away. A little coal of pride, hot as the summer sun, sparked to life in his chest, and Tahir smiled.

“Aye, captain.”

[queenvernage]

💕 ranger rare pair round up 💕 | conner/kira for anon

[saxxxology]

THE CURSED - Ch.3

Being an English Princess in 1739 is everything for Y/N, a Princess from a prosperous, powerful kingdom, to be happy about… until her parents arrange for her to marry a Prince from a nearby kingdom against her wishes. Unable to join her on her journey, the Royal family hires the Winchesters, two experienced Rangers, to guide her. However, the Princess and the younger brother begin to display affection for each other, and when her heat threatens her life, Sam makes a possibly deadly decision to save it.

PAIRING: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

WORD COUNT: ~3300

OVERALL WARNINGS: a/b/o dynamics (heat/rut, claiming, knotting), age gap, smut of varying levels, descriptions of injury and gore, a tad of dub-con and 18th-century sexism from time to time, occasional bits of angst, fighting, and violence, eventual minor character death

NOTE: Edited by @crispychrissy and @quiddy-writes - please heed all warnings! Please keep in mind that this series is set in the 18th century - society is not what it is today. I do not control where your eyes go; if you feel disturbed or think something may trigger you, it is your responsibility to either stop reading or scroll past.

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Y/N’s scent was starting to get to Sam; he hadn’t smelled an Omega that tantalizing in three years. It was rare that an Alpha took notice of an Omega after losing one, but as they traipsed down the road, Sam wondered for the millionth time if maybe he might have found another Omega to claim… he hadn’t felt the need in a long, long time.

No. She’s meant for another. You can’t.

But just as the sun rose above, the early morning light bathing their backs and freeing them from the night’s chill, Y/N doubled over in pain, falling to her knees in the center of the road. Pala jerked on her rope and whinnied before nudging Y/N’s side as the girl grabbed at her lower belly, fingers splayed wide over the fabric of her bodice.

“Y/N!” Sam fell to his knees beside her, a hand on her shoulder as he tried to get her to straighten up. Then her scent slammed into him with the force of a charging horse.

Dean smelled her as well, but didn’t suffer the same effect as his brother. “She’s in heat,” he said roughly. “Come on, we need to move faster if we’re going to make it.”

Sam stepped back, trying to hide the trembling in his body as Dean lifted Y/N into his arms and helped her into Shadow’s empty saddle. She groaned and curled her fingers in the horse’s mane.

“It hurts,” she whimpered, tears already brimming in her eyes.

“I know, I know.” Dean picked up the pack she had been carrying and fastened it to the saddle. “How long have you been in pain? Why didn’t you tell us?”

Y/N shook her head. “Since last night, but I’ve never felt a heat this strong before, I’ve never been allowed around Alphas… ahh!”

She doubled over again with a cry, and Dean shot his brother a look. He could tell Sam was barely restraining himself, but they had a mission; get the girl to the wedding, stay for that, and return home. If Sam acted on his impulses and claimed her, the punishment for his crime would be horrible.

So they trudged on, traveling over a range of hills before coming to rest in a group of trees well away from the road. They tethered Pala to a thinner tree and pulled the saddle and packs from both horses. They set up their shelters in a ring of trees just as the sun began to dip over the horizon and Dean built a fire, using two sticks to support strips of meat from a couple rabbits Sam had shot earlier as Y/N busied herself with plucking the stems from the wild berries they’d collected earlier. Her cramps had gotten so painful she was constantly on the verge of emptying her stomach, but Dean forced her to drink and kept a linen sheet soaked in water wrapped around her shoulders in order to keep her fever at bay.

They ate in mostly silence. The only sounds were the chirping of crickets and the wind whistling through the tall trees and the rippling of muscle as the two men ripped the still-sizzling meat apart. Sam ate in an attempt to distract himself from the primal ache in his gut, and Y/N barely ate at all. Afterwards, the brothers washed their hands and faces in a nearby stream while Y/N situated herself in their tent. Dean, who knew all too well what Sam was feeling, took the opportunity to speak to him.

“It would be wrong,” he said quietly.

Sam glanced over at him. “What are you saying?”

“If you claimed her, it would be wrong,” Dean muttered. “She’ll have her Beta in two more days, she can survive this.”

Sam shook his head. “If she survives the next two days and is satisfied by a Beta,” he scoffed as if offended by the term, “I will be impressed.”

Dean noted his brother’s assertive body language and knew exactly what Sam was contemplating. “Don’t. What she needs is to marry her Beta and be with him—”

“No, what she needs is an Alpha!” Sam growled, “not some stinking, useless Beta who can’t give her the satisfaction she needs.” He sighed and shifted, looking back towards the camp. “I should never have come on this journey.”

“Why?”

Sam inhaled slowly and pointedly said, “bad timing.”

“You—” Dean folded his arms, “your rut?”

Sam nodded. “I can feel it coming. If I lose control around her…”

“Brother, she’s barely of age—”

“And children are wedded all the time,” Sam interrupted. “She’s eighteen, older than most. And I would claim her if I could,” he affirmed with confidence. “I’m better, stronger than the man her family wants her to marry.”

Dean scoffed. “You’ve never met him.”

“He won’t be right for her.” Sam growled, turning and stalking through the trees towards the slowly dying campfire. “I’m going to sleep. The sooner this mission is over, the better.”

***

The next morning, Y/N’s heat had gotten even worse. She’d tossed and turned all night, practically weeping with the pain, and the scent of her heat made its way to Sam. More than once he fought the urge to take her right there, two feet away from where his brother lay fast asleep. And all those times he told himself that it would be wrong.

But Y/N was young, at her most fertile, and Sam was beginning to fantasize about claiming her, knotting her throughout her heat and seeing her grow round with child… his child. If he could, he’d impregnate her over and over again, building a family bigger than he could ever dream of.

The next evening they found another tavern. Upon seeing Y/N’s condition, the old innkeeper took pity and allowed them to stay in two adjoining rooms upstairs. Dean kept busy with wrapping the feverish Omega in cool towels and making her drink her special tea to ease the cramps.

Sam remained in an adjoining room, picking the twigs and burrs from his fur cloak in an attempt to distract himself from the ache of his rut, which was nearly in full swing. His balls were full and heavy, practically begging for release even though he’d already snuck off to the private bathroom twice to ‘relieve’ himself. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he knotted an Omega, and there was one lying ten feet away, in heat and ready for him. Dean had gone downstairs to fetch food and water, and when he announced that he was going to retire for the night, Sam knew it was only a matter of minutes before he could make his move.

Soon after Dean’s soft snores filled the room, he quietly turned the knob of the door that separated their rooms.

Y/N lay naked on top of the blanket, her body covered in sweat. Her slick glistened on her inner thighs, and her trembling fingers were anxiously pressing at her belly, trying to soothe the cramps that were only getting worse by the second. Her scent engulfed him, and once again he felt himself harden almost painfully. It appeared that his scent had affected her too, as she arched up off the blanket, eyes flying wide open.

“Sam—”

“You need me.” He muttered stiffly. “You won’t survive another two days like this, it’s killing you.”

She exhaled heavily, chest heaving as she sucked in another breath of frigid air. “Please, Sam, don’t hurt me.”

“I won’t hurt you.” Sam growled as another wave of her scent washed over him. “Y/N, you know exactly what you want. Just ask and I will help you.”

“I n-need…” Y/N hissed and pressed at her belly again. “I need it, Sam.”

With a growl, Sam moved closer. “I know you need it. Do you want it?”

She looked torn between refusing and giving in. Finally, she made her decision.

“Yes.”

The second the word left her mouth he was on top of her and laying a harsh, bruising kiss on her lips. Her teeth bit at his lower lip, and Sam felt his cock throb eagerly in his pants at the pain.

At the best of times, Sam was kind, sweet, and understanding. But this acknowledgment of their bond, what they both needed in that moment, had flipped a switch. They were about to cross a line that they knew was wrong, immoral, and neither of them cared.

She gripped him tight, legs wrapping up around his waist as her hands tugged at his shirt, threatening to rip the already worn-out cotton. A chuckle escaped his lips as he leaned back to help her pull it up, exposing his firm, chiseled chest. Y/N skimmed her fingers over his skin, feeling every last ripple of muscle and scar that covered his body. Without hesitating, Sam crawled down her body, caressing her skin until he was able to shove her legs apart and bury his lips between her thighs. She was bare, and he pressed a quick kiss to each lip of her pussy before turning his attention to the most sensitive piece of her.

Y/N had never felt anything remotely close to that before. She writhed on the thin mattress, mouth open in a silent scream as Sam licked and sucked at her sex. "Sa-Sam…!”

He promptly shoved slid two fingers inside her and began roughly pumping back and forth, searching for her sweet spot. She cried out against the palm of her hand as her toes curled, her core fluttering and clenching around the Alpha's long, nimble fingers.

"I'm—" she never got to finish her sentence. With a harsh suck of her clit, Sam sent her over the edge, growling possessively as her slick trickled over his hand. He worked her through it, fighting the urge to ruin his pants before he could properly knot her. When she was simply a whimpering mess, he crawled up and knelt between her shaking legs.

"Sam, please," she was literally sobbing with need now, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. "Please, Alpha, I need you."

"I know," Sam reached down and wrenched the tie of his pants open, allowing his length to spring free and into his waiting hand. He used the arousal that coated his fingers to slick himself before notching himself at her opening. He expected her to buck her hips away at the feeling of him there, but she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him close, scratching at his arms and emitting quiet, needy moans.

“Alpha,” tears brimmed in her eyes as she begged for him. “Please, I—”

Sam silenced her with a kiss. “Quiet. I don’t want anyone to hear us.”

She whimpered against his mouth as he ran his length through her folds, coating himself in her slick. When he began to press into her, she flinched, nails digging into his shoulders as she gasped out in surprise. He stopped, looking down at her with nothing but lust coursing through him. “I forgot… you’ve never been with a man before."

“No,” she whispered, “but I don’t care, I just want you…”

He assured himself that he could knot her without claiming her. He had just enough restraint to take comfort in that.

When he began to push into her, past that thin barrier of her maidenhood, he felt her walls flutter and clench around him as her legs shook around his waist. She cried out against his mouth and scratched at his back as he pushed deeper inside her, reveling in the warm, soft wetness of her womanhood around him. She was better than he’d imagined, tighter, softer, warmer.

The perfect Omega for him.

Y/N was surprised at how easy it was, how, after the initial shock and burn of his entry, Sam just pushed inside and seated himself there, resting heavy and thick. Other women, including her own mother and handmaiden, had warned her about the pain, about how it hurt for so long, how virgins always bled and fought… but then she realized that there was no way it would ever hurt, no way she would ever bleed or have to fight the Alpha off.

She was supposed to be with Sam.

And she was all that mattered to him.

On Sam’s first thrust, she nearly cried out in pleasure. He clapped a hand over her mouth and dug his knees into the thin mattress, using it as leverage to push forward again, and he swore she melted around him. His head dropped onto her shoulder as he moved harder, faster, careful to keep the sound of his hips slapping against her as quiet as possible. The little bed rocked on the floor, creaking slightly as they moved in tandem.

He felt her tighten around him and lifted his hips just enough for him to get his other hand between their bodies, rubbing his thumb over her sensitive bud in small, slow circles.

Y/N could barely discern fantasy from reality. The hot, thick length of the Alpha inside of her was more than she could have hoped for, and she clawed at his skin as he filled her over and over and over again, her gasps and cries muffled by his huge hand. Her fingers would never provide the pleasure of him rutting inside her, and her eyes rolled back into her head as she pictured what their bodies must look like together. The room was dark, only lit with moonlight, but as Sam lifted himself up on shaking arms, she glanced down, trying to see where he was entering her.

“Oh,” Sam panted, “God, I need you… need to knot you. Roll over,” he pulled out and helped her move onto her hands and knees before pressing her down against the blankets and thrusting back into her.

It felt even better in this position. Y/N yelped quietly as his length pounded against the perfect spot deep inside her. He was holding her perfectly, both hands on her waist to hold her still as he began moving faster, more urgently. The wet, slick sounds of him inside her filled the room. Sam curled over her, bracing one hand over her shoulder as he kissed the side of her neck hungrily.

Then his hips began to stutter, and she felt a sudden tightness where he was entering her. His knot.

She panicked, trying to pull away and whimpering with sudden fear. Sam went still and kissed her shoulder comfortingly.

"Shh,” he soothed her, “it's okay. I’ve got you."

“It’ll hurt.”

He nodded and dropped his forehead between her shoulders. “Maybe, but only this first time, I swear.”

“Y-you're sure?"

Her voice was wracked with need, but Sam could hear the hesitation. "I promise," he murmured. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” she turned her head, looking back at him over her shoulder. “Yes, I trust you.”

Sam kissed her again and rolled his hips. They were a long way from just knotting, he thought. This was becoming something a lot more.

“Good,” he whispered, “let me make love to you.”

He slipped one hand down between her thighs and rubbed his fingers over her clit. When her sex throbbed around him, he continued to move. His knot had relaxed during their moment of conversation and he took the opportunity to stroke in and out of her, getting her to peak before edging her away, not letting her cum until he did as well.

Then, when Y/N tightened herself around him and arched her back receptively, Sam lost control. He snapped his hips forward, managing a dozen hard, feral thrusts before he released inside her, his knot swelling rapidly and locking them together. Both of them silently moaned out each other’s names, mixed with gasps and the sounds of Y/N’s whimpering as the tightness between her legs nearly became too much to bear.

At the feeling of his release filling her in thick, warm bursts, Y/N finally fell over the edge, shaking violently as her climax scorched through her, prolonging when Sam brought his hand up and cupped her breast, his fingers teasing the nipple.

When he was at the height of his pleasure, Sam lost the ability to think and allowed his primal instincts to take over. All he wanted to do was make her his forever… the last love he’d ever take.

With a ferocious snarl of the word “mine” he dipped his head and sank his teeth into the back of her neck.

She did cry out then, this time with pain. Nevertheless, her body spasmed as another earth-shattering climax washed over her, and Sam pressed his free hand over her mouth, forcing her to stay quiet. He collapsed on top of her, uselessly bucking his hips in an attempt to fuck himself deeper into her filled cunt. With a breathy moan, he pulled his teeth from her neck and lapped at the bite marks, already feeling them begin to heal under his tongue.

He cursed himself silently, even as the soft moans and contented sighs she emitted threatened to arouse him again. He’d broken his promise to himself that he wouldn’t claim her, that simply knotting her would be enough to relieve them both until they left her at the castle with her groom.

God, have mercy on our souls, he thought.

“Sam...”

The soft pant of his name was enough to alert him to the fact that he was nearly crushing Y/N underneath him, and he slowly turned onto his side, cradling her close so that his knot didn’t tug. “Yes?”

“You—” Y/N’s voice was thick with post-coital bliss, “you claimed me.”

He buried his face in the uninjured crook of her neck and bared his teeth in a mixture of regret and pleasure. He could still taste her blood, hot and coppery on his teeth as he ran his tongue over them. “I’m sorry.”

“Don't apologize,” Y/N murmured. “I… I wanted you to. It was perfect.”

Sam chuckled and nosed affectionately at the curve of her shoulder. His heart was pounding in his chest, cock still hard inside her. “I’m glad. Are you in pain?”

“Not as much as I feared,” Y/N laughed quietly and tilted her hips so that Sam fit more comfortably inside her. However, the feeling of his knot sent a shock of fear through her blood. “I can’t be married.”

“I know.”

“You could be jailed, tortured,” she let her head rest on his arm as he extended it underneath her neck.  “Sam, you could be killed.”

“I know.”

“And you don’t care?”

“Who said anyone will find out that you’ve been knotted?”

“You claimed me.” Y/N brushed her fingers tentatively over the mark, wincing when she felt the already-healed skin under her fingertips.

Sam grimaced. Of course, he was stupid to think that his claim on her would go unnoticed. “Right…” he caressed her skin with a feather-light touch and nipped playfully at her jaw. “What if we never arrived?”

“They’d send a party to find us.”

“Well then,” Sam kissed over her shoulder and reached to fill one palm with her breast, “what if they don’t?”

Y/N sighed and arched herself into his touch. “They might, Sam. And I have to do this for our families. Our marriage is sealing an animosity and without it…"

“I don’t care about that,” Sam growled and pushed his hips forward, making sure Y/N felt him still locked inside her. “I care about you. You’re my Omega now. Mine. Say it.”

Y/N trembled at his words. “I’m yours, Sam.”

“Good.” Sam nuzzled her shoulder and pulled one of the blankets over their still-entwined bodies. “Let’s sleep. We can discuss the situation in the morning.”

She reached down and brushed her fingers over her inner thighs. “I need to clean…”

“Shhh,” Sam brushed his lips over the shell of her ear and splayed his hand out over her lower belly, where his cock and seed were still nestled in her fertile body. “In the morning.”

If you want to see chapter 4, reblog and leave a comment! Feedback is my fuel!

TAGS FOR THIS SERIES ARE CLOSED

Forever tags: @atc74 @artisticlunarmakeup @becaamm @bamby0304 @crispychrissy @crashdevlin @curly-haired-disaster @cameronbraswell @emoryhemsworth @ellen-reincarnated1967 @kittenofdoomage @kayteonline @kdfrqqg @littlegreenplasticsoldier @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @manawhaat @mereka18 @mrswhozeewhatsis @meganwinchester1999 @oneshoeshort @percussiongirl2017 @serpentbaby @smallgirlbigpersonality @thelittleredwhocould @winchesterprincessbride @winecatsandpizza @85natalie @81mysteriouslyme

[darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts]

Echo pt2

@kthomas325

Warning: This is a little dark. There is blood, death, Strong Language and yeah ... please read with caution. **Still not sure what direction this is taking so I should add a warning for Author with no plot **

Masterlist

---

Echo part 2

The castle was always active at the start of a new day but it seemed to be particularly lively right now. Servants darted from chambers and rooms fetching and carrying as orders were barked at them from the 9 siblings and their Mother.

Today was the audience with the crown. Dignitaries, as well as members of the general populace, were gathering to seek out solutions to issues from the highest authority in the land. This was part of being a ruling power here but it did seem that the Queen and her offspring took matters a little too far in the direction of dramatic flair.

Main gates were temporarily closed allowing the castle to be set up for the expected crowds that were already milling around outside the castle walls in the streets below. Fresh flowers arrangements were placed on the white stone staircase that lead up the incline to the castle proper. Rooms around the lower level were also locked and sectioned off so that no one could venture further into the building without proper clearance. Light flooded the corridors providing a kind of natural carpet effect on the floor and the Throne room was pristine in all its grandeur.  

Twelve thrones set in a crescent moon shape were at the very top of the chamber. The white stone of the building gleamed thanks in large part to the massive lead lined windows that stood majestically behind the thrones. The light from the twin suns reflected through the multiple diamond shapes casting shimmering shards of incandescent light into the room. There was no doubt it was a room designed for ultimate effect and the Queen knew how to use that to her advantage.

After the hoard of visitors had settled into place and taken position in their queue, the large doors at the side of the Throne room opened and the siblings entered in pair formation. Each was elegantly dressed and shone like a priceless gemstone. In the shadow of one of the large supporting columns of the room a thin razor-sharp smile spread over one man’s lips as he watched the “performance”. It was the only word that could be used for this. The Queen viewed this land as her stage and everyone in it, including her offspring, as mere players on it.

Drones. The thought passed through his mind easily as he watched the royal formation move. Every hair on their head, every accessory, every piece of clothing had been chosen for them by the Queen. Their movements were trained, their words were not even their own as much as they would protest against it the truth was simple.

The eldest child entered with his mother on his arm. The Queen standing straight and tall her age masked easily by the glamour she held. Her flowing blonde hair cascaded down her back and her form-fitted dress moved like ocean waves as she glided towards her seat. The empty chair to either side of her stood as markers to a tale that had slipped into the history books. Beautifully crafted Pawns. I applaud you, dear Queen, you did well. As if she could hear his thoughts her eyes settled on his. Those piercing cold blue eyes that could cut like ice would freeze a lesser man, but not him. He simply stood and maintained his gaze the smile on his face almost mocking.

---

“You took on a case without clearing it with me first?”

The door to her chief coordinator's office barely closed before they rounded on her.

“I’ve told you many times already I cannot always clear these things with you two or three weeks in advance.” She sat straight in the guest chair unflinching as the older man who was like a father to her in a lot of ways sighed and slumped his shoulders.

“That is not the point Kid and you know it. You have just moved and the case is out of your jurisdiction.” He pinched the bridge of his nose where his glasses usually sat. Probably thinking that this choice to wear his contacts today was maybe not the best plan given that headaches made the lenses uncomfortable.

“Most cases are out of my jurisdiction. It has never stopped you from letting me take them on before.” If it had been someone else, she would have been just as indignant as she protested the restriction on her work.

There was nothing except basic formalities that required her attention right now. All Ops had been grounded and placed on downtime which provided her with more than enough time to sit around twiddling her thumbs and being bored. Last time this happened she took on a case that saw her flying to Africa to check a water source for a rare bacterium that should not have been present in freshwater. That wasn’t just out of her jurisdiction it was out of the same god damn continent. She couldn’t understand why her boss was choosing now to be an obstruction on a case.

“Look pick a case any other case. Just not this one.” The sound of his begging pathetically was a far cry from the man she knew. She leaned back in her chair and levelled a defiant glare at him.

“Col you are being unbelievably stubborn and pushy on this which isn’t like you at all. I’m not going to do anything until you say what you are really wanting too and don’t go trying to candy coat it. I’m not a kid.” Her blue eyes that were normally clear had turned thunderous and dark. He knew from past experience that when things felt wrong and she wasn’t getting straight answers it could only ever end badly, for the other guy. He certainly did not wish to join the ranks of the fallen.

“Look. Your father and I go way back right?”

“Right” She nodded firmly. Colin had been one of the first other adult males in her life outside of family members to visit their house. He had helped with schooling and relocations so many times it was hard to think of a time when he wasn’t in her life.

“Wrong.”

“What?”

“Wrong. Look Kid the first time I met your dad it was about three decades ago and he looked like he had survived falling into a mincer at a slaughterhouse. I found him at the side of the road and you were wrapped up in his arms.” Col’s words were blunt and direct. There were no detectable traces of anything that could be considered a lie which made the bombshell he just dropped on her even harder to process.

“How is that even possible? All the years I’ve known you and what? You lied to me the whole time?”

“Only about how far back I’ve known your dad. He is a good man and dammit if I didn’t feel terrible for him.”

“Why?”

“That is something he would be able to tell you, not me. I told you he was injured. He looked like he had come from a renaissance or medieval fair or something, you both did. He was babbling about not letting them have you and how he didn’t have a wife anymore.” Col chose this time to get up and walk to the false shelf on his bookcase. Tapping it so it popped open revealing a bottle of scotch and some glasses. She had known he kept it there but she hardly ever saw him drinking at the office. He poured some amber coloured liquid into two glasses and handed her one as he went back to his own seat. It burned in her throat as she took a sip of it but she felt the muscles in her body begin to relax a little with the alcoholic lubrication.

“I don’t get what any of that has to do with the case.”

“Because for a couple of weeks during that time. We found things.” He looked over at her making sure she was still alright to continue. “Things like large animals, deer, bears all dead. All fresh and all drained of their blood. Some hikers too.” He downed his drink in one go as if the memory of the events was still with him. It wouldn’t be uncommon; you see it a lot in stressful or unusual cases where you have pushed your mind and body to get on with the job at hand you end up with like a remnant of the memories you suppress. Like an echo coming back to you time and time again, some echoes were worse than others.

Her mind went back to the case reports. Mountain rescue and rangers all reported finding campsites abandoned and later finding the inhabitants dead. The things Col was bringing up matched with what she had already found but they didn’t explain the connection to her and her father or why nothing had been said to her before.

“Why didn’t you say anything about this to me sooner?”

“Told ya. It wasn’t my story to tell. And that body thing was an old case that never came up again.” It was clear from his one that even with a feeling of guilt he was going to stay tight-lipped on this.

“What happened with it?” Asking this she followed Col’s lead and drained her glass. The sudden volume of the fluid travelling down her throat caused that familiar burn you got from strong alcohol to tingle in the back of her nose and she suppressed a cough.

“Shelved. Never caught the ones responsible or found out how they pulled it off. But it only went on for a few weeks and then stopped completely.” Col didn’t sound satisfied. She knew him he hated unfinished work, but back then he would have been a rookie. Nothing you can do if a higher-ups decides to shut down an investigation.

“Right.” She put the glass down on his desk with a hollow clink sound and got up to go. Her hand was on the office door when he called out from behind.

“What you gonna do?”

“You said so yourself. Not your story to tell. So, I’m going to go ask the guy whose story it is.”

One thing she learnt was butting heads with a stubborn person when you are also a stubborn person gets you nowhere and to be honest right now, she was in no mood to fight a wall. She wanted answers. The files she received from the Met were back in her office she would grab those. But most important task now was going to find the person whole tale it was to tell and getting him to talk.

---

The Queen elegantly draped herself in her private chambers near her vanity table. The room was a perfect image of what one might be tempted to call excess. Every surface was highly polished and inlaid with crushed crystals making it look rather like the centre of a geode. The audience with the crown was over and she sighed lightly before catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror and grinned.

It had all gone according to plan. The masses were happy and she had been praised for her beauty, kindness and intelligence so many times she was walking on cloud nine. If it was possible to survive on adoration she felt like she could be immortal right now. Naturally however even in this realm that was not something that could be done. Immortality was the stuff of fantasy. But prolonged life? sustained beauty? You could have all of that. It came at a cost if you were willing to pay, and she was just mad enough to do it.

A knock on the door announced the arrival of two figures. Both were dressed similarly in loose clothing bound over with strips of fabric to pull it tight to their forms. This was the typical uniform for scouts. Nothing more than required and everything designed for complete freedom of movement and cover.

“What did you find?” She didn’t bother with greetings. Observing the two visitors like a cat would a mouse.

“The rift is strong, and it holds. We can go back.” The taller one explained with a complete lack of emotion or detail. She was pleased to see this, emotions wasted time and made for weak soldiers.

“Good. Bring me what I desire.” She waved her hand and turned back to her reflection.

“One other thing My Queen.”

“What?” She moved her eyes in the mirror staring through it at the second scout who had spoken.

“The rift from what we can tell didn’t naturally tear.”

She felt her breath catch in her throat at this piece of information. Naturally forming rifts were rare and took generations to form and become stable. A non-natural rift would mean someone with the power to tear at the fabric of time had created it. Someone as powerful as she was, possibly even more powerful. Her blood ran hot as she picked up a clear crystal turning it over in her hand until it changed to citrine. The glittering yellow like a shard of trapped sunlight glowed from within and she tossed it towards the scouts who caught it nimbly.

“When you go back take this. I want to know what happens to it.”

“As you wish.”

The two scouts briskly left the Queen’s chamber. They had their orders and it never paid to keep her highness waiting. Once they were a safe distance away, a shadow in the corridor rippled a pale outline of a figure moved in the opposite direction. Long fingers pulled the edge of their cloak up higher, turning its hood over their head.

---

[sirikyu]

Sun and Moon and character dynamics - a.k.a Ash’s unbelievably many varied types of friendships in this series like holy s

sit down friend, i am about to ramble on about sun & moon’s brilliance in its character writing. i center this mostly around ash because he’s my fave. i love all of them but i have biases from my childhood and i tend to gravitate towards main charact- i mean anyway here we go. (warning: gettin a bit personal but not in a negative way)

one of my many fave things about sun and moon are the characters. the entire main crew of classmates are all different and fun in the own individual ways and they all manage to hold an episode very well, even though they rarely have to do that (and that’s good, because it’s a story about friends and support and family!! never put them alone to deal with a new, scary situation tbh, that’s too dark for me). everyone in the main cast have all managed as the emotional core of the episode, not necessarily because they are all very likeable, which definitely isn’t necessary for good storytelling, but i’d argue that it’s valuable especially in children’s tv, showing good people making mistakes and showing how far a supportive environment goes to help them over that. every individual dynamic between ash and another member of the sumo team is so unique to each other. ash isn’t at the forefront of everything, he’s not “the” main protagonist, and he isn’t what makes this series compelling, but he IS an excellent tether between this group of friends to me, personally, and i think this show has a lot of new ash content i haven’t gotten in many, many series run (ash is great, alright? you guys are just mean.)

im especially glad of sophocles’ and ash’s friendship because their complementary differences are in such a good balance, and i have such a soft spot for sophocles. sophocles is smart and not-sporty, but he isn’t a know-it-all stereotype. i was afraid there would inevitably be a fat joke or nerdy joke, but i don’t remember seeing anything too demeaning or harmful in the light tone they handle sophocles’ nerdiness and roundness. i still remember watching the very early episode where ash and sophocles are still getting to know each other and they get stuck in the mall. even before all the fun character beats as they scramble in the dark (and get short with each other) in that episode, i remember with GREAT fondness when sophocles was very hesitant to admit he’s in the mall to indulge in ice cream. he’s shy about his sweet tooth! i found the excecution very delicate and sweet (pardon the pun), because i don’t think i’ve related in that specific way to a character before in a show? because being fat means that there is an awkwardness and hyperawareness whenever you so much as think about stepping into the candy aisle, and sophocles not wanting to admit to his new classmate-soon-to-be-friend that he’s indulging was, deliberately written that way or not, very real. (not to be a sophocles stan, but he’s a good kid and deserves everything good since episode 1).

but i digress. sophocles steps in to teach his classmates sometimes because he loves learning. he rarely acts condescending to his friends. be the everyman in some crazy situations ash and others get into sometimes (that shrinking episode?? it’s still one of my favourites mostly because of the group of characters they chose for the main conflict. the daredevil pokemon loving duo that is lillie and ash vs. sophocles’ anxiety about the hectic and kinda perilous situation!! it was hilarious). sophocles, to me, seems to value ash’s friendship for similiar reasons clemont used to, in XY. it seems more warm and mutual in this series, thanks to ash’s characterisation. sophocles saves ash in several occasions, which, just! hello!! is the best thing and i love that all these kids are heroes and worthy of admiration. they also remain good. theyre all good. all rangers are equally important. they’re all amazing. okay? alright.

its heartwarming and supportive. they also are like, bonded through their main pokemon being electric mice. isn’t that the cutest?

ash and kiawe on the other hand, they’re a powerhouse couple that egg each other on. they push each other forward and have similiar sense of drive towards pokemon and battles. ever since kiawe gave hint that he battles he found common ground with ash. also he’s such a goofball who gets SUPER emotional about so many things (his sister!! mountains!! determined people!! so many things! he cries openly!) even though he comes across as serious at first, which kind of gives us a character with some similiar traits to ash but who couldn’t ever be mistaken for ash’s personality. they both get fired up in tandem about competing, but they also come from very different lives and backgrounds. I don’t ever think to compare their dynamic to anything else, they’re really unique! they are also mutually supportive, but it has a distinct flavor compared to sophocles and ash. maybe kiawe is a little bit more relatable to ash because of their similiar interest in battling and competing?

ash and lillie are super lovely and i like that lillie has her own story that ash is driven to help her with. and they are similiar in their excitement about pokemon (and yet, in a wholly different way than ash and kiawe are?? lillie has great drive in wanting to help pokemon with knowledge and books, because a hands-on approah wasn’t possible to her in so long, but i think when sophocles learns about stuff, it’s his studious nature and interest in tiny details.) and self-sacrificing hero-type stuff. we got to see lillie fulfill her potential after she figured out her way through her trauma, and we could see that out of her shell, lillie and ash are super similiar, AGAIN in a different way from the others, but never in a less important way. lillie is just a ray of sunshine. she also knows he limitations and works toward overcoming them. her and ash’s frienship comes from going through some very important and life-changing things together. i think ash really wanted lillie to be able to touch pokemon because it’s important to him and it clearly used to be to lillie, which he realises when he sees her old photos.

ash and mallow have this very sweet and family-oriented sibling relationship. they’re not often paired up but i think the times they are, they remind me of my sister and me, which is such a big part of my love for mallow, even if she doesn’t get imo enough spotlight in the big plots. on the other hand, her personal journeys within her own family are so good i cannot be mad at anything. she guides, she’s patient, she’s enhusiastic in a similiar way to ash, but has a more level head. but she also eggs her friends on with her boundless energy. the more i think about her, the more i love her. mallow is awesome!! not least of all, she has such good relationships toward her female classmates. she’s nosy and protective, but not in a smothering way. she’s very supportive and very good at it. (the episode with the mom? killed me.) the way she takes care of her peers in the school is amazing.

ash and lana are both adventurous, i think they really like to get in trouble together lol. lana is also strong and they both ooze main character material with the way they have with pokemon in the wild. it’s awesome. i kind of feel like these two could use a more emotional episode together, but i think i’ll have plenty to be emotional about when this crew parts ways :(((

i made myself sad, but i can confidently say that this show has the most unique and varied and developed set of characters and character dynamics of all pokemon, in a cast this size. the fact that they’re good friends and have none of that bordering-on-mean banter from any of the previous seasons is in fact, a big bonus for me. i love this class, i wish i could hang out in alola indefinitely.

[roman-writing]

Increments of Longing (4/4)

Fandom: Warcraft III / World of Warcraft

Pairing: Sylvanas Windrunner / Jaina Proudmoore

Rating: E

Wordcount: 29,586

Summary: The Zandalari trolls have joined forces with the Amani, 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: Please note the rating increase. There is explicit sexual content in this chapter. Otherwise, thank you all for reading this far. The "fifth chapter" that has been added will actually be an epilogue from Sylvanas' POV to act as the denouement.

read it below or read it here on AO3

Jaina’s new offices at the Academy were pristine, but for the lone fact that her chair squeaked. Kael’thas had insisted on something grand, but Elosai had made sure the ornamental decorations that lined the walls and inset pillars were replaced with dark-washed wood paneling that gleamed against the white marble floors. It was still just a little too glossy for Jaina’s tastes, but reminiscent enough of Kul Tiran architectural touches that she could pretend otherwise.

The chair on the other hand was something that looked like it had been imported directly from Jaina’s childhood. From the dark walnut finish to the creaky back legs. When Jaina first sat in it, Magistrix Elosai’s eyes had widened.

“Lady Proudmoore, you must let me replace that.”

If anything, Jaina sat down more fully in the chair and gripped the uncomfortable armrests. “No. It’s perfect.”

“But -”

“Magistrix, please. Just let me have this one terrible thing. The rest of it is too nice. It makes me uncomfortable.”

With a reluctant sigh, Elosai nodded. “At least be sure to not let it squeak too much if my Prince stops by for an unexpected visit. He would be most displeased.”

“I will try to be my unsqueakiest so as not to offend His Royal Majesty’s delicate constitution,” Jaina said, dryly. As she did so, she leaned her forearms on her desk, and the shift in her weight made the chair creak again beneath her. She shot Elosai a sheepish look, “I swear that was not intentional.”

Elosai gave a wry huff of laughter that was quickly smoothed away into her usual calm smile. “I asked for everything to be moved down from your old offices, but if they missed anything, do let me know.”

Toying with the pendant at her neck, Jaina glanced around at the tall bookshelves, the dark encloistered warmth in an otherwise pale and lofty building. Elosai had missed nothing. Not Jaina’s baubles and magical trinkets. Not even the new additions in the form of a rare oil painting of her father’s old flagship hanging on the far wall, and mounted on another the skull of a stag engraved with druidic Drust carvings. Oddly, the last two made her feel most at home.

Turning to Elosai with a warm smile, Jaina said, “You really have outdone yourself. I am embarrassed you went to such lengths for me.”

Elosai bowed. “Not at all. It has been a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

Jaina had to hide a grimace at that. Always with the political maneuverings. Even the nice ones.

“Is there anything else you needed?” Elosai asked as she straightened.

For a brief moment, Jaina considered asking her about the pendant. So far, she had kept her studies of it restricted to herself, taking the time to puzzle over the pendant in quiet solitude over an increasingly large pile of books, none of which seemed to hold the key to unveiling the stone’s peculiar secrets.

Eventually though, Jaina lowered her hand from the pendant. Asking for help would feel like cheating. This -- this one thing -- was too personal for anyone else to look at too closely. Even if the mystery were solved, it would be a disappointment were it by anyone else’s hand but her own.

Then, Jaina blinked. “Actually, Magistrix, there is one more thing. Do you have a few Magisters that you would be willing to send to Boralus for a craftsman exchange?”

--

After a year, the heat remained noticeable but was at least bearable. Quel’Thalas baked beneath the sun absent the rainy season, and Jaina couldn’t even long for that now that she knew what it entailed. She would never be truly comfortable, but she didn’t feel like she was going to melt into a human-shaped puddle on the ground every time she stepped outside.

Whereas before the heat had always seemed an oppressive presence that shrouded her every step, these days she began to notice variances in temperature. The nights were cooler in comparison to the summery afternoons. Spring actually held a vernal trace, like the scent of a cold glass sweating in the sun. And not everything was uniformly gold. Flowers dotted the countryside with additional colour, and new life bloomed.

Jaina had even started to take her morning cups of tea on the veranda out back, much to Sylvanas’ surprise.

“You’re sitting in the sun,” Sylvanas remarked one morning, dropping into the chair beside her. “Of your own volition.”

Jaina sipped at her tea, curls of steam gently rising from the painted white porcelain cup. It was part of a set her mother had sent from Kul Tiras as an anniversary gift, along with a bottle of aged whiskey that Sylvanas had tried one evening upon their return to Goldenbough with a newfound appreciation for Kul Tiran beverages. “I am. Though only for a few minutes. I’ll burn otherwise.”

Sylvanas cocked her head. “Burn?”

Jaina stared at her. “Tides, you don’t even get sunburnt?”

Mutely, Sylvanas shrugged.

With a prim sip of her tea, Jaina announced, “I hate you.”

That earned her a snort of laughter, which she pretended to ignore, though there was no missing the smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“Is that why your skin sometimes goes all red and -” Sylvanas scrunched up her nose and fluttered her fingers, “- peeling?”

“Ugh. Yes. It’s also why I get freckles.”

A pause. Then: “What?”

Placing her cup on its saucer, Jaina sighed in disbelief. “Do high elves honestly not have freckles?” When Sylvanas shook her head, Jaina pointed at her own cheeks and said, “These. I’m talking about these.”

A furrow appeared between Sylvanas’ brows, and she leaned forward in her chair to better see. Jaina hadn’t properly accounted for Sylvanas actually cupping her cheek with one hand, and she inhaled sharply at the unexpected contact. This close, she could see the faintness of Sylvanas' irises behind the arcane glow from overexposure to the Sunwell, a mere notion of what her eyes must have looked like without it -- hazel, perhaps? She could see that narrow scar high on Sylvanas’ cheek, and it made her wonder what others she might have. After their trek to the eastern front, she knew there must be others.

It had been weeks since their return from the anniversary celebrations in Boralus, and still that feeling had not faded. She both half hoped it would and half hoped it wouldn’t. Sylvanas’ presence was like a candle cupped away behind one hand. Sometimes bright in the darker hours of the night, when Jaina lay awake in their bed, watching the steady rise and fall of her wife’s chest. Sometimes dim in the noonday sun, when Jaina was consumed with work and the flurry of activity her life had become. But always burning just within reach.

Right now it made the sun fade to a shadow.

Sylvanas brushed the pad of her thumb across the bridge of Jaina’s nose, which was dotted with sparse pale freckles. “So that’s what those are. What did you call them? Speckles?”

Clearing her throat, Jaina averted her gaze and pulled away. “Freckles.”

When Sylvanas leaned back in her seat, her ceremonial armour glanced with sunlight. She pointed to the rest of Jaina and asked, “And do you get them all over? I don't recall seeing many in the baths.”

With a shake of her head, Jaina steadied her grip on her tea. “Only where my skin has been exposed to the sun for long periods of time.”

“To be perfectly honest, I’d thought you may have been catching some sort of illness,” Sylvanas admitted.

“No wonder the Novices keep asking if I’m sick,” Jaina grumbled into her cup. She turned one of her hands over to check if the backs had started to go a little red. “It’s probably time for me to move into the shade.”

“It’s probably time we go.” Sylvanas pointed out, already rising to her feet as she asked, “Shall we?”

Jaina drained her cup and placed it and its saucer upon their matching round tray. She stood and grabbed her admiralty greatcoat from where it hung on the back of her chair. “Yes. Let’s.”

They rode south together to the natural harbour of Sunsail Anchorage. Jaina almost didn’t recognise the buildings on the shore as a naval barracks and other military structures; elven architecture would always be too flowery for her. When they arrived, a procession awaited them at the docks. They dismounted, followed closely by Ithedis, and began to walk through the ranks of sailors and crewmembers and builders that had lined up to greet them.

A few Kul Tirans dotted the crowd of elves, the dreary hue and style of their clothing setting them apart from their new allies. They brightened upon seeing Jaina walking at Sylvanas’ side, standing a little bit straighter. In the water was docked the flagship of Silvermoon’s fleet. Its name was painted in fluid gold Thalassian letters along its stern, and as they approached Jaina could just read it: Dawn Runner.

They stopped at the first group, rows of craftsmen who had helped make the fleet itself. They bowed and spoke to as many of the craftsmen as they could, the Kul Tirans leaning over the shoulders of their elven allies to make sure they got to shake Jaina and Sylvanas’ hands, an act which seemed to puzzle the elves.

Kael’thas was conspicuously absent, though Jaina’s eyes sought him out amongst the crowd as if expecting him to pop up at any moment. As she and Sylvanas moved on to the next group of people to greet, Jaina leaned in close. She used the pretense of taking Sylvanas’ arm as they walked to whisper, “No divinely born sovereign today?”

“At a military ceremony? How uncouth!” Sylvanas drawled in a low tone. Though she continued more seriously with, “Also unorthodox. He’s not allowed to be seen meddling in military matters, even ritualistic ones. It would be like me trying to pass a law.”

“Right. Of course.”

More bowing and shaking of hands, this time to sailors and lower level officers. Jaina eyed the unfamiliar rank tags of their uniforms, deciding that the more gold meant the higher the station. Hence why Sylvanas’ ceremonial armour made it look like she had been poured from the heat of a crucible.

They had everything except officers above the rank of captain, as far as Jaina could tell. And who knew how competent the captains were.

Only one ship loomed in the harbour, a hulking colossus the likes of which Jaina rarely saw outside Kul Tiras, and yet Jaina could already see the sixty ships that comprised the Silvermoon Fleet in her mind. Before this moment, sixty ships had seemed like such a small number in comparison to the three hundred her mother commanded at any given point in time. A third would rotate through dry dock, but that was still forty ships. Ships that she needed to administer so that they could be self-governing in their own right, so that they could stand under Sylvanas’ banner and be an asset to Quel’Thalas rather than a burden.

They certainly had their work cut out for them.

Before she could stop herself, Jaina tightened her grip on Sylvanas’ arm. Immediately, Sylvanas’ ears twitched, and she glanced over at her with a question in her gaze. She stopped, angling herself in such a way that Jaina was shielded from most of the onlooking crowd at the Anchorage.

“Is everything alright?” Sylvanas murmured. She placed her free hand over Jaina’s, a warm comforting weight, and the supple leather of her gauntlets rasping over the backs of Jaina’s knuckles.

Jaina nodded. “Yes,” she whispered, then again with more confidence. “Yes.”

For a moment Sylvanas studied her, searching Jaina’s face for some hidden answer. Her gaze softened, and she gave Jaina’s hand a squeeze. “Then let’s get to work.”

--

The first thing Jaina asked when interviewing potential flag officers was: “Do you get seasick?”

She was always surprised by how many of them answered “Yes,” or lied and answered “No,” only for her to immediately march them onto a dinghy and ask them to sail for a bit. The ones who lied ended up puking overboard in less than ten minutes. The worst of the lot vomited on her shoes, splattering at the hems of her mage robes.

Only a handful passed her initial round of questioning. Sylvanas was not one of them.

“You didn’t need to actually come onto the water with me,” Jaina told her with a sympathetic wince at the faint sounds of more splashing overboard.

Sylvanas leaned over the side of the dinghy, while Jaina handled the till. She had gone pale the moment they had touched water, and five minutes into Jaina guiding their little boat along the calm waters of Sunsail Anchorage’s harbour Sylvanas had started puking.

“It didn’t seem fair to the others that I didn’t do the same,” Sylvanas mumbled. Her voice was difficult to hear over the sound of the waves lapping against the painted boards of the dinghy, and the creak of lines and canvas. “This is just another reason why I should never command a fleet.”

“If I’d known you got this seasick, I wouldn’t have let you onto the boat.”

“And yet I bullied my way on regardless.”

“Well,” Jaina trailed off with a shrug, and did not dispute that fact. “So, you’re just torturing yourself to make a point?”

“Is there a better reason?” Sylvanas laughed weakly, but the sound was cut off by a dry heave.

Sighing, Jaina tacked, bringing the bow around to face the shore once more. “Don’t lift your head.”

“What?”

“I said: Don’t -!”

Jaina winced in pained anticipation. Sylvanas looked up right as the boom swung round. Eyes wide, Sylvanas ducked back down just in time, and the boom missed clocking her upside the head by the breadth of a finger. Once in the clear, she sat back down on the floor of the dinghy. The boat was too small for her to sprawl her legs, but her knees splayed out regardless. Sylvanas eyed the boom with suspicion, as though it might suddenly leap back and bite her.

“If I’d known ships were this dangerous, I definitely would have remained on land,” she drawled.

“And why didn’t you?”

Sylvanas did not answer immediately. White-winged gulls swooped overhead. The currents were warm and the winds favourable, and Jaina handled the dinghy with the kind of ease that only came with years of studied practice.

Jaina waited for a reply, and just when she was opening her mouth to ask again, Sylvanas said in a voice almost too soft to hear, “You like sailing.”

Jaina stared at her. For a moment she thought she hadn’t heard that correctly, that perhaps Sylvanas had said something else that was obscured by the boat dipping over a wave and sending a salt spray dappling across the bow.

Hand tightening on the tiller, Jaina focused on steering. “If you wanted to come sailing with me, you need only ask.”

“I never want to go sailing,” Sylvanas drawled, “for reasons that I think are quite obvious.”

“Then why?”

Sylvanas waved towards the sea, towards the small white-peaked waves that dotted the wide bay of jewel-toned green. “Because I want to do things that make you happy.”

Jaina gave a particularly hard tug on a bit of rigging to hold the sail steady in the right direction. “Well, I don’t want to do things that make you unhappy.”

“I’m not unhappy,” Sylvanas lied.

Jaina leveled a look at her.

Shrugging, Sylvanas admitted, “Alright, I’m miserable. But only out here.”

With a huff of irritation, Jaina tied down the rope she had been bracing in one hand, looping it into place. “How about another compromise?”

“I’m listening.”

“We can go sailing once in a while, but only if we also do something you enjoy.”

Sylvanas thought over that proposition. Then, she said, “Hunting.”

Jaina grimaced. “Oh, I’m going to be terrible at that.”

“Then I guess that makes it fair.”

The shore was quickly approaching. They were only fifteen or so minutes from dry land, and Sylvanas was perking up at the very sight of it.

“I’ll have to make a potion,” Jaina announced without preamble.

Sylvanas frowned over at her. “A potion?”

“Yes. To combat seasickness.”

“That’s very kind, but I don’t think it will work. Trust me, I’ve tried everything.”

“Well, you haven’t tried my latest invention, which I have yet to invent, but I will.”

Sylvanas rolled her eyes. “Oh, good. I get to be a test subject. Does that mean I have to go sailing again to ensure it works?”

“Only if you want to.”

At that, Sylvanas let out a quiet dry laugh. She stopped quickly, and had to scramble to her knees and lean over the edge of the dinghy again. With a grimace, Jaina leaned forward to stroke her back and pull her hair out of the way, keeping one hand on the tiller as she did so.

“Thank you,” Sylvanas mumbled, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Come on,” Jaina patted her shoulder. “Let’s get your stubborn ass back onto land.”

“Please.”

--

After the initial round of weeding out officers with chronic motion sickness, Jaina culled the list back to a reasonably sized number. A stack of military files sat on her desk at the Academy. She ferried them back and forth from Goldenbough, reading and working as she rode.

A separate stack of recent reports from her Novices were on the opposite side of her desk, between them a tea set steaming with Kul Tiran black. And across from her sat a Novice, who was sniffling and wiping at his face. His long ears drooped, and he slumped in one of the chairs reserved for her visitors.

Jaina leaned her forearms on her desk and spoke in a low soothing tone, “Palan, what happened? You were doing so well, and then all of a sudden you don’t show up to class for three weeks and you miss two assignments?”

The Novice gave a wan shrug as his only reply.

She sighed. “Do you want some tea and one of those treats you’re all so fond of?”

Another sniffle, and he nodded.

“Alright, then.”

As Jaina was pouring him a cup, a knock sounded at the door and Ithedis let in an elven officer before closing the door shut once more.

“Just a moment please,” Jaina smiled up at the latest officer that had come to her offices at Falthrien for an interview. She pointed to the other side of the office, “Make yourself comfortable, I won’t be a moment.”

The elven gentleman, tall and fair but not much taller than herself, bowed and did as instructed without complaint. That was certainly a good start. Jaina eyed him for a moment as he turned his back to her and the Novice, perusing her selection of books. Some of the officers she had interviewed had scoffed or grumbled or demanded a reschedule of their examination, when she had invited them to the Academy instead of to the barracks or somewhere they were more comfortable.

Sliding across the cup of tea and a treat to the Novice, Jaina continued her first interview for the day. Troubles at home. From what she gathered, the Novice’s father was a Farstrider who recently died during a raid along the southeastern border. Jaina escorted him from her offices with a gentle hand on his shoulder, and as much extra time to finish his assignments as he needed before the term ended. Then, closing the door, Jaina turned to the officer, who was watching her with interest.

“Thank you for your patience,” she smiled and pointed him to the same chair the Novice had been occupying not moments earlier. “Please.”

“It is no trouble, my Lady,” he replied, sitting where indicated. He had a cultured accent, with only a hint of the lilt that other high elves had. “In fact, I believe I knew the boy’s father. A good man. A great loss.”

Jaina hummed as she rounded her desk and lowered herself into her own seat, which creaked slightly beneath her. “The inconsistency of these Amani raids has us all puzzled. Then again, I suspect that’s the point.”

“Indeed.”

Without further ado, she opened up his file, and skimmed its contents, passing over his name. “You served as a Farstrider lieutenant during the Second War, and again as Ranger-Lord. Is that correct?”

“It is, Lady Proudmoore.”

“That’s good,” Jaina murmured without any real enthusiasm as she turned to another page of his file. Almost all of the potential Vice-Admirals she had interviewed so far had extensive military records and officer training. None of them had impressed her much, either in their demeanor, their arrogance towards her, or -- worst of all in Jaina's mind -- their appalling mathematics.

Jaina shut the file with a muted slap of parchment and set it aside on the table between them. Then she reached for the tea set that was perched there. “Tell me about the sea.”

He hesitated. “I beg your pardon?”

Without looking up, she poured herself a cup of black Kul Tiran tea, stirring in a dollop of milk. “The ocean. What’s the first thing you think of when I said that?”

“Fish,” he answered immediately. “Nets. Ships. Ports. Trade.”

Taking a sip of the tea, Jaina nodded. This was the first time an officer hadn’t included words like ‘sick’ or ‘drowning’ or anything that implied that the sea was an obstacle to be overcome. Jaina would never understand that. Elves thought of the sea as something to pin an enemy against, like a wall. Whereas she looked out at the ocean and saw the world’s largest road at her disposal.

“You see an enemy ship at seven leagues,” she began, cupping the tea in her hands. “You give chase. Your enemy is travelling at five knots and you at five and a half knots. By the time you are within gunshot, how many hours and how many nautical miles would you have logged?”

He crossed his legs and laced his hands across one knee. With a tilt of his head, he thought and then answered, “By my reckoning, roughly twenty hours and one hundred and twenty five miles, depending on the weather conditions.”

Jaina’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, and she gave him a warm smile. “Would you like a cup of tea?” She gestured to the tea set and one of the extra cups.

“Thank you, my Lady, but no,” he demurred with a bow of his head.

Lifting her own teacup to her lips once more, Jaina continued, “What do you do with the wind making a right-angle with the tide, and the enemy to windward, versus the enemy in the wind’s eye and the current setting to leeward?”

His answering smile set a dimple in one of his cheeks, giving him a roguish air, “That is a trick question. Various books give different explanations, but there is no clear answer. The tides are unpredictable, even when drifting.”

For an hour, she peppered him with increasingly difficult questions. Questions about the specifics of ships of the line. Questions about command structures. Questions about potential scenarios at sea. Each of them he answered carefully, considerately, and with a calm bearing that nonetheless lingered on the knife’s edge of cavalier.

“Well, I’m glad to see someone actually did some reading before coming to these interviews,” Jaina said in a dry tone.

“I’m surprised I’m the only one,” he replied with a chuckle.

Humming and leaning back in her seat, Jaina said, “Some of them did, but I didn’t like their first answer, which disqualified them immediately.”

At that, be blinked in surprise, his blue eyes emitting a soft glow like so many of his kin. Still all he said was, “Then I am pleased to have made it this far.” He checked out the window to gauge the position of the sun. “We still have another hour or so, I believe?”

“We do.”

Jaina handed him an enchanted quill and a sheet of parchment with a series of complex mathematical equations. “Can you solve these for me, please? You have -” She waved her hand and an hourglass timer materialised on the table between them. “- forty minutes. After which time I will look at your work, regardless of whether you’ve finished or not.”

He took the paper without question. The moment the hourglass timer turned, he started working. His quill scratched against the page, his keen eyes flicking back and forth as he progressed. The silence was interspersed only with the papery etch of the quill’s nib when he would underscore an answer or cross out a mistake in arithmetic.

Meanwhile, Jaina settled back in her chair with a creak, and picked up a book that had been sitting beside her for just this purpose. She flicked through it, pausing only to glance up at him every once in a while to check the time and ensure he wasn’t cheating in any way.

He finished just before the timer, and handed the page back to her.

Setting aside her book, Jaina took the parchment and read it. She followed the flow of his answers and how he got to them, what shortcuts he took, which ones he missed, where she would have done differently and even -- she noted with a spark of pleasure -- where he had taken paths she would not have thought of herself yet arrived at the same conclusions.

With a smile, Jaina folded the page up and used it as a bookmark. “Only one wrong, and even that was only by two degrees sou’west. You would have reached your destination eventually, given the distance travelled. What did you say your name was?”

“Theron,” he answered with a smile of his own. “Lor’themar Theron.”

--

Jaina dropped the file onto Sylvanas’ lap while they sat in bed that night. “I've found you a Vice Admiral.”

Opening up the file, Sylvanas propped it on her knees and began to read. She hummed when she saw the name. “Lor’themar. Good choice.”

Jaina flopped down onto the mattress, pulling the sheet up beyond her waist as she arranged one of her pillows. “He’s no Vereesa, but he’ll get the job done.”

“Probably for the best,” Sylvanas countered in a dry tone. “If there were two Vereesas, I’d be tempted to quit.”

“Well, I can’t remain as the head of your navy forever. Much as I don’t like the idea, I’ll have my own fleet to look after eventually. He also has something over the both of you,” Jaina said, and had to stifle a yawn behind her fist.

“A good sense of humour? Dignity?”

“Close, but no.” Jaina reached out and pointed at Sylvanas’ stomach. “He doesn’t get seasick.”

Sylvanas closed his file and tossed it onto her bedside table. “I see you pick only the best for my navy.”

“It’s what you deserve,” Jaina mumbled into her pillow, her eyes already closing.

She heard Sylvanas’ chuckle, then felt a dip in the mattress as Sylvanas settled into bed beside her. “Good night.”

Jaina couldn’t remember if she said ‘Good night’ back, or if she dreamed of soft hands brushing back a lock of hair from her brow.

--

The two of them could be seen at all hours of the day administering tasks to Lor'themar and others, writing reports, and overseeing naval manoeuvres beyond the harbour. While Sylvanas still preferred to remain on land, Jaina would stand aboard the flagship with Lor'themar, summoning vast illusions of enemy ships and putting the fleet through their paces.

Drills upon drills upon drills. She pulled everything from her mother's strategy books and put them to the test. She invented new ways of puzzling her own captains by making her illusions cheat, by conjuring miniature storms, or fields of fog, or winds unfavorable to only one party. Lor'themar tackled every challenge she set before him, but his captains needed to act independently as well, and they would still welter in their indecision if not for his keen guidance.

The days where she wasn't at the Anchorage, Jaina was at the Academy. She continued her Novice lessons, as well as her own lessons with Elosai. She puzzled over the pendant and over a little cauldron in which she attempted to brew potions to cure seasickness, but every batch she threw out, and every attempt at solving the pendant would amount to nothing but more questions.

The hours would fly by, but always she fell into bed at the end of the day, exhausted. Sometimes on the ride back to Goldenbough, Jaina would nod to sleep atop her trudging horse. Ithedis would rouse her by grasping her shoulder when they approached the manor, or -- depending on how tired she was -- she would sit in front of him atop his horse and fall asleep while he held the reins behind her, guiding them back towards home.

--

“I hope you like not catching any game,” Jaina said.

“Love it,” Sylvanas quipped back.

Jaina shifted the pack’s weight from where it was digging into her shoulders. It wasn’t that heavy, but after carting it around for so long it still chafed. She followed Sylvanas along the secluded trail through the Eversong Woods, no more than a glorified deer track through the thick underbrush.

Sylvanas prowled a few steps ahead, Thas’dorah in her hands rather than slung across her back. A full quiver of arrows bristled over one of her shoulders. In the full day and a half they had been hunting, Jaina had yet to see Sylvanas fire a single one of those arrows. Though she knew the reason why.

A twig snapped under Jaina’s boots, and Sylvanas’ ears twitched at the sound. She turned to give Jaina an exasperated look, and Jaina raised her hands. “I swear that wasn’t on purpose.”

“I’m beginning to have my doubts.” Despite Sylvanas’ words, she gave Jaina a smile and continued walking.

In contrast, her steps were lithe and all but silent. She seemed to always know how best to avoid stepping on any leaves, and even her cloak barely seemed to touch the underbrush as they pressed on through the forest.

“I told you I was going to be bad at this.” Jaina sighed, but followed. She peered up at the sky, shielding her eyes with the flat of her hand. “You should just go ahead while I make camp. You’ll have better luck that way.”

Sylvanas did not turn or stop when she said, “That would defeat the purpose of this exercise.”

“This exercise of not catching deer?” Jaina asked slowly.

“Of making sure we clear our schedules to spend some time together.” Sylvanas said. “Some actual game is just a bonus, at this point.”

Jaina didn't know quite what to say to that. She stared at Sylvanas’ back, at the surprisingly broad shoulders beneath that cloak for someone so lanky. Probably from all that archery.

Realising she was doing more than just staring now, Jaina looked back down at the ground. She could feel heat rising to her cheeks. This latest -- she didn't know exactly what to call it -- fascination should have burned itself out months ago. Apparently all it took to reduce her to a bumbling mess was one lousy kiss.

She felt like a romance heroine, and she didn't like it.

Sylvanas stopped and turned her head, looking through the trees towards something unknown. “We should start heading west if we want to make it back to Goldenbough by tomorrow evening.”

Immediately, Jaina started rummaging through a pouch at her belt for a compass. Before she could even pull it out, Sylvanas started walking with a murmured, “This way.”

Jaina fumbled with the compass as she trailed after her. She flipped it open as she followed, and scowled down at it. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

Jaina flipped the compass shut and tucked it away again. “Always know which direction to go in?”

Her answer was an elfin shrug.

Sighing, Jaina trudged after her. She tried to be as light-footed as possible, but no matter how many sticks she avoided there always seemed to be one that appeared beneath the soles of her boots.

After another hour or so of quiet hiking, Jaina admitted, “And here I thought I'd get to learn how to shoot a bow, and you'd get to laugh at how bad I am at that, too.”

Sylvanas stopped and turned. “That's easy enough to accomplish.”

“Yeah, but we could have done that at home.”

“And we can do it now.” Sylvanas was already unslinging the quiver from her back and motioning for Jaina to approach.

Jaina did so, but even as she let her own pack slide to the ground, she said, “What about making camp?”

Sylvanas waved to the trees. “There's a clearing that way. And since it's unlikely to rain, we won't need much by way of shelter. Now -”

She held out Thas’dorah.

Jaina took a step back. “Oh, no. I can't use that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it's -” Jaina pointed at the sleek lines of the bow, so distinctive it could be recognised in someone's hands across a field. “- it's a magical family heirloom! It has national and historical importance!”

“So do half of the things you and I both own,” Sylvanas said dryly. She held out the bow again. “Just come here and take it.”

Slowly, Jaina reached out and grasped it. The bow hummed with arcane energy beneath her fingers. The very woodgrain was flooded with it, until it seemed to sear beneath her hands like a beam of purest sunlight made solid. Jaina flinched, expecting it to hurt, and almost dropped the bow.

When she looked hesitantly up at Sylvanas, it was to find her grinning. “It doesn't bite.”

“It's lighter than I was expecting,” Jaina said. She hefted it between both hands. The arcane magic imbued into the polished and engraved wood seemed to writhe beneath her fingers, and she grimaced at Sylvanas. “And it squirms.”

At that, Sylvanas blinked. She laughed softly in surprise. “It what?”

“It squirms!” Jaina repeated, insistent. She held the bow out and made a face. “It feels like I'm holding a live eel.”

“Ah,” Sylvanas nodded in understanding, still smiling broadly. “It's livewood.”

“Great! It's terrible.”

“You'll get used to it. Though being a mage probably makes the feeling worse. I hardly notice it.” With a chuckle, Sylvanas pulled a few arrows from the quiver at her feet. She handed one to Jaina, then pointed to the trunk of a tree to their right. “Aim for that, but don't shoot until I tell you.”

As she spoke she moved to stand behind Jaina. Close enough to touch, but not so close that Jaina couldn't wield the bow and feel overly crowded for space.

Jaina tried to nock the arrow, and almost dropped it in the process. “Aren't you going to give me some pointers before handing me arrows?”

“Just aim.”

Grumbling, Jaina pulled back on the bowstring and lifted the bow. It pulled in a single fluid motion, so seamlessly that she almost loosed the arrow in shock. She had been expecting at least some resistance, but Thas’dorah offered none.

Sylvanas touched Jaina's elbow. Jaina jerked and again almost let the arrow fly.

“Move this up a bit,” Sylvanas murmured.

She guided Jaina's arms with the feather-light glance of her fingers. Jaina swallowed and had to fight back a shiver when a hand moved to her waist.

“You need to angle yourself this way. And move your feet.” Sylvanas nudged at Jaina's back foot with the toe of her own leather boot until Jaina was standing just so. Despite the fact that Thas’dorah seemed to have no resistance, Jaina's arms began to tremble.

“Breathe,” Sylvanas said. “And when you're ready: release.”

The moment Jaina let loose the arrow, the bow sang beneath her hands, a silent thrum that reverberated up her forearms. In a dart of motion too fast for the eye to follow, the arrow streaked through the air and landed, quivering, at its exact mark.

“Not bad,” Sylvanas remarked, stepping away.

Lowering the bow, Jaina stared down at it. “That wasn't me at all, was it?”

“It was. The bow just helps a little.”

“Just a little?” Jaina asked dryly. “What happens when you use it?”

With a smirk, Sylvanas held out her hand for the bow. Jaina gave it back, and Sylvanas nocked an arrow. She aimed towards she same tree, and fired.

The arrow leapt from Thas’dorah in a blaze of light. Jaina had to blink a spot of colour from her vision. When she looked at the tree however, there was no arrow there apart from her own. Or -- She squinted. A dark hole in the pale bark trailed with smoke and resin. Eyes widening, Jaina leaned to the side and peeked around the tree.

Sylvanas’ arrow was buried in the next tree behind it, smoking faintly.

Looking unspeakably smug, Sylvanas gestured with another arrow. “That's what happens.”

She held out the bow and arrow back to Jaina, and her grin was encouraging. With a wry shake of her head, Jaina took them.

They gave up on hunting. Sylvanas sat on the ground nearby as Jaina practiced, firing arrow after arrow but never able to achieve even a single spark from Thas'dorah. Sometimes Sylvanas would comment on Jaina's stance, gentle reminders on how to better stand or better aim. Mostly, Sylvanas whittled away a stick with a dagger, idly carving off chips of wood. She hummed as she worked, a bittersweet melody that Jaina did not recognise.

As the sun descended towards the horizon, Jaina gave back the bow, and the two of them started to make camp in the nearby clearing. Jaina swept ground of rocks for their bedrolls, while Sylvanas gathered wood for a fire.

“I'm sorry we didn't catch something,” Jaina said as she spread canvas on the ground and arranged their bedrolls atop.

Sylvanas dropped an armful of dry wood on the ground, and knelt down beside it. “We'll catch something next time.”

As Sylvanas stacked the wood up into a chimney formation, Jaina hesitated. Theoretically speaking, she didn't need to place their bedrolls so close together. They could have slept on opposite sides of the fire. Then again, back at Goldenbough they could have slept in entirely different rooms, if they wanted. Out here in the woods however, there were no prying eyes, no gossiping servants. There was only them.

“Can you hand me the flint?”

Jaina started at the sound of Sylvanas’ voice. Clearing her throat, she hurriedly finished setting out the bedrolls -- side by side -- and turned. “Let me.”

A whirl of her fingers, and the kindling beneath the stacked firewood burst into flame.

“That's one way of doing it,” Sylvanas said.

“Or you could've just shot it with Thas’dorah,” Jaina suggested.

With a huff of laughter, Sylvanas shook her head and began to paw through one of their packs for the rations they had packed.

Night fell. Dinner consisted of bread and hard cheese and salted meats, and an apple apiece. Sylvanas ate the core and flicked the stem into the fire.

Sparks and smoke rose into the air, and the trees around them grew thick with darkness. Sylvanas sat closer to the heat than Jaina, feeling the night's chill more keenly. She had started to hum again. The same tune from before.

Jaina listened to a few bars, before asking, “Why do you like hunting?”

The humming stopped.

“Why do you like sailing?” Sylvanas countered without missing a beat.

“That’s easy,” Jaina said. She drew pictures in the earth with a short stick she found lying on the ground nearby: wavy lines and a crude depiction of a sailboat. “Being a part of my family meant spending half of my time growing up at sea. Either with my father, or my brothers, or both. And later, my mother. Though by that time I was usually back at the Keep being tutored by governesses or the mages they brought from Dalaran before I could officially enroll as an Apprentice.”

Sylvanas made a wordless noise, then said, “It’s not much different for me. My mother used to take us hunting individually, and I enjoyed our time together. Later, when my duties began to pile up around my ears, I would learn to enjoy the solitude hunting offered.”

“And that?” Jaina pointed at Thas’dorah.

Sylvanas glanced over at where the weapon leaned along the earth. “That is something that should have passed to my eldest sister, Alleria -- like many other things -- but I was left filling those shoes instead.” Her smile was bitter, and she looked into the dancing flames. “Always following in Alleria’s footsteps ever since I was young. And somehow never catching up no matter how fast I run. Some things never change.”

Silence extended between them, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the snap of resin meeting flame. Sylvanas had a small furrow in her brow that did not go away. For a brief wild moment, Jaina imagined kissing it away. Her hands clenched into fists at the thought, and she swallowed the image down.

“Sometimes,” Jaina said, looking back at her drawing, at how the ship seemed to be sinking beneath the waves. “I wish this position had never fallen to me. That my brothers had lived and I never had to worry about politics or war. That I was left to my magical studies and became a -- I don’t know -- an archmage whose career was so dull nobody cared to record it.”

The fire flickered between them, illuminating the sharp angles of Sylvanas’ face. She engoldened in the firelight, until she seemed cast from purest metal but for the blue arcane glow of her eyes. “I think that the world would have been far worse off for it.”

Jaina shrugged. “Maybe. I certainly never would have met you.” She gave a wry smile and picked up the stick again to poke at the embers smouldering at the base of the firepit. “I don’t think I would have liked that.”

Sparks spiraled towards the night sky at Jaina’s rummaging in the fire. Sylvanas never blinked, watching her intently, until suddenly she looked away. When she spoke her voice was a low murmur. “No. I don’t think I would have like that either.”

--

Two weeks later back at Goldenbough late one evening Jaina rushed downstairs from the library. As she burst into the banquet hall, she announced, “I’ve figured out the problem!”

“Which one?” Sylvanas asked dryly from where she reclined on one of the dining couches.

They had taken to eating separate dinners these days when their schedules were too full, though they made sure to share dinner at least twice a week to discuss their progress with the fleet. Jaina crossed the hall to stand over her, all but bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement.

“Everyone thinks that seasickness is a problem down here.” Jaina prodded at Sylvanas’ stomach, and Sylvanas blinked, her abdomen recoiling at the touch. “But actually it’s a problem up here.”

When Jaina poked at Sylvanas ear next, it flicked away from her touch. Sylvanas jerked her head and clapped her own hand over her ear with an odd look in Jaina’s direction. “The reason why elves have a higher rate of seasickness is because of our ears?” she asked, sounding skeptical.

“Yes! Yes, exactly!”

Sylvanas wore a dubious expression.

Shaking her head, Jaina held up the round glass vial in one hand. “It’s your inner ears. Your sense of balance and direction is, quite frankly, incredible. I noticed it when we went hunting. You always knew which way was north.” She pointed north to make her point. “Now, at first I thought that was because of your sensitivity to the Sunwell -- it’s really not good for you, by the way, but that’s a discussion for another time -- but actually you can just tell which way is north all the time. I tested it extensively.”

Sylvanas reached up and changed the direction of Jaina’s pointing hand. “That’s northeast. That is north.”

“You see!”

“And how did you test this theory of yours?”

“On my Novices,” Jaina said proudly.

Halfway to reaching for a piece of food on the low table before her, Sylvanas paused to raised her eyebrows at Jaina.

“Oh! Oh, no, nothing like that!” Jaina waved her hand and cradled the potion to her chest. “We were doing a class exercise involving magnetism and its relation to Azeroth’s core and -- long story short -- I ended up asking them to arrange cards on their desks for me after they’d spun around on the spot. It was relevant at the time, I swear. The fascinating thing was, they all arranged the cards north to south. Every time.”

Leaning back on her elbow, Sylvanas asked, “As opposed to -?”

Jaina faltered. “Well, right to left, of course. The way you read Thalassian. Which, for the record, I hate reading right to left instead of left to right. It makes me feel weird when I have to switch.”

“Noted.” Sylvanas took a bite of food.

“In theory you should be excellent sailors with a sense of direction like that, if not for this one little problem. Which,” Jaina added, holding up the potion she had brewed and giving it a small shake so that its contents swirled purple and red in the vial. “Shouldn’t be a problem for much longer.”

All of a sudden, Sylvanas seemed wary. Her ears canted back, and she narrowed her eyes. “And I’m guessing you want to try this new miracle potion out on me?”

“Yes?” Jaina asked slowly with a wince. “I drank it myself, but I couldn’t sense any difference apart from feeling a little more tired than usual. So, I can confirm that if nothing else, it is safe to imbibe.”

“Wonderful.” Taking another bite of food, Sylvanas chewed. “At least tell me it doesn’t taste horrible.”

Lifting her chin primly, Jaina replied, “It tastes like peppermint.”

--

“It does not taste like peppermint.”

Jaina winced. “Sorry.”

With a shudder, Sylvanas handed the vial back to Jaina. She seemed to brace herself for something, closing her eyes, but when it never came she opened them again and looked down at herself. She turned over her hands. “I seem to not have been transformed into a frog. How comforting.”

Rolling her eyes, Jaina tugged at the edge of Sylvanas’ cloak as she walked by towards the dinghy, which bobbed at the edge of the dock. “Come on.”

Carefully, Jaina clambered into the boat, adjusting her weight and position aboard as it rocked beneath her. She took a seat on one of the wooden slats that crossed the middle of the boat, and leaned back so she could partially extend her legs.

Still on the dock, Sylvanas stared at her. “What are you doing?”

Jaina gestured towards the tiller. “That’s yours today. You’re going to take us sailing this time.”

“I don’t know how to sail,” Sylvanas said. “And we still don’t know if this miracle potion of yours will work.”

“Do you feel sick?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m still on land,” Sylvanas pointed to her own feet for emphasis. “And all I feel is cloudy. Like I just woke up.”

“Am I going to have to tell Vereesa that you’re frightened of a little boat?” Jaina teased.

For a moment, Sylvanas said nothing. Her jaw was squared, and her eyes narrowed. Then, she unhooked the rope tethering them to shore and leapt down into the boat, settling herself immediately at the helm. She grabbed the tiller and refused to meet Jaina’s eye.

“Wow, uh -” Jaina blinked. “I didn’t think that would actually work.”

Baring her teeth, Sylvanas growled, “Tell me how this infernal deathtrap works.”

“Well, you’re going to need to start by raising the sail.” When Sylvanas glowered at her silently, Jaina pointed to a bit of rigging, and said, “Pull that one until the sail is all the way up, and then tie it down over there.”

Surly and begrudging, Sylvanas followed every instruction to the letter. Her shoulders remained stiff as their boat cut through the mellow waters of the Anchorage harbour. Only slowly did she relax, in increments, until they sailed along in companionable silence.

After a while, Jaina squinted at Sylvanas through the glare of sunlight, and asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Not sick,” Sylvanas said, sounding surprised at her own admission.

“Am I allowed to say ‘I told you so?’”

With a rueful chuckle, Sylvanas shook her head, but replied, “You are allowed, yes.”

Smiling softly, Jaina instead said, “You’re doing great.”

Streaks of pale cloud drifted across the sun, sending strips of shadow along an otherwise flawless day. The wind filled the sail, bulging the canvas so that they were carried along at a fair clip. Jaina turned to hold her hand out and skim it along the cool spray of water that lapped against the hull. She wiped it against the back of her neck to combat the heat of the day.

Admiring the view, the feel of waves beneath her, the comforting sounds and smells, Jaina propped her chin on her hand, her elbow leaning against the side of the boat. “Isn’t it great?” she asked.

“Beautiful.”

When Jaina looked over however, it was to find Sylvanas watching her.

“What is it?” Jaina asked, puzzled.

Sylvanas turned her gaze to the horizon. “Nothing.”

--

It happened at Goldenbough one evening. Jaina and Sylvanas were returning from the Anchorage together. Jaina had a class the next day and was already going over a pocket-sized notebook she kept on her person at all times as her schedule, reviewing the lesson she would be delivering to her Novices.

The sun was setting over the sea to their left. Jaina would glance up every now and then to admire the view, the crashing waves dipped in wine-coloured hues by a ruby sun slowly sliding out of sight. Her horse walked beneath her, following the gait of Ithedis’ and Sylvanas’ mounts without needing her to urge it on in the right direction.

When they reached the manor, she tucked her notebook and enchanted quill away, and slid from the saddle. With a murmur of thanks, Jaina handed her reins over to Ithedis, who was ready to take all three of their horses to the stables. She turned towards Goldenbough, only to find that Sylvanas had not strode ahead for dinner like she had expected. Instead, Sylvanas was standing, hands behind her back, quiet and watchful.

Sylvanas tilted her head. “Would you like to join me for a walk?”

Hesitating, Jaina looked towards the manor entrance in confusion, but she nodded. “Sure.”

Sylvanas led her around the manor and out towards a copse of trees, their branches bent back at severe angles from the strength of the winds that swept the cliffs off the ocean. They did not walk so much as they strolled. Though Sylvanas wore her casual leathers and cloak, she held herself as though she were in her full ceremonial garb -- graceful yet militant. Yet Jaina could see the slight flicker of nervousness in her face, in the tenseness of her shoulders.

When they were firmly out of earshot of the manor, its spires raking the cloudless sky above, Sylvanas asked, “Is your workload alright? I know I prefer keeping busy, but some people don’t thrive on stress like I do.”

Jaina blinked at the sudden question, but answered, “It’s fine. I don’t mind, really. I like having something to do. I like feeling useful.”

“And you do? Feel useful?” Sylvanas pressed. She did not turn to face Jaina, but her eyes would glance sidelong to gauge Jaina’s reaction.

Jaina thought for a moment. “Yes,” she said, voice firm and sure.

“Good.” Sylvanas’ long-legged stride would have easily outpaced her if Sylvanas hadn’t slowed her step to ensure they both walked at a comfortable pace. “Because you are useful. You have been a great help to me. I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t here overseeing this training.”

“You probably would've gone on the flagship anyway, and been incredibly ill.”

Sylvanas huffed with laughter. “Probably.”

Placing a hand on Sylvanas’ shoulder, Jaina assured her, “You would have been fine. Lor’themar will make an excellent left hand to lead your navy when I step back.”

Sylvanas’ long ears twitched, and she stopped walking. She looked down at where Jaina’s hand lay, and murmured, “If you say it’s so, then I have no doubt.”

As if burned, Jaina snatched her hand back. She gripped it tight into a fist and cleared her throat. Sylvanas said nothing, and beyond them the sound of waves crashing against white cliffs.

“And you?” Jaina breached the silence that lay heavy between them.

“What about me?”

“Well, you’re -?” Jaina waved towards her. “You’re handling the stress or whatever? Would you like to go hunting again? It’s your turn.”

Sylvanas’ eyebrows rose, and the ghost a smile played on her face. “My turn?” she repeated.

“Yes. That’s how I’ve been thinking of this whole exchange of activities. We take turns. We compromise. It’s fair and everyone’s happy.”

She hadn’t meant to say ‘happy.’ It had just slipped out. Jaina snuck a glance at Sylvanas, who hadn’t disputed it yet.

That smile was still present, small and soft, yet fading. Sylvanas spoke in a murmur and continued walking, “I suppose we are.” Then she went and ruined it by adding a dry, “In a sense.”

Jaina’s steps faltered. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She hiked up her mage robes and jogged a few steps to catch up. “Sylvanas, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Only that I would be far happier without the enemy breathing down our necks,” Sylvanas clarified. “Nothing more.”

“Oh,” Jaina breathed, a rush of heady relief washing over her. “Oh, good. For a moment there I thought you meant -- You know what? Nevermind. It’s nothing.”

Sylvanas stopped again. They stood near enough one of the trees that its boughs branched over them like streaks of gold pushed by the winds. They must have been the manor’s namesake. She straightened as if bracing herself, fixed Jaina with a firm look, and said, “No, go on. Tell me.”

“Well a while ago -” Jaina stopped to think for a moment, saying, “Almost a year ago actually -- has it been that long? -- anyway a while ago you said you weren’t. Happy, I mean. Or, rather, you implied that you were unhappy.”

Sylvanas cocked her head in an inquisitive pose, but her voice was sincere when she replied, “I am not unhappy. Not now, in any case.”

“But you’re stressed,” Jaina said slowly.

Sylvanas laughed. “I’m always stressed. That doesn’t mean I’m unhappy.”

“Yes, but -” Jaina trailed off. She tongued at the inside of her cheek and wrung her hands as she thought. Taking a deep breath, she said, “You once asked me if I would tell you what I wanted. I hope you feel comfortable doing the same.”

Sylvanas’ expression flashed with something Jaina did not recognise, fleeting and then gone. “I want to kiss you.”

A breath of wind played with the edges of her cloak, but otherwise the day was fine and clear and fading as the night swept in from the east. The sunset behind her was a slash of red that slowly dwindled to a darker lavender. The first stars glimmered in the sky overhead as night descended. Sylvanas was watching her intently, as if holding her breath while waiting for Jaina’s reaction.

“You -” Jaina had to swallow past the sudden dryness of her throat, “You can. If you want, you can kiss me.”

“But would you like it, if I did?”

Jaina shot her an exasperated look, even if it was tinged with a bit of fluster. “I’ve kissed you before.”

Sylvanas stepped in close until they were near enough that the scar on her cheek was clearly visible. “Yes, I remember. Very well, in fact.”

Jaina’s breath caught but she did not move away. “I didn’t dislike it any of those times. I mean, you’re -” Jaina gestured towards all of Sylvanas, “- you.” Sylvanas reached up to touch Jaina’s chin up even as Jaina continued to speak, her voice trailing off, “And you’re very tall. And we’re very married, so you should just -”

Sylvanas tilted her head and they were kissing. She brushed their mouths together, and Jaina’s eyes slid shut. There was no incident demanding their kiss, no ritual, no fabrication causing it. Sylvanas kissed her, and could feel a coil of heat below her stomach despite the fact that it was, for all intents and purposes, perfectly chaste.

One of Jaina’s hands came to rest shakily against Sylvanas’ leather-clad stomach. She opened her mouth to deepen the kiss, and Sylvanas cupped her face. The moment a small noise sounded at the back of Jaina’s throat however, Sylvanas broke the kiss and stepped away.

Jaina opened her eyes just as Sylvanas lowered her hand. That same inscrutable expression crossed Sylvanas’ face before she could stamp it out again, except this time Jaina recognised it for what it was: a carefully masked desire.

Sylvanas nodded back towards the manor. “We should go inside. Dinner is waiting.”

“Right,” Jaina said hoarsely. “Yes. That.”

--

For weeks after that evening, Sylvanas would approach under the pretense of asking Jaina about her day, or her morning, about what book she was reading, about what lesson she had returned from, but always Sylvanas would eventually say, “I would like to kiss you,” and wait for Jaina’s answer.

It was always a: “Yes.”

The first few times this happened, her “Yes” was red-faced, the single syllable either blurted out or delivered in a bewildered mutter, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. When Sylvanas leaned down, Jaina’s heart would rattle against her ribcage until she was afraid it could be heard.

Sometimes Sylvanas would take her time. She would play with Jaina’s hair. She would run her fingers along the cloth of Jaina’s collared shirt or along a fold in Jaina’s mage robes. She would tip Jaina’s face up and brush their mouths together in the suggestion of a kiss, and then she would step away, her hand lingering at the underside of Jaina’s chin.

Other times Sylvanas would hardly wait for the “Yes” before chasing the sound of it on Jaina’s lips. She would cup the back of Jaina’s head or grasp the braid at the base of her neck -- not hard, but insistent. She would bring their mouths firmly, hungrily together, and kiss her until Jaina was weak in the knees and breathless. She would pull away, abrupt, and stroke the line of Jaina’s spine, tracing shivers with her fingertips. And when Jaina was grasping at Sylvanas’ shoulders to initiate another kiss, Sylvanas would oblige. Once. Twice but only if Jaina was very lucky. Before again she stepped away, finding a convenient excuse to leave the room.

Sylvanas always had something to do right after, some place to be, some person to meet. She would leave Jaina dazed, and blinking, and wondering if she had dreamed it happening at all.

After two weeks of this, Jaina narrowed her eyes in suspicion when Sylvanas wandered into the manor library. Jaina was seated on one of the long couches, books piled up on the floor beside her tea set, her feet tucked atop a cushion, propping an open book on her knees. She did not close the book, though she did stop reading to watch as Sylvanas idly perused a shelf, trailing a finger across the spines of embossed texts as she walked by.

This time, Jaina spoke first. “Do you just come and find me to kiss me every time you think about it?”

“Not every time,” Sylvanas answered in a dry tone. She continued to circle her way closer, pretending to pick out a book from its shelf and turn its cover over before placing it back once more. “Sometimes I’m in a meeting. Or you’re not with me. Or you’re with me, but we’re in public.”

Jaina flipped a page in her own book in a pantomime of reading; she hadn’t read a single word since Sylvanas entered the room. She couldn’t concentrate with her here. “You didn’t seem to have a problem kissing me in public in Kul Tiras.”

Sylvanas gave her a look that made Jaina’s breath catch. “Do you want me to kiss you like I did in Kul Tiras?”

Jaina had to glance away, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear; it had escaped from her loose braid that she’d tied in a rush earlier that morning on her way to class. She cleared her throat and said weakly, “Maybe not in public.”

Sylvanas answered with a low throaty chuckle that made Jaina’s cheeks burn. When she finally crossed the room to stand behind the couch, Jaina had hunched her shoulders in anticipation, already feeling the faint impression of touch upon her, like a memory, like an automatic response. Jaina didn’t realise she was holding her breath until Sylvanas leaned against the back of the couch and asked, “What are you reading?”

“Um -?” Jaina had to check the front cover to remind herself. “A Compendium of First Era Inscriptions Complete with Annotations by Mysandra Swiftarc.”

A pause, then Sylvanas huffed with laughter. “You’re reading a dictionary?”

“No!” Jaina spluttered, opening the book back up and studying it furiously. “I was -! I was trying to find a new way to clean this pendant, is all.”

“What’s wrong with the pendant I gave you?”

Refusing to look up, Jaina said, “Nothing. It’s just dirty. I mean -- not dirty. Not the way you think. Not like that. I think someone used it for something once, and there’s this - this flaw that’s clouding it.”

At that, Sylvanas hummed curiously. She leaned down, close enough that Jaina could feel the warmth of her, though that may have just been Jaina’s imagination. Sylvanas pointed at the pendant and asked, “May I?”

Jaina nodded. Sylvanas -- careful not to actually touch her -- rested her elbows upon the back of the couch and held the stone between thumb and forefinger. She had to bow down to study it upon its golden chain, still strung around Jaina’s neck.

“I don’t see it.”

Jaina reached up and tilted the pale stone in Sylvanas’ hand so that it gleamed in the light. She was guiding Sylvanas’ hand more than the stone itself, and pointing with her other hand. “Right there, see? It looks like a dark little stormcloud got stuck in there.”

Sylvanas cocked her head to one side. “Still nothing. It looks clear as day to me.” She let go of the pendant so that it fell into Jaina’s hand. “Must be a mage thing.”

“Huh.” Jaina’s brow furrowed. She looked more closely at the pendant herself, then let it drop back down to her chest.

Sylvanas did not straighten, remaining bowed over the back of the couch. “I am sorry I got you a faulty gift. What a bad omen for a marriage.”

With a wave, Jaina said, “It’s not faulty. It’s like -” She thought for a moment, “It’s like a little puzzle that I carry around with me. It gives me something to do.”

“I’m amazed you haven’t solved it yet,” Sylvanas murmured. When Jaina shot her a confused look, she clarified, “You’re so clever. I’d always assumed you could solve any puzzle that crossed your path.”

“I’m not that smart.”

“I think you’re wrong about that.”

Jaina had never thought of herself as a particularly bashful person. Introverted, perhaps. But never bashful. Now, however, she busied herself with the book in her lap, clearing her throat and failing to suppress a self-conscious flush that rose to her face.

“May I kiss you again?”

Jaina hesitated. She aimed her best glare at Sylvanas over her shoulder and asked, “I don’t know. Are you going to run off again?”

Sylvanas met her gaze, unflinching, and her voice was calm and even when she answered, “I have a few reports I must write before dinner.”

Jaina scowled. “Necessity? Or convenience?”

“Is it too convenient if it’s both?” Sylvanas grinned, but it was soft. “You don’t have to say ‘yes,’ you know.”

At that, Jaina was the one to grab Sylvanas by the front of her leather armour. She tilted her head back as she tugged Sylvanas down for a kiss.

The book slipped from Jaina’s lap and onto the floor. She didn’t care. Her eyes slid shut. She opened her mouth and caught Sylvanas’ lower lip between her own. It was an odd angle. She could hear a sharp inhalation when she ran the tip of her tongue against a ridge of sharp teeth, but didn’t know if it came from Sylvanas or herself.

Jaina’s grip on the front of that leather cuirass tightened, when Sylvanas stroked one hand down the column of her bared throat and toyed with the golden chain at her collarbone. Sylvanas pulled back, but only just enough to bow her head and press her lips against Jaina’s neck. At the first touch of Sylvanas’ mouth at her throat, Jaina arched against her. She hissed through clenched teeth, the note ending in a breathless noise that Jaina didn’t know she could make.

Sylvanas froze. Jaina could feel the sweep of warm breath against the sensitive skin of her throat. Her hands trembled, and she let her fingers unclench when Sylvanas straightened. She could see Sylvanas’ own throat work as she swallowed.

Sylvanas was staring down at her, and her eyes burned. “I should go -- I have -” she gestured towards the door and jerked her gaze up, jaw clenching. “- things. Reports. Excuse me.”

Before she could leave, Jaina croaked, “So, I’ll -- uh -- I’ll see you at dinner?”

With a stiff nod, Sylvanas strode to the door, her steps brisk. She did not stop or look back, leaving as quickly as if a crocolisk were snapping at her heels.

Still gathering herself, Jaina shrugged against the crawling heat that continued to rush from the top of her head to the base of her spine. When she found herself touching her neck where Sylvanas had kissed her, she snatched her hand back, fist thumping against the couch cushion beneath her. She twisted around to gauge how far the sun was along the sky.

It would be hours yet before dinner. And now there was no way Jaina could concentrate enough to read anything and retain the information. In a huff, Jaina rose to her feet and stormed from the library to go for a walk along the grounds.

It didn’t help.

A dip in the cold pool downstairs helped a little, but mostly it was a means to pass the time and accomplished not much else. She pulled her same clothes back on and braided her hair to dry, secretly relishing the occasional cool drip that helped combat the heat of Quel’Thalas.

When she stepped into the banquet hall for dinner, Sylvanas was already seated at the table, waiting. For all that Jaina had thought the reports were nonsense, Sylvanas did still have a few letters she was reading over even as she picked idly at the shared platter of flatbread.

Jaina pulled back a chair and sat. “I see you weren’t lying.”

“I told you it was convenient,” Sylvanas replied, not looking up from the letter. Her brow furrowed. “I don’t like the look of these movements to the east. There’s something odd about -”

She looked up, and the words died in the air; her eyes were fixed upon the extra few buttons that Jaina had left undone after her bath, the cloth sticking somewhat to her still damp skin. Jaina blinked at her in confusion, and Sylvanas jerked her gaze back down to her letter.

Oh. Oh.

Clearing her throat, Jaina pointed to the steaming glass pot beside her. “Would you like some water.”

“Please.”

All throughout dinner, Jaina felt like she was engaged in a very deliberate dance. They avoided reaching for the same dishes. She kept her ankles firmly crossed beneath her chair so as to not accidentally nudge Sylvanas’ foot with her own. They spoke about inane topics, steering well clear of books and libraries. Once or twice she could have sworn she caught Sylvanas sneaking a glance at the pendant around her neck, but always Sylvanas would hide the gesture with a smile and a change in conversation.

None of it distracted Jaina in the slightest, and she was painfully aware of just how little the walk and bath had helped. Her stomach was still writhing, and it did nothing to help her appetite.

Halfway through dinner, she sat back with a sigh. “I’m not very hungry.”

Sylvanas’ eyebrows rose. “Heading back to the library, are you?”

It was the first time they had discussed the library since the incident earlier that afternoon, and Sylvanas’ voice was far too precise.

Jaina shook her head, “No, I - uh -” She tried to imagine going back upstairs and reading a centuries-old tome on glyphs. “I don’t think so.”

Sylvanas toyed with a piece of bread but did not eat it. Then, she picked up another letter and continued to work. “I'll be up later.”

That was probably for the best. Jaina did not complain.

In the end, she brought a series of her own reports to grade in bed. She changed into a nightgown, and sat with her back propped up by pillows, a stack of papers on the bedside table. She wielded a quill enchanted to never run out of ink or drip anywhere, marking mistakes her Novices had made.

The first time she had issued a report to her classes had been at Magistrix Elosai's suggestion. Jaina had been reluctant at first. She had insisted her Thalassian wasn't good enough, but soon discovered that she had grossly overestimated the Novice's writing abilities. Even more startling, Jaina found that her Thalassian greatly improved since regularly reading and grading the kids’ reports. She had started leading whole seminars in a mix of Thalassian and Common, her Novices correcting her grammar mistakes with glee.

Now however, the tip of Jaina's quill trailed across the same paragraph over and over. She only managed to get through a handful of reports on The Founding Tenets of Cenarius before she gave up. The Thalassian script did nothing to alleviate her restlessness. She piled the reports on her bedside table, tossed the quill atop them, and stood.

For a brief, wild moment, she considered giving Sylvanas a taste of her own medicine, by marching upstairs to the study Sylvanas used as an office and kissing her.

Instead, Jaina paced.

She was walking the line of the narrow red carpet that stretched across the pale stone floor of their bedroom, end to end, counting her steps, when the door opened far sooner than she had expected. It was barely night. A sliver past dusk. The faint lyrics of birdsong were still trilling outside.

Sylvanas entered the room and had the gall to look surprised to see her there.

“You’re here early,” Jaina blurted out.

Shutting the door behind her, Sylvanas blinked in confusion. “Should I be somewhere else?”

“No,” Jaina shook her head. She turned and kept pacing. “No, of course not. I just wasn’t -” She reached the end of the carpet and retraced her steps the other way again. “I suppose you have somewhere you need to be early tomorrow.”

Sylvanas had not moved. She watched Jaina warily. “Not that I can recall.”

Jaina tapped her fingers against her thigh as she walked, as if keeping time. Finally she came to a halt directly in the centre of the carpet and announced, “I think we need to talk. About this. About -” She gestured between the two of them.

“Alright,” Sylvanas said slowly, pulling off her rakish half-cloak and draping it over her arm. “I'm listening.”

“Good. Thank you.”

Jaina fidgeted and did not say anything else.

Sylvanas waited, glancing around. “Do -?” She started to say but Jaina cut her off.

“Could you just -? Maybe -?” Jaina pointed to the edge of the bed. “Sit? You're very tall and it's very distracting.”

Befuddled, Sylvanas sat. She tossed her cloak across a nearby trunk. Without the cloak, her arms and hands were bare, the supple leather cuirass only covering her torso. Her weight sank against the mattress, and she looked up at Jaina, waiting.

“Right. Ok.” Jaina paced a bit some more and had to force herself to stop. “I really -” She wrung her hands. “I quite like you. Which -!” she said in a rush when Sylvanas’ eyebrows rose. “- Which I know is a strange thing to say since we're already married. But I do. Quite like you, I mean. I know I haven't exactly said that before, so I wanted to say it now. I quite like you, and I quite like kissing you, and I have been thinking about kissing you all afternoon, so I would like to kiss you now, if that's alright.”

Another signature elven head tilt. “Why didn’t you?”

“What?” Jaina asked dumbly.

Sylvanas explained calmly, “When you thought about it this afternoon, why didn’t you come and kiss me?”

“Because you were -” Jaina mimed writing in the air with one hand “- working.”

“I would have stopped working.”

“I didn’t think you wanted me to disturb you. I thought you were using it as an excuse to give yourself space.”

“No. Well -” Sylvanas shrugged and amended, “Yes. But the space wasn’t for me.”

“What do you mean it wasn’t for -- Oh.” Jaina breathed. She shifted her weight back and forth between feet. “Then in the future, I will give you less space?” She said each word slowly, ending on a question and trying to gauge Sylvanas’ expression.

Amused. Sylvanas looked amused. Like she was having to stop a full grin. “I’d like that.”

“Good. That’s good.” Even hearing Sylvanas say that outright was a relief.

When Jaina did nothing except look at her, Sylvanas raised her eyebrows. “So? Didn’t you want to kiss me?”

Earlier when Jaina had nearly stormed up to Sylvanas’ tower-top study, she had imagined grabbing her and kissing the smug expression right off her face without a hint of hesitation. Now that she was actually presented with the opportunity, Jaina was rooted in place, as if her feet had sunk into the stone floor and stuck there.

Swallowing thickly, Jaina forced her legs to carry her forward. Sylvanas held out her hand, and Jaina took it. She was tugged gently forward to stand before Sylvanas, who did not release her hand but rather took a second to caress her thumb across Jaina’s knuckles before lacing their fingers together. With her free hand, her fingers trembling just slightly, Jaina combed back Sylvanas’ hair from her brow. She savoured its silky texture, letting her exploratory touch rove down to the sharp line of Sylvanas’ jaw.

When Sylvanas turned her head to press her lips to the centre of Jaina’s palm, Jaina could not help but stare. Sylvanas had closed her eyes, and was kissing Jaina’s hand with the softest expression Jaina could ever recall seeing. Any and all hesitation fled, then. Guiding Sylvanas’ face to look up, Jaina leaned down and kissed her.

It started soft. Softness matching softness. Jaina brushed their mouths together, angling her head to one side and enjoying this simple moment -- kissing her, caressing Sylvanas’ cheek, knowing that this was wanted, that this was encouraged.

She shifted her feet so that she stood, bracketing one of Sylvanas’ legs with her own. She was hyper aware of their proximity, every pulse against her hand, when their knees bumped together, when Sylvanas let go of Jaina’s hand in favour of touching her waist, just lightly, feeling the inquisitive glance of fingers across silk. Jaina moved to cup Sylvanas’ face with both hands. Tentative, she deepened the kiss, and the top of her head felt like it had caught alight at the slow sweep of Sylvanas’ tongue.

When Jaina pulled back, Sylvanas followed, swaying forward where she sat before stopping. Jaina stroked both thumbs over the bluffs of those high cheeks. Sylvanas was looking up at her, eyes bright, their glow more intense than usual. Her grip tightened momentarily at Jaina’s waist, and Jaina was transfixed at the dart of Sylvanas’ tongue against her lip.

This time when Jaina leaned down to kiss her, there was nothing soft about it. She grasped a fistful of Sylvanas’ hair, a low groan escaping her despite her best efforts to suppress it when Sylvanas nipped at her lower lip. Jaina was already breathing heavily when she stopped to gasp, “Can I -?”

Jaina ran trembling fingers down Sylvanas’ throat, waiting for a nod. She bent down further. She pushed back a wave of pale gold hair and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Sylvanas’ neck, just as had been done to her earlier that afternoon. Sylvanas made a noise that Jaina had never heard before. Encouraged, Jaina kissed along her neck, but when she gave a cautious scrape of her teeth across skin, Sylvanas gave a warning hiss.

Jaina stopped immediately. She straightened. Sylvanas was watching her very intently now, and she looked as flushed as Jaina felt.

When Sylvanas spoke, her voice sounded hoarse. “You shouldn’t do that unless you want this to go somewhere.”

Jaina felt like she had swallowed a live coal. It burned its way through her stomach and settled behind her navel. “And what if I do want that?”

Sylvanas’ hands were still at Jaina’s waist. Gently, she kneaded Jaina’s hips before sliding her palms down to rest to either side of Jaina’s knees. “Do you?”

“I -” Jaina chewed at her lip.

Suddenly Sylvanas’ expression shifted to guarded and incredulous. “Do you even know about -?”

“Yes, I know,” Jaina said quickly and a little indignantly. If her face hadn’t been red before it certainly was now. “I mean I haven’t with -” she gestured to Sylvanas, “- anyone. But I know.”

At that Sylvanas seemed to relax a bit. She toyed with Jaina’s hemline, which fluttered at her knees, the act more contemplative than provocative. “You don’t have to make a decision right now. You don’t have to say ‘yes.’”

Those words, repeated from this afternoon, were spoken in a murmur. Jaina sucked in a deep breath. “I know.”

Jaina kissed her. Sylvanas’ hands faltered for a moment. Then, she leaned back and said, “That’s not a: ‘yes.’”

“That’s a: ‘I want to kiss you again,’” Jaina replied, already leaning forward for another.

Jaina could feel Sylvanas’ answering smile against her mouth. “Fair enough.”

They kissed, and Jaina’s knees hit the edge of the mattress. She steadied herself on Sylvanas’ shoulders, never breaking contact, pausing only to breathe before diving back in for another. It felt like the reverse of their kiss in Kul Tiras, Jaina standing over Sylvanas and pressing them closer together, seeking any closeness she could find.

When she propped herself atop the mattress, knees on either side of Sylvanas’ legs to straddle her, Jaina could feel the tense of muscle beneath her hands. Sylvanas pulled back just enough to mouth at the skin beneath Jaina’s chin as Jaina knelt over her. She kissed along Jaina’s jaw, while Jaina settled herself in place.

The sheets shifted beneath Jaina’s knees. She adjusted her weight, and when she rocked forward slightly, Sylvanas’ breath hitched.

“Sorry,” Jaina mumbled against the side of Sylvanas’ face. “Is this alright?”

“You’re fine. You’re -” Sylvanas started to say, her voice rough, but cut herself off to bring their mouths together again, harder this time.

There was an unwieldy clash of teeth, but Jaina couldn’t bring herself to care. Sylvanas’ hands were tracing the hemline of Jaina’s nightgown, which had ridden up above her knees. They smoothed a line across her legs, and Jaina’s breath stuttered in her lungs every time Sylvanas slowly dragged her fingers along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. She would inch the hemline up only to circle back down to just above Jaina’s knees, until Jaina had to break the kiss and bite down on her lower lip to keep herself from whimpering.

Jaina lost count of how many times this happened before she finally gasped out, “Yes.”

Sylvanas let her hands linger at the top of Jaina’s thighs. “Are you sure -?”

“I said: ‘yes.’” Jaina clutched at Sylvanas’ shoulders in an attempt to calm the quaver in her own voice, the quivering that seemed to crawl all along her skin. Her knees were already beginning to ache from supporting her weight, an acidic burn that she would regret later, but which she now ignored. “Please touch me. I want you to.”

Sylvanas removed her hands, but only to cup Jaina’s face and kiss her softly; the contrast was enough to make Jaina groan. When she tried to deepen the kiss however, Sylvanas leaned away, not enough to break contact but enough to keep it feather-light. Sylvanas moved her hands down to the straps of the nightgown, working one then the other down Jaina’s shoulders. Gently, she urged Jaina to let go and lower her arms so she could pull the nightgown down.

The silk pooled around Jaina’s waist. Jaina shivered at the prickle of warm air against her bare skin. Sylvanas counted Jaina’s ribs with her fingertips, mapping them in stripes above her stomach. She smoothed one hand up Jaina’s chest between her breasts, coming to rest at the dip of her collarbone. There, Sylvanas touched the pendant that hung from its golden chain.

She was taking her time, and it was driving Jaina half out of her mind. Jaina reached up and grasped Sylvanas’ hand where it was playing with the pendant. “Sylvanas -”

“I’ve been thinking about this -” Sylvanas breathed, never taking her eyes off Jaina, “-for months.”

As she spoke, she arched up to kiss Jaina and palm her breast. Jaina whimpered into her mouth, grasping at the back of Sylvanas’ neck. Her eyes fell partially shut, but she could feel Sylvanas’ other hand slowly pushing the hemline of Jaina’s nightgown up her thighs. Fingers brushed the back of her legs, and Sylvanas reached both hands down to grab Jaina’s rear and pull her closer.

Jaina buried her face in Sylvanas’ shoulder, breathing raggedly. She smelled of leather and silk and sunlight. In lazy circles, Sylvanas drew patterns all across Jaina’s naked skin that seemed to leave phantom marks in their wake, like a footprint burnt upon the path that Jaina could still feel, could follow after.

As her hands wandered, Sylvanas asked quietly, “Can I bite you?”

Jaina nodded her forehead against the cuirass. Sylvanas kissed along her neck, carefully nuzzling for a good spot before she opened her mouth. At the first graze of teeth, Jaina twitched. Sylvanas nipped and dragged the sharp edges of her fangs along sensitive skin, then bit down. Not hard enough to break the skin, but enough that Jaina gasped.

Sylvanas found a new spot and bit her again. She sucked until Jaina’s skin bloomed with colour like dark sunspots, until Jaina was a squirming mess in her lap, teeth clenched so hard that she could feel an ache in her jaw. One of her hands circled round to trace along the space where Jaina’s thigh met her hip. When Sylvanas finally dragged her fingers along the slickness between Jaina’s legs, Jaina jerked her hips forward with a stifled moan.

Jaina couldn’t remember ever being this wet before. She clutched at Sylvanas’ back as Sylvanas drew her fingers up and down, mapping every nook and fold before tracing circles against Jaina’s clit. With her free hand, Sylvanas reached up and nudged Jaina’s head to the other side so she could continue branding unblemished skin with her teeth.

Jaina didn’t realise she was holding her breath. She panted. Her eyes were squeezed shut now, the world awash in darkness and sensation. Steadily, Sylvanas increased the strength behind her teeth the longer her hand continued its explorations between Jaina's legs. She focused her mouth on Jaina’s thready pulsepoint as she slowly slipped two fingers into wet heat.

Breathing could wait. Breathing could definitely wait.

Shifting her knees again, Jaina sought purchase against the sheets and the mattress so she could rock against Sylvanas’ fingers. She couldn’t stop the noises she was making now. Sylvanas’ other hand was at the swell of Jaina’s hip, urging along a steady rhythm that Jaina struggled to maintain. Every time Jaina would buck against her, Sylvanas would remove her fingers and return to stroking her until Jaina slowed her pace.

The second time this happened, Jaina whined, “Please.”

At that Sylvanas paused. She lifted her head from Jaina’s neck and kissed her. When she slipped her fingers back in, she pressed the palm of her hand up until Jaina could grind against her. Every roll of Jaina’s hips was met with a desperate sound that welled up in the back of her throat and was trapped by the kiss. Jaina could feel the coil of heat and pressure building at the base of her spine; she had to tear her mouth away to cry out, a high insistent note that hitched with every thrust of Sylvanas’ fingers.  

Sylvanas rocked her through the orgasm, until Jaina had to reach down with a trembling hand against Sylvanas’ wrist and whisper, “Stop. That’s -”

Immediately Sylvanas stopped. She moved her hand away with a wet sound and the trace of a touch that made Jaina gasp. Wrapping her arms around Jaina’s waist, Sylvanas rested her forehead against Jaina’s sternum and waited. It took a while for Jaina’s breathing to steady and for her heartbeat to stop its racing. She bracketed Sylvanas’ neck with her forearms and weakly combed through Sylvanas’ hair with trembling fingers.

It took her even longer to realise that not every shiver was hers alone.

Jaina leaned back slightly, trying to get a better look at Sylvanas’ face. “Are you alright?”

Sylvanas let out a huff of incredulous laughter against her chest. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“Well, of course I’m alright. I’m the one who had a good time.”

At that, Sylvanas looked up at her. She wore a grin, but for once its usual cant of mischief was tempered by sincerity. “Trust me. You’re not the only one who had a good time.”

“Oh. That’s -- That’s good.” Jaina smoothed her hands across the top of Sylvanas’ leather cuirass. “It’s just -- you’re still dressed.”

Sylvanas plucked at the silk of Jaina’s nightgown that now looped around her waist, as if to remind her that she still wore at least some scrap of clothing, but all she said was, “Would you like me to be undressed?”

Jaina faltered at that invitation. She followed the swirled patterns embossed in Sylvanas’ armour, meant to evoke curls of wind across the tops of trees, or perhaps mountains. “I figured that would be up to you. Do you want me to -?”

Eyes bright, Sylvanas murmured, “I would be disappointed if you didn’t. Though I can always take care of myself, if you’re not interested.”

Jaina laughed a little breathlessly, “I think we can safely say that I’m interested.”

Sylvanas hummed. For a moment all she did was watch Jaina carefully, then she tapped at Jaina’s back. “You’ll need to move.”

“Right. Of course. Sorry.”

With a wince, Jaina swung her leg over and set her feet back on the ground. The nightgown fell the floor and she stepped out of it, kicking it aside. Rubbing one of her knees, Jaina said, “Ow. Does that get any easier?”

Sylvanas shrugged. She didn’t appear at all sympathetic or remorseful. She wiped her sticky fingers on the bedsheets before starting to take off her boots. A bit awkwardly, Jaina stood there, watching Sylvanas, who was still seated, strip off her boots and cuirass, tossing them towards her side of the room. When Sylvanas pulled the cotton shift she wore beneath her cuirass free from where it was tucked into the high waist of her leather breeches, Jaina cleared her throat. Sylvanas stopped and glanced up at her, one questioning eyebrow arched.

“Can I -?” Jaina pointed. “Can I do that?”

Sylvanas nodded. “You may.”

Reaching down, Jaina dragged the cotton shift free. Sylvanas lifted her arms enough for the shift to be pulled over her head and discarded. At the sight of bare golden skin, Jaina found herself chewing at her lower lip again. She catalogued old scars on Sylvanas’ skin, feeling the bump of pale scar tissue with her fingertips, wounds gained in the field when there were no healers around to clear them away without a trace. Claw marks from an animal at her ribcage. Knicks and slashes from blades. The puncture of an arrowhead.

Sylvanas kept her face carefully self-contained while Jaina explored, but she couldn’t stop the traitorous rise and fall of her chest when Jaina circled her breasts, softly scraping a thumbnail across her nipple. Jaina filed away the flit of micro expressions across Sylvanas’ features that accompanied everything she did.

Despite the complaining her knees did, Jaina knelt down on the floor. At that, Sylvanas’ eyes widened in surprise, though the shocked expression faded when Jaina stripped Sylvanas of her breeches and smallclothes, and stood once more.

Jaina dropped the breeches to the floor in a crumple of leather. Sylvanas was leaning back on her hands, propped atop the mattress, head cocked, and completely naked. Mouth going dry, Jaina took a moment to study her before collecting herself. She hadn’t thought of what to do beyond this point.

“What do you like?” Jaina asked.

Sylvanas’ answering smile glinted, and it held an almost dangerous edge. “Lots of things. Fingers. Tongue. Accessories.”

Jaina frowned. “Accessories?” she repeated.

“Maybe we’ll get to that later.” Sylvanas said. When Jaina bit the inside of her cheek, looking unsure, Sylvanas lowered her voice to a soothing tone, “Come here.”

She patted the space beside her. It wasn’t patronising -- thank the Tides -- and even as she did so, she pushed herself further up the bed. Jaina hesitated for a moment, then rounded the bed to crawl atop the sheets beside her. When Jaina stretched out on the mattress, Sylvanas rolled atop her. She propped herself upon her elbows over Jaina, letting the length of their bodies settle against one another.

Sylvanas brushed back a few stray locks of hair that had escaped from Jaina’s braid, and tucked her own long hair behind her ears to keep it out of the way. “Comfortable?”

Jaina nodded.

“Good,” Sylvanas murmured.

Bending her head down, Sylvanas kissed her, deeply and slowly. Jaina reached around to stroke along the expanse of her back, charting the wings of her shoulder bones and the gentle taper of her waist. In comparison to before, Jaina could only describe this as languid. They kissed as if they had all the time in the world, with the night slanting through the windows at the backs.

And then Sylvanas started to move. She nudged apart Jaina’s legs with a knee and rolled their hips together. Breath catching at the back of her throat, Jaina gripped Sylvanas’ back. When she mimicked the movement, Sylvanas hummed a wordless pleased note against her mouth, almost a purr. Sylvanas pressed her thigh up, the next motion causing Jaina to drag a smear of wetness against her.

“I thought -” Jaina gasped, “I thought this was about getting you.”

“It is.”

Sylvanas sounded strained. The rocking of her hips was slowly growing more erratic, her kisses more fierce. With a whimper, Jaina wedged a hand down between them. She fumbled at the awkward angle, but Sylvanas hissed when Jaina found her clit. She shut her eyes and grit her teeth.

Slicking up her fingers and circling round again and again, Jaina watched in fascination as Sylvanas jerked against her. Jaina leaned up to nip at the skin where Sylvanas’ throat met her jaw, and was rewarded with a moan stifled behind a row of sharp teeth. As Sylvanas ducked her head, shifting her weight on her elbows for more leverage, Jaina mouthed her way towards an ear. She kissed just beneath it, opening her mouth to scrape her teeth, and felt a pant of warm air against her neck in response.

“Down a bit,” Sylvanas growled against her shoulder. “And harder.”

“My fingers or -?”

“Fingers.”

Jaina did so, and Sylvanas’ arms trembled. She did it again, and Sylvanas ground down upon her fingers with a low keen. A third time earned her name being gasped, and at that Jaina turned her head, seeking another kiss.

It was the only time Sylvanas had ever kissed her roughly. It was all teeth and desperation. Jaina groaned into it, and was answered with another growl, feeling Sylvanas tilt her thigh deliberately so that every rock of her hips sent a corresponding flare through her. Then Sylvanas was shuddering, every muscle tense, her movements sharp, Jaina’s name a half-mumbled chant on her lips.

Sylvanas came down slowly. She chased the vestiges of her orgasm against Jaina’s hand, until she was propped over her, still and shivering.

Jaina removed her hand but clutched at Sylvanas’ waist. She waited until Sylvanas’ breathing had steadied before asking shakily, “Could you -? Um -? Could you please just -?”

Sylvanas leaned back as if stung, “What is it?”

“Nothing!” Jaina insisted. Sylvanas’ leg was still pressed against her, and she squirmed slightly. “You just -- With your thigh -- And I’d really like it if you would finish me off again.”

With a relieved chuckle, Sylvanas dropped a kiss to Jaina’s mouth. “Gladly.”

It didn’t take nearly as long as the first one. After all the noises and writhing and everything else from before, all Sylvanas had to do was slowly stroke around Jaina’s clit and kiss her breasts, and Jaina was gripping fistfuls of the sheets.

When she had finished, Sylvanas rolled off of her. She lay herself down next to Jaina, continuing to draw lazy patterns against Jaina’s stomach. Jaina was still flat on her back, panting to the ceiling, when Sylvanas gave her a quick peck on the cheek and said, “Good talk. I’m glad we had it.”

Jaina laughed, disbelieving and breathless. “Yes. We should talk more often.”

Grinning at her, Sylvanas tapped at Jaina’s abdomen. “I’m always available for a nice long chat whenever you need it.”

Jaina shook her head, but couldn’t keep herself from smiling. She rolled over, relishing the easy closeness between them. For a long while they lay there together, until Sylvanas placed a kiss on her forehead and murmured, “Would you like to join me for another bath before we sleep?”

At the thought of another long soak this time with Sylvanas at her side, resting in the different pools until their muscles turned to liquid themselves, Jaina sighed, “Tides, yes.”

--

Jaina woke several times in the early pre-dawn hours. Each time, she and Sylvanas had shifted slightly in bed, but always remained touching. At one point, Sylvanas had her arm wrapped around Jaina's midriff and was snoozing against her back. At another, they were both turned away, the base of their spines pressed lightly together. The final time Jaina awoke to sunlight touching the foot of the bed, and her head nestled into the crook of Sylvanas’ shoulder.

Sylvanas had undone her braid and was running her fingers through Jaina’s hair, gently untangling it while Jaina slept. Not moving except to snuggle a bit closer, Jaina murmured, “Feels nice.”

“Mmm.” Sylvanas continued. Jaina was half atop one of her arms, but she did not complain or tell her to move. “You make noises in your sleep.”

“Are you saying I snore?” Jaina mumbled.

“I would never imply you did anything so undignified.”

With a sleepy huff of laughter, Jaina said, “Good thing I’m not a dignified person, then.”

Those fingers paused for a moment before resuming their carding. Sylvanas laughed, a soft incredulous sound, “You really don’t know, do you?”

“Hnn?”

Sylvanas kissed the top of her head. “Nothing. Nevermind.”

Jaina was already nodding off again. She dozed somewhere between sleeping and wakefulness, lulled on the liminal space between the two by the drag of Sylvanas’ fingernails against her scalp. After a while, Jaina stirred. She turned her head into warm-scented skin and kissed at Sylvanas’ shoulder.

Sylvanas stopped to tangle her fingers in Jaina’s long hair and tilt her head up for a kiss. The fine sheet slipped down Jaina’s back as she arched into the kiss. Sunlight warmed the bed. They did not rush. Sylvanas would pause every now and then to brush her hands through Jaina’s hair again, or to trail her fingers down her throat, circling various sensitive areas until Jaina was slowly more and more awake.

She set her own hands to exploring, retracing the steps she had made last night and determined to map new expanses of Sylvanas’ skin. At some point -- Jaina wasn’t quite sure when it had happened -- she found herself lying atop Sylvanas, kissing her mouth, her neck, nosing at the downy hair behind her ear.  

When Sylvanas slipped a thigh between her legs, Jaina pressed her back into the mattress and rolled their hips together. Sylvanas’ breath hitched. She grasped at Jaina’s waist, urging her to make the motion again. Jaina was more than happy to oblige.

The wave of her hair fell into their faces, and Jaina had to quickly tuck it behind her ears before she could continue. Sylvanas made another one of those tiny noises at the back of her throat, and she was determined to hear it again. She kissed Sylvanas hard, which was right when she remembered.

“Mmm!” Jaina pulled away with a gasped, “I have class today!”

“What?” Sylvanas asked, sounding winded.

Jaina was already scrambling off of her, half falling over the edge of the mattress on her way to the armoire, swearing as she went.

“Shit!” she hissed, tugging open the armoire and pulling down the first outfit within arm’s reach. “Shit! I’m going to be late. Shit shit shit shit -!”

She heard a snicker of amusement behind her, and turned while jumping on one leg to pull up her breeches. Sylvanas had rolled onto her stomach to watch Jaina with a grin. “Now look who’s the one who has to go rushing off just when things are getting interesting.”

Making a face at her, Jaina tied the drawstrings of her breeches shut, and reached for her shirt. “Turnabout’s fair play.”

Sylvanas ears pricked up, and her grin widened. “I like that human expression. I’ll have to remember it for another time.”

Hastily Jaina buttoned up her shirt. As she was tucking it into the high waist of her breeches, she walked back over to the bed for a kiss. “I'll be back for dinner.”

“And I shall waste away without you.”

Jaina rolled her eyes at Sylvanas’ sarcasm. “No, you won't. You'll go to the Anchorage and work until Lor'themar is sick of seeing your face.”

Sylvanas grinned into another kiss. “How else am I supposed to know I'm doing my job right?”

“By irritating everyone to death?”

“Exactly. Though now that you mention it, Vereesa would make a far better Ranger-General on that basis.”

With a snort of amusement, Jaina kissed her again. Then again. “Ok, I really do need to go.”

“I'm not stopping you.”

“You are literally holding me down by my shirt.”

Sylvanas let her go with a dismissive wave and an airy sigh, “Details.”

Stepping away, Jaina left. She re-buttoned her shirt and jogged down the stairs into the main atrium. When she had reached the front doors, Ithedis fell into step beside her.

Without stopping her quick pace, she greeted him. “Good morning, Ithedis.”

“My Lady -”

“We're going to need to hurry today. I'm tempted to just teleport us there, but -”

He grasped her firmly by the shoulder. Startled, she turned around. He sounded even more stuff than usual when he said, “Lady Proudmoore, you cannot be seen in public like this.”

“Like what?” She asked, looking down at her clothes. They weren't her mage robes, but people at the Academy were accustomed to seeing her walk around in her Kul Tiran drab from time to time.

In answer, Ithedis cleared his throat. Very studiously not looking at her, he pointed to his own neck.

“What -?” She started to say, then her eyes widened in realisation.

Flushing in embarrassment, Jaina put a hand to her neck. She hadn't taken the time to look at herself in a mirror before rushing from the bedroom. She could only imagine what her neck must have looked like.

An illusion spell wouldn't do any good. Not at a mage Academy where any Apprentice with half a brain could weave a counterspell to see through it. And she didn't have time to stop off somewhere for a potion or concealer.

Instead, Jaina flipped up the stiff collar of her shirt and closed every last button as though she were going to march on military parade.

“Is that -?” She couldn't meet Ithedis’ eye. “Is that better?”

He nodded sharply. “It will have to suffice.”

Her cheeks still burned. She must have looked as scarlet as his armoured robes. Whirling around, she started off towards the stables, “Good. That's good. Shall we -?”

“Of course, my Lady.”

He didn’t mention it again. Jaina clambered into the saddle and spurred her horse towards Falthrien Academy as fast as she could without risking her own neck on the roads.

“I’m sorry I’m late!” Jaina said to the class as she hurried into the room.

The Novices were grouped around their various tables in casual conversation. They glanced over their shoulders at her, already moving towards their seats, though begrudgingly. She could distinctly hear one of them mutter, “I told you we should’ve only waited ten minutes,” while another insisted, “Fifteen minutes is the legal limit!” followed by a chorus of boos in his direction.

Clearing her throat, Jaina tucked her hair behind her ears -- since when had she grown so used to wearing a braid that having loose hair felt odd? -- and neatened the stack of papers in her hands by tapping them together upon the front table. “I have your reports here, though I must confess that I’ll need a few more days to finish marking them.”

That earned her a few puzzled glances. Many of the Novices looked at each other. Others still tried to make shushing noises. Jaina thought she saw one stuff something under his seat as inconspicuously as possible, which of course meant that she narrowed her eyes.

“What is it?” she asked slowly.

“Nothing!”

“Yeah, you can take a few more days. That’s fine, Miss Jaina.”

“You’re busy. We understand.”

“Those aren’t our reports. Those are for second rotation.”

The last Novice to have spoken got his chair kicked by a neighbor, and everyone else glared at him. He kept his back straight and defiant, though his ears drooped.

Glancing down at the reports, Jaina felt a flush rise to her cheeks. He was right. She recognised a few second rotation names. She set the papers down and straightened, “Which -- uh -- which rotation is this?”

“Fourth,” one of them said, and the rest nodded except for the one who had ratted on them earlier.

Jaina looked at him and raised her eyebrows for confirmation. He nodded.

“Alright,” she sighed. “Then that means your reports are due today. Thank the Tides.” The last she added as a mumble and in Common.

Most of the class slumped in their seats. A few looked bored, gazing out the window. That was always the worst. For as long as she could remember, Jaina had always encountered glazed eyes whenever she launched into a topic she enjoyed. Having a class of adrenaline-filled elven Novices didn’t change that in the slightest.

So, Jaina clapped her hands and rubbed them together. “But!” she announced, moving to the chalkboard behind her and flipping it over, “That doesn’t mean we can’t still have some fun!”

“Yay,” one of the Novices said sans enthusiasm.

“That’s the spirit,” Jaina quipped. She picked up a piece of chalk and held it out. “Does someone who’s better at drawing than me want to prepare a Lifecycle Circle on the board for me? I’ll give you extra marks on your paper if you do it correctly on the first try?”

A number of hands shot into the air at that opportunity. As the girl she picked trotted to the front of the room and began to draw, Jaina rummaged through her lectern for supplies. She pulled out a bag of seeds and, walking through the rows of desks, dispersed them to the rest of the class, one for each Novice.

Hands-on activities, in Jaina’s opinion, were always the best way to keep a class of kids occupied and learning. For the remainder of the class, she had them attempt to put the information they’d written in their reports to actual practice by making a seed grow. And by the end of the session, all of them managed to have their very own sproutling sitting atop their desks.

Jaina took a seed for herself. She flipped the chalkboard down so that it was horizontal upon its axis, and placed the seed directly in the centre of the circle her student had drawn. “Don’t be discouraged if your seedling is small. I’m not the best at Nature magic, either. But remember, you shouldn’t force it to grow. You’re just trying to encourage it, to -- to -”

Someone slipped into the room via the back door. Jaina glanced up, looked back down at the chalkboard, then jerked her head up again to stare.

Sylvanas stood at the back of the classroom, her hood drawn, wearing her casual leathers and looking like any other Ranger on their day off in Silvermoon but for the distinctly stylised Windrunner crest embossed on her cuirass. A few Novices seated not far from her, twisted around in their seats, and she raised a finger to her lips with a wink. A murmur swept through the class, growing in pitch.

“Uh -” Jaina swallowed. She tried to focus on the seed, on the smudges of chalk on the dark rugged surface of the board. She grabbed a piece of chalk to correct the smear.

“As I was saying -” She set the chalk back down and tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear again. Lifting her voice to combat the sudden excitement of her students with their unexpected audience, Jaina said, “As I was saying, Nature magic needs to be encouraged. It’s about animating the life that’s already there, not about creating something new. You just need to give it a little push, and -”

Jaina held her hand out over the seed, closing her eyes and searching for that spark. It was such a small thing, but it brimmed with energy. She whispered the spell, and her eyes shot open when she felt the rush of magic flood through her. Magic poured upon magic, overflowing.

The seed erupted. Skeins of vines and branches burst forth, crawling and lashing upwards, curling around the blackboard until the plant was so heavy the wooden frame groaned and snapped. With a squeak of surprise, Jaina leapt back, but the seed continued to grow.

“Oh no,” she breathed, eyes widening as the seed boiled upwards. “Uh -? Stop?”

The seed strained at the ceiling, which started to crack, paint chips raining down onto the floor. Jaina snapped her fingers. She waved her hands. Finally, she stomped her foot on the ground and commanded, “Stop!”

A wave of energy rippled along the floor. Her voice echoed through the room like a clap of thunder. She was breathing heavily, and the pendant on her neck burned, cold, against her skin. The seed stopped, but a few more chips of paint and heavier debris -- shards of marble and plaster -- scattered across the floor in a haze of pale dust.

Coughing and waving her hands, Jaina turned. None of the class had moved, remaining in their seats and watching with glee. They broke out into appreciative applause, as if the spectacle had been planned purely for their entertainment. From the back of the room, Sylvanas watched with her arms crossed. Even from this distance, Jaina could see the amusement on her face, clear as day.

With a shaky smile, Jaina brushed a bit of plaster from her hair and waited for the clapping to die down. “Yes, alright. Thank you. Don’t do that for your homework, or your parents will kill me.”

She swept the front table free of dust and paint chips with her hands, and said, “Now, I want you to line up neatly, drop your latest report on the table, and then -- since I know you’re dying to -- you may each ask the Ranger-General one thing on your way out.”

Immediately, the Novices scraped back their chairs and rushed to the front of the room to hand in their reports, stacking them atop the table. With a one-shouldered shrug, Sylvanas strode forward as well to stand by the front door, fielding questions while Jaina tried to clean up the mess she’d made.

“Can you show me the Ranger salute?”

“Of course.”

“How many battles have you won?”

“I lost count about three hundred years ago.”

“Can we see Thas’dorah?”

“I would say yes, but it’s at home right now.”

“Miss Jaina refuses to tell us about the battle she was in.”

“And that’s Miss Jaina’s prerogative.”

“Do you two kiss?”

“Sometimes.”

“Gross.”

Jaina listened with half an ear. She grabbed up a piece of chalk and crouched on the floor. On her hands and knees, she crawled around the base of the tree that had sprouted in her classroom, drawing marks in a large circle all around it. When she had finished, Jaina pushed herself upright. Another whispered spell, and the tree shrank back into its tiny seed casing once more, leaving behind only the damage that she had done in its wake. She picked up the seed and glared at it, before tossing it aside with a sigh.

“What happened to not being very good at Nature magic?”

The Novices had all gone, their reports stacked on the table. Sylvanas was leaning in the doorway, grinning at her.

“You -!” Jaina spluttered. “You flustered me!”

Sylvanas looked as though she had just received a well-earned compliment. “Really?”

“Oh, shut up! Why are you here?” Jaina gathered up the papers along with the other stack she had brought with her to class, careful to keep them differentiated from one another by turning one stack at an angle.

Sylvanas pretended to brush dust off her cloak. “I just wanted to see your new offices. I thought we could grab a meal together. Chat a bit. You know. Wifely things.”

Narrowing her eyes in suspicion, Jaina grumbled, “Lunch?”

“At the venue of your choice.”

With a grimace at the rubble behind her, Jaina relented. “Oh, alright. But we don’t have much time before my next class, and I’ll need to see someone on the way to make sure this gets dealt with.”

Sylvanas gave a mock bow and offered Jaina her arm when she approached. Rolling her eyes, Jaina nonetheless took her arm. Together they walked from the second floor classroom, starting towards the stairs.

Ithedis fell into step behind them. “Trouble in the classroom again, my Lady?”

“No more than usual, Ithedis.”

“Oh, so that was usual?” Sylvanas asked. “I wish my classes had been as exciting when I was a child.”

“Well, maybe if you had a scrap of magical ability, they might have been,” Jaina fired back.

“Wounded. By my own wife, no less.”

Jaina sniffed. “Good.”

These days, Jaina hardly noticed any stares or whispers she received. And to be honest the amount of stares and whispers had decreased significantly over time. People had grown accustomed to seeing her around on a regular schedule. And with the fact that she was now receiving tutelage under both Headmistress Elosai and Archmage Antonidas alike as a Magistrix in her own right meant that others were wary of her more than anything else.

Except for the Novices, who didn’t have the sense to understand politics yet, and who enjoyed her brash human novelty.

Now however, on the arm of the Ranger-General of Silvermoon, the staring had returned tenfold. It were as if most days people could conveniently forget who she was married to, but having Sylvanas Windrunner striding the halls of the Academy reminded them of exactly that fact. Jaina quickened her step and led Sylvanas to her offices on the fourth floor.

“We won’t be a moment,” Jaina told Ithedis as she opened the door and ushered Sylvanas inside. “Why don't you grab something to eat?”

He nodded, as solemn-faced as ever, turning to leave as Jaina shut the door behind her.

Sylvanas was already circling the office. Hands clasped behind her back in that familiar officious pose she preferred, she paced the length of the area from one bookshelf to another. She stopped before a contraption with crystalline hoops that circled round one another in a constant dance, fueled by a series of enchantments that fed one another through perpetual motion -- not infinitely in the true sense, but long enough to serve as a mind-bending thought experiment for arcane mages, who were overly enthusiastic about mathematics.

“Not bad,” Sylvanas said.

“I made it myself,” Jaina said proudly. “It was actually an artefact to accompany my Kirin Tor ascension dissertation on bending the laws of thermodynamics through the use of time crystals.”

Sylvanas shot her an amused glance. “I was referring to the office as a whole, but yes. This -” she waved towards the contraption “- thing is very nice. It certainly...glows.”

Jaina rolled her eyes. “Thanks.”

“It is my usual praise for magic,” Sylvanas admitted sans any shred of apology. She crossed over to stand beside Jaina and lean her hip against the desk. “Always a crowd-pleaser.”

With a snort of laughter, Jaina placed her Novices’ papers on her desk. “To be honest, I’m glad. ‘Not bad’ is exactly what I was hoping for with my offices. So, thank you for that underwhelming appraisal.”

Sylvanas grinned. “Anytime.”

“Shall we go?” Jaina asked, nodding towards the door.

In answer, Sylvanas cupped Jaina’s jaw, rubbing her thumb against her cheek. Jaina went very still, but Sylvanas only murmured, “You have a bit of chalk on your face.”

The air felt too warm, even for Quel’Thalas. Sylvanas traced burning trails down Jaina’s cheek to toy at the high collar of her button down shirt, which obscured the bruises from the night previously.

“I see why you really showed up here,” Jaina murmured.

“Am I so transparent?” Sylvanas asked, following the movement of her fingers with her eyes as she flicked open the first button of Jaina’s shirt, then the second.

Jaina swallowed. “Only recently.”

Leaning in close, Sylvanas kissed her. Jaina tilted her head, bringing her hand up to cup the back of Sylvanas’ neck even as her own shirt continued to be unbuttoned. Sylvanas only opened the shirt enough to slip her hand beneath, and Jaina groaned into her mouth.

Sylvanas broke the kiss to say, “You’re still difficult to read.”

“I’ll never understand that,” Jaina replied, as Sylvanas nipped along her jawline. Angling her head to give better access, Jaina breathed, “No marks where they’re too visible, please.”

Stopping, Sylvanas kissed the skin she had just been lavishing with attention. “I have a better idea.”

“What -?”

Hand on Jaina’s sternum, Sylvanas pressed her back a step, then another, not pushing, just a steady pressure until the backs of Jaina’s knees hit the edge of her chair, and she dropped into the seat. Immediately, it creaked beneath her weight. Jaina winced at the noise.

If anything, Sylvanas appeared delighted at this new addition. “Do you think you can stay still enough for this to work without anyone hearing?”

“I can be quiet,” Jaina insisted. Sylvanas gave her an amused look. “I can!”

While they spoke, she moved her legs so that when Sylvanas knelt down on the floor she was kneeling between them. Sylvanas traced her fingers along the seams of Jaina’s breeches that ran up her inner thigh. “I suppose you can just cast a spell, if you prefer.”

Jaina shook her head. “Then anyone passing will definitely know something is going on in here. It’s the same with -” she gestured to her neck. “- It’s too obvious.”

“We’ll get you some concealer.”

“That -” Jaina had to pause and gather herself when Sylvanas stroked the crux of her legs directly over her breeches. “That would probably be for the best.”

Sylvanas hummed in agreement. She untied the drawstrings of Jaina’s breeches. When Jaina lifted her hips so Sylvanas could pull them off, the chair’s hinges gave a loud creak. The wooden surface was cool against her skin, and Jaina lowered her weight back down as carefully as she could.

Rather than take the breeches all the way off, Sylvanas left Jaina’s boots on and tugged the breeches down so that they dangled between her knees. She bent down to kiss along Jaina’s inner thighs. At the first scrape of those sharp teeth, Jaina twitched. The chair beneath her squeaked, and she had to bite her lower lip to keep from doing it again when Sylvanas began to dot her skin with blemishes.

Sylvanas took her time making marks all along Jaina’s thighs. She alternated between sharp bites and soothing kisses, taking skin into her mouth and drawing blood to pool just beneath the surface. Jaina had long since stopped trying to control her breathing, and instead grasped Sylvanas’ hair firmly in both hands in an attempt to keep herself from moving too much.

Nudging Jaina’s knees a little wider, Sylvanas tilted her hips to a better angle -- another creak, smaller this time -- before she leaned forward and placed an open-mouthed kiss over her clit. Jaina hissed. She swallowed back a sound, and kept her hips resolutely still as Sylvanas slowly lapped her tongue in a broad stroke against her.

In the past, Jaina had never gone searching for much information about sex beyond the basics. She had read a few books, mostly dry medical texts and the like. She had listened to the rowdy talk of her older brothers when they thought she wasn’t within earshot, and of sailors aboard ships who didn’t care to curb their tongue even around the Lord Admiral’s daughter. She had received a bald talk or two from her mother, each of them succinct and brook-no-nonsense, always straight to the point and never superfluous. She certainly didn’t remember ever hearing of this, except perhaps in veiled euphemisms that she didn’t grasp at the time.

Sylvanas’ tongue circled back around her clit, and Jaina’s hips jumped in spite of herself. Her legs trembled. She was trying to swallow down any sound she made, trying to remain motionless when every nerve ending was screaming for her to writhe against that wicked mouth. Sylvanas tilted her head to lap at a different angle, and Jaina could feel her lungs begin to burn. She gasped for air, panting to the ceiling.

When Sylvanas began to suck lightly, Jaina clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a loud noise, even as her other hand pulled at Sylvanas’ hair, insistent, trying to seek out more pressure. Sylvanas kept everything soft and light and evenly paced, grasping the backs of Jaina’s thighs and alternating the movements of her tongue until Jaina was keening into her hand, until she broke.

It took an embarrassingly short length of time overall. Soon, Jaina was covering her face with one of her hands, the other weakly tugging at Sylvanas’ hair to get her to stop. She couldn't see Sylvanas pull back; her eyes were squeezed shut, and she was still breathing heavily into her palm. She couldn't remember hearing much creaking of the chair when she had come, but then again Jaina didn't remember much of the last two minutes apart from raw snippets of motion and light and feeling.

A touch at the hand over her face as Sylvanas gently pulled it aside. Opening her eyes, Jaina grabbed the front of Sylvanas’ cloak and tugged her forward for a less than gentle kiss. She could taste herself on Sylvanas’ tongue. It sent another shiver racing through her.

“You need to teach me how to do that,” Jaina said when she pulled away.

Sylvanas rose to her feet and straightened her cloak. “Later tonight, then.”

Jaina paused in pulling back up her breeches and tucking in her shirt where she sat. “Wait -- tonight?”

Already Sylvanas was crossing the office and reaching for the doorknob. “I'll see you at dinner.”

“You're leaving?” Jaina blurted out, incredulous.

“Oh? I thought you had another class to teach?”

“I do, but -”

Sylvanas paused in the doorway and said archly, “Turnabout's fair play.”

--

Jaina had to wear concealer and high collars for weeks.

She took great pleasure in every lesson learned, and for the most part Sylvanas was a patient teacher. Except for the few times that she wasn’t. Like when Jaina reaped vengeance for leaving her in the office, and took an extravagantly long time to return the favour. By the time she finally gave in to Sylvanas’ urgent writhing and panting and not so gentle hair pulling, Sylvanas pinned her to the bed with a snap of teeth and repaid her in full.

It was only then that Jaina understood what sailors meant by “thoroughly fucked.” When she said that aloud, Sylvanas had laughed, the both of them still breathless.

After that, Jaina invented reasons to find Sylvanas whenever she could throughout the day, be it at the Anchorage or the manor. She would hurry through the day’s tasks and slip away as quickly as she could.

Sometimes she would only stop by for a brief kiss around concealed corners. Sometimes they would lock the doors of offices or side rooms for a few stolen moments of rushed fumbling at belts and buckles and the hems of long mage robes. Sometimes Sylvanas would push her against a wall and whisper Thalassian filth in her ear while Jaina rode her fingers and clawed at her back. Sometimes Jaina would kneel on the floor and Sylvanas was the one who had to stifle a cry to avoid detection.

Jaina didn’t think they were being particularly obvious about their newfound activities, but Ithedis was always conveniently elsewhere. And when he would find Jaina after she had composed herself and fixed her hair and clothing, he would usually have a small health potion vial or extra bit of concealer to discreetly hand to her. She didn’t always need it -- only sometimes -- but she was always very grateful that he had these little items when she did need them.

They still made a point of taking a day every second week off from their schedules to alternate between a sailing trip that only involved a few hours of actual sailing -- which also happened to be the length of time the potion’s effects lasted -- and a hunting trip that usually only involved hiking and never any actual hunting. The one time Sylvanas had actually managed to track and kill something, she had showed Jaina how to skin a rabbit, and the whole time Jaina had asked questions about anatomy and different skinning techniques, taking notes as she watched Sylvanas work.

Jaina was taking notes one such afternoon, letting Sylvanas steer their little dinghy. The sun glared overhead, and Jaina had elected to wear a broad-brimmed straw hat to protect her face and neck. The hat dappled her notebook with shadow and light. Her handwriting was periodically smudged due to a few calm waves. She would glance up to check that Sylvanas wasn’t doing something disastrous with the sail, or starting to go green around the gills.

In her other hand, she held the pendant. The gold chain glimmered between Jaina’s fingers. She studied it, sketching out a new set of runes that she had combined. Apart, none of them had worked in clearing the flaw from the stone, but together the seven runes might just do the trick.

She finished the new combination without any sense of triumph or satisfaction, pausing only to chew on the end of her quill with a thoughtful frown. Maybe this line needed a bit of tweaking? More water to clean the flaw? More water --

Before she could scratch another stroke of ink onto the page, the pendant flashed cold in her hand, a cold so intense it burned. A shockwave rippled outwards from the boat, smoothing every wave on the sea. Jaina yelped and nearly dropped the pendant. With a hiss of pain, she held it by the chain so that it dangled away from her skin. Her eyes widened.

“Jaina -” she heard Sylvanas say.

“I’m fine!” Jaina replied, a beaming smile crossing her face. She held up the pendant, clear of flaws at last. “I did it! Look!”

“Jaina,” Sylvanas repeated, sharply this time.

Jaina looked at her in confusion and concern at the nascent horror of Sylvanas’ expression. “What -?”

Sylvanas pointed over her shoulder. Frowning, Jaina turned in her seat. There along the far horizon: a bump in the perfectly otherwise flat ocean. Jaina squinted. Then she realised --

Going pale, Jaina whirled back around to find Sylvanas staring at her.

“What do we do?” Sylvanas asked.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean ‘you don’t know’? You’re supposed to be the one who knows what to do on the ocean! And what the fuck was that shockwave before?”

“I don’t know, Sylvanas! I don’t -! I’ve never encountered a tidal wave before! Certainly not one like -!” Jaina waved towards the wave rushing towards them, growing larger by the second.

“What did you do?!”

“Nothing!” Jaina insisted. She held up the pendant, which still burned so coldly it was difficult to even keep a hold of the chain. “All I did was figure out the puzzle! I cleaned the flaw! I was -! I was just thinking -!” She choked and felt an icy dread spill down the length of her spine. “More water,” Jaina croaked. “I was thinking ‘more water.’”

“Well, start thinking ‘less water’!” Sylvanas snapped.

But Jaina wasn’t listening. She was staring at the pendant’s stone, like a chip of perfectly translucent ice that gleamed in the sunlight. “I know what it is now.”

“Congratulations!” Sylvanas was tugging at some of the rigging and hauling at the tiller to turn their dinghy towards land.

“It’s a focusing iris!” Jaina proclaimed in triumph. She was grinning at the pendant. “And quite a good one, too!”

“How can something that small cause something like that?”

The wave had risen to a swell less than a mile off. From here, it was tall as Sunfury Spire, and still it hadn’t crested, remaining a massive wall of water rushing towards the shore.

Jaina shook her head. “Focusing irises aren't about strength, they're about clarity.” She clambered over the slats in the dinghy and grasped Sylvanas’ hand which was gripping the till in a white-knuckled grip. Sylvanas jerked her head around to look at her, and Jaina said calmly, “Turn the boat towards the wave.”

“Are you insane?” Sylvanas hissed. “You want to go towards it?”

“Trust me.”

Conflict warred across Sylvanas’ face. She grit her teeth, then swore under her breath in Thalassian. She turned the dinghy back towards the sea, and glared at Jaina, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Nope!” Jaina said cheerily, already scrambling to the bow of the little boat.

“That’s not what you’re supposed to say! You’re supposed to say ‘yes’!”

“I already told you: I’m a terrible liar.”

More Thalassian swearing. Jaina balanced herself shakily on the narrow prow of the boat. The soles of her boots nearly slipped, but eventually found a decent grip against the painted wood panels.

The tidal wave towered above them. It cast a shadow that blotted out the sun. Behind them, the water had retreated so far from shore that whole schools of fish were left, flopping and gasping, on the bared seabed. The rush of water had heightened to a dull roar that filled the air like a noiseless static, drowning out all else.

Jaina closed her eyes. She focused on her breathing. The pendant was clasped between her hands. It seared against her palms, but she only tightened her hold. A spell fell from her lips in a droning chant, and the stone scalded. She could feel the surge of water all around her, swift and suffocating and smelling of salt. The bow of the boat tilted, pushed upwards by the base of the wave, then stopped.

The wave extended like a wrinkle across the sea, and with the focusing iris in her hands, Jaina could sense the breadth of it as though tracing her fingers across the wrinkle in a length of silk. Slowly, methodically, she pushed down on one end, smoothing that ridgeline away.

With every second that passed, the focusing iris seemed to sap the energy from Jaina’s hands, like a needle drawing blood. She didn’t notice her hat being lifted away by a breeze. She did not notice anything apart from the eddies surging around her and beneath her, rushing out from her feet, draining away until she could feel the pull of the abyss yawning below, like a sea creature of legend guarding a treacherous pass from unwary ships.

The boat gave a violent jerk, and with a gasp Jaina fell into the water. Clutching the pendant like a lifeline, she struck out with her arms and legs, trying to swim for the surface. She opened her eyes, but the saltwater stung. She reached out one hand, groping for the surface, only to hit the sandy seabed.

Panic swelled in her chest, then. Jaina pushed off from the bottom of the seafloor and swam for what she hoped was the surface. Her clothes were heavy with water, and the sea tumbled her headlong, her energy sapped by the magnitude of the spell. Something grabbed her by the back of her shirt, and hauled her up.

The moment she broke the surface of the water, Jaina choked on a lungful of air. She was being dragged onto shore, and then she was dropped onto the warm sand. Coughing, Jaina wheezed for breath. She still gripped the pendant in one hand. She rolled onto her side and struggled to sit upright.

Something heavy landed beside her, and Jaina opened her eyes. The tidal wave had gone. The shore was not a ruin of its former self. The sea beyond was steady with smaller, perfectly normal waves. Their dinghy was nowhere in sight. And kneeling above her was a soaking wet Sylvanas.

“You idiot!” Sylvanas snarled. Her eyes were suffused with fury. “You complete, absolute, utter, fucking -!”

Rather than finish her stream of insults, Sylvanas seized the front of Jaina’s shirt and kissed her. It was a fierce and desperate kiss, all teeth and tongue and salt. Sylvanas’ hands trembled. Even when she pulled away roughly, she continued to grip Jaina’s shirt in her fists so hard her forearms shook.

“You had me worried,” Sylvanas said, sounding hoarse. She let go, but only to run her hands over Jaina’s cheeks, sweeping back the strands of wet hair that stuck to her face and brow.

“I had myself worried.” Jaina gasped. “Tides. Let’s not do that again.”

Sylvanas laughed shakily and shook her head. “Not unless it’s a very specific occasion. You have my permission to do that if Silvermoon gets invaded.”

“You won’t let me drown your capital city in a tidal wave?” Jaina pretended to tsk the way Sylvanas did, a faux admonishment even as she grinned with relief. “To think you’re the one always telling me I’m a spoilsport.”

“You’re not allowed to die,” Sylvanas cupped Jaina’s face in her hands. “Or have you forgotten? Your mother would kill me.”

Jaina’s answering laugh was breathless, and Sylvanas silenced her with another kiss.

--

Overall it took six months from the time she elected Lor’themar as Vice-Admiral for her to be truly confident in his abilities. She returned from a training exercise consisting of four days at sea, a bounce in her step. It was her birthday, and Lor’themar was proving to be an excellent protégé, even if he was several centuries older than she was.

“That was perfectly executed,” Jaina said as they stepped off the Dawn Runner together and back onto the docks at Sunsail Anchorage. “I can’t think of a single way you could have better avoided that raking fire along your stern.”

Lor’themar bowed his head, the two of them -- three, counting a very weary looking Ithedis -- weaving their way through a bustle of sailors. “I have an excellent teacher.”

Jaina rolled her eyes. “No flirting, please. I get enough of that at home, thank you.”

“And it’s been a noticeable improvement in the Ranger-General’s disposition, my Lady,” he countered, grinning at the flush that rose to her cheeks.

Clearing her throat, Jaina shot him a warning glare. “Don’t be too smug, Admiral Theron. Your captains still have a long way to go, yet.”

“They do everything I say to the letter.” Lor’themar nodded towards a few sailors that stopped to salute the both of them.

“Exactly the problem,” Jaina waved to a lieutenant she recognised, but kept walking. “They need a bit of mongrel in them.”

“Mongrel?” He repeated, sounding dubious. “In what way?”

Jaina’s steps slowed, and she came to a stop. People streamed around her, Lor’themar, and Ithedis as they spoke, the docks abuzz with six ships in the harbour. Looking back at the ships, Jaina said, “My father had a glass eye. Did you know that?”

Bewildered, Lor’themar shook his head.

“Well, he did.” Jaina continued, tapping her own left eye for emphasis. “Lost it in battle. Shrapnel wound. He was a captain serving under his father, the Lord Admiral at the time. They were losing, and the Lord Admiral called for a retreat from the flagship. My father lifted the telescope up to his blind eye and said ‘I don’t see any call for retreat,’ and kept fighting.”

Lor’themar frowned at her. “Did he win?”

“If he’d lost, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Turning, Jaina kept walking back towards the barracks. “The point is: we need to help your captains find their own bloody backbones, or they’ll be buggered six ways to Tuesday before they ever see a real battle.”

He chuckled. “Lady Proudmoore, I believe you’ve spent too much time with the sailors these last few days.”

She sighed. “Oh, you’re probably right. I should take a bath and wash out my mouth, while I’m at it.”

“Lady Proudmoore!” a voice called. “Lady Proudmoore!”

They turned to find a courier riding towards them. He was -- Jaina realised in confusion -- human, and a Kul Tiran no less. His clothes were ragged, and his horse panted, its dark coat lathered in sweat. He leapt from the back of his mount and raced towards her, fumbling at his belt.

Immediately, Ithedis stepped between her and the courier, hand at the ready on his double-bladed polearm, and shield raised. The courier stopped in his tracks, raising his trembling hands to reveal that he held a letter. Lowering his shield and weapon, Ithedis took the letter, but the courier did not leave.

As Ithedis handed the letter over to Jaina, she asked, “Where have you come from?”

“Lordaeron, my Lady,” the courier answered. “And before that, Kul Tiras. Stormsong Valley, more specifically.”

“You’re a long way from home,” she murmured, breaking the seal on the letter and opening it, expecting a birthday letter from her mother and perhaps a present awaiting her at home.

She skimmed the letter.

And then she read it again.

Eyes wide, Jaina looked from the letter to the courier. She stepped past Ithedis, and stood over the courier, her voice hard but her hands trembling. “How long since you left Stormsong Valley?”

“Two -- Two weeks,” he stammered, quailing somewhat.

Jaina didn’t notice she had balled her hands into fists until she felt the crumple of parchment beneath her fingers. Without another word, she turned and with a sharp gesture cut a portal in the air. Before Ithedis or any of the others could follow, Jaina stepped through, alone.

The portal shut behind her. Sylvanas was reading at her desk in her private study atop one of Goldenbough’s spires. Jaina stared at her, trying to get her breathing under control.

“You’re back early,” Sylvanas remarked without looking up from her reports. She turned a page. “Did Lor’themar thrash your little simulations again?”

When Jaina did not answer, Sylvanas glanced up, then did a double take. She dropped her reports atop the desk and rose to her feet. “What’s wrong?”

Pale and shaking, Jaina held up the letter. “My mother’s flagship was sunk off the coast of Falconhurst. The Zandalari have split the fleet and are besieging Boralus.”

“And Katherine -?” Sylvanas asked slowly.

Jaina waved the letter with a shrug. “Injured. She -- uh -” Jaina had to swallow down a wave of panic to keep her voice steady. “- She lost an arm. Her condition is stable, but she hasn’t woken up yet. Though, this was written two weeks ago, so I don’t know what’s happened since then. If she’s -- I mean, I’m sure she’s -”

She couldn’t bring herself to say the word ‘fine.’

Sylvanas grasped her warmly by the shoulders. “She has excellent healers. She’ll live.”

Looking down at the space between their feet, Jaina nodded. She chewed her lower lip ragged. For a moment, Sylvanas just squeezed Jaina’s shoulders before pulling her into a hug.

Something tightened in Jaina’s chest, right on the edge of completely unravelling. She closed her eyes and buried her head in Sylvanas’ shoulder, breathing in deeply. She could feel Sylvanas stroking her back, her chin propped atop Jaina's head. Slowly, her hands unclenched.

Sylvanas waited until Jaina’s trembling had stopped. Then, she pressed a kiss to Jaina’s forehead and stepped back. Blinking through a haze of unshed tears, Jaina composed herself. She smoothed out the letter and tucked it into a pocket. Meanwhile, Sylvanas sat back in her chair.

From a stand on the desk, Sylvanas grabbed a quill, but upon inspecting its blunted tip she tossed it aside in favour of another. The next had a nib so worn it may as well have been blunted. Swearing under her breath in Thalassian, Sylvanas pulled out a small dagger hidden in one of her knee high leather boots to cut the nib back into something suitable for writing.

“What are you doing?” Jaina asked.

“I’m going to write to Vereesa, informing her of the situation and giving her orders on her next actions,” Sylvanas explained. She tried cutting the quill nib, but the knife was fractionally not sharp enough, and she muttered to herself in irritation.

Jaina stepped forward so that she stood beside the desk, looking down at her wife. “So, you have a plan?”

“Yes,” Sylvanas grumbled at the knife as she glared down its damascus patterned edge. “We wait.”

Blinking in shock, Jaina opened her mouth but no sound came out. Finally, sounding strangled, she repeated, “We wait?”

Sylvanas’ brows furrowed. “Why does that surprise you?”

“Why does that -?” Jaina pointed to the door behind her. “Sylvanas, my mother’s ship was sunk!”

“And yet the Lord Admiral’s life is not lost. A ship is a ship, but she is safe,” Sylvanas pointed out, gesturing with the knife as she did so.

“We are letting them take the initiative,” Jaina countered. She could hear the tinge of desperation in her own voice, but could do nothing to stop it.

Sylvanas obviously heard it, too, for she gentled her voice. “We have an excellent position, and they have limited resources. Let them waste their resources, and then we can clean them up afterwards without issue.”

Jaina stabbed her finger against the surface of the table, emphatic. “This isn’t guerilla warfare anymore, this is pitched battle.”

“I know what a pitched battle is,” Sylvanas said darkly, her eyes glowing bright and intense. “And it is not something I will enter into lightly. They want us to fight them on the open seas. They know our fleet couldn’t hope to compete. I will not fall prey to their attempts to lure us into the open.”

“Neither of our nations can handle an attack like this,” Jaina insisted.

“You think I don’t know what kind of siege Boralus is capable of withstanding?” Sylvanas said. “I’ve seen your defenses, remember? The Zandalari could besiege that harbour for a year, and your people would barely feel the need to tighten their belts. You’re too well supplied by the other Houses. There’s no way they could completely cut Boralus off from the rest of the isles without launching a three-pronged attack by land and sea.”

“I’m not talking about external attacks, I’m talking about internal ones!” Jaina snapped. “The trolls won’t need that long before the other Kul Tiran Houses start to break away. The Ashvanes are salivating at the chance to undermine the Admiralty -- you saw that, too!”

Rolling her eyes, Sylvanas scoffed, “I saw a sycophantic cow licking your mother’s boots.”

Jaina’s voice swooped to a darker note. “Trust me, Lady Ashvane is far more devious than you give her credit for. She will consolidate power at the first opportunity. She will strike quickly if it means she has something to gain.”

Sylvanas paused to consider that. She leaned back in her seat and tapped the flat of the knife against her opposite palm, studying Jaina for a moment. “Four months, then. At which point, your mother’s power base will be irreparably damaged, and you will have very little to inherit except empty titles.”

She laid the facts out so casually, so matter-of-fact that Jaina’s mind reeled. Shaking her head, Jaina said, “Then I guess whatever we do, we should make sure it happens in less than four months.”

Sylvanas smiled, but it was cold and held no mirth. “That would be for the best.”

Reaching into a fold of her cloak, Sylvanas pulled out the whetstone Jaina had bought for her as a wedding gift. Jaina blinked at the sight of it. Sylvanas lifted the lid, which she placed aside on the writing table, and settled the stone before her.

“Sylvanas?” Jaina asked.

“Hmm?”

“Theoretically speaking,” Jaina began very slowly, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach even as she said the words aloud, “what would happen if I did lose everything except my titles? To us, I mean.”

Sylvanas went very still. She turned in her seat to face Jaina fully, and her tone was very serious when she said, “If you think that I would let you go over something so petty, then you are gravely mistaken.”

“I don’t think ‘petty’ accurately describes the scale of the situation,” Jaina replied dryly, though for all her feigned sarcasm she wrung her hands.

“No, I suppose not,” Sylvanas murmured. She met Jaina’s gaze and held it. “Nevertheless, I have no intention of ending this union regardless of what happens. Unless it was what you wanted.”

Jaina shook her head and replied, “No. That’s not what I want.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Sylvanas’ eyes gleamed with a hint of her usual teasing air. “Because it would seem I quite like you, Lady Proudmoore.”

Despite the solemnity of the situation, somehow Sylvanas always managed to make her laugh. A tired, begrudging kind of laugh, but a relieved one all the same. It alleviated some of the weight Jaina seemed to have swallowed ever since that courier had arrived, breathless, on their doorstep bearing portentous news.

It wasn’t a grand declaration of love, but it was exactly what Jaina needed to hear.

Sylvanas turned back to the whetstone and began to sharpen the little blade. As she worked, Jaina picked up the ivory lid of the box. “You still have this?”

“Of course, I do. I use it often,” Sylvanas replied, not looking up from where she was sliding the edge of the blade over the whetstone’s fine grain. Again and again. A smooth practiced motion.

Jaina turned the lid to read the inscription. It felt so odd to be able to read it at all, now; an oddly nostalgic reminder of how far she had come since that day in the shops of Silvermoon City with Ithedis.

“Prey hung is prey skinned,” she murmured the words in High Thalassian. What was it he had said the idiom was supposed to represent? Alternative solutions to a single problem?

She blinked. She repeated the idiom again.

One of Sylvanas’ ears angled towards the sound, but she only inspected the edge of her little knife. “I remember my mother used to say that to me when I was a child. Back when she would take me hunting in the Eversong Forest.”

“That’s it,” Jaina breathed.

At that, Sylvanas frowned in puzzlement and glanced up. “What?”

Jaina used the lid to point at her, “You once told me that if Zul’Aman fell, then the Amani would fall.”

“They’re not attacking from Zul’Aman, they’re -” Sylvanas stopped. The same thought Jaina had just a moment ago threaded its way through her head, and Jaina could see the realisation dawning in her eyes. A smile crossed Sylvanas’ face, slow and dangerous and predatory. “They’re not at Zul’Aman.”

A feeling of hopeful triumph welled up in Jaina’s chest. “No. They’re feeding troops and supplies to the Zandalari, and now they’ve revealed their hand.”

With sharp expert movements, Sylvanas trimmed the end of her quill and tucked the knife away once more. She dipped the nib in ink and pulled a fresh sheet of parchment towards her.

Jaina cocked her head to read over Sylvanas’ shoulder. “So, we have a plan?”

Sylvanas kept writing, a frantic scribble of Thalassian across the page. “We have a plan. We send the fleet in. All of it. We make an absolute spectacle of ourselves. And while they think they’ve distracted us, we have Vereesa take the real prize.”

Sylvanas tossed her quill aside onto the desk, where it blotted ink upon the wood. Not bothering to sand the page, she folded the slip of paper up and stamped it with the Windrunner seal on wine-coloured wax. Then, Sylvanas stood. Holding up the letter, she bared her teeth in a fierce smile. “How would you like to put on a thrilling performance with me?”

The wax seal was hot enough that it still dripped along the missive. Jaina had to tamp down the bubble of hope and fear in her chest. She couldn’t summon a smile, but her tone was firm when she answered, “I think I’d like that very much.”

--

Mustering Silvermoon’s full fleet and sailing to Kul Tiras itself took two weeks. And that didn’t include all of the other preparations that needed to be done.

Jaina’s first port of call was to invite Kael’thas to her offices at the Academy.

She and Magistrix Elosai rose from their seats when he swept into the room, his gold phoenix pauldrons no less resplendent than Jaina remembered. Ithedis shut the door behind him, and Kael’thas paid him no heed. Instead, the Prince smiled as Jaina and Elosai bowed to him.

“Thank you for agreeing to this audience, Your Majesty,” Jaina said as she straightened.

“Not at all! Not at all!” Without waiting for the offer, he strode to the spare seat beside Elosai across the desk, and sat. “I was on my way to Dalaran for business anyway. How can I help? Your office's look much better by the way. Very honey.”

Once he was seated, Jaina and Elosai resumed their own seats. Jaina was very careful not to let hers creak, and Elosai seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the news from Boralus,” Jaina began, lacing her fingers atop the desk.

Kael’thas nodded gravely. “My deepest sympathies. I hope your mother will be back on her feet soon. Though I must admit, I’m puzzled as to why you would ask me to here to discuss military matters.”

Jaina gestured between him and Elosai, “Actually, it’s about something the two of you can do for me. Magistrix,” she turned to Elosai, “how many mages did you end up sending to Boralus for the craftsman trade?”

“Sixty two,” Elosai answered without hesitation.

“And that’s what I’m here about.” Drawing in a deep breath, Jaina announced, “I need them. All sixty two of them, and any additional Magisters you can spare for the siege.”

There followed a stunned silence.

“I’m sorry,” Kael’thas leaned forward in his seat with a polite little chuckle, “But I thought I just heard you say that you need Academy mages for a siege on foreign lands. Surely, I am mistaken.”

Shaking her head, Jaina replied, “No, you heard me correctly, Your Majesty. It is standard practice for every ship to carry two battlemages and four healers. The enemy will have blanketed the surrounding area with a suppression field to ensure we cannot teleport in and out of the city, else their siege would be meaningless.”

“So, you want to use the mages already within the city, and strengthen your own numbers aboard the fleet.” Nodding in understanding, Kael’thas leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “While I applaud your tactics, Lady Proudmoore, I cannot help you.”

“I know this is unorthodox, Your Majesty, but -”

“Lady Proudmoore, this is beyond unorthodox. It is illegal. I simply cannot be seen to meddle in military affairs. It is out of my hands. I’m sorry.” He held out his hands, palms up, to drive his point home. “The law is very clear that -”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Jaina only just managed to hold back a groan. “I know. I know. And I wouldn’t ask if this weren’t important.”

“You did not let me finish,” Kael’thas continued with that same air of infuriating calm. He even turned his hand over and inspected his nails. “The law is very clear, my Lady, that I, as the Sovereign Lord of the civilian government, cannot order the Magistrix to do anything involving military matters.”

“Then how does that -?” Jaina cut herself off suddenly. She blinked. She looked from Kael’thas to Elosai. Slowly, she asked, “Magistrix, can I ask you a theoretical question?”

Elosai clasped her hands together in her lap. “You may.”

Clearing her throat, Jaina tried to sound aloof when she said, “Hypothetically speaking, if the Ranger-General were to, say, declare a set period of martial law, would Falthrien Academy fall under the usual civilian functions of government?”

Elosai’s eyes flickered to Kael’thas, as if searching for some kind of reaction from him. He pretended to fuss over his nails.

With a cool careful tone, Elosai answered, “Yes. While our government does not have martial law in that sense, I believe there are provisions for a Regent Lord to take control of both the military and civic branches. For a short time, of course.”

“Of course,” Jaina repeated, feeling slightly faint. This time when she shifted in her seat, she couldn’t keep the squeak at bay, and Kael’thas frowned at the source of the noise. “Uh -?” Jaina said. “How long exactly is ‘a short period of time’?”

--

“You’ve gone mad.”

Jaina followed Sylvanas through Goldenbough Manor’s foyer, carrying an armful of paperwork she had painstakingly gathered over the last sleepless three days. “Sylvanas, please. Just hear me out -”

Sylvanas stormed upstairs from the main floor, her cloak flaring behind her. She did not turn as she said, “I won’t do it.”

A piece of paper almost fluttered from the top of the stack in her hands, and Jaina had to snatch it back into place as she half jogged after Sylvanas up the stairs. “It’s -- oh, blast -- It’s completely legal! I checked over everything! I even had a lawyer go over it.”

“I don’t care if it’s legal. I don’t want to be Regent Lord,” Sylvanas growled. She continued up the next set of stairs, winding her way up towards her private study.

“It’s only for six months,” Jaina reminded her, pausing on the side of the stairwell parallel to where Sylvanas stood. She craned her neck back to look up at her.

“Forgive me. I should have been more specific,” Sylvanas drawled, pausing momentarily to grip the bannister and snap down at Jaina. “I don’t want to be Regent Lord for any length of time!”

Sylvanas quickened her step, taking the stairs two at a time, so that Jaina had to raise her voice to make sure she was heard as Sylvanas gained ground on her. “You said we were going to take everything! That we were going to make a spectacle of ourselves! Mages are great at spectacles!”

Sylvanas did not stop.

“We can’t use the mages without them being a part of the military, otherwise they’re hors de combat!” Jaina called after her.

When Sylvanas did not slow her pace, moving further away, Jaina yelled up the stairs, “We need more artillery!”

The sound of those footsteps stopped. Jaina held her breath, then hurried up the stairs to find Sylvanas standing, stock still, on the stairwell to the third floor. She was facing away, her shoulders tense, her long ears alert and wary, only the curve of her cheek visible around the wave of her golden hair.

Jaina slowed her approach until she stood just a step below. One of Sylvanas’ ears twitched, an irate flick, and she asked, “I can abdicate at any time?”

“At any time,” Jaina confirmed. She patted the stack of papers. “It says so right here, in clause one hundred and twenty two, subsection four.”

For a moment, Sylvanas did and said nothing. Then, she sighed. Her shoulders drooped. She turned and sat on the step, elbows on her knees and face in her hands. Not knowing quite what to do, Jaina slowly sat down next to her.

“And Kael’thas was alright with this?” Sylvanas asked, her voice muffled somewhat by her hands.

“It was kind of his idea.”

Sylvanas groaned. “Don’t say that. That’s even worse.”

Balancing the papers on her knees, Jaina patted Sylvanas on the back.

Finally, Sylvanas looked up, dragging her hands down her face as she did so. She stared glumly down the stairwell. “I’m never going to hear the end of this from the Council.”

--

Every ship had no less than five mages apiece. At night while the ships sailed towards Kul Tiras, Jaina was supposed to be sleeping in her officer’s cabin. Instead she sat at the small writing desk on one side of the cabin, reading by candlelight, while Sylvanas slept in the bed behind her.

The Dawn Runner creaked. The slat of arched windows along the stern admitted a pale sliver of watery moonlight. Beyond, the waves lapped against the hull, and she could hear footsteps above her, crewmembers maintaining their vigil through the night. They were sounds she was so accustomed to, she often fell asleep more easily with them present.

She went over her notes. Again and again. They had drawn the battle plan extensively on the larger sheets of parchment that were spread across the table of the Great Cabin above her, but she also kept more detailed figures and scribbles in her personal notebook. She and Lor’themar and the other flag officers had gone over the plan until they could recite it by heart.

Now however, they were less than two days away from Boralus, and Jaina could not for the life of her sleep.

She rubbed at the dark circles beneath her eyes, and blinked away a blur at the edge of her vision. Focusing, Jaina turned back two pages and started over from the beginning.

She didn’t hear Sylvanas’ approach, and jumped when she felt hands on her shoulders.

“You should sleep,” Sylvanas murmured.

“I will,” Jaina lied, turning her attention back to her notebook. “In a bit. I promise.”

“You said that two hours ago.”

When Jaina made no move to stand, Sylvanas sighed. Those hands began to undo her braid, slowly unfettering Jaina’s long blonde hair and running her fingers through it. Sylvanas pushed Jaina’s hair aside to lay a gentle kiss along the back of her neck.

“You’ll go grey if you worry like this all the time,” Sylvanas’ words were a brush of lips against skin.

In spite of herself, Jaina shivered. Sylvanas did not scrape her teeth or bite down, keeping her touch light. It became more and more difficult for Jaina to concentrate, and slowly she lowered the book onto the table, her head leaning to one side to allow Sylvanas better access.

“Come to bed,” Sylvanas whispered against her neck. Her voice held a slight husk that Jaina could never refuse.

Jaina let herself be guided across the cabin. Sylvanas pressed her against the sheets, gentle -- far too gentle for Jaina’s tastes. Not tonight of all nights, when it felt like she was carrying around an anchor with her wherever she went, a heavy dread that settled in the pit of her stomach and threatened to drag her down to the bottom of the sea.

Sylvanas took her time stripping Jaina of her admiralty garb. Every time Jaina tried to deepen a kiss, or rock against Sylvanas’ thigh, or clutch Sylvanas’ arms in a white-knuckled grip, Sylvanas would pause. She would soften the kiss. She would press a hand against Jaina’s hips to still them. She would stroke Jaina’s hair until Jaina loosened her grip.

Her limbs felt like liquid by the time Sylvanas slipped two fingers inside of her. Jaina whimpered into a kiss, against the softness of Sylvanas’ mouth and tongue.

Sylvanas fingered her slowly and gently, never increasing her pace until Jaina gasped, “Please. Please just -”

Sylvanas pressed the heel of her palm against her, allowing Jaina to grind down against that broad flat pressure. She did not speed up, no matter how much Jaina begged in broken whispers and mumbled half phrases, until Jaina came not with a cry, but with a relieved sigh, head turned against the sheets.

Trembling and breathing heavily, Jaina rolled over as Sylvanas lay down beside her. An arm snaked around Jaina’s waist, tugging her closer until her head was tucked beneath Sylvanas’ chin and their legs tangled together.

Jaina gave Sylvanas’ flank a weak squeeze. “I should return the favour.”

“Shh.” Sylvanas murmured into her hair. “You can. After we win.”

“But -” Jaina protested, even as he eyes grew heavy-lidded.

“Go to sleep.”

--

Early the next morning, Jaina was still a nervous fidgeting wreck, standing atop the quarterdeck. It had started to rain, and the slash of water against the windows their cabin had woken her. Despite the warmth and comfort of Sylvanas’ arms, Jaina had slipped from bed and gotten dressed, braiding back her hair, and going topside to pace.

Which meant that by the time their fleet met a section of her mother’s fleet, Jaina was drenched.

The moment she saw her mother boarding The Runner, Jaina strode right for her and did not stop until she had enveloped Katherine in a hard, desperate hug.

Katherine placed one hand around Jaina’s back and held her close. “You’re soaked, my dear.”

“And you’re alive,” Jaina breathed into her mother’s shoulder.

Katherine chuckled softly. “It will take a lot more than a few cannons to put me out of the fight.”

After a long moment, Jaina finally stepped away and led her mother towards the Great Cabin, where Lor’themar, Sylvanas, and Ithedis were waiting. As they walked, she stole a few glances aside. Katherine walked with the same surety she always did. By all appearances, she looked exactly the same, but for the fact that one sleeve of her admiralty greatcoat had been pinned up against her shoulder. Jaina swallowed at the sight and had to look away.

Katherine noticed, but said nothing.

When they entered the Great Cabin, Lor’themar bowed. “Welcome aboard, Lord Admiral. The ship is yours.”

“And a fine ship it is, too,” Katherine remarked, making a point of admiring the combination of elven and human craftsmanship. “Admiral Theron, I presume?”

Straightening, he nodded, “Indeed.”

“My daughter spoke very highly of you in her letters.” Katherine approached the planning table, giving Sylvanas a respectful nod. “General. Or should I say Regent Lord?”

Sylvanas grimaced. “Please don't.”

At that Katherine smiled. “I’m glad to see you looking well.”

“And you.” Sylvanas held out a hand. “May I help you with your coat?”

“Thank you, that would be wonderful,” Katherine sighed. Sylvanas stepped forward and helped her shrug out of the wet greatcoat, hanging it to dry on a rack by the door, while Jaina did the same with her own greatcoat.

The sleeve of Katherine’s white button-down shirt had been tied just above the elbow. As she circled the war table, she tugged the sleeve a bit tighter, though her full attention seemed to be on the plans and maps they had drawn up before she arrived.

“Right,” Katherine said briskly, pulling a few of the charts to reveal another map beneath. “Let’s get straight to the point, shall we? Tell me the plan.”

They told her the plan. In detail. Answering every query she sent their way with diagrams and charts and explanations until she at last seemed satisfied.

Eyebrows rising, Katherine’s expression shifted to appreciative. “I like it. Shall we send them to a watery grave, then? I feel rather vengeful of late.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Sylvanas said dryly with a pointed look at the half empty sleeve of Katherine’s coat, pinned up to her shoulder.

“Oh, this?” Katherine shrugged her shoulder. “Nothing a spot of tea can’t cure.”

At that, Ithedis, who had been silently guarding the door, opened it and said to the middy outside, “Tea for the Lord Admiral.”

Tea was served, but only Katherine, Jaina, and Lor'themar took a cup. Sylvanas demurred, and Ithedis shook his head when offered.

Tea in hand, Katherine sat with them around the war table. She gestured with her cup towards the maps. “You know this will only work if we win tomorrow. Zul'Aman will fall, but if we lose so too will Boralus.”

“Then I suggest we win, ma'am,” Lor'themar quipped.

Sipping at her tea, Katherine eyed him over the rim of her cup. She leaned to one side and said to Jaina without lowering her voice in the slightest, “I like him. Would you be terribly angry if poached him from you?”

Across the table, Sylvanas smiled and said in a politely tone, “With all due respect, Lord Admiral, find your own fucking officers.”

Katherine laughed.

--

Jaina did not sleep much better that night. She tried this time, but lay awake, staring at the dark-washed boards overhead.

They were all up early, walking the various decks, overseeing preparations. The dawn was a suggestion of light on the horizon through a blanket of cloud. The overcast weather of Kul Tiras had been the norm for a week now, and the elven crew members were bundled up in their fur-trimmed coats and cloaks, cursing the cold in their native tongue.

Sylvanas wore the cloak Jaina had made for her, a grey as steely as the sky above. She conversed with the mages under her command, dispersing information across the fleet through a series of portals that all branched from the flagship. Meanwhile Jaina stood with her mother and Lor’themar on the quarterdeck a few paces away, listening with half an ear to what the other two were saying.

She couldn’t concentrate. Her stomach was too busy trying to relieve itself of the breakfast Ithedis had insisted she eat an hour earlier. She worried her lower lip between her teeth and fiddled with the pendant at her neck, watching the familiar coastline for the sight of Boralus.

All too soon, it came. Jaina’s breath caught in her chest. She rose up on her toes to better see as they rounded the coast and brought the harbour into view. She had a suppress an icy lance of fear at what she saw.

Ships. Hundreds of Zandalari ships. All of them clustered in the harbour, shelling the walls.

Irrationally, Jaina had hoped the scouting reports had been wrong. Now, faced with the enormity of their circumstances, knowing what they could lose if this did not work, Jaina struggled to fight back a tremble from her fingers.   

In the distance, more ships loomed, forming a long line right towards their own. For a moment, Jaina tensed with apprehension before she saw the flags of the Proudmoore Admiralty streaming from the main mast.

Too late, the Zandalari realised what was happening. The two fleets, elven and human, linked together like a chain with the other half of Katherine's fleet, encircling the Zandalari ships against the natural harbour of Boralus.

As soon as the trap was sprung, Sylvanas barked an order over her shoulder towards one of the mages. The Zandalari fired their long cannons, but even their deadly accuracy was no good at this distance. Cannon balls splashed just out of reach, but close enough that Jaina flinched. Beside her, Katherine never even blinked.

Jaina made herself stand a little straighter. They had planned for this. They were expecting this. The only way the enemy fleet would escape now would be by punching a hole through their line and sailing through, but even that would force them to cross the T and expose their prows to a full on broadside assault.

So long as everything else went according to plan, they should be fine.

The Zandalari readjusted their aim and fired again. This time, their shamans imbued the guns, and as the cannon balls streaked towards them through the air, Jaina could sense the crackle of magical energy pushing their trajectory further.

As one, two of the mages on each ship raised their hands, their eyes flaring with blue light. The enemy fire slammed against arcane shields in a cascade of purple-white sparks, iron and steel shattering into pieces and falling into the ocean before reaching the ships.

Stalking towards the remaining three mages, Sylvanas snapped a series of orders in Thalassian, “Ready for the push! Who has eyes on the leylines?”

“They need another minute to prepare, Regent Lord.”

“I told you not to call me that,” Sylvanas growled.

“Sorry, General.”

Katherine watched the interaction with mild interest, asking Jaina, “Everything alright?”

“It’s fine,” Jaina replied. “Keep our distance. They’re not ready along the battlements yet.”

With a stiff nod, Katherine turned to Lor’themar and lowered her voice to discuss their next move. He nodded, then reached into his coat for a telescope, which he extended and then peered through.

“Just under four thousand metres, ma’am,” he answered whatever question Katherine had answered.

“Bring them in closer,” Katherine ordered.

Eyes widening, Jaina turned to stare at her. Lor’themar was already delivering orders to his next in command, the order flowing through the ranks, flags waving to notify the other ships.

“Mother,” Jaina hissed, stepping closer so nobody else could hear. “What are you doing?”

“Moving into position.”

“But they’re not ready yet!”

Katherine gave her daughter a tight smile that did not touch her eyes. “You are very intelligent, Jaina, but it’s obvious you haven’t seen a real battle before. We need to be in place when we’re needed, not after we’re needed.”

“But -!” Jaina bit back her objections. She grit her teeth and gazed out across the harbour at the Zandalari fleet trapped by circumvallation against Boralus.  

Another round of cannon fire. And another. Jaina couldn’t stop the flash of fear like a shock through her system every time they careened towards The Runner, only to be deflected once more. Though the distance was starting to close between them, the two fleets were still far enough apart that Jaina could not make out individuals manning the opposite ships.

“This feels so -” Jaina pressed a hand against her stomach as if holding back a retch curdling there. “- impersonal.”

“Trust me, my dear, it’s plenty personal,” Katherine said darkly.

“We have eyes!” Sylvanas called towards Katherine, Lor’themar, and Jaina over the sound of cannon fire and magic strike.

“In Common, please!” Katherine yelled back. “Some of us don’t speak Thalassian!”

Sylvanas repeated it again in Common, and Katherine nodded. “Take them away, then!”

Whirling back around, Sylvanas walked behind the line of mages, delivering orders with a stern expression, hands held officiously behind her back. One of the elven mages held open a line of communications with the rest of the fleet, as well as with the Magisters sequestered along the battlements.

Jaina held her breath. The enemy fleet were readying their guns again, and the pair of mages tasked with defending each of their ships were beginning to look strained. In the distance, the great walls of Boralus stood steadfast. She watched them in dreaded anticipation, waiting.

A crack appeared on the walls. A thin line of white.

Jaina inhaled sharply. The line spread, branching out, connecting at central points to create a spiderweb network of leylines that glowed and thrummed with arcane power.

“Now!” Sylvanas ordered.

Jaina had done the maths. Over and over, she had checked to make sure. Five mages per ship at seventy four ships. Two for defensive manoeuvres. Three for offensive. Including sixty two mages on the battlements. It was enough. Surely, it was enough.

She felt a speck of rain. Jaina looked up to the sky. Storm clouds brewed overhead, a concentrated churn of darkness directly over the enemy fleet. Thunder rumbled, followed by a flash of lightning.

The harbour boiled with waves, whipped to a frenzy by the rising gale. They were close enough now that Jaina could just see trolls scurrying across the decks of their ships, shouting, trying to trim their sail, trying to raise shields or counteract the spell with only two shamans apiece against the growing onslaught.

The leylines imbued into Boralus’ defensive walls seared with power. They created a barrier reinforced by mages and Tidesages that rose up into the sky, towering over the city and protecting it from the howling storm centred over the enemy fleet. Meanwhile, the Zandalari ships were swept further into the harbour, crashing against one another before careening against the walls themselves in a splinter of wood -- damaged, but not yet sunk.

The storm was already beginning to fade, the gusts of wind slowly dwindling as the mages’ combined strength faltered under the weight of such a spell. The human and elven fleet remained on the very edges of the tempest that darkened the sky, encircling the harbour like great sharks, waiting for the first hint of blood.

Jaina chewed at her lower lip until she tasted a copper tang. Over the gale, she could barely hear her mother and Lor’themar deliberating over the timing of their attack. At her side, Ithedis remained silent and stalwart, polearm in hand, shield at the ready.

Sylvanas strode towards her across the quarterdeck. She grasped Jaina’s shoulder, and asked, “Are you ready?”

“I - I need a second,” Jaina mumbled, unable to tear her eyes away from the ships battered against the walls.

“You don’t have a second,” Sylvanas spoke in a gentle murmur. “You need to act now.”

Steadying herself with a deep breath, Jaina nodded.

Sylvanas’ grip tightened in a comforting squeeze before she let her arm fall. “You’re going to do great. Just like we planned.”

Jaina could feel a fine tremble running down her arms. She swallowed, and turned back towards the harbour. Taking a step forward and another, Jaina approached the side of the ship until she was standing right at the edge, peering down the long drop to the water below.

Closing her eyes, Jaina reached up to touch the pendant at her neck. As she grasped at arcane magic, the stone seared against her skin, so cold it burned. It filled her to the brim with a savage clarity until she winced. Gritting her teeth, Jaina held it fast and scanned the dark waters writhing below.

There. A spark buried in the ocean’s depths. One hand clenched around the pendant at her neck, Jaina reached with the other, holding it out over the side of the ship. She stretched out her fingers and then grasped them together, seizing that spark for herself and wrenching it up to the surface.

She felt a great tug against her own chest, like pulling a line attached to her ribcage. With a shudder, Jaina tightened her hold. That spark rose up, rushing from the vast deep darkness in a blaze of crystalline white.

A wind rose from the south, billowing the sails, catching the edges of her greatcoat with cold fingers. She could feel the stone sapping the magic from through her hand, drawing out every last drop. The spark unfurled. Piece by piece, then all at once, a great surging wave that roared to the surface.

Ice formed along the water. Choppy waves curled into the air, and did not fall, hanging in place like snow-capped mountaintops. Jaina breathed heavily, eyes clenched shut. She could feel the snap of sleet at her skin even through the heavy layers of her greatcoat. The sea groaned at her feet into a solid sheet of ice that pinned the Zandalari fleet against the city walls.

“That’s enough.”

The words were a faint whisper at the very edge of sound. Jaina heard them as if through the shriek of blizzard. Arcane energy thrummed through her, drowning out all else until she could hardly breathe, until the ice seemed to well up in her throat and choke her from within. Something thick and warm dripped from her chin.

A hand at her shoulder made her flinch, but she did not open her eyes. She heard Sylvanas’ voice, “Jaina. That’s enough.”

With a gasp, Jaina released the spell. She opened her eyes. The entire harbour gleamed, a field of frost so thick she could march a battalion across it. Slowly, the water began to move again, and she could hear the ship beneath her fall back into the waves with a heave that made everyone on board stagger.

She caught herself on the railing. Looking up, she watched the ice recede all the way to the walls, then stop. The leylines continued to glow, the Magisters atop the walls holding the spell in place so that the Zandalari fleet remained, immobilised.

With shaking fingers, Jaina reached up to wipe at the blood that had dripped from her nose. She turned to find Sylvanas and the others at her with something like awe on their faces.

Katherine was the first to look away. Wordlessly, she held out her hand to Lor’themar, who immediately handed her his telescope. Lifting it to one of her eyes, she peered down its length at the enemy’s position.

“Admiral Theron.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

Katherine lowered the telescope and pressed it shut against her thigh with one hand. She handed it back to him. “Flank them broadside, and then blast these bastards back to hell.”

Lor’themar smiled, a fierce smile, and took back the telescope. “With pleasure.”

The ships closed in, pushed quickly along with favourable winds summoned by the mages aboard. Arranged in a long line, the began to fire and did not stop. Three hundred rounds of forty two pound shots every five minutes from each ship in a constant barrage that made the air shake from the din.

Great shards of wood splintered from the enemy fleet. Their ships all but disintegrated beneath the bombardment. Trolls were abandoning ship en masse. They clambered from the sides of their hulls or jumped off, scrambling away across the ice and fleeing towards land.

“Where are they going?” Jaina asked.

Sylvanas wasn’t even looking at where Jaina indicated when she replied, “North, to hide behind their trenching.”

“Then shouldn’t we go after them?” Jaina pressed. “Launch an attack by land! Chase them down and -! Why are you smiling?”

Sylvanas shook her head with a soft laugh. “Jaina, we won.”

“But Vereesa still has to invade Zul’Aman! And those trolls there are -!”

Sylvanas kissed her. Right there atop the quarterdeck in plain view. She cupped Jaina’s face in her hands and kissed her breathless until Jaina went weak in the knees and clung to Sylvanas’ shoulders.

Pulling away just enough to lean their foreheads together, Sylvanas repeated almost in disbelief, “We won.”