#I’m not sure if he’s a Ranger or one of the tower guard | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

silkendandelion · 5 months

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My Own, Distant Home (Completed), A Fears to Fathom: Ironbark Lookout fanfiction

Chapter 2 (END), ao3 link

Jack Nelson x Connor Hawkins Words: 16.6k Genre: Horror, humor, smut

"Jack thinks him a good guy, Connor, despite what others probably thought. He wasn’t particularly friendly, a bit of a short fuse, but he took his job seriously, and didn’t forget to wish Jack well, even among his rush for a solution. Some people would call that dedication. Jack decided, as he tied his boot laces, that it was endearing."

A romantic, creepy, canon-compliant retelling of the game's narrative where Jack and Connor are more fleshed out characters, and not immune to the emotional threads that form when your only friend is a voice on the radio—until he isn't.

Rated Explicit for sexual content, strong language, horror elements, frightening imagery and descriptions of violence.

Cross-posted to ao3, same username, here.

Cheers to rarepairs, and to all the people who had a crush on Connor during the game: I have heard you. If you like Firewatch, or Do You Copy, check out fears to fathom, you could play the entire series in a day but I liked Ironbark the best. Even if you haven't played the game, I'm sure this can be read alone for people who like horror and making love in a thunderstorm 💙

Chapter 1 (Below)

It was only a transfer.

Not usually a big deal, this other park needed to fill a lookout position urgently, and Jack was probably the best suited for it. Not only because his coworkers spoke highly of him, but because he had the RV, and relocating was as easy as driving down the road. When you’re this free, no wife, no friends, no obligations, 2 hours is nothing to go to the next job.

Yeah, he thought as his eyes wandered off the road to the side mirror, the endless blacktop behind him, the empty road in front of him. No obligations. Free.

So why did driving up to the trail-head make his stomach ache?

He blamed it on his last meal in civilization for the time being: a perfectly greasy, buttery cheeseburger, no doubt made by a certified home-cooked chef with hairy arms. He wasn’t used to eating out, eating so much, and in hindsight, the large coke was a bit of an Icarus move.

Just a bit of indigestion, nothing to worry about.

Not at all related to his walk to the gas station next door for cigarettes that was interrupted by a creepy local. The one leaning against his car and mouth-harassing his own hamburger, gossiping cryptically about big foot and missing kids like he was a Stephen King minor character. Real “you wanna watch out for that road” stuff.

The same missing kids on the poster across from the gate office. Gone without a trace, with no more search parties willing to keep looking after they lost some of their own people to what witnesses called “strange whistling in the dark”. Anyone saner, smarter, might have gotten back in their RV and not looked back. But Jack loved nature, and liked his job. Until he heard this strange whistling for himself, he had bills to pay and a guy named Billy to see for check-in.

The light to the guard shack was on, the door unlocked as he turns the handle. Worn out and road-fatigued, his brain hardly lends him the advice he should have probably called out to see if anyone was inside. His eagerness earns him a twin-barrel to the face, and a rightfully earned yell from both of them.

“You scared the piss out of me!” The ranger scolded him, and Jack fired back—

“Do you shove a gun in the face of everyone who sneaks up on you? What if I was a camper?”

“You can’t be too careful out here. There’s bobcats, bears and—wait, you say you’re not a camper? What are you doing barging in here anyway?”

“I’m Jack Nelson… Your new hire? Tower 11?”

“Well,” the mustached man regarded him with suspicion beneath his black cowboy hat. “Tower 11 is empty, but I didn’t hear about any new hire. Give me a second.”

“Oh,” Jack refrains from saying anything nasty, regardless of his fatigue, and puts up a patient, half smile. “Sure. Take all the time you need.”

He wandered out of the shack, back to the billboard with the missing poster, only half-reading the posted copy of the trail map he already owned when Billy came back out.

“You’ve been vetted. Sorry about all that, I don’t check my email as often as I should. You must be tired from driving, I’ll just take a copy of your ID and get the gate open so you can start the hike up to the tower.”

Billy was gone for only a minute before he came back, enough time for Jack to get his duffel and lock the RV. He handed back his ID, and pushed open one of the arms of the gate.

“… Hey.” He called before Jack could get passed him.

“Tower 12 is your closest neighbor, call him if you need anything. And don’t—I mean, do NOT go out further than maybe a 1/4 mile north of your tower on foot. Got it?”

“Uh, sure?” Jack gapes at him, unprepared. “Why?”

“It’s dangerous out that way. You’ve got bears, bobcats, all sorts of stuff.”

“Right… Thanks again, Billy. Goodnight.” He waved, eager to make some distance between him and this newest creepy local, and start wearing down the trail to his tower.

Did everyone in this town take etiquette lessons from a paperback horror novels? They were at least in the same book club, which actually wouldn’t be weird for such a small, quiet place.

The walk to the tower is easy, if a little cold by the time he crosses the creek. Tower 11 sits up against a nearby radio spire, lit up red and guiding him to the foot of his home for the foreseeable future. He knows to gas up the generator and crank it before he starts up the long flights of stairs to the top, and the tower cabin, small but not cramped, is a welcome sight.

The sheets on the bed are clean, free of holes and smelling of cheap detergent (ocean breeze something, he guessed), and the good burn of a wood fire seems to be baked into the panel walls and secondhand furniture. All his needed tools are haphazardly scattered but identifiable at a glance, and the fridge, beginning to kick on, is filled with old, freezer burned food.

Not rotted, there’s no unpleasant smell besides stale, and the room is otherwise well-kept, but he can’t help feel that the last occupant left in a hurry. Beside the bed lay a pair of abandoned wool slippers, and those go in the trash too.

All he needs to do is lay out his blanket and pillow to call himself moved in, and getting a fire going is even faster. He’s tying off the trash, waiting for the microwave to finish heating up a cup of coffee, when his radio, boxy and cumbersome on the little desk, clicks to life.

Static greets him before another male voice, deeper than his own.

‘I saw the lights go on. You copy, new guy?’

“Yeah, hey. I’m Jack.” He squeezes the receiver on and off as he sits in the old, steel chair in front of the desk, wiping a bit of sweat from his brow with the back of his arm.

‘Connor, Tower 12. Your new neighbor, I guess.’

A beat of silence, and then a click. “Billy mentioned you, just not by name. Nice to meet you.”

He hears Connor hum into the receiver, distantly wondering if it was a sound of irritation at him or something Jack couldn’t see. ‘Well, you got a fire started, that’s good. It’s good to see Tower 11 alive again.’

With a pause, his voice was friendly again, like whatever he was worried about suddenly resolved itself. ‘Anyway, don’t let me keep you. Oh, and don’t forget to submit your report before you go to bed.’

Jack suppresses his yawn with a wince—half headache, half ready for bed, and clicks the receiver. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

‘Get some rest, new guy, don’t let the bed bugs bite. Over and out.’

“Over and out.”

The radio dims with no open connection, and Jack forgets his coffee in the microwave when he can’t manage to avoid dozing off in the chair.

A few hours pass, midnight rolls upon the park and an unintelligible static rouses him from his sleep. He wants to investigate, his instincts whispering to him that something was wrong, something lurking in the forest beyond his tower, but an ache in his lumbar and the pressure in his bladder leaves no room for anything except the urgency to get comfortable quick. He stretches until his back gives a satisfying crack, and with a quick leak off the railing of the tower, he falls into bed without another thought.

NIGHT 2

On nights like this, Jack can imagine being a lookout forever, nipped by the last throes of winter on a chilly wind yet cradled safely between the warmth bleeding out of his tower and the hot coffee in his hands. Perched up high, nearly brushing against the clouds, the sunset seems brighter than down on the trail, all melted pinks and oranges that don’t begin to betray how in less than an hour the forest will be all but black.

The static of his radio breaks the silence.

‘New guy, this is Connor from Tower 12. Do you copy?’

He drops his empty mug among the dirty dishes from dinner when Connor speaks again. ‘Tower 11, do you copy?’

“Tower 11, I copy. What’s up, Connor?” Jack answers before he eases himself into the desk chair.

‘Son of a bitch! Nobody bothers to get a camping permit anymore. Do you have eyes on the smoke north of your position? Looks like it’s off the Lacey Trail.’

“Give me a second, I’ll check.”

He grabs his binoculars, is almost out the door when Connor’s opening the line again. ‘I need you to confirm.’

“You can hang on, it won’t kill you,” says Jack to himself while peering off the railing. Exactly as Connor described it, north of his tower, and near enough to likely be off the Lacey trail—a closed area—he spies the telltale white smoke of a campfire.

‘Do you see that smoke up north?’, comes the radio again and Jack answers with what he hopes passes for patience.

“I see it.”

‘Shit. People like that don’t clean up after themselves either, and fire risks are high this season. Do you mind checking it out?’

“I’ll head up there, and report back anything I find.” He rises to get his coat and boots.

‘Stay safe out there, new guy. Don’t forget to carry your bear spray. Over and out.’

Jack thinks him a good guy, Connor, despite what others probably thought. He wasn’t particularly friendly, a bit of a short fuse, but he took his job seriously, and didn’t forget to wish Jack well, even among his rush for a solution. Some people would call that dedication. Jack decided, as he tied his boot laces, that it was endearing.

Lacey Trail was several miles away on foot, no matter how close the smoke had seemed in the binoculars, and he pocketed both his bear mace and his flashlight before leaving the tower.

~*~

Unseasonably cold air nips through his fleece jacket, fingers already red around the knuckles as he fumbles to zip himself up. The beam of the flashlight bobs about over the dark trail, “3.2 miles” the optimistic sign had declared back near his tower. Only, the longer he walked, surrounded only by the icy wind biting on his ears and a deafening chorus of insects, the more it felt like “ETA unknown”.

A campfire lights the path around a bend in the trail, a match flame at the end of the path.

Whatever he wanted to call out, “hello”, or “get lost”, was cut off by the unmistakable sound of a man’s scream.

He makes no attempt to call back, taking off in a sprint towards the glowing campsite. The campfire in the center of a couple picnic tables and a tent illuminates the entire clearing between the trees, fresh wood popping, what must have been tossed in only minutes ago. But the campsite is empty. The tent’s open flap reveals a rumpled sleeping bag, the tables are crowded with an oil lantern, a battery-powered radio, and heaps of fresh food—but completely empty.

“Hello? Where are you?” He shouts into the dark with no answer. On the side of the clearing closest to the creek, a closed gate and red sign read ‘No camping allowed’.

“Are you hurt? Where—oh!” Jack coughs out a startled grunt, nearly tripping into the dirt over what he discovers is an abandoned flashlight.

His blood chills, colder than the unseasonable weather. Beyond the cautionary signs, where the darkness swallows the unkempt trail, drifts up the sound of a whistle. A human whistle, devoid of any recognizable melody.

It’s all he can do to stagger back, swipe an empty dinner pot from the picnic table and douse the fire with cold water from the creek. He tosses an unseeing glance over his shoulder, and is hoofing it out of the campsite and up the trail before the campfire has even stopped sizzling.

The cold air stings his lungs as he runs most of the trail back, hot blood thrumming into his ears and all but drowning out the insects. Were he less panicked, he would have heard over the sound of his own breathing that the insects had actually stopped, startled to silence by the looming shape in the treeline.

~*~

The glow of his tower beckons him home, and he scrambles his faculties to remember to grab firewood before climbing the steps, as well as relieve himself in the portable toilet beside the stairs. With what he witnessed, too vivid to not want to trust his own eyes but too strange to possibly be real, he wasn’t sure he would have the nerve to walk back down before dawn.

His radio flashes with an open channel, presumably Tower 12, and he sits heavy down in the metal chair. “Tower 12, do you copy?”

Beats of silence remind him his blood has yet to warm up.

‘Loud and clear, new guy. Sorry for delay, I was just cooking up some hot—’ Connor pauses, too much like Jack did when he thought he was being boring.

‘Nevermind that. What did you find out there?’

“The campsite was abandoned. Not a soul around,” Jack said, pushing down his nausea and the phantom sound of an eerie whistle.

‘Are you—’ A loud clang in the receiver, like a fork dropped in a bowl. ‘Kidding me? Son of a bitch. People like them are part of the problem, and on top of everything they run off.’

Jack fingers the sleeve on his jacket, realizing suddenly he had been too worked up to shrug off his fleece or his boots when he came inside. “I put out the fire, but there’s nothing else we can do tonight.”

‘No no, I get it… Thanks for checking it out, Jack. Tomorrow morning, I’ll report it to the authorities and they can take care of it.’

The words are out of Jack’s mouth before he can scold himself for being frightened in front of someone else. “I heard a scream. Honestly, I feel kind of bad for not sticking around to look harder.”

‘A scream? Probably just a red fox, they sound almost like a screaming lady when the rest of the forest is buzzing.’

Jack clamps down on a protest that it was a man’s scream, clearly no fox, then Connor is speaking again.

‘This is the third time this month. Ever since those kid’s went missing, there’s all sorts of rumors about the area being haunted, and we just can’t keep people out. Well, maybe I could, but not from this tower. I’ve got a job to do.’

The whistle is back in his mind, as vivid as Connor’s voice over the radio but, again, Jack keeps that to himself.

‘Well.’ Connor breaks him from his thoughts. ‘I’ll let you get to dinner, or whatever it is you do after you log off. Goodnight. Over and out.’

“Goodnight, Connor.”

2:27AM

He can’t explain what wakes him.

Nothing immediately seems wrong but he can’t begin to trust his senses, not with the greasy film that smudged his eyes no matter how hard he blinked, the heaviness of his limbs, and a sluggish mind at the helm, ripped from the deepest parts of his sleep cycle.

But even blind, dumb, and lame—he knew he was being watched.

Weak hands scrubbed at his face, trying to clear the sleep, until the room came into some kind of focus. Moonlight drifted in the one open panel behind his computer desk, casting the upright shadow of a—

His heart all but stopped. He squinted, unbelieving, blinking more at the peculiar silhouette painted across his front door. Unclear if it was man or beast, the sloped shoulders suggested humanoid but the shape of the head, wide with points that could be horns or ears in the dark made him unable to do anything more than stare.

Struck by a sudden wave of courage, he leapt up from the bed, throwing the blanket aside without certainty his legs would support him, and dashed to the light switch.

The shadow vanished with the incandescent bulb over head, banished by the light but lending no evidence as to whether it was some paranormal, hungry entity vulnerable to light, or something more secular afraid to be caught. Jack didn’t know which was worse, and standing alone in the center of his floor, he could finally hear how fast his heart was racing.

Whether by insanity or curiosity, though they hardly seemed different from where he stood, one of his shaking hands grabbed his bear mace while the other went for the door. The abrupt quietness of the night lent him courage where it shouldn’t, and upon venturing outside he was horrified to realize he was truly, tragically alone.

Or he was now.

Against the railing, and almost disturbed by the bear mace that clattered to the ground, was a skull.

Goat, from what limited knowledge he had, flanked by a few, worn, lit candles, and smeared across the ivory forehead with a red symbol he refused to get closer to identify either it’s shape or composition. He resigned to shove the door shut, slamming the lock’s hammer in place with no regard for the bear mace he abandoned.

“Tower 12, come in.” He tries the radio receiver, met with static. “Tower 12, can you hear me?”

More static and another beat of silence makes his stomach ache. “Connor, I need you to wake up.”

He’s never been so happy to hear the quiet click of another radio opening the line.

‘Do you have any idea what time it is?’

“This is an emergency.”

‘Are you okay? What’s happened?’ Connor immediately sounds more awake, like he’s sat up straight.

“Someone’s been on my tower, I woke to—I heard footsteps, it woke me up.”

‘Are you kidding me?’ Less composed now, angry but not nearly as when he vented about the campers earlier that evening. Though it was easily explained by the remnants of sleep clinging to him.

“I think they’re gone now.”

‘Did you see what they looked like?’

Jack’s mind raced back to the shadow, the beastly silhouette, and the footsteps that seemed to vanish when they passed by his door.

“N-No, but they left a skull on my doorstep. An animal skull, goat or—something, with candles, what looked like blood. Sick shit, Connor, I don’t—know—”

‘Take a deep breath, new guy. Let’s think about this rationally. You went and investigated a fire tonight, right?’

“… Yeah.”

‘So we know there’s unregistered campers in the area who don’t care about rules or regulations, probably bratty kids or college students. Suppose they wanted to get back at the fire watcher who doused their evening, it wouldn’t be that far of a walk. It’s just kids, Jack, don’t let it bother you.’

“You—” He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “You’re right.”

‘Did you happen to get a photo of the thing?’

“I didn’t think about it.”

‘No shame in that. It’s all right to be riled up, but it’s not okay to panic. Lock your door, try to get some rest. Take a photo in the morning, and we can file a report with the authorities.’

But no sooner was Jack beginning to calm down, the hairs on the back of his neck began to rise, his stomach tightening with the idea that Connor was only coming to the conclusion of what limited information he had.

“Connor?”

Sleepier now, the other man’s voice came back a bothered rumble. ‘Yeah, Jack?’

“What if it’s related to the disappearances? At the campsite tonight, sure, it was empty but I heard… I heard whistling beyond the barriers for the closed trails. It’s a heck of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

For all his neighbor’s frustration at being woken so suddenly, there was no doubt that he was fully awake now, deliberately staying quiet on the other end of the line as Jack waited for any kind of answer.

‘New guy… You don’t believe all those rumors, do you?’

Behind his ribs, Jack’s heart is back to hammering. “Nah. No, I mean. You’re right, it’s gotta be kids.”

Connor didn’t seem convinced, even for a disembodied voice. ‘I’ll tell you what. I’ll send someone to check on you tomorrow. For now, try to get some sleep, new guy. There’s nothing we can do in the dark.’

“Yeah… Thanks. Of course.” He rakes his hand through his hair like if it might knock his anxiety loose. “Goodnight, Connor.”

‘Goodnight, Jack.’

~*~

The skull was gone when he awoke the next morning. Nothing ever came of the report, and for a short time, the forest was quiet.

He’s gotten quite used to this little routine: submit his report, have dinner, say goodnight to Connor, bed.

Check the weather, put dinner in the oven, submit his report while talking to Connor, bed.

So they continued for days, falling into the comfort of predictability and looking forward to their goodnight radio checks.

‘Honestly, I envy you a little bit,’ said Connor one night while Jack posted himself up beside the radio, blanket around his shoulders and holding a hot mug of coffee. Probably not the best idea before lights out, but the warmth in his core more than made up for what his little wood stove lacked in power.

“Envy me? Why?” Jack sipped quietly.

‘You’ve got the RV, you can literally just pick up and go wherever you want. Hell, you did it once already when you relocated out here.’

“It’s… lonelier than I like to admit.”

Down in his cup, Jack could see the undissolved granules of his coffee lying along the bottom. With a quick swish, they’re gone and Connor speaks again.

‘While Tower 11 was empty, I forgot how nice it was to have someone to talk to.’

“You must really be desperate if you’re enjoying my company that much.” Jack found himself smiling, a bittersweet thing.

‘I should be the one saying that to you. Every day I call you to vent about these fucking campers, leaving their trash and shit. And you answer for me every time.’

He chuckled, unaware Connor was also smiling on the other line. “It’s kind of my job.”

‘Ouch.’ They laughed together this time. ‘You’re not supposed to agree with me.’

“Then maybe you should be nicer to yourself.”

‘You first, Jack.’

A comfortable silence falls over both sides of the radio transmission, twin smiles and the warmth of more than quick and dirty coffee between them.

‘You still with me? Sounds like you’re about to go any minute now.’ Connor said, soft and slow. If Jack kept his eyes closed, he could have imagined he said those words beside his ear.

“I think that’s all I’ve got, Connor.” He scrubbed at his eyes. “You get some rest too. Goodnight.”

‘Night, Jack.’

BETWEEN 2 AND 3 AM

A hand over Jack’s mouth bolts him awake, his entire body tensing as he grabs at the arm that holds him.

“Shh! Shh, Jack. It’s me… Its Connor.” He hears a familiar voice somewhere above him, and the blonde man comes into focus as Jack blinks away the last of the sleep. Moonlight shines through the open paneling, illuminating the side of his handsome, worried face, the width of his broad shoulders in a thin t-shirt.

“There’s something outside.” He looks briefly to the window. “Scoot over, Jack.”

He hardly has time to obey, let alone time for rational thoughts like What’s outside? and How is us both getting under the blanket supposed to help? before the other man is climbing into the single bed and pressing against him from the shoulder down.

“What are you doing?” Jack half demands, half pleads.

“Shh.” Connor hushes him, and he wants to relent—almost does—under such dark eyes, close enough to see they were brown in the dim light. “We have to be quiet, or they’ll hear us.”

“Who will hear us? Connor? What’s happ—mmf! M-mm,” Jack moans, startled, when their lips meet, smooth and wet like Connor had licked them before he leaned in.

His belly twinges, toes curling from only a kiss, and he might have been embarrassed if it weren’t for the hot outline of an erection digging into his hip. Connor’s tongue tastes of instant coffee, no doubt he himself tastes like cigarettes, but Connor doesn’t seem bothered. Not with how hard he is and the firm grip of his palm on Jack’s ribs through his old shirt, the way his thumb flicks at his nipple with little regard for how it makes him shake.

Teeth rake his bottom lip when their kiss turns deeper, hungry, panting hot into each other’s mouths as they work together to yank their sleep pants down to their thighs. A whimper jumps up between them as Connor’s hand clasps around them both, and Jack realizes it must have been him because when his thumb slips in the pre leaking from his tip—he makes it again.

The hand retreats long enough for Connor to lick his palm, but Jack knows he’s getting wet enough for the both them, so long as those capable hands keep pulling needy noises from his lips, pulling on his cock like that. Just like that, just how he likes.

“They’re gonna hear you, baby, you gotta be—quiet,” Connor pants against his wet lips. Jack wants to kiss him back, needs it, but he can do little more than leave fervid little moans against his tongue, joined by the spit-slick sound of Connor’s hand, warm and tight around them.

“I’m—s-sorry, Connor,” Jack fusses when the tightness in his belly finds the next gear, and for all his warnings, Connor is doing nothing to help him make less noise when he leans down to suckle at the side of his neck.

“Come on, baby, you’re almost there. Say it again,” he whispers warmly into his shirt collar. The rumble of him speaks to control, all whiskey and smoke, but Jack can feel how the rhythm of his forearm waivers, how the leg he has threaded under Jack’s begins to shake.

“C-Connor, get something to—Connor—”

Jack’s eyes throw themselves open on a gasp when he wakes, startled from the dream by the warm wetness seeping into the front of his underwear. He tries to sit up as best he can but his stomach quivers, heart thumping, as wave after wave of pleasant ache widens the stain on his sleep pants and steals his breath.

“For fucks sake,” he sighs, letting his body flop back to the bed when the feeling in his hands returns.

Awareness follows right behind his mess, and he flips the blanket away to hopefully spare himself the further embarrassment of taking the damned thing to the laundromat. But, even that was better than doing a spot wash in the sink, and having to tell Connor it was an Italian food incident when he sees it draped over the railing to dry.

First his waking hours, now his dreams. Connor filled his mind with thoughts of normalcy, the lingering ache of loneliness, and the insane idea of enjoying another person’s company. Such a luxury eluded him most days, a comfort he hardly believed could be found in these ominous woods.

Between distracting daydreams, some salacious, some sweet, and his immersion in his work, he almost forgot to be afraid.

~*~

The days that follow are easy but hardly quiet, not with Jack’s brain torn and oscillating between the paranoia of the encroaching forest—and his growing crush on his neighbor. His heart struggled under the stress of peering over his shoulder in the dark woods at every broken twig, just to be riled again by his nightly check-in. He began to sympathize with the rabbit his sister had when they were kids, perfectly still for all their fervent affection, until their veterinarian explained it’s early health problems were stress-related: poor creature was unable to distinguish their childish, heavy-handed petting from the musings of a predator biding it’s time to feast.

People had already disappeared. How long did he have until he was eaten too? Swallowed by the woods until all that remained were the tenets of skeptics and a ghostly whistle.

He busied himself with maintaining the tower, hammering down loose boards and checking the horizon repeatedly until the sun was long gone and the eerie quiet had settled it’s blanket across the forest.

“24.4 knots…” He murmured to fill the silence, as a flare lights up the north. Before he can go for his binoculars, the radio flicks on with an unfamiliar man’s voice.

‘Hello? Is anyone there?’

“This is Tower 11.”

‘Oh! Oh, thank god.’ The voice, a young man, shaking and unsure, comes over the line. ‘I’m lost and—I’m really starting to freak out.’

“Take a deep breath,” said Jack, his free hand opening the trail map on his computer. “Can you tell me where you are?”

‘I don’t even know where to start. I went out exploring and lost track of time. Everything looks different at night. The uh, the last trail marker I saw was by a stream, but I couldn’t read it from where I was. I’m walking west because I remember walking east to get here but… I’m definitely lost.’

“What equipment do you have?”

The hiker ignored his question, excited to finally be somewhere familiar. ‘Oh, man. I found the fork in the trail. But, I don’t remember if I’m supposed to go right or left to get back to the trail-head.’

“I have a map, let me take a look.”

‘Thank you.’ He says, but only lets Jack look for a few seconds before trying again. ‘Hello? Are you still there?’

“One more second, it’s all right.”

‘Oh. Oh, I see you!’

Jack looks to the radio, shocked to silence while phantoms of a predator’s fingers slip up the back of his neck, loosing shivers in his warm tower.

“What? What do you see?”

‘I hear you. You’re whistling to me. I’m right here!’ The hiker shouts, surely waving his hands above his head to welcome the unknown danger, and Jack’s thumb nearly cracks the receiver.

“Hey, HEY! That’s not me, I’m—”

‘What do you mean? You’re starting to freak me out—’ The transmission ends early, no crackling, no screams. Only silence, save for Jack’s breathing, his pounding heart.

Fuck.

He shoves the desk chair away, jumping up to grab his flashlight, and was two hastened footsteps from the door when a knock startles him almost to shout. Whatever possessed him to wrench open the door without a second thought, he hoped a well-aimed flashlight is enough to take them down.

“The hell are you doing in there? I’ve been out here knocking for awhile.”

His heart jerks, relieved, having never thought Billy would be the cause. “S-sorry. Was helping a lost hiker.”

“At this hour? Lord have mercy,” he drawled, his perpetually rumpled mustache shifting across his troubled frown. “Anyway—here’s your supplies. Just the essentials.”

“Thanks.” Jack turned away to set the box on the counter, when Billy spoke again. “I hear you been a little stressed lately. Everything all right?”

He never considered himself a liar, but Jack liked to think he knew how to pretend well enough to avoid suspicion about most things. Especially in regards to his own well-being. The smile that slips over his face is practiced, appropriately tired for the time of night. “It’s taken me a little longer to adjust to the new environment than I thought, but I’m getting there. Thanks for asking.”

Address the question logically, formulate a response from a half-truth. Acknowledge their concern. Easy.

Billy is so willing to not push the subject, it’s almost too easy. “That’s the spirit. Well, I won’t keep you. Get some sleep, Jack. Don’t forget to submit your report.”

He leaves as fast as he can without falling down the stairs, and Jack is happy to clap the door shut behind him. In the back of his mind, routine called to him, rubbing on his shoulders and offering him a cigarette after an exhausting day.

“Firewood, dinner, Connor in bed—THEN bed. Firewood, dinner, talk to Connor, respectfully, professionally, finish my report. Then bed.” He waved the flashlight back and forth anxiously as he wandered down the stairs, single-handedly determined to not have anything scary happen for the rest of the night.

If only he hadn’t gone for firewood.

The pile in the shack isn’t dwindling as fast as he anticipated with the weather warming up, and he makes a mental note to skip chopping more wood tomorrow. He balances the wood under one arm, flashlight tottering in the other as he leaves the shack—straight into another man.

“AH—damn! You nearly gave me a heart attack,” he pants when the bald man in clean coveralls doesn’t immediately move to disembowel him.

“No need to be afraid, son… I’m a worker, here for some routine maintenance on the radio tower over there.” The man’s flat, almost drowsy cadence is anything but comforting, too close to Jack’s liking of what he imagined a wax figure or mannequin to sound like, speaking slowly and quietly to not arouse suspicion of their sentience.

“Thought I would say hi to the new guy everyone’s been talking about.”

“… What’s your name?” Jack said as his hands flexed on the firewood, itching to run.

“Names can be deceiving. Call me Silas.”

“Do you always work so late?”

“Every Sunday.” A strange thing to admit, rather than lie about being up on the mountain so late for something so menial. “Just trying to keep the communication lines open. We must ensure the right messages meet the right people, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Right,” Jack said without hesitation, though he doubted he and Silas were talking with the same subject in mind.

“Absolutely. You watch for fires, but some fires are meant to burn. And no amount of prevention can stop them.”

His fingernails ache from holding the firewood throughout their conversation, and he can feel his heart beginning to thump against his ribs. “… It’s late. I should be going back. Goodnight, Silas.”

“Nature has plans,” he called after him, the intonation of his voice carrying without having to shout: an orator’s calm, suffocating inflection. “Ones even you can’t control. It will be cleansed.”

Upstairs, Jack shoved the firewood into the stove, both to relieve his stinging arms and to burn away the creeping dread that prickles at the back of his skull. Something is wrong with these woods, wrong with the people, from the supervisor who seems to have had his tongue stapled to the roof of his mouth, to the radio repairmen who spouted doctrine with the affect of a puppeteered corpse.

When had the woods he found such comfort in become so grim, promising only death to those who didn’t know when to run?

‘I can see the smoke coming from your tower. Don’t tell me you’re not in there?’ Connor’s voice, unbothered and probably craving his evening small talk, laid a calm over the quickly warming cabin.

‘Jack? Come in, new guy.’

“Here, Connor.” He lowered himself into the metal chair, pulling his jacket over chilled fingers.

‘Finally. Where you been?’ If Jack concentrated hard enough, perhaps he could sponge his blissful ignorance, or at least pretend to take refuge in the wrap of his arms. He couldn’t remember the last time he hugged anyone besides his sister, and most recently was still months before he left for the middle of nowhere.

“I went downstairs for some firewood and ran into Silas.”

‘Who?’ He says, half-muffled like he’s sat at the radio with his dinner.

“The guy who maintains the radio tower. Creepy as hell, spoke in riddles—I don’t think I actually saw him blink.”

The silence over the channel lasts long enough Jack reaches to flip the receiver on and off, hands skimming the metal casing for any sign the call had been disconnected, then Connor scoffs with some one-sided realization.

‘Is this about the other night? Tryin’ to yank my chain?’

Jack has to bite down on his lip next to bleeding to not fire back “I am not nearly funny enough to yank anyone’s chain, and if I was going to pull on anything of yours it would be your—”

‘That radio tower’s been out of service for ages now.’

His heart drops into his stomach. When he doesn’t answer, Connor continues to explain as if Jack wasn’t reeling, two seconds from puking into the receiver. ‘It was closed down right after I got here because a lightning strike fried it’s systems. Mitch said he would get it fixed next time there was room in the budget, but—well, you know how that’s going.’

“Then who did I just talk to?!” Jack shouts, too frightened to be embarrassed for his volume, and only hoping it didn’t hurt Connor’s ears or break their speaker.

‘Easy, Jack,’ replies Connor, too cool for the pounding in his ears. ‘Hey, you’re okay. Listen to me. This isn’t our first run-in with pranksters, is it? They got you again, but that’s all they can do. They’re not gonna hurt you.’

“He called me Jack.”

‘He knew your name? Do you think he’s been listening?’

“I don’t know, maybe?” He ran his hands through his hair, hoping to dispel some of the compounding anxiety of an imminent death.

‘Either way, we need to report this. Next time you see him, get a photo or his ID and anything else we can use to identify him. We’ll figure it out, Jack. Don’t worry.’

“Thanks, Connor.” His hands scrub down his face, he can not keep up this pace of being frightened and then having to convince himself nothing’s wrong just to keep from running into the woods and not stopping until he sees the road.

‘Call me if you have a nightmare, all right? I’ll put you back to sleep.’

“You asshole.” He can’t help the chuckle that sputters from his suddenly warm chest, hearing Connor’s smile through his cheeky tone.

‘Got you to laugh, didn’t I?’

Jack’s face is hot, he knows he’s blushing hard, and he summons the strength to not say anything too embarrassing (like “come over”) with a shuddering sigh. “Goodnight, Connor. Thank you… for everything.”

‘So sentimental. I like that. Night, Jack.’

The line clicks closed before Jack can chase him through the line, demanding to know what he meant, why his voice had to drop into the register that made his stomach flutter before disappearing from the face of his very, very small world. His suffering sigh rattles from his chest.

“I need to go to sleep.”

2 DAYS LATER

If it rains any more, his tower might flood.

All day, all evening, Jack had spent the majority of the day watching the shower soak the forest, ignoring the chores he tended to avoid anyway, and drinking far too much instant coffee because it was his only alternative to water. Although, he did get the spray duster out from under the counter, just to say he did.

“Maybe I’ll ask Billy to put some teabags in my next resupply,” he said, pouring out the last of his cup into the sink and picking up his cigarettes to take with him outside.

The forest below should look half-drowned after drinking all day, but it only sways elegantly in the gentle wind, not strong enough to push rainwater over the railing where it might disturb his smoke break. Tower 12 stands in the distance over the treeline, the soft, golden lights in the window suggesting Connor was taking a lazy day too.

Was he reading a well-loved, dog-eared novel? Cooking something warm and spicy? Maybe he fell asleep, belly full of warm food and blanket curled around his legs as the novel slips forgotten to the floor. Down into a deep sleep, the kind of rest what leaves him too warm when he wakes, hair rumpled and shirt risen over his middle to bear birthmarks or a secret tattoo.

“Jack, come back to bed.”

“Ah,” he grunted, sudden static from the radio ripping him out of his daydream. He presses out his cigarette, kicking over the ash tray as he hurries to his feet.

“This is Tower 11.” Silently, he congratulated himself for sounding perfectly professional and not guilty in the slightest.

‘This—does it—damn.’ Connor’s voice over the radio is smothered with screeching electronic snow, laced with intermittent words of increasing urgency.

‘Can’t—need h—Jack—can you hear—��

He whipped around to the window. The lights of Tower 12 hadn’t dimmed, but the persistent static and ominous, disconnected message chilled his blood. He gave no further thought to logical explanations, common sense could hike up the mountain with him if it really cared that much—and ran from the tower without changing his jacket to something waterproof and only his flashlight to protect them.

Above him, the rain pounds down harder, deafening as it pushed through the treeline to soak him, splattering over his trousers with every puddle he stomped across to get to Tower 12 as soon as he was physically capable, or sooner, even if it wounded him.

He reached the bottom of the tower not long after nightfall, expecting to be met with some sign of a struggle, but found nothing. Apart from the generator flashing a yellow warning light and the stack of firewood down nearly to nothing, there was no ripped grass, no gashes in the mud to suggest there had been anything unsavory in the woods that night. He tore up the metal steps anyway, two at a time, not convinced and not bothering to knock before he threw open the door—

And found Connor at the sink, half-dressed, the last dregs of shaving cream on his cheeks in thin stripes, steaming rag in hand.

He just stared at him.

Jack stared back.

“Can I help you?” Connor broke the silence, wiping his face clean and grabbing the henley draped over the back of his chair.

“You’re alive.”

“Jack?” He gaped at him, blonde head popping from his shirt’s neck hole to piece together the voice he knew with the grainy, black and white photo he had glimpsed on the staff directory website.

“Yeah that’s… that’s me.” Jack’s voice muddled down to a tiny murmur as the embarrassment threatened to melt him into two humiliated puddles inside his boots.

He really ran here, never-mind the several miles, ran here in the rain, dragging in water and mud like he was going to self-promote from fire lookout to ghost-buster with just a flashlight and some home-grown, grass-fed nerve. Death would have been kinder, he thought.

“God, you’re soaked. Here.” The towel that flies across the room to slap gently against his face smells like their cheap, provided laundry soap, with a thin vein of cologne, sharp and clean, a smell Jack suspected was baked into most everything fabric Connor owned.

“Sorry about your floor.”

“If I actually cared, I’d make you clean it,” Connor smirked at him, rummaging through his open duffel on the counter to hand over a sweater, boxers, and a pair of sweatpants of the same brand as the ones he wore himself. “Put these on, I’ll hang up your clothes by the stove.”

Jack changed obediently, careful not to spread his mess any further than his little corner by the door, and sheepishly offered his wet clothes for Connor to thread over hangers.

“You’re a mess.”

He thought to protest, finding he could only continue to rub the towel over his hair, a little like a nervous tick. “Feels like it.”

“So. You gonna tell me why you tore across the mountainside and threw yourself into my lap half-drowned?” Connor said as he leaned against the counter, arms—nice arms—focus Jack—crossed over his chest. But, for all his posture and words that spoke to some degree of scolding, he could only find warmth in his gaze, patient enough to hear every word of his reply with grace and an open mind.

“The radio…”

“The radio?” Connor went to flip it on, demonstrate how it crackled and sputtered before coming online, green light ready.

“My generator started giving me crap a couple hours ago, I thought the power surge might have killed it so I tried to call you. You didn’t answer, I thought you just couldn’t hear me.”

The embarrassment releases him in an instant, he’s suddenly back where he had been an hour ago, disoriented and tearing down the trail. “It was terrifying, you sounded like—you weren’t making sense from the words that did get through. I didn’t know if you were being murdered up here and calling for help.”

He scoffs, then turns away from him, towards the window. “Is this about the missing campers again? Because I’m not willing to entertain all of your theories right now, all right—”

“I was worried, Connor. Scared the shit out of me.” His words left him in a rush, hanging between them, the only sound among the hum of the fridge against the wall.

“… You came all the way up here—in a storm—because you were worried?”

Jack couldn’t bear to look up to see the extent of the confusion he heard in his voice. “It’s—just a shower, really. It’ll stop soon and I’ll get out of your way,” he mumbled and rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Weatherman says it’s gonna get bad. You should stay.”

The timber of his voice, softer, almost nervous, had Jack raising his head to meet his eyes.

“I’d like you to stay.” He offered, and the nervousness turned out to be more uncertainty, testing a boundary he wasn’t sure would welcome him on the other side. “I’ll feed you. There’s soup, a couple beers left in my stash. What do you say?”

Jack’s hands tightened in the damp towel, suddenly he struggled to breathe.

“I’d like that.”

Chapter 2 (END)

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ijuststareatstuffhereok89 · 2 years

Text

Nights at the Circus: Part XXVI

After a tearful (and sexy) reunion with Loki, you arrive at Old Forge and are finally able to put Phase 2 of Operation Firebringer into action. What secrets and stories will you find in the abandoned Hydra shelter? Once you discover the truth, it cannot be unlearned...

SERIES MASTERLIST

Content Warning: smut, oral f!receiving Word Count: 3k

It was up to you to rent and drive the car that got the four of you northward from Albany and into the mountains (you were the only one with a valid American driver’s license). It was a quiet drive, and at times it was difficult keeping yourself fully alert after such a restless night. Even Loki ended up drifting off to sleep next to you as you navigated the highway, so you could only hum along with the radio to keep yourself occupied. The sky had clouded over, and the gradient favored the ominous darkness as you progressed. Soon, the Mohawk valley gave way to the peaks of the Adirondacks. By noon, just as it started to rain, you pulled down a long, narrow driveway that went off into the trees just outside of the small hamlet of Old Forge, New York.

The campground wasn’t populated (it was off-season for camping), and the lone ranger standing at the front desk of the welcome center looked a little curious as you requested a cabin for two nights, but he didn’t inquire. You drove further up the dirt road until you pulled in by a small, clean, simple cabin tucked between two maples. Inside were two small bedrooms divided by a shared bathroom, a sitting room, a small kitchen, and a porch out front.

You all got in, out of the rain just as it began to pour harder, and settled in a circle around the sitting room to regroup and decide how to proceed.

“I can go into town for food while I look for the base,” Pietro suggested. “It likely won’t be too far from here.”

“Hydra likes to keep themselves close to villages for supplies, but just far enough to not be noticed. It may not be more than a mile in any direction,” Wanda suggested. “But I need to rest, I think.”

After Pietro set off, promising to return around dark, and Wanda closed the door to the smaller bedroom behind her, you found some tea bags and coffee filters tucked in a small welcome basket on the kitchenette counter. You heated a kettle and made tea for Loki.

“So, what happened?” you asked, taking Loki’s hand in yours.

“They’ve hired more people to guard the Tower at night, and one saw Wanda’s signal,” he explained. “The new men triggered every alarm they could lay a finger on in a panic. That was when they began to shoot--”

“--they fucking did what?!”

“Neither of us were hit. They didn’t have time to hit us, because that was when Thor came in,” he continued. “He acted as if he were responding to the alarm himself, and so he was able to distract attention while we jumped from a window.”

“You jumped from a window? Goddamnit it, you fool,” you whispered, amazed. “I’d better be the spawn of God after everything you’ve done for me.”

Loki chuckled and squeezed your hand. “I would have done it for you no matter what happens tomorrow.”

You blushed. “Are you sure I’m not just an excuse for you to go for a magic-laden joyride?”

He smiled. “That is merely an added bonus, my pet.”

You sighed and looked out the window, where sheets of rain were now pounding against the glass. “I wonder what it is.”

“What is?”

“The reason. For this, for me, for all of it,” you mumbled, sparking a small orange flame onto your thumb and manipulating it slowly around your fingers until it was sitting and flickering in your palm. “Something’s happening to me,” you added, suddenly recalling the moment in the stairwell the night before, where you’d started falling away into smoke until you stopped yourself.

Loki sat up straight, a look of concern in his eyes. “How do you mean?”

“I…I don’t know. I think I’m starting to break down,” you said. “I can’t do it now, but last night, I started fading away or something. Maybe it was just stress, but my hand started dissolving into smoke. Loki, do you know what that could mean?” you asked. He shook his head regretfully, and his face drained of color.

“Your gift isn’t seidr,” he answered. “If this is related to Hydra, or whatever venom they injected into Rogers, I am afraid I have no knowledge of it.”

You shook your head. “No, this isn’t like Steve at all. I can feel it, its different! I’m…I’m afraid, Loki!”

Your emotions rushed into your head like a breaking dam’s water, forcing all of your fears to the surface in an instant. You buried your face in Loki’s shoulder, letting tears loose. You could feel a large, strong hand petting your hair, when you realized you were sparking again, and he was trying to pat out the embers before they ignited and singed the sofa.

“Love, don’t cry now,” he pleaded, his voice barely audible. “You aren’t fading away. You’re merely reacting to stress. Even my magic slips from my grasp when something else has a stronger hold in my mind. It’s natural for even the most powerful of people.”

I would just rather not find out the hard way what happens if all of me turns to smoke, you thought.

You felt Loki caress your cheek, and you drew your gaze to match his. “I was so afraid you were caught,” you muttered. “I wouldn’t have gone on without you.”

Loki shook his head. “I would have wanted you to go on.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have!” you got to your feet, taking your empty mug over to the sink, turning on the faucet only to discover the water ran rusty. “Oh, gross.”

Loki quickly followed you over, and without missing a beat, tapped on the faucet three times, and in the time it took for you to register the sink glowing green for a moment, the water ran as clear as a flowing mountain stream.

“Thank you,” you quickly mumbled.

He wrapped his arms around your abdomen from behind, the scent of him wafting across your nose, and you felt calmer just breathing him in. “You are safe, Y/N, as long as you’re tucked here between my arms.”

You giggled. “And where was THIS Loki when I first arrived?”

“Ha, and who wants to know this?”

You rolled your eyes, smirking playfully and feigning a struggle against his grip. “He could’ve given a few tips to the Loki who kept skulking about my gym and throwing half-insults at me, you know.”

“Ah, but was it not Mischief that wooed you in the first place, darling?” Loki replied, his grasp on your body only tightening. “The dental surgeon’s chair in the middle of the infirmary…the alley behind the theater…the thrill of my touch reaching you in the most inappropriate of places while Rogers looked on with burning jealousy…would you trade all of that for a vicar’s saintly courtship?”

You turned around in his arms, pursing your lips in mock scolding. “Well, when you put it that way…”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you yanked him down to your height with enthusiasm, smashing your lips against his before coaxing one of his hands to your breast. Loki moaned into your mouth as you took your free hand and firmly held onto his growing erection, which his leather pants were doing absolutely nothing to hide.

Loki tore his face away from yours, his eyes suddenly ravenous with need for you. His eyes flickered their Jotun red as his sexually potent Ice Giant form responded to your signal. As his skin fell to blue to match, you couldn’t help but swoon a little.

“Would you trade having THIS inside you every night, for a lifetime of the missionary position in Roger’s trundle bed?”

“Never in a hundred lifetimes,” you whispered, trying to reach up for a kiss from his indigo lips. He was too tall, so instead he swept you up into his arms again, this time lifting you right off the floor, making you squeal.

“Shh!” he bade. “Wanda sleeps! You wouldn’t want to disturb her rest, would you?”

“You, who could soundproof a room with the snap of a finger, saying it’s on me to stay quiet?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe if you didn’t push my buttons so---oooh!”

Loki’s masterful hand found your breast again, and he was already playing with your perky nipple, the icy-cold of his skin making both of them hard to the touch. You greedily latched your mouth onto his, refusing to let go this time. He carried you into the larger of the two bedrooms, using a hint of magic to close and lock the door behind him before throwing you down on the bed.

“Take me,” you asked, breathlessly.

He stood over you, towering. “Tell me, princess, how worried were you for me? When I fell behind?”

You sighed and laid your head against the headboard of the king-sized bed. “I was so afraid I’d never get to have you again, Master. That I’d miss feeling your cock stretching me apart…” You began spreading your legs, but Loki had yet to get onto the bed.

“I know your desperate cunt never stops dripping for me, my darling.” He finally sat beside you, running exploratory hands up and down your body, up under the hem of your shirt. “Would you like to know how I felt? When I was in the Tower, thinking I’d been discovered? What it was that I wanted in that moment, when I hovered between life and death?”

You responded by beginning to remove your shirt, but Loki’s hand stopped you. “Not that. It was your eyes. All I could see were your eyes.”

You felt hot lightning shoot up your back as he looked at you, sincerity painted all over his face. “To never see your eyes gazing lustily at me again, hungry for me…or when they widen with surprise when I do this--”

He dove between your legs with no warning, inserting his face between your legs and putting his lips over your clit, where he began sucking gently. Your gasp was loud enough to wake the dead, but of course, it didn’t matter. Loki’s masterful mouth work was turning your lower half into jelly, weak and willing for more.

When he emerged from between your thighs after what seemed like several minutes, he was grinning madly. “I apologize for rushing to the chorus, but I’m absolutely craving you, princess.” As he tapped your collarbone gently, your clothes melted away into a tuft of green mist. “And now, Norns, how I’m besotted with your body!”

Loki took control of you, fast and hard, nudging your legs even further apart. Before he could climb on top of you, you noticed he;d stopped, and was just staring at your exposed twat.

“Loki?” you asked meekly. “What is it?”

“Look,” he said, pointing at your legs.

You hadn’t noticed that you were doing a nearly-full split for the first time ever. “You’ve finally done it. I knew I could train you well enough,” he sneered with pleasure. “You’ve become so flexible! So open to me…”

“Oh, huh,” you said nonchalantly. “Neat.” You rocked yourself up onto your knees before grabbing Loki’s torso and pulling your hips up to grind on his bulge, greedily. You were already soaked, but you needed more.

“I want to impale myself on you,” you moaned. “Let me ride you until you’re dizzy! Please let me.”

Loki’s ice-cold breath tickled your nose. “I cannot deny you, not now, not after we nearly lost each other.”

He laid back on the bed and let you maneuver yourself over his hips until you were completely straddling him. His dick was fully erect, pointing so far up it was peeking away from you, so you took it into your hands, giving three soft squeezes with your palm, before positioning your cunt over the tip of it. Instead of sitting, however, you took a moment to fiddle with Loki’s cock, letting the tip trace your lips for a moment until you felt an icy bead of precum fall from his tip.

“Now, who’s open?” you teased. “Do you want it?”

Loki grunted loudly, animalistic. “Uuuuhhh Nooooorns yessss….” his hips bucked violently against you as you taunted his dick. “Firebird…”

“Say it again,” you moaned, still only barely putting the tip of Loki’s cock at your opening. “My name.”

“My Firebird, my Princess of Embers…” he sighed, his orgasm building even without being inside. “You’re going to be so powerful--”

Princess of Embers…makes me sound like a fairy queen…I love it.

You finally sat down on Loki’s cock, coaxing the loudest, lowest groan you’d ever heard your love express. As you slowly inserted him inside you, you felt yourself expand in order to fully accommodate the massive member. Your own slow vocalizations of pleasure harmonized with his as you started rocking your hips in rhythm, a tempo Loki matched with thrusts of his own.

Your slick walls squeezed him and sent his senses shooting through the roof. Time and the world stopped around you as all of your focus went to your mount.

“Look down, look at yourself,” Loki requested. “I want you to see what you look like as you fuck me senseless…such a sexy view…”

Obeying you looked down at your grinding genitals, and as Loki promised, it looked incredible, adding to your heightened sensation and making your spine shiver. Reaching down, you began touching your button as you felt the final orgasm begin to well up at the top of your core.

“Keep playing with yourself…” Loki begged. You took your free hand to a breast, fiddling with the nipple in your hand until you threw your head back, hitting your edge, moaning in desperation as it took it’s time to explode inside you. You hollered louder than you thought you would, but now, you didn’t care if anyone heard.

Loki cried out, the sound of your pleasure being drawn out of you bringing him to his shared fall, causing several more pounds and thrusts as your slickened walls milked his cock dry. You rode out your orgasms as one, and eventually you collapsed over his chest as his skin ran back to a pallid beige.

“Well,” you sighed as you nuzzled your head under Loki’s sharp, graceful jaw, while he began running long, nimble fingers through your hair, “If nothing else happens tomorrow, at least I got to bone you in a cabin in the woods. That was worth the trip by itself!”

----------------

Pietro returned hours later, a grocery bag in tow, reporting that the base was underground, which meant it was most likely that the front entrance held traps and alarms. He explained that Hydra always built escape hatches for emergencies into their underground laboratories, and sure enough, he’d found a small passageway built into the side of a rock pile nearly two miles north of the town.

You spent the night recuperating (among other things, thanks in no small part to Loki’s soundproofing magic), and the four of you headed out at dawn, after attempting to eat breakfast (none of you seemed hungry…aside from Pietro who couldn’t help it due to his metabolism).

Pietro led everyone through the woods for nearly two hours before indicating a large pile of moss-covered rocks that, natural though they were, felt out of place. A small but conspicuous graffiti symbol was spray painted n the pile.

“Hydra,” Wanda said. “This is it.”

You shook you head. “Dumbasses.”

Loki sipped his hand into yours. “What?”

“That’s not a hydra at all, that’s a kraken,” you identified the symbol. “Idiots couldn’t even get their mythological monsters right.”

Loki chuckled. “Only you would point that out now.”

You threw up your hands. “Well, it’s truth!”

Wanda pursed her lips. “This back way won’t be trapped, but if anyone feels like something is wrong, everybody needs to be prepared to stop moving immediately. I will go in first.”

“And I,” Loki added, before you grabbed his shirt collar. “I’m going ahead with you.”

“No, you aren’t,” you snapped. “Not after the other night. You stay with me.”

He looked at you with a smile. “Yes, Mummy.”

You frowned. “Now isn’t the time for that!”

“Very well, Mrs. Kraken,” he replied. You could help but smile as he brushed a gentle finger down your hot cheek. “Be calm, and try to relax. This will be a good thing.”

Wanda stepped forward to the small door, no bigger than the one to a wine cellar, and began tweaking the lock with her magic. It didn’t take but a few moments before the lock popped, and the door was easily opened.

You looked down the steps as Wanda and Pietro began moving inside. “Are you sure you want to? That’s, um, really dark down there.” Your nerves were shaking, and it was evident in your voice.

“Then perhaps we need a torch?” asked Wanda from inside.

You turned to Loki and let out a nervous giggle. “Oh, right.”

You ignited your hair, keeping the light as low as you could, and you and Loki stepped through the door and began descending into the dank, mildew-scented abandoned base. You light was enough to see by, and you found yourselves following the Maximoffs down a long, cold corridor until you seemed to reach a large atrium, littered with broken machinery and papers.

“If this base is the same as Sokovia,” Pietro said, “Then the files and journals will be under here, on the level below.”

“Why would they make all bases lay out in the same way?” asked Loki. “That is rather uncreative.”

“Hydra can be creative in a laboratory, but they are not so much in other matters,” Pietro explained.

Following his lead, the footsteps the four of you made were the only sound, magnifying the sounds of each shuffle and step ten times louder to your ear than they were.

After Wanda and Pietro shoved a few bookcases that had toppled over off to the side of a large double-door, you found yourselves in a library, destroyed and in disarray, littered with yet more papers, folders, books, and boxes. The room was easily four times the size of your apartment back in New York…and there were even ladders leading up to walkways with even more possible-leads tossed about.

You looked to the others, who were all looking back at you with optimistic anticipation as you shrugged. “Well, if we don't start now, we’ll never find anything…”

---------------------------------------

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32 notes · View notes

twelvejdbsna · 1 day

Text

Another thing

Library of Knowledge, Written Artifacts Division, Aronary Sub-Division.

Description: Relatively small white notebook meant for recording the distribution of rations, spending of electricity and water, the actions of foraging units, and potential threats. Two hundred pages total, all written in with Aronarian ink. Text is written in Southern Aronarian script. Written by Rangers Eipuhk, Pried, Arei, Eikoir, and Keihuhk; their names are written on the cover. Written in 1492 ACW (After Celestial War). Given to an Escloan member of an exploration team who stumbled into Aronary by accident and brought to the Library in 1495 ACW.

Excerpt (translated into Central Iclinarian):

“Rangers Eipuhk, Preid, Arei, and Eikoir.

Dawn of 12/7/129-2

-Sent units 4–6 out to the north — told them to clear out as many fledgling hornet nests as possible. We can’t afford to lose more forest, especially not to the hornets. (Eipuhk, 3-23:48)

-Sent unit 7 to find the eikail pack, since they migrated during the night. Told all other units to keep an eye out for them, too. (Eikoir, 3-34:48)

-Moved the new couple to an apartment closer to a bunker — they said they might’ve heard the eikail by the southeastern bunker. (Arei, 3-47:48)

-Saw this — told unit 7 to go investigate. Told them to check for airir while they’re out there — we need the other units foraging to prepare for winter. (Eikoir, 3-50:48)

-Checked the hospital’s stores — they’re running low on just about everything. We need to send units out to restock. If they don’t find anything, we could always ask Epiai’s rangers for help. (Preid, 4-12:48)

-Epiai’s running low, too — they’ve been struggling since the Purge, with a third of their population gone because of the hornets. A few panicking eikail tore down some bunker doors — they and the people inside were killed. I’ve told units 8 through 12 to gather whatever they can find for the hospital, along with the water they’re bringing. (Arei, 4-21:48)

-Started organizing the school visits for the youngest kids and the training sessions for the older kids. The training sessions will happen around 5/8/129-3, and the visits around 10/8/129-3. I’m figuring out the specifics with the trainers and the school director — if any of you can come to the director’s office for about an hour, we won’t need to do so much rescheduling. (Preid, 4-34:48)

-Planning on making curfew start sooner. Our solar panels still aren’t working properly, and we’re already starting to get less sunlight. If we want enough energy to keep warm for the winter, we need to start saving it now. (Eikoir, 4-56:48)

-Unit 7 found the eikail pack in the southern fields, near the taproot forest. They got the idea to set up a camera nearby, so we’re not caught completely off guard when the eikail move again. We’ll need to put people on camera duty — preferably a double or a couple, so they don’t get sent out with their unit. (Eipuhk, 5-19:48)

-Unit 9 was nearly killed by an airir in the western fields. We’ll have to warn the other units before they wander in looking for resources, and keep a lookout on the western tower to watch for it. Hopefully we’ll be able to notice sooner when it leaves. (Eikoir, 5-49:48)

-The hospital barely has enough to keep Keihuhk alive — he hasn’t been conscious since yesterday — and we can’t afford to lose a ranger. We’re already struggling to manage things, and it’s barely been any time at all since the Purge. Two months and we’re falling apart. Keihuhk is — was — the one who kept us organized. He made sure we didn’t end up doing each other’s jobs, made sure we didn’t make bad decisions when things got worse (you remember how we panicked when the taproot got aggressive.) Either we ask other rangers for help or we let him die, and if any of you think the latter is acceptable I’ll throw you into the wilderness to freeze. (Arei, 6-57:48)

-Arei, this isn’t the place for arguing about Keihuhk. You’ve had no issues yelling at us about him ever since he got sick, so I’m not sure why you can’t now. We’ve been trying to contact other rangers for help, ever since you shouted at us to. You know we’re doing everything we can — you’ve always known. One thing that might calm you down — the hospital is getting more energy because half of unit 2 got mauled by a lone eikail before it was scared off. That means more energy for keeping Keihuhk alive, too. (Preid, 7-03:48)

-We’ve been doing well today, haven’t we? The last two months haven’t been terrible, either. I know things could be better — would be better — if Keihuhk was alright, but we haven’t been doing terribly. We’re all still alive — we haven’t lost any children or parents, which the other rangers can’t say, and we have a remarkably empty hospital. We’re all scared of what will happen when winter comes. One thing I know you’ll be happy to hear — Auʇok’s rangers have agreed to send aid. We’ll be getting medicine by dusk. (Eikoir, 7-34:48)

-Auʇok was the first city hit by Keihuhk’s disease, wasn’t it? I thought they needed all the medicine they could get their hooves on. Or have most of them died, and they couldn’t tell us? I suppose we’ll find out when their couriers arrive. I’ve told units 1–5 to start preparing for their arrival and to start lockdown now, before we forget. (Eipuhk, 7-49:48)

-The second I complain, this becomes a conversation log. Of course. I’ve sent out today’s rations — slightly reduced, since our foraging units haven’t had much luck. For Keihuhk’s sake (and our doctors’), I hope our Mother has mercy to spare for us. (Arei, 8-13:48)

-Can we afford for unit 12 to go on a daylight mission? They noticed a herd of sleeping eifah to the east of the northern forest. They couldn’t hunt them, of course — they were foraging then. We could let them rest until daylight, then send them out to hunt. Before any of you say “no, they might be diseased,” this is our herd — they moved south and further east before the Purge, but they’ve got our tags in their ears. If you’re still worried, we can test their meat before anyone eats it. (Eikoir, 8-28:48)

-Units 1–5 have finished preparing for Auʇok’s couriers and are nearly done with lockdown. All other units have safely returned to their apartments or are doing city-bound jobs. Eikoir, you have my approval for unit 12’s daylight mission. (As an aside, I think we’d all be glad if we made our messages here shorter, so as to not waste space). (Preid, 8-40:48)

-They managed to wake him up. The doctors managed it — don’t ask me how, they hardly knew themselves. Not for long, but they managed it. I was checking on unit 2 — they’re doing well — and the doctors rushed me and said he was awake. He was slipping away when I got to him, but I think he might’ve seen me. His eyes widened, and I think he tried to say something. The doctors said it could’ve been because of the new painkillers — the ones Epiai sent us before the Purge. Do we know exactly what we’re getting from Auʇok? We could save Keihuhk. We could save anyone sick like him. (Arei, 9-24:48)

-We shouldn’t get our hopes up. I don’t know what we’re getting from Auʇok, Arei, but we don’t know that the painkillers were what woke him up, or that they’ll cure him. I don’t see how they would — painkillers don’t treat pain, they deaden it. I know you’re desperate — we all are — but we can’t afford to think of anything as Keihuhk’s (or any person’s) salvation. We need to prepare for the worst. We can try to organize ourselves again. If the worst comes, we can split his work among ourselves. I’ve started making a plan for this — I want him to get better as much as you do, Arei, but it doesn’t seem likely. (On another note, I suppose we won’t be saving space). (Preid, 9-37:48)

-We need more ink. I’ve scheduled for unit 14 to get sap from the ink trees. We need to write less so we don’t run out until then. (Though, Arei, I do agree with Preid here). (Eikoir, 9-50:48)

-I’m preparing units 15–20 to get the farms in order come dusk. The hornets ate every last plant — we’ll have to start from seeds again. We should have at least one harvest before winter properly sets in, though. (And, before everything boils over, I think we need to have a proper discussion). (Eipuhk, 10-20:48)

-Checked on unit 2. The doctors don’t have enough to treat them properly, but they’re still doing quite well. We’ll probably need to assign more people to unit 2 — Eiʇdyr was slammed into a rock and lost a horn (and got a rather severe concussion — she may have fractured her skull as well), Reiʇhi may not walk ever again, and Aukoir was nearly torn in half. If possible, we should divert more energy to the hospital. We should be able to afford it, at least until dusk comes. (Eipuhk, 10-33:48)

-The hornets managed to break the sirens. I’ve gotten a few technicians on the job — unless they’re completely ruined, the sirens should be back in order before daylight. (Arei, 10-44:48)

-Do we have any paint left over from the Celebrations? If we do, we could organize a bit of mural painting for the kids still in school. It would give parents a bit of respite, and could give the youngest better directional markers for the bunkers. (If the older kids have the time, I’m sure they’d like to join in as well — we could ask the trainers about that). (Preid, 11-18:48).

-Got to reading messages — the outpost sent us a few. Everything’s going well over there, apparently — they didn’t lose anyone in the Purge, they took down most fledgling nests without getting stung, and they haven’t been sending as much timber because they’re still getting their equipment in order. They’ve sent the hornet’s wax to us. If possible, we should send a few technicians to the outpost come dusk — we need their equipment working now. (Eikoir, 11-30:48)

-We may need to replace our solar panels. The technicians have been working on them since the Purge, and they haven’t made any progress. Keʇed’s rangers reached out recently to say they could offer aid if ever necessary — we should ask if they have any panels to spare for us. If not, we could use some material for wiring — only some of the panels are ruined. (Eipuhk, 11-45:48)

-Power in every building except the hospital has been completely shut off. Get some sleep before daylight really comes. (Preid, 11-53:48)

…”

If you’d like to read the whole thing, you can check out a translated version on the Library’s website or ask a librarian to give you a transcript in the language of your choosing.

#creative writing #original story #writing #worldbuilding #don’t know what i’m doing

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mynameisjessejk · 6 months

Text

But In Our Selves, Pushing Forward, Part 7

The nights were short and the days were long, but the Rangers seemed to think that they made good time to Asharel, even accounting for Feyrith’s short legs.

Cael, Feyrith discovered, was as easy a traveling companion as Fel and Torna. He had a good voice and like to sing, keeping the time of the march and just passing the time, and he didn’t appear to have any awkward prejudices or odd hangups.

He also expressed no interest in his future, which made Feyrith predisposed to like him. It had come out, over nights around the fire, that Cael was from Asharel originally, and had spent his youth in the court until his father had been sent as ambassador to Halitos. He had, in his own words, “Run off to the Rangers shortly after that.”

Feyrith knew the Rangers were relying on his familiarity with the city and the court, though, and Cael proved it by announcing, “Oh that’s not good,” when the city became visible on the horizon.

“What’s not?” Torna asked.

“Banners,” Cael replied. “Royal protocol demands they fly the royal coat of arms when the king is in residence. That is the city flag.”

“I assume that’s what they fly when he’s not at home,” Fel observed.

Cael nodded. “It is indeed.”

Torna swore in elvish.

Cael’s head tilted, looking at the towers of the palace. “The Princess is in residence,” he said after a moment. “But I’m pretty sure that one means the Bishop of the Hunt is on pilgrimage.”

Feyrith tilted his head. “Who’s that?”

“Asharel’s patron deity is the Godking in his Hunt aspect. The Bishop is his chief priest.”

Feyrith nodded. He knew the new pantheon existed—the Godking, the Mother, the Lord of Seas and Skies, and Welcoming Death-because it had been their adherents who had sacked Eithel all those years ago, but he didn’t know how their worship worked.

Their feet had continued to carry them as they talked, and the city wall loomed up before them eventually.

Feyrith withdrew his blindfold from his pack, but things were startlingly quiet, so he refrained from putting it on just yet.

“No market today,” Grim observed, looking around the packed-dirt squares around the road to the gates.

“I didn’t think they ever closed down,” Cael said quietly.

“Who goes?” a young man in the livery of the city guard asked.

Fel’s hand flashed in more of the Ranger hand sign.

“Ranger business,” Torna told the boy, flashing her talisman.

The guard nodded politely, and gestured at the open gate.

Torna and Cael led the way. Fel cupped a hand around Feyrith’s nearer elbow, guiding gently. “Stick close,” he murmured, just for Feyrith.

Feyrith nodded. The air was heavy in the city, and the streets were quiet.

“It’s not church-day, is it?” Fel asked. “Or a feast-day we forgot?”

Cael shook his head. “Should be a work day. Where is everyone?”

Torna shrugged. “Split up?” she offered. “Grim and Feyrith go back to the cult’s meeting place, see if they’re there?”

“Why me?” Feyrith asked.

“It’s the old shrine to Asharaynor, and I’m curious to see if she’d talk to you,” Torna replied.

Feyrith shrugged. There had been scholarly debate, when he was young, whether Seers were naturally attuned to the voices of the gods or if they were chosen by the gods themselves. It hadn’t been settled before Feyrith had stopped having access to a library, but this would be an interesting experiment.

“And where are we going?” Cael asked.

Torna shrugged. “Find the people. City this size doesn’t just go empty.”

Fel’s hands moved in their sign, and Torna patted his shoulder.

Cael saluted, and then Fel guided Feyrith by the elbow in a slow loop back towards the wall.

“Sorry,” Fel said, “We’re in for the sewers.”

Feyrith said, “Yay.”

Fel huffed a soft laugh. “Just for a bit,” he promised, leading the way, and he was right. They were in the sewers a very brief time, and then he turned them into a very old brick tunnel, which opened into an equally old— or older— shrine.

“Huh,” Feyrith said softly. As Fel moved around the edges of the big room, exploring the signs of recent habitation, Feyrith walked straight to the altar. Something in him hesitated before putting his hands on it, but once he’d done it, tense and bracing, nothing happened. “Huh,” he said again.

“Anything interesting?” Fel inquired.

“I’ll keep you posted,” Feyrith replied, chewing his tongue absently as he prodded the sense of power that should have been in this place.

The altar to Inialos was in the half-sunk part of the great hall, and was underwater three-quarters of the year, and in the shallows most of the rest. When the water in the shrine ran, it was barely visible in the current, the same shade of stone as the rest of the floor. But even still, when Feyrith waded out to it, he could feel the touch of Inialos on the stone, feel the love of the people who had served him, and his love back. There was nothing in this altar. Inialos was still in Eithel; he was weak, and he was distant, and he was nearly powerless, but he was there.

Asharaynor was gone.

“Huh,” Feyrith said again, probing the empty place the goddes should have been.

“They’re long gone, and not planning to return,” Fel said quietly, coming up at Feyrith’s side. “They’ve cleared out entirely.”

“Asharaynor’s gone,” Feyrith replied. Out loud, his voice held none of the incredible confusion he felt.

“Gone?” Fel asked.

Feyrith nodded. “She’s not here. I don’t know where she is, but she’s not here.”

“Huh,” Fel said softly. “That’s sure a thing.”

Feyrith had to agree.

“Come on,” Fel said quietly. “Let’s go find Torna and Cael.”

Feyrith hummed his agreement. “Where are we meeting them?”

“Palace steps,” Fel answered. “They were going to talk to the temple, I think, and then meet us there.”

The palace steps when they arrived were empty and still, much like every street they had walked through.

Cael and Torna were therefore entirely obvious walking up the High Street towards them.

“Creepy, right?” Cael said easily as they approached.

“Incredibly,” Fel agreed. “Where are all the people?”

“In their homes,” Torna reported. “Mostly, anyway. Army marched out two days ago, Wiclef at their head, and the Bishop left on pilgrimage the next day, to pray for guidance and peace. Apparently a lot of folks went with him, and a lot more found excuses to go visit relatives in places far distant.”

“Why, though?” Feyrith asked. “Wiclef marching to war doesn’t affect them here.”

“Can’t you feel the pall in the air?” Cael asked him.

Feyrith frowned. “I thought that was just me.” He had often been over-sensitive to the moods of a place, and no one else had noticed.

“No,” Fel said quietly. “It’s not just you.”

“Probably most don’t even realize it’s something—just, have a thought and go visit Dear Old Aunty across the river.”

“But it is something?” Feyrith asked.

Cael nodded. “Smells wrong too,” he said quietly.

Torna asked, “What do you mean?”

“Smells like water,” Cael said. “A little like petrichor before a rain, but more like an underground lake.”

“Yes,” Torna agreed. “We’re right on the Colsay. Why’s that matter?”

“One, Asharel’s having a drought,” Cael said wryly. “And two, it never smelled like that before.”

“Hmm,” Feyrith said quietly, wondering what happened when a tutelary deity was removed from her homeland and considering, not for the first time, his prophecy of flame and wave.

“So,” Fel said. “To sum up: Things are weird here, the city is all but empty, the cult has disappeared, the king has ridden to war, and there’s no sign of the Avimiri prince we’re looking for.”

“Correct,” Cael said.

“Cult’s vanished?” Torna asked.

“Moved out of the shrine, anyway,” Fel said.

“And there’s no one important left in the city to ask,” Cael said.

“The Princess is still here, though,” Fel said, looking up at the bannered towers which marked the presence or absence of the royals.

Feyrith, already putting his blindfolded on in preparation, said, “She can tell us what we need to know.” Then he added, “I have no idea why I said that.”

“Well,” Torna said with bright false cheer, “I’m never one to turn down a message from fate, so let’s go talk to the princess!”

Cael groaned softly.

Fel, tucking one of his arms under Feyrith’s to guide him, palpably nudged Cael.

“She knows me,” Cael muttered despondently. “This is going to be terrible.”

“Sooner begun, sooner done,” Fel replied bracingly. “Come on,” he ordered gently, and started himself and Feyrith up the stairs.

Torna and Cael both followed, Cael still grumbling under his breath about one of the bonuses of having run away to Rangers being not having to talk to the princess anymore.

“This is creepy,” Fel murmured as they walked. “We should’ve been challenged at least a dozen times by now.”

Their footsteps echoed on the empty palace floors. Feyrith leaned more into Fel’s arm, not sure if he was trying to reassure or looking for reassurance.

“Last rumor had the princess retreating to the palace convent,” Torna said quietly, and her voice echoed in the way of empty places that were never intended to be empty. “There?”

Cael sighed. “Yeah, probably. Follow me,” he added, and changed their direction.

Feyrith, still trusting Fel with his navigation, reached into himself, trying to see why the princess was important. “Ask me why her,” he told Fel quietly.

“Why the princess?” Fel said immediately, always obliging.

“She alone has to power to bring peace,” Feyrith answered.

“Well,” Cael said after a beat. “I guess I won’t complain about her any more, then.” He sighed. “Okay, here we go. I can do this,” he said, taking a deep breath, and Feyrith heard him knock on a heavy, wooden door.

#jessewrites #but in our selves #nanowrimo

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mikecuenca · 2 years

Text

Trash Heap Souvenir No. 3

No. 3: 2002/2021. Tower Records, Tustin.

September 2021. The plane lands. I’d gone to Chicago to catch the Pumpkins in their hometown at Riot Fest. Caught their set right there in the front, only the guards and a barrier between us. Thunder and lighting and rain pouring. It was great.

But most of that trip I was feeling low. I was questioning everything: my relationship at the time, this training program I was in. I was aiming to get certification so I can work on film sets in key roles and be something more than a no-budget filmmaker who hasn’t gotten anywhere. I was concerned about too many damn things to list or bother anyone with now. I was not content. For every smile I had, two anchors appeared and weighed it down. But, hey, what else is new?

Waiting for Joey Halter to scoop me up at LAX I get a message from Charlie Bagcal:

Poul is dead.

A clip show races through my head. I thought of the crash, him punching me hard in the gut in a mosh-pit, us smoking weed out of an apple with Caroline, how we met. We had a falling-out when he was clumsily booted from our band, as it goes, back in the aughts. We didn’t talk for years and were friends again by 2011. And then he vanished in 2013. The last time we kicked it was during the RETURN OF THE JEDI anniversary screening at the Egyptian. He was a STAR WARS nut and we had a freakin’ blast. Parted ways. And then nada. Sometimes that just happens. People part ways and don’t reach out.

Last I heard he was living up in the boonies somewhere as a park ranger. But that information could be wrong. He was off the grid.

But everything changed after this striking news. For the best. I dropped out of the course, aborted ideas I had, made sure I got so busy that I couldn’t think about anything else, and I started to push my significant other away, picking fights when there were none to be had instead of maturely assessing the situation. But I don’t need to go into all of that.

Point is: Charlie’s message was a reality check.

“Time for decisions to be made.” – THE REPLACEMENTS, “Hold My Life”.

—

I first met Poul at Geez Louise in 2002. I was posting up flyers for my band The Fuzz Guns.

I worked at Tower Records. A job I really dug because I didn’t want to wear no stupid uniform and they didn’t make you wear a stupid uniform. I had been at the Virgin Megastore after Borders and they made us don their company tees and up-sell all the damn time.

And that ain’t me, babe.

“Hey, you want a copy of The Zombie Survival Guide to go with your ‘In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida’ digipack single? No? Well, how about this new arbitrary album that we’re constantly pushing even tho it sucks-ass and has zilch to do with your music taste, blatantly obvious by what you’ve set down on the counter? No? How about this George Clinton Chia-Pet? I’m sure it’ll look great in your home.”

One of the managers, “Up-sell, Mike! Up-sell!”

“Motherfucker, you just want to look good to HQ so they can see this store is doing better than the other stores and give you a promotion. You fucking weasel. Why don’t you up-sell my fist up your urethra Franklin?”

I never said that. But I sure thought of it!

Even in school, when Orange County had enforced school uniforms I flipped. I bought a shirt that said ORGASM DONOR on it. Here I am in seventh grade, not really knowing what that means, sitting in the back of the class as I usually did, proudly wearing that shirt. And then my teacher told me to turn it inside out, but she also couldn’t stop laughing. My dad eyed the shirt eventually and told me I’ll get far in this world.

I was by far the youngest at Tower (as always amongst my peers back then). And there was this dude, Darby, who I hung out with. Who was kinda cool. Kinda weird. My sort of cat. And there was a manager whose name I can’t remember. She kind of looked like Lara Flynn Boyle so I’ll refer to her as Lara. Lara was a chain-smoker. Always frowning. Always appearing as if running away from something that she consistently allowed to catch up to her, addicted to the game. This Tower was in the Tustin Plaza. And there was a dining area outside of it because of the Wahoo’s Fish Taco next door. That’s where the smokers went on their breaks. One day we see Lara in one of the chairs out there. But she’s slumped over. She’s passed out. The key tip-off here is the big pile of ashes building up from the cigarette in her dangling hand.

Darby pulls up next to me as I’m looking out the window, “Fuck.”

“What?”

“Shit. Fuck.”

Darby runs outside to wake her up before anybody could catch a gander. He shakes her and shakes her and she slowly begins to move. She was feeling sick. And had to go home.

Learned then that they both were junkies. And had been hooking up for a while. But no wonder I couldn’t connect with them when I tried to geek out about music: they were too involved with drugs to care about music. And music was my remedy.

“WHY ARE YOU WORKING AT A RECORD SHOP IF YOU DON’T CARE ABOUT MUSIC?!”

This triggers another memory. 2003. I was seeing this girl and she had flown me out to Philly on a trip. This was around the period I initially entered the insomnia realm. I was so goddamned tired. Her brother was a shady dude. And I was at her parents’ house, in the backyard, being antisocial and reading this big ass Oscar Wilde compendium. I had fallen asleep, sunk into the patio chair much how Lara was over at Tower. Her brother tells her to go wake me up before their parents noticed ‘cause I looked very suspicious.

She wakes me up.

“Are you okay? My brother thinks you’re on drugs. Are you on drugs?”

“No, I’m not on drugs! I’m tired. I passed out.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure! What do you think? I smuggled a kilo of heroin up my ass on a flight to Philly?”

Anyway. Do you know how badly I wanted to connect with someone with the same music taste? I always associated Darby with Darby Crash and I don’t remember if he even listened to the Germs. He was just a bit checked out when it came to tunes, like I mentioned. Eventually we lost touch. And the rest of the staff at Tower? This Brad dude who I thought I could bond with via our love of anarcho-punk (never heard him play the stuff but his backpack had a Crass patch and some pins) was a fucking dick. And every morning when he came in he’d blast Stevie Wonder’s “Superstitious.” Day in. Day out. Sometimes on repeat.

They wouldn’t let me put on any music at this place too even though I was married to the counter for it was an arranged marriage.

Tower used to rent out porn in those days, too. Man. There was this incredibly old dude who used to drop in every Tuesday, like clockwork. He’d rent a stack of Buffy the Vampire Slaver VHS tapes accompanied by a random anal sex vid. Never swayed.

Another time this other guy turned in a stack of porn tapes all bloodied up.

“Those are going in the trash,” Ernie said, eyes on, and distancing himself from the pile.

Ernie was a manager. Thirty-years older. Long haired. Beard. I mean, he had that Dennis Hopper/EASY RIDER look about him. Usually in a Grand Funk Railroad shirt. One day I managed to sneak in Suede’s DOG MAN STAR on the speakers.

He comes in, “What is this?”

“Suede.”

Grumpy, commenting on Brett Anderson’s vocal-styling, “Hmph. This guy listened to too much Bowie.”

He took Suede off.

Whatever, Ernie. But I liked Ernie. Something about him. Maybe ‘cause he reminded me of Hopper and I was a Hopper fan boy.

I saw EASY RIDER at the perfect age. Right when I was getting into punk. Right when I was questioning all this shit that the powers that be forced upon society. These guys in that movie had long hair and just lived each day, day by day, no reason to conform and do all the bullshit that the public demanded from them. Live free. Who cares? They were my heroes. And they get harassed for looking the way they do by the local yokels? Fuck off. And then Jack Nicholson? Now that guy steals the show. That guy is fucking cool.

I wanted to be cool. I wanted Ernie to think I was cool too. I wanted all those older rocker guys managing Tower to take me under their wings.

I tried to give them up-to-date news on the stuff they were into, to fit in:

“Oh, did you hear about that Sabbath reunion? And Tony, uh, Tony, um,” ---

I couldn’t remember Tony Iommi’s name ‘cause I get nervous unless I’m drunk when I’m talking about something I’m passionate about with people I look up to. And I stutter a lot.

“Yeah, Tony was all like—”

One of the older staff members, “Who the fuck is Tony?”

Ernie, “Tony?”

Me, “Uh… yeah. On guitar. The guitarist.”

Ernie, “This kid. ‘Tony’. What are you, fucking friends with him? You mean, Tony Iommi. Iommi, not Tony. These kids, man…” Turned to the staff, “Didn’t know them two were on a first-name basis.”

Everyone laughed.

Hey, he was right. These celebrities are artists, not your goddamned brunch buddy (unless they are).

Ernie would later inspire a record shop owner that Bobby works for in BOYS ABOUT TOWN; a segment we have yet to film but soon will.

And then there was this other dude. Punk guy in his thirties. Tall, spiky blonde hair with a ’77 Clash look. He was in a band called The Fakes. And he got wind that I was in a band too and asked me to join them on a bill. Our first real show! And he made this rad pop art inspired poster for the gig. 11x17. It was eye-catching.

This was the poster Poul was letting me tape to the store’s window. He takes a look at it:

“Which one’s your band?”

Enthusiastically like a total dweeb, “Oh, The Fuzz Guns!”

“Yeah? What do you sound like?”

“Oh, kind of like The Stooges and MC5 but more Standells and Seeds. Like, garage rock.”

“I like those bands.”

“Yeah, but our drummer sucks.”

“Really?” All self-assured, “Well, I’m a drummer.”

And that’s how Poul joined the band.

#trashheapsouvenir

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melhekhelmurkun · 3 years

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So anyways this is Irolas apparently and he’s my new husband, bringing the total to… 4? Is this number 4? Can’t remember. It’s a bad picture of him but it’s all I’ve got rn 😭

#look!#why are there so many pretty men in these movies #goddamn #I think it’s the hair #that’s the issue #it’s the hair they’ve all got long hair #damn it lotr for making me like men with long hair #lotr #irolas of gondor #I’m not sure if he’s a Ranger or one of the tower guard #I think he’s from the tower guard #either way I love him

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hellogoodbye14 · 2 years

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Veiled Silhouettes - Part 6 (Gwynriel)

Part 6 is all things gwynriel banter, an unexpected, protective and loyal pet and a jealous Azriel.

Side Note for Fic: This series was meant to have finished but because of a few requests, I’ve been working on continuing it. For the past two months its been a whirlwind streamlining the major story but I’m so happy with it now that its done. This fic will be updated frequently so rest easy loves. No more 2 months MIA sessions 😂

Gwyn felt Azriel come up behind her long before his front met her back. She instantly felt warm and blushed as the memory of words said in the morning rushed back at her.

Here?

She took a deep breath.

I will catch you.

She shivered as he leaned down. The breath from his lips dancing along the arch of her ear.

I have you Gwyn.

“Okay, good job Gwyn. Maintain this position.”

Gwyn shook her head a bit as she heard the words Azriel said in the now, penetrating her mind.

He frowned down at her a bit.

“Everything okay?”

She gave him a reassuring smile, “Yeah no, I’m good.”

He nodded then pointed towards the ranger near the eastern post.

“We need to cross the boundary near there and get into the keep.”

Gwyn peered around the bush to check whether the enforcers from earlier had finished their round.

“And Koschei’s second is inside?”

Azriel nodded.

“We get inside and we gather as much intel as possible.”

“Okay but how exactly are we planning to get rid of that ranger there?”

Azriel was silent for a moment and then the next words made Gwyn roll her eyes.

“I think we should knock him out.”

“Oh, so that when he wakes up he can harp to everybody that Night Court spies infiltrated the keep?”

“Yes, it’s a risk and any information we get may be compromised but you got a better idea?”

Gwyn bit her lip and gave the ranger in question a second look.

“We need a distraction.”

A “v” formed between Azriels dark eyebrows. His hazel eyes like dark honey, sparkling gold.

“What distraction?”

“Follow my lead, Shadowsinger.”

————————————————————————

This was a bad idea. No scratch that, this was a terrible idea.

His shadows wisped near his ears, urging him to settle down.

Settle down Singer….

No affirmation from his shadows would help him from worrying. Gwyn was strong and brilliant but if this didn’t work, she’d be surrounded by hundreds of Koschei’s guards in a second.

He leaned down behind the lovrata bush, just south of the eastern wall. He sniffed at the rustic scent of the flowers on it. Gwyn’s Ryget happened to be resting on his front paws in the bush next to him. The beast was ready to pounce if anyone would dare hurt Gwyn.

At first they were behind the same bush but there was barely any watching space. One had to watch through the limited space in the middle of its leaves. Anytime Azriel tried nudging Nero aside for a better view, the ryget growled and bumped Azriel away. Eventually Azriel moved to the bush on the side grumbling about the annoying beast who had attached itself to Gwyns hip.

Azriel watched Gwyn behind the tree. She was supposed to be stepping out any minute now. Gwyn paced back and forth, she was muttering something to herself.

Maybe she changed her mind? Azriel felt a rush of relief.

A second later, she bent down and shook out her long auburn curls before flipping them back over her shoulders. The move, Azriel noted was to add volume to her already glowing locks. She then pinched her cheeks and patted down her cotton wool dress before lifting the hood over her head.

Guess she didn’t change her mind.

Gwyn glanced at him from the distance and gave a two finger salute. It was his sign to get ready and climb the near tower wall while she was busy distracting the ranger. How she was going to distract him, he had no idea. But she said she had this and he trusted her.

Gwyn stepped out of tree line, and the guard raised his hand to the hilt of his sword for a second before dropping it. His eyes in wonder and Azriel could imagine why because he was pretty sure his own jaw had almost dropped to the floor. Gwyneth Berdara had transformed.

The waves of her hair were texturized and fluffed, her cheekbones shimmered like candlelight. But the thing which stood out was her walk. She walked with such grace, it wad as if she was floating. Her hips swayed to the rhythm of nature around her. It was absolutely entrancing.

Azriel always knew Gwyn was beautiful but like this? Absolutely owning her grace and beauty… she was a goddess. Her teal eyes imploring, she looked at the ranger.

“I’m so sorry sir, I’m a bit lost. I was wondering if you could help me?”

The guard shook his head a bit.

“Uh… umm. Miss, you are not allowed to be on these grounds.”

She raised both her hands as if in prayer, “I do apologise. Sincerely. It’s just that I am new to this court.”

She chewed on her lip a bit. The rangers gaze was focused just there.

Dipshit.

“No, no milady.” He shook his head again.

“You need not apologise. Where would you like to go?”, he asked, this time offering a kind smile.

Azriel saw her motion her hand to side, a sign telling him to hurry up.

He shook his head. Right. Climb the wall. Yeap.

He quickly started to scale the wall as Gwyn kept up conversation with him. The ranger had already told her the way but he was now sharing every detail of his life. Gwyn’s laughter echoed and he couldn’t help but pause and listen. His own shadows dancing to the melody.

“Those roses are beautiful milday, even better than the one’s in spring dare I say.”

Gwyn offered him a smirk, “Oh is that so?”

He offered a besotted smile in return.

“Yes, theres a few just near the river. Let me fetch you some.”

The guard started turning towards the wall and Azriel stilled. But Gwyn touched the guards arm and he instantly turned towards her.

“Oh no sir. You are too kind but it breaks my heart to see flowers broken.”

Azriel quickly finished the rest of his climb.

“Surely a beautiful lady such as you deserves beautiful flowers.”

Azriel couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Laying it on a bit thick mate.

Gwyn blushed and traced her foot in a half circle.

“Maybe you can show it to me the next time I stumble here?”

The guard offered her a bow.

“It would be a pleasure. My name is Unqet.”

“Im Rachel.”

He smiled at her and she offered him a sweet goodbye.

As soon as Gwyn crossed the side of the wall, and the guard went back to looking ahead, Azriels shadows wisped down from the roof and encircled Gwyn. He pulled on the leash and she was airborne. He quickly gathered her in her arms and his breath was knocked from him when she looked up at him smiling bright. Not the fake smiles dipshit got. This was the real one. The special Gwyn Berdara smile.

Her eyes were lighted up in excitement.

“Dude that was so fun!”

“Had a good time with Uncat?”

Gwyn snickered as Azriel put her on her feet.

“His name was Unqet.”

Azriel rolled his eyes, “No one normal can be named that Rachel.”

“I think its a cool name.”

“No. It’s really not. I dread to think what you’ll name your child.”

Gwyn pursed her lips.

“Rain, of course.”

Azriel just stared at her.

“Why do you hate your future kid?”

Gwyn snorted and lightly pushed him towards the stairs on the right.

“It’s a cool name. And what I meant to say was, your shadows giving me a ride was really fun.”

Azriel felt his shadows wisp higher, as if puffing their chests in pride.

Azriel gave her a smirk. A devilish one really. He tucked a loose strand behind her ear and leaned in close.

“The shadows and I are at your disposal for all kinds of rides.”

He could have sworn the freckles on her cheeks turned brilliantly bright over her blush.

She gave him a playful nudge while simultaneously rolling her eyes.

“You’re such a flirt.”

Taglist:

@the-lonelybarricade @meher-sumedha @hlizer50 @amb3rpanda @snickerdoodlechittybangbang @sv0430 @shisingh @chubbygabs @trashforazriel @imsointobooks @katekatpattywack @schnipperxd @kneelingsince2012 @vikingmagic33 @brieq @the-word-cas @gellybeangoogle @alexiaperdomo @earthofemily @sydney-fae25 @camreadsum @imwritingthesewords @almosttenaciousmoon @nestaspegasus

#acowar #acotar #acomaf #acosf #gwyn #azriel #gwynriel #shadowsinger #gwyneth berdara #gwynriel fic #veiled silhouettes #valkyrie

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theravenlyn-art · 3 years

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just poking some fun at myself because i realised that a lot of my favourite characters (if i had to pick ONE per series) have similar personalities.

i think it can be summarised quite succinctly by Jewel’s words “provoking wretch!” towards Sky (Towers of Illica, Ch 7)

—

extended quotes below the cut:

When he saw Lindal’s grim face and straining arms above him, he shrieked.

‘Be quiet!’ Lief whispered.

‘But the woman of Broome is lifting me!’ cried Rolf in horror. ‘How could you let her lift me? She and her kind are demons who dance on the bones of Capra! She is not worthy to—’

‘Shut your mouth, Rolf! hissed Lief.

But Lindal had heard. ‘I am happy to drop you if you wish, Capricon,’ she called.

Deltora Quest 3: Dragon’s Nest // Ch 17

... there was a tap on the door and Sky sidled into the cabin.

‘I have come with an urgent message for Britta the pearl thief,’ he drawled with a mocking smile. ‘Or should that be Britta the turtle witch, terror of the Silver sea?’

Star of Deltora: Towers of Illica // Ch 16

[Allun] dragged Rowan’s pack towards him. ‘You can spend your time usefully by holding the map for us while we look at it again.’

‘We have seen the way we must go,’ frowned Bronden. ‘We do not need the map.’

‘Ah, youth, youth! You must not forget that I am three years older than you, Bronden,’ smiled Allun. ‘And my poor memory is failing fast.’

Rowan of Rin // Ch 6

‘Rescuing your prisoners was not my main task, you know. The slays on the lower floor are all dead, Kyte—as dead as the real Vrett, whose name badge I used to make a fool of you.’

‘As dead as you are about to be!’ Kyte shrieked, her eyes blazing with rage.

‘Ah!’ Sholto raised one eyebrow. ‘Does this mean your kind invitation to breakfast no longer stands?’

The Three Doors: The Silver Door // Ch 26

One of the guards rode close to Gilan. He had lost three friends to the Rangers’ arrows during the attack that morning and he took every opportunity now to crack his spear shaft painfully across the Ranger’s shoulders and back. The fourth time he did so, Gilan turned and looked up at him with a peculiar smile.

‘What are you looking at, foreigner?’ the guard demanded roughly. The smile was a little unsettling. A prisoner shouldn’t smile at his captors like that, he thought.

‘I’m just making sure I can remember you,’ Gilan told him. ‘Never know when that might be useful.’

Ranger’s Apprentice: Erak’s Ransom // Ch 36

Tsukishima: *pulls off an insane block*

Hinata: Tsukishima :D!!! That one point was worth one hundred points!

Tsukishima: If you’re a middle blocker, you try it too :)

Haikyuu! // S03 E04

Cyber Controller: What is your name?

Ten: I’m The Doctor

Cyber Controller: A redundant title. Doctor’s need not exist. Cybermen never sick.

Ten: Yeah but that’s it! That’s exactly the point! Oh, you’re a clever man. I’d call you a genius, except I’m in the room—but everything you invented you did to fight your sickness, and that’s brilliant! That is so human!

Doctor Who // S02 E06

Viren: We are here to discuss some rather weighty matters. Will your regent be joining us soon?

Aanya: I speak for myself now, and for my people.

Viren: Yes... this is a very serious situation... I intend no offence, but these issues require an adult perspective.

Aanya: It seems I’m a crown without an adult, and you’re an adult without a crown.

The Dragon Prince // S02 E05

Obi-Wan, hanging on a ledge: *shoots Grievous until he dies*

Obi-Wan: So uncivilised.

Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith

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redisaid · 3 years

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A Benediction

In which I am a liar and continue Consequences, when I said I never would. Someone please free me from this AU.

I’m really done this time. Probably.

14171 Words

Read it on Ao3!

Liria Windrunner had just turned five years old a week prior, and had already immortalized that fact in her bright little mind, as was evidenced by the loud and proud answer she gave the young sailor who asked after her age. Though he had to have known it, really. Most people on Azeroth did, as this happy little girl’s birth had set into motion a series of events that no one had really ever expected to happen.

Least of all her mothers.

And the unexpected still came in droves. It seemed to follow little Liria wherever she went, though the child was blissfully unaware of it. She was giggling at the sailor as he waved goodbye and pointing at a particularly naughty seagull that a fishmonger was chasing off his wares.

And Jaina was busy contemplating the fact that she was watching her daughter experience the docks of Boralus for the first time, fresh off the ship that had brought them there from their home in Lordaeron. She was also contemplating that it was the first time she herself had set foot on these very docks in decades. And though the sailor who had knelt by them to talk sweetly to her daughter was kind enough, the rest of the eyes that were fixed on them--peering out from under dun tri-corner caps and the bucket helmets of port guards--were of the harder sort. They were still not quite ready to welcome Jaina back to her homeland, and not especially with Sylvanas Windrunner’s daughter at her side.

Even their escort of Proudmoore guardsmen scowled ahead of them, a towering wall of deep green and disapproval.

“Mama! Why is everyone so tall here?” Liria started, tugging at the sleeve of Jaina’s robes.

She was still very much in the “Why” phase. At first, Jaina had found it very endearing. Her little girl wanted to know all there was to know in this world already. After the tenth, twentieth, thirtieth why of the day, though, the endearment of it all began to wear off. Jaina still did her best to answer, though she had to admit Sylvanas was surprisingly much more patient than her when it came to all the why’s.

Luckily, she had another elf to step in to fill that role while her wife was absent today. Absent in that Jaina had requested to come alone. At least this first time. Sylvanas could join her next time, if there were to be a next time. Jaina still wasn’t sure of it.

So it was Anya, acting as their honor guard at Sylvanas’ insistence, who answered instead, speaking Thalassian, “We are in Kul Tiras, little bird. Everyone is tall here. Why do you think your mother towers over all of us dark rangers?”

Liria contemplated that answer, thankfully saving a follow up why that seemed on the tip of her little tongue. Instead she tugged harder at Jaina’s sleeve, then pulled her hand free from it to hold. She looked up at her with her eyes like molten silver, grey and glowing, but not so much as a full-blooded elf. Her short, pointed ears pinned back with concern.

“Mama, I thought you wanted to take me to Kul Tiras?” Liria asked, concern written plain as day on her little face.

She was too well-spoken for five, and flowed between all the many languages that surrounded her at any given time with relative ease to the point of delighting Jaina and confusing Sylvanas, who was always amazed at her daughter’s quick progression. She was still expecting her to be little more than a wild toddler until five or six, as elves were. But at least in this, Liria showed her human half and perhaps something else that couldn’t quite be explained by her heritage.

Jaina hadn’t realized it, but they had been just standing there for several minutes now, between the ramp of their ship and the guards waiting for them further down the dock. She had excused it as giving time for Liria to take it all in. Really, though, she was the one taking it in. The salt smell of the air. The cries of the gulls. The damp wood under her feet. The biting chill of the air. Even the perpetually cloudy skies. It was all exactly as she knew Kul Tiras to be, even without the skyline of Boralus looming above the harbor. All as she had left it when she was only a handful of years older than Liria. She’d only been back to visit a scant few times in her teenage years.

Yes, that would mean it had been a good twenty years since she had set foot on these docks. Nearly as long as that since she had allowed her father to die at the hands of the orcs on the shores of Theramore, and all but sealed her banishment from this place.

But her mother had invited her here. She wanted to see her. She wanted to meet her granddaughter. Liria had once again been the catalyst for change in yet another unrelenting heart--this time the one that beat in Katherine Proudmoore’s chest.

Jaina squeezed her daughter’s little hand gently. She kept it in hers as she knelt down before her on the dock. “I do want to take you here,” she told her. “I’m very excited for you to see the land I come from. But I haven’t been here in a very long time. I haven’t spoken with your grandmother here outside of a few letters we’ve traded these past few months. And one day, when you are a little older, I will explain why it is that the people here are not so happy to see me. It’s all a little scary for me, that’s all.”

She had made a point of being as honest as she could with her daughter, when she could. It was a difficult task, trying to balance what was appropriate to tell a small child, yet one who grew up around the undead, taking piggy back rides from the creatures spawned of Azeroth’s greatest shame and horror all in one. A child who had been present in war councils and treaty negotiations alike from infancy, yet still did not understand that her dear friends and all those aunties and uncles were the leaders of this world and its peoples.

“Don’t be scared, mama,” Liria said with one of her sweet little smiles. Her cheeks were chubby still, as Jaina’s had been at this age. “Anya is here with us.”

Anya scoffed at the child’s confidence, but smiled all the same, enough that Jaina could catch it out of the corner of her eye. She answered it in Common this time, flowing as easily through languages as her charges did, “I think your mother is more than capable of protecting us all, little bird. More than I am, at least. It’s a different kind of scared she’s talking about.”

Elves such as she had a habit of speaking to children as if they were not children. Jaina guessed it came from their virtual immortality. Why would one need to differentiate between a three year old and a three hundred year old?

Liria seemed to enjoy that, though, even if she didn’t quite follow such conversations in their entirety.

“You have to be brave,” Liria said after a slow nod to Anya’s words. “Minn’da always tells me to be brave.”

“You are very brave,” Jaina told her, caressing her cheek with the hand that wasn’t holding hers. “And we could all learn a thing or two from how very brave you are.”

Liria giggled at that, revealing that beneath that all seriousness and sincerity that could seize her tiny body occasionally, she was still just a girl of five years. five years, short in some ways, long in others. five years that had seen the world itself change around her.

Jaina couldn’t help but smile back at her, smoothing her wind-blown golden hair back over one pointed ear as she stood and noted, “Perhaps I will learn from it now and get on with this. Shall we?”

Liria nodded, still clinging tight to two of Jaina’s fingers as she stepped alongside her mother and up to the guardsmen on the dock wearing the colors of her other name. Because on most days, she was Liria Windrunner, by elven tradition of course, but when she was being particularly naughty or perhaps overly inquisitive far too early in the day, Sylvanas would take to calling her Liria Proudmoore.

Jaina supposed that it was what she deserved, after all, to be haunted by this little copy of herself, so bright and full of hope as she once was. She wondered if her mother would see it too, once they reached the keep--if she would see how much of her own daughter was packaged into this little half-elven gremlin of a child. This tiny totem of strength that was hers, by flesh, blood, magic, and maybe a bit of poor planning. This little girl who had changed the entire world just by existing.

“You’re brave too, mama,” Liria affirmed as they walked.

Jaina still wasn’t sure if she agreed with that, but Liria always made it hard for her to say no.

---

Sylvanas made a point of avoiding Silvermoon, under normal circumstances. It wasn’t that she wasn’t welcome there. On the contrary, Lor’themar would love to pull her into his office and talk her ear off like old times. Only his office wasn’t some cramped closet in Farstrider’s square now, but a royal suite where she used to give reports to Anasterian. And instead, he was supposed to be the one giving reports to her.

No, it had all died with her. The first time. That was exactly the problem. Nothing about Silvermoon was quite the same as she remembered it, from the red that painted the spire tops to the remains of golden statues, broken at the ankles, which had yet to be replaced with something or someone that wasn’t Kael’thas. The Silvermoon she had fought to protect was a thing that was gone forever, replaced by something close but not quite close enough. Like a favorite dish made by a foreign chef trying their best with unfamiliar flavors, or a perfectly well-made and well-balanced new bow that didn’t shoot quite like her old one did.

Even now, the way she came in was different. Not though the front gates to fanfare and excitement, or even slipping in from a side entrance to whispers and wondering. No, Sylvanas much preferred it like this, with just her and Velonara entering via portal in the early morning hours, greeted only by a sleepy magister who manned said portal, and a few guards who dismissed them as a few dark rangers out to perform some task or another for their queen.

Well, a few dark rangers and one ever-growing bundle nested beneath her own dark cloak.

“Mmm, where are we going, Minn’da?” Liria asked as she burrowed deeper into the dark silk that hid her from prying eyes.

She drew enough attention already for a girl so young. five years now since she was born, to the day. To Sylvanas, it felt as though no time at all had passed, yet her daughter was evidence to the contrary. It would be soon enough that she was too big to carry like this, when she was too sleepy to walk. But Sylvanas would meet that day when it came, and not a moment sooner.

“We’re nearly there,” she told her in a hush of whispered Thalassian. “Rest a while longer, I will carry you.”

Liria did not argue against this, and merely balled her little fists tighter in Sylvanas’ leathers as she held on and trusted in her to carry her as promised.

Jaina was already starting to become annoyed with this practice, stating that their daughter was getting too old to be carried like a baby and that Jaina herself could hardly even pick her up anymore. So why should Sylvanas?

Sylvanas had made a quip about making up for the nine months she couldn’t carry her while Jaina did, which earned her a laugh, then a sad smile from Jaina. And then there were no more such discussions.

So today, she carried Liria. And she likely would until Liria herself asked her to put her down, which she hadn’t yet. Despite the fact that this other mother of hers had cool skin and a dull throb of necromantic energy that sustained her. Liria loved to ask questions, but never wondered at that. At least not to the point where Sylvanas had been compelled to give her the full answer.

She’d overheard Jaina giving her some context though, one night in their tower top home, as she explained about the Forsaken, “A very bad thing happened to them, a long time ago.”

“And that’s why they’re cold?”

“Yes.”

Because death and the Scourge and all that had happened since was still quite a bit to process for a girl of four. No, five. Five today. Sylvanas had to remind herself, lest she be corrected once Liria woke up fully. That was still so young. Five years old. By elven growth standards, she should still be a babbling babe, barely stringing two words together. But no, not her Liria. She was even surpassing the faster human milestones.

“I am surprised Jaina allowed this,” Velonara noted at her side as they stalked down the still darkened streets of the city of the sun.

“Why are you surprised?” Sylvanas asked. “She is as much my daughter as hers.”

“Not like that,” Velonara answered in a rushed whisper, eager to dismiss any notion of disrespect. “She didn’t want to be with you?”

“She didn’t want to cause a diplomatic incident,” Sylvanas explained. “My wife is shrewd like that, plus Lor’themar would personally march her out of the city himself, perhaps at knife point.”

“Definitely at knife point,” Velonara agreed. “Is that perhaps why you are carrying her daughter beneath your cloak.”

“Our daughter,” Sylvanas corrected, but with an impish smirk all the same. “Our daughter who is up far too early in the morning because I did not want to turn this into a diplomatic incident either. Our daughter who could use a few more moments of sleep before her big day.”

“Your daughter, who you always have in your arms whenever you get the chance to, right,” Velnoara snarked back.

Sylvanas wouldn’t argue with the truth, so she just shifted the girl in her arms to draw her closer to herself as they made their way down the streets of the city that was now a homeland to none of them. Liria had never been here before. She had staked her little claims to the Undercity and Dalaran, Orgrimmar and Stormwind. She had been all over the world, but now in just one week’s time, would be travelling with her mothers to two places they did not ever go. At least, not anymore.

But Sylvanas’ feet knew the way. She didn’t even have to think about it. Even with the red banners replacing blue, or the green and gold eyes that stared after her and wondered. Even with her whole world colored in the wrong shades, the way to Liadrin’s was the same as it had always been. Before the war. Before death. Before all that had come after.

The sun had just begun to peek in over the city walls by the time they reached her door. Only then did Sylvanas set her daughter down, rousing Liria so she would stand on her own feet and she knelt with her.

“Morning sleepy one,” Sylvanas said to her as she rubbed at her eyes. Eyes that had not changed at all since her birth, and still looked back at her mother with a mirror of the color her own eyes had been in life. “Remember I told you we were going on an adventure today?”

Liria nodded, a ghost of her room-brightening smile tugging at her slumber-slack lips.

“First we must meet with a friend of mine who will help us on this adventure,” Sylvanas explained. “And I need to speak with her and ask her some questions. She might want to look at you a little bit and have you do some things to answer them for me. Can you be brave for me and let her do that?”

“I will be brave, promise,” Liria mumbled.

Her response was automatic and entirely unnecessary. Sylvanas knew she had little in the way of fear. While other children cried at storms and shied away from strangers, Liria would happily make friends with a dozen orcish orphans, or ride around on the shoulder of a curious abomination, if left unsupervised for more than a moment or two. Or honestly even when left supervised--it depended on the dark ranger who was supposed to be watching her as to whether or not such behaviors would be encouraged or discouraged.

Even then, Sylvanas watched as she woke up fully, taking in her unfamiliar surroundings not with doubt or fear, but with wonder. “Minn’da, this place is pretty. Where are we?”

“Silvermoon,” Sylvanas explained. “The city of the elves.”

What kind of elves, she had a hard time saying. Just like she would rather not notice the red where there should be blue. Just like she would rather not explain to Liria that she was cold because she was dead. Some things were better left unsaid. At least, for now.

“Your city?” Liria asked, perhaps not quite understanding the implications, and merely wondering if this were Alliance or Horde territory.

Because even as little as she was, she understood what those things were. But perhaps in another five years, she would not need to worry about such divisions.

“Not quite,” Sylvanas offered as an equally simplified explanation.

“She’s ready for you,” Velonara said as she emerged from the door to Liadrin’s office, having dodged in as soon as they arrived.

“Let’s start our adventure,” Sylvanas said to her daughter as she extended a gloved hand for her to take.

Liria grinned and nodded as she took that hand.

---

The walk up to the keep had taken no time at all. Jaina lost all sense of it the moment her feet hit the pavement. Boralus had not changed. The only thing different about the city was the lack of her father and his flagship on the docks. And of Derek sneaking her off to buy sweets on the way back home.

Jaina nearly asked their guards to stop so she could lead Liria down that very alleyway to the bakery--to see if they had the same sweet spiced cider and buttery fruit pies she remembered--but decided it was perhaps not fitting of the mood. Not when the men barely said a word to her, and acted as if they were escorting a prisoner to the dungeons, rather than a diplomatic visitor to their leader.

Or rather, one of the heirs to the Admiralty they served. Actually, make that two.

But now, she was sitting in a receiving room that was almost exactly as she remembered it. One where she and Tandred had once knocked over a vase during a particularly raucous game of tag. The end table it had been on was still empty, no other ornament having found a way to replace it in all these years. Anya waited dutifully outside, sizing up the Proudmoore guards she stationed herself with like she was counting either the coin she could win from them, or the sneers she could wriggle from them, depending on what type of distraction they were prone to. Though when the door had closed behind her, Jaina could still see the unease plain on the mens’ faces at the presence of an undead elf in their midst.

A reminder of the horrors of the world outside of their unchanging island, made flesh and bone, and wanting nothing more than to trade terrible sea puns with them or learn a new card game.

But now it was just Jaina, sitting stiffly on the edge of the couch cushions, feeling as though she shouldn’t touch more of them than she needed to. And Liria, of course, poking at the furnishings with abandon, but doing her best to be careful about it.

“What’s this, mama?” she asked, pointing at a polished bronze sextant mounted on the wall, just out of her reach.

“A sextant. Sailors use them to measure distances at sea,” Jaina explained.

“Is grandma coming now?”

“Yes, she’s going to meet us here.”

“Can I give her a hug?”

“I...I don’t think she’ll mind. Maybe. Let’s see what happens when she gets here, hmm?”

Liria lost interest in the ship in the bottle over the mantle, and wandered back to the couch. She sat next to her mother, pulling herself up onto the tall cushion without asking for any sort of assistance. She was so independent and headstrong, well, at least when Sylvanas wasn’t in the room, toting her around like oversized luggage.

“Mama,” she said as she sat triumphantly next to Jaina, grinning and pleased with herself for her climbing. “Why are you sad here?”

Perhaps this was the time for Liria to learn what nervous meant. But it wasn’t just that. No. Not really. There was a bit of sadness. A tinge of regret. A tiny sliver of hope. So many things. Too many feelings that roiled inside of Jaina like a stormy sea. The kind of storms she would watch from the battlements of this very keep with her father, happy that they had kept him at home with her another day.

“Sometimes, it’s sad to be reminded of things that happened before,” Jaina tried to explain. “And sad that there are people who were once here but now are gone. But at the same time, I am happy that you are here with me, my little star. So no, I’m not really sad. Only a little bit.”

Liria had no wisdom for this, save to lean into Jaina’s side and hug her. Jaina bent down to kiss her head, knowing full well that this was all the wisdom she needed. And also to make an excuse to fix some of that wild golden hair of hers. Another Proudmoore trait that her daughter wore well, even if she whined about detangling it every morning.

This was how Katherine Proudmoore found her daughter and granddaughter. Her own golden hair had long since gone steel grey and severe as the rest of her.

Jaina looked up to find her mother as the picture of the Lord Admiral--great coat buttoned high, shoulders stiff in parade rest. But her eyes told a different story. They softened as they found Jaina’s, then flew to the little girl that still clung to her side.

“Jaina,” Katherine said, so softly it almost didn’t come out.

“Hello Mother,” Jaina answered, finding it in her to smile, despite the fact that her stomach seemed to have suddenly teleported into her throat.

“Grandma?” Liria implored, more asking for Jaina to confirm, but still staring up at Katherine all the same.

Only then did Katherine drop her militant stance, and take a step toward the couch. “I guess that’s what I am now, isn’t it?”

Liria wasn’t so hesitant. She vaulted off the couch, and got her hug. After all, it was very difficult to tell her no. A thing Katherine, it seemed, would have to learn rather quickly.

---

Liria sat on Liadrin’s exam table, her little legs swinging. She looked around the room, unsure of where she was or why or how she’d come to get here, but smiling all the same.

“How old are you, Liria?” Liadrin asked her in soft Thalassian, her deep voice surprisingly gentled in the presence of a small child.

“Five!” Liria proudly answered for the first time that day. “Today is my birthday.”

Sylvanas, as she leaned back against the far wall, was pleased to find that her daughter remembered the Thalassian numbers. She may or may not have held it over Jaina that Liria could count higher in Thalassian than Common.

“I’ve heard that it is. I hope you enjoy it,” Liadrin said to the child as she moved back over to the exam table. “Liria, I would like to check a few things. Is it alright if I touch you?”

Liria nodded to this, finally growing quiet in the face of apprehension for the first time that day, but still smiling.

Not at all like her Aunt Vereesa, whom Sylvanas could still remember bringing to this very office at such an age. No amount of candies or promises would keep her from bawling her eyes out at the very notion of visiting the healers for a check up, despite not being old enough to understand what any of that meant. She would kick and scream her way there every time.

Sylvanas wondered if she had been as angelic as her own daughter was about the whole experience. There was no one left to tell her, though. Alleria certainly hadn’t helped out with her raising as she had with her own younger siblings.

Liadrin started her exam by looking at Liria’s short, half elf ears. “How’s her hearing?” she asked of Sylvanas as she gently pushed one ear back, eliciting a giggle from the little girl.

“Too good,” Sylvanas answered. “Enough that she’s repeated far too many words that Gallywix has said half a room over. Her Orcish cursing vocabulary is now quite advanced.”

“It’s hard to say how things will develop with half elves,” Liadrin commented as she checked the other ear. “You’ve seen it yourself in your own nephews. Arator’s ears are a fair bit longer than Vereesa’s boys even. Time will tell with your little one here, of course.”

Sylvanas hadn’t met Vereesa’s children until Liria came along. And Arator, she hadn’t seen since he was a baby. But all of that had changed. So much so that at the end of all these visits to foreign and uncomfortable places for all involved, there was something akin to a family birthday party planned in Stormwind, of all places.

Stormwind, where Sylvanas now walked regularly through the streets with her sisters, her nephews, and her wife and daughter. Where only a few people still stared her down with malice. Most were content enough to see her as a sign of peace. A peace that seemed far less tenous than it ever had, now that it was united in blood.

Blood that was laughing as Liadrin poked at her nose and grinned at her, then tilted her head up to check her eyes.

“Surprising amount of glow she already has,” Liadrin commented. “Considering that she doesn’t live near a magic source.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Sylvanas noted. “She lives on the hip of one, actually. Jaina is as good as any font of power.”

“I suppose you would know,” Liadrin snarked, turning her attention back to her patient before Sylvanas could even think of a reply to that. “Can you open your mouth really big for me, Liria? As much as you can?”

Liadrin hummed at the state of Liria’s baby teeth. Her little canines were pointed and sharp, but not quite elven fangs.

“I suppose you have as much reason as Lor’themar to be wary of my wife,” Sylvanas finally let out, leaving it just at that. No reason to dredge up the past. Just being here, in Silvermoon, in this office, was doing that enough for her.

“I am wary of you and Jaina in the way I am of things I don’t understand,” Liadrin told her. “Because I still don’t understand it. But I’m glad of it. I’m glad to be here giving your daughter a check up, rather than commanding your troops on a battlefield.”

“Hard to say where I’d rather have you, personally,” Sylvanas drawled, drawing a quirk from Liadrin’s lips.

“Thank you, Liria. You can close your mouth now,” she said to her patient. “Have you lost any baby teeth yet?”

“Teeth?” Liria asked, repeating the word carefully and looking over to Sylvanas.

A Thalassian word she did not know. This was always how she asked.

Sylvanas smiled and opened her mouth, pointing to one of her own fangs as explanation before answering for her daughter, “Not yet. It will be a while yet, no?”

“Not if she keeps up with a human growth cycle. A year or two, at most,” Liadrin told her.

Liadrin had already measured her height and weight, both of which Sylvanas was sure were well off elven standards. Even now that she was talking to her sisters again and had been around her half elf nephews, she still didn’t know what to expect out of her child. Liria compared with her boy cousins in some ways, but not in others. Perhaps it was the Kul Tiran in her--the wildness of the sea that ran through Jaina’s veins. But Sylvanas was nothing if not a practical woman of facts. Facts she was hoping Liadrin had for her.

It seemed like she was the first to hear the footsteps that approached from the stairs to the apartments above Liadrin’s office. Their owner thought she was being very quiet and very sneaky, but not to a ranger. Not to the former Ranger General of Quel’thalas. Not to the Banshee Queen. Not to the Warchief of the Horde.

Not even to her own adoptive mother, as Liadrin’s own ears soon perked up at the sound. “Salandria?”

This elven child was quite a bit older than Liria in years, but not much bigger than her as she gave in and revealed herself in the doorway of the stairwell.

“Are you ready for school?” Liadrin asked.

Salandria nodded, eyeing Sylvanas warily and then looking toward Liria, who was instantly captivated by her. So much so that she was almost bouncing off the table with delight at seeing another child, ready and raring to play without even so much as asking if it was a possibility.

“You may ask the Warchief one question, and then if it’s all right with her, you can take Liria here to play for a little while before we walk to school?” Liadrin said, turning it into a question as she looked over to Sylvanas.

“That’s fine,” Sylvanas answered.

The elven girl clung to the door frame as she asked her question in a hushed whisper that was not nearly hushed enough for any of the ears in the room not to hear. “Is it really true, that the wars are over? For good?”

“I hope so, child,” Sylvanas answered her. “That is what we are trying for, at least. As impressive as Liadrin is on the battlefield, I would much rather she were here every day to walk you to school in the mornings. I’m sure you feel the same way.”

Salandria smiled at this, nodding her agreement.

Sylvanas turned to her own daughter, who was already climbing down from the table. Without permission. What a naughty thing. She loved her even more for it.

“Liria, this is Salandria. She is Lady Liadrin’s ward. I believe the both of you would very much like to go and play, yes?” she asked.

Liria answered that by rushing to Salandria’s side and sizing her up. No doubt contemplating what mischief she would be capable of getting into with her.

“Be good then,” Sylvanas warned, though she knew that request was mostly on Salandria’s onus to fulfill.

The girls quickly disappeared up the stairs in a flurry of excited footsteps and questions about toys.

“Her Thalassian is very good for as little as she is,” Liadrin said once they were alone. Velonara was out standing watch by the door. Not that it was particularly necessary. Mostly because she felt that she should.

“Thank you for pointing out that we need to work on body parts still,” Sylvanas noted.

“Oh, take a compliment for once,” Liadrin scoffed. “If not for you then for your daughter. She’s going to be a real handful once she realizes just how smart she is.”

“That milestone has already passed, believe me,” Sylvanas told her, propping herself up from the wall to approach Liadrin. “But...there’s nothing concerning? Nothing wrong?”

“Why do you think so?” Liadrin asked. “As far as I can see, she’s a healthy little girl, growing like a half human weed is wont to do, but healthy.”

“No reason, I guess,” Sylvanas answered. “I am just out of my depth. All I know of children is what I saw from helping with my siblings. Liria is not very much like them.”

“Certainly less tearful,” Liadrin agreed with a chuckle at herself. “And if you’re worried about children of Aranal’dorei, I can assure you that they are no different than any other.”

“Even if one parent is undead?” Sylvanas voiced her eternal concern. It had always been this way, ever since she first learned of the success of her and Jaina’s ritual. Ever since she had been surprised to hear that she would soon have a living child.

“Believe me, there are those out there who would love to turn your little family into a case study on the matter. But as a professional who is perhaps a bit rusty in returning to her peacetime profession, I can tell you that I see no reason to worry. And I’m not sure why you do,” Liadrin told her.

Sylvanas would be a liar if she said she wasn’t sure either. There was so much to worry about. A life in her hands, a woman who once screamed for death to the living. Now preserving and protecting that life was all she ever thought about.

“Do you think there will be any issue with what we mean to do today?” Sylvanas asked instead of voicing that turmoil.

“Not for her,” Liadrin commented with a low flick of her long ears. “But for you, yes.”

“I had meant to ask you. Will you take her from the boat? I would have Alleria or Vereesa do it, but they’re still as banned from the city as Jaina is. And of course I would, but…” she trailed off. Words so rarely failed Sylvanas. It seemed that only her wife and daughter could cause such things to happen.

Luckily, Liadrin seemed to follow her, “The Sunwell is a bastion of holy energy now, and you are undead. I would be honored, Sylvanas. I was going to suggest you and Velonara stay on the ferry.”

“She will behave for you,” Sylvanas promised. “I have not spoken to her about what we’re doing today at any length, but she is willing and usually eager to please. I didn’t think it would be a problem.”

“It’s not a problem,” Liadrin told her. “Though I was surprised you even asked.”

“If I did not do this, then I feared my mother herself would rise from her grave to haunt me until it was done. And you must understand that I cannot bear the thought of no longer being the only undead Windrunner. What have I to offer otherwise?” Sylvanas quipped.

“Ah yes, the Warchief of the Horde, the once Ranger General of Quel’thalas. Certainly nothing else to offer but your complex relationship with death and your morbid humor,” Liadrin laughed even as she chided her. “And now you are the great peacemaker. One of the two women who united a war-torn world with their love.”

“I suppose I have that going for me,” Sylvanas replied with a smirk.

“Yes Warchief, I will take your daughter to be blessed in the Sunwell’s waters. Not because you’re ordering me to, even if you think you’re not. No, because I am starting to see the Ranger Captain I once knew again--with the smartest, foulest mouth on her--who would come into my tent bleeding all over the place and grinning like a lynx every time. And it’s her daughter I will take to the Sunwell,” Liadrin told her.

Sylvanas also made it a habit of not meeting regularly with people who knew her when she was alive. Well, people were not also as dead as she. Lor’themar didn’t count, as he’d grown used to the changes in her long ago, and honestly seemed entertained by them anymore. Liadrin, though, had been someone she called a friend all those years ago. Someone who would look at her and expect to see someone else, someone she could no longer be.

But perhaps, that wasn’t entirely true. Even with this spire’s red roof and Liadrin’s golden eyes. With Sylvanas’ ashen skin and dual-toned banshee voice. With Liria’s short ears and Proudmoore gold hair--or perhaps it was gold like her Aunt Alleria’s. Only time would tell.

Only time would tell for all of them.

“You honor me, Matriarch,” Sylvanas said. “Or should I go back to calling you Priestess now?”

“Let’s not be hasty, Sylvanas,” Liadrin answered with a wave. “I don’t think I could go back to wearing robes. And I would miss my sword.”

---

Uncle Tandred had arrived later in the morning, and was an instant hit. It might have been because he had brought along a gift of a bright purple stuffed kraken. It might have been because Jaina hadn’t seen him since he was a gangly youth, and her little brother was now a man grown, a Kul Tiran captain in his own right. He looked every part of the heir to the admiralty in a way that made her heart hurt for Derek, but also swell with pride. But underneath his greatcoat and sea-reddened cheeks, he was still the silly boy she remembered.

And her daughter was loving it.

They were playing at sea monsters, with Liria on the floor with her kraken, attacking Tandred’s knees as he sat on a couch opposite the one Jaina had claimed.

“Ah, you’ve sunk me again, little fish!” he cried out as he collapsed against the cushions. “However will the fleet recover?”

Liria didn’t know what sound to make for a kraken, but seemed to have settled on a vaguely avian screech. She gave it a victory cry, lifting her new toy as high as she could.

Tandred slipped from his mock death for a moment to open one eye and grin at Jaina. She had perhaps been more afraid of his reaction to her than her mother’s. But as soon as she’d written Katherine back after that first tenuous request for contact, Tandred had written her three times as many letters as she had time to reply to.

In those letters, there had been no resentment. No blame. No shame. Just a brother who missed his sister, and who had spent the last two decades hearing about her exploits from afar. And who had been saving up every ounce of younger sibling torture for her, as it would seem. So much so that Jaina was surprised to find that the kraken toy didn’t make some sort of hideous noise.

His eye then fell to Katherine, noticeably separate from Jaina on the opposite end of the same couch, pretty much leaned against the arm of it. Liria had melted her a little at first, and provided a good enough distraction from any awkwardness that might have remained, but it came back with a vengeance when Tandred arrived.

“Say Liria,” Tandred started as he came back to life fully and bent down a bit to address the girl at his feet. “Would you like to go with me and see some old paintings of your mother when she was a little girl? If it’s alright with her, of course?”

“And Mr. Kraken,” Liria added, waving the toy at him again.

“Right, I think your mother’s approval takes priority over his, though, as fearsome as he is,” Tandred noted as he looked back over to Jaina.

Jaina knew immediately what was offering her. A thing she both dreaded and cherished. A thing she both wanted and wanted to run from. The opportunity to speak with her mother, alone, without distractions.

Jaina glanced over to her, finding the startled look in her mother’s eyes evidence enough that she understood as much too.

She had planned for this. With or without Liria in the room. With or without the questions she would have to answer from her, now or later.

“I think that’s a fine idea, if Mr. Kraken does,” Jaina answered after a moment of swallowing down her own apprehension.

Liria screeched his approval and stood up, looking expectantly at Tandred.

Tandred bent to pick her up, and could manage it well enough with his broad Kul Tiran frame--nearly as tall and strong now as his father had been. Liria, for her part, was delighted to be carried by anyone, though such occurrences were getting rarer and rarer.

Outside of Sylvanas, of course.

“Come on, little fish,” Tandred said as he settled her against his hip. “We’ll go on a tour of the great hall, and I’ll show you all the ugly portraits of me too.”

Liria laughed at this. She was so easy and accepting of people. No matter what shape, size, race, or relation they were to her. No wonder the world saw her as a symbol of lasting peace. She fit the part perfectly.

And in that moment, she reminded Jaina of herself. Of a little girl who would also be carried by a giant Kul Tiran admiral. One who would make her laugh and smile, who would sing her to sleep with songs he wrote just for her.

Songs that they now apparently sang in the dockside taverns to warn against her treachery.

Had she looked like that, in her father’s arms? A little blonde beacon of light. Hope embodied.

What did that make her now? Some days, she felt herself a ruin. Like Lordaeron had been when she first took up residence in her tower. These days, it was much improved. Far more than just Jaina and the dark rangers had come up from the Undercity to reclaim the city, and the flowers bloomed brighter and brighter from the once blighted soil every spring. Some days, Jaina felt she could match that growth. But it was hard. It was still very hard.

“We’ll be back soon,” Tandred offered as he turned and left the room, juggling his niece and the handle of the heavy wooden door with determination.

“Bye bye, mama,” Liria giggled as she was whisked away.

“Be good,” Jaina called after them, knowing that neither of them was likely to comply.

Still, she trusted her brother. She had trusted him since the first letter he wrote to her in decades.

Her mother, just a few couch cushions and throw pillows away? Perhaps not so much.

“So,” Katherine began, perhaps even more aware of the frigid silence that threatened to descend on them than Jaina was.

“So,” Jaina replied, equally daunted by that notion, but unsure of what to say.

Because there was so much. Apologies and explanations danced in her mind, but the notion that she owed her mother neither of these things threatened to break up their careful waltzes. It felt like a lifetime since Jaina had been alone in a room with her, and honestly, she had gone through more than a lifetime’s worth of experiences since then. Tragedies and joys. Things both inevitable and entirely unexpected.

“I have received an invitation from your friend, High King Wrynn, to negotiate Kul Tiras’ place in the peace agreements next month,” Katherina started. “I have yet to reply.”

“Zandalar has already been working with the Horde on their terms, if that helps,” Jaina told her. “And I understand that you’ve already been in a ceasefire with them for quite a while now?”

“Yes, but that wasn’t my only concern,” Katherine said. She remained as stiff as Jaina had been when she first sat down.

And even Jaina had finally come to relax against the couch cushions, if a little warily still. “We are working to make a world with no enemies for anyone, mother. And to ensure that it remains that way. I don’t want Liria to grow up like I did--not knowing if you or father or Derek would make it back home every time you sailed out.”

Katherine looked at her, but ended up looking past her, such was the distance in her eyes. Distance that could not forgive, could not rationalize, could not understand.

Perhaps it was all that had transpired between now and then that made Jaina so numb to the idea that it was her who made it so her father never returned from his last voyage. But no, numb wasn’t the right word. She felt that regret every moment she thought back to it. She’d spent many a night awake, mumbling out the words she could have said to him instead, could have used to make him just listen.

She still did it, to the point where Sylvanas had stirred from her still and corpse-like rest next to her at night, and asked what in the world she was doing.

Now, she would listen, and would not offer advice or condolences, but would hold Jaina until she ran out of those words.

“So much of this world has been shaped by war,” Katherine finally offered, her gaze still distant. “So much of our lives and the lives of those that came before us. I worry that there are many here in Kul Tiras who would not like to see a world without war. And for you, my Jaina, I worry there are many more in other parts of this world that would agree with them.”

“It is not an easy task, this peace,” Jaina agreed. “But I’m determined. Anduin is determined, and Sylvanas too.”

“Your wife,” Katherine added.

“Yes, my wife.”

Their wedding had been as small as they could make it, which was not very small. Jaina wanted to say it was not politicized either, but that was impossible for them. Still, Jaina knew that she had married a woman she had grown to love. The mother of her daughter. And yes, the Warchief of the Horde. But Sylvanas was so much more than that. Like everything that had happened since Liria was conceived, she was so unexpected.

Sylvanas had been beautiful in her wedding dress. She so rarely wore skirts of any kind, even though she had taken to wearing her armor less and less these days, but Jaina loved to see her in any sort of dress. And Liria had made for an adorable, if rather ineffective flower girl. She wasn’t even two then, so maybe only a few petals made it out of her basket and onto the aisle, but even back then, she had the most skeptical and wary guests smiling and laughing on both sides of the aisle.

Katherine finally dropped her militant stiffness to laugh and sigh at the same time. “Tides, you are married to the Warchief of the Horde,” she breathed as she slumped onto the arm of the couch.

“Would you believe me if I told you that was never my intention in all this? Everyone seems to think that us--that Liria--it was all some sort of ploy for peace. The Alliance whispers it was to cover up the shame of a Horde surrender. The Horde thinks I’ve enchanted their leader into becoming my love slave.”

Worse things had been said on both sides, of course. There were those that did understand, too. Those that could believe the story as she and Sylvanas told it.

But yes, it was a strange one. Jaina could understand why the people struggled to find the reasoning behind it. But she loved Sylvanas Windrunner, who took such good care of both her and their daughter. Little else mattered to her.

“You took the time to explain it in your letters,” Katherine said. “I’ve no reason to doubt you. I’m only thinking about what your father would say to all this.”

And there it was. Daelin Proudmoore was still larger than life, filling up the room, and he had been dead for nearly twenty years. Every inch of space between them was haunted by the ghost of her father. The weight of her guilt.

Jaina had robbed her mother of her rock, her solace, and through that, eventually found her own in the arms of a woman who represented everything Daelin fought against. The leader of the orcs and trolls who took his eldest son. A woman who had fought on his side of that war, but who was welcomed back to the red banners of the Horde instead when she rose again from undead servitude.

“I suspect he would probably not be very happy with me,” Jaina offered, because what else could she say?

What else could she do? The familiar walls of Proudmoore Keep suddenly felt like a prison. The memories of this place, barely changed with time while Jaina herself had changed so much, were her chains.

But Katherine, she was an enigma. She had wanted this. She had wanted to see her again. Even before Anduin had invited her to negotiate, before Kul Tiras was called to mind the new laws of this peaceful world.

Why would she, when it was so obvious that she still wasn’t ready to forgive Jaina? When the nation that had born her so clearly agreed?

Katherine moved over to sit closer to Jaina, defying that notion. She took her hand in hers and squeezed it gently. Her hands were both smoother and bonier than Jaina remembered them being.

Not all things in Kul Tiras were immune to change, so it seemed.

“But he would have loved that little girl of yours so much,” Katherine told her. She looked at Jaina now, not through her. “And that’s all I’ll say about it. For now. You said it yourself, Jaina. Peace isn’t an easy thing. It takes work. I am willing to work, for you, for King Wrynn, for your wife, and for my granddaughter.”

Jaina squeezed her hand back, then pulled her mother into an embrace she did not know she needed. This wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t an end to guilt. But it was a start. Of what, she could not know yet.

But things had only been getting better. And Jaina could allow herself to think that they might.

---

Sylvanas had never been fond of sailing. It was a necessity she learned to tolerate over the years. In her life as an elf, she would rather deal with the vertigo-inducing use of portals instead. But death, if anything, had taught her patience. And sea voyages, even short ones such as this ferry ride, often required a great deal of patience.

But her daughter loved the sea. Every time they were near to any shore, she would be content to chase the waves and the gulls all day. And boats and ships of all manner held no fear or mystery for her. She would marvel at each, and beg for a ride upon them, only to grin and play in the wind as it rippled through the sails.

Today was no exception. Velonara was hovering over Liria as the girl leaned on the railing of the elven vessel that would carry them across the narrow channel to the Isle Quel’danas. Velonara, who was even less inclined to sailing than Sylvanas. Perhaps she should have brought along a different ranger. But no, Vel was best for this task, and wouldn’t speak of anything she didn’t need to afterward.

Plus she was one of the few that actually encouraged good behavior from Liria. And her protectiveness over her tiny charge knew no bounds. It had been that way since she first delivered the girl herself. Sylvanas was more than content to leave her daughter in the hands who had been the first to hold her.

And even those rangers who didn’t share such a symbolic tie. Even Nathanos proved to be more than a willing guard to Liria, who could make even that eternal scowl of his turn into a smile on occasion.

Nevermind the time that Sylvanas had caught them having a tea party with a stuffed rabbit and a shaman’s totem that Liria had somehow appropriated to fill the fourth seat at their table.

“You should probably tell her what we’re doing,” Liadrin noted next to her, rousing Sylvanas from her thoughts as they stood near the prow of the ship together. “We’ll be there in just a few more minutes.”

Indeed, she could feel how close they were to the isle without seeing it. The heady throb of the Sunwell was different than it had been during her life. Gone was the pleasant warmth of arcane, like mulled wine warming one’s chest as it went down on a winter’s night. Now, its holy energy felt a dull throb to her, like an ache awakened from a too hard touch to bruised skin.

She wondered how it would feel to her daughter. And despite Liadrin’s assurances, she was still afraid it would feel the same for her.

But so far, Liria hadn’t seemed to notice anything that wasn’t related to the ocean that surrounded them.

“Ever correct in your advice,” Sylvanas agreed, and took her leave of Liadrin to approach the rail. “How I will miss you as a commander at my war table.”

She couldn’t see Liadrin rolling her eyes at this, but she could certainly feel it.

Sylvanas waved Velonara back as she took her place at Liria’s side, leaning against the railing to look out over the Isle as they approached it.

“This place is so pretty, Minn’da. And it’s so warm here,” Liria shared, her eyes fixed on the spires and manicured trees that dotted the land before them.

Sylvanas could not feel that warmth, but she could remember it. She’d known enough to help Liria sleepily dress in lighter clothes that morning, despite the fact that it was still the edge of winter in every place but Quel’thalas.

“This is a very sacred place, Liria,” she began to explain. “The reason why it is warm here and so pretty is because of a great font of magic that our people created many many years ago. It has ever been the heart of this land, and you are going to get to see it today.”

“Our people, the elves?” Liria asked, looking up at her finally, instead of out over the sea.

“That’s right,” Sylvanas replied.

“But I’m only a half elf,” Liria noted sagely. “My ears are little and my teeth too.”

She had remembered the word from before, and pronounced it near perfectly in Thalassian.

She and Sylvanas had always spoken Thalassian to each other, even from times before Liria could speak it back. Sylvanas wasn’t sure why it was so important to her that she ensure her daughter knew her mother tongue. Common was as good as any language, and these days seemed to be trending toward becoming the official language of the newly united world, or at least what its treaties and laws were written in.

But Liria was a little polyglot, like her other mother, and took to languages like a duck to water. So Sylvanas indulged herself, and spoke to Liria in the language of her people. Their people.

“That matters little,” Sylvanas assured her. “You are still an elf. This land belongs to you as much as it does to any with such heritage. That is why I wanted to bring you here today. I wanted you to receive a blessing here, as all elves do when they are small.”

“A blessing? Did you get it too?” Liria asked.

Of course she had. Sylvanas was too young to remember, of course, but had been present for Vereesa and Lirath to receive theirs. It was more of a ceremonial thing, as much of elven life was. Just a drop of the magically infused water placed into the child’s hands while a prayer was spoken.

Sylvanas had never considered herself a particularly devout follower of Belore, even in her younger, living days. And now that she had seen the push and pull of the gods and cosmic forces that held this universe together, she wasn’t so keen on invoking the help of any of them. But, like all things, this was a matter of tradition. A matter of wanting to repeat the past, as foolish as it might seem.

A matter of the fact that she could just see her mother now, tapping her toe and asking when she planned on getting that child of her’s blessed.

How Lireesa would have loved Liria, and all her questions and mischief.

“Yes,” Sylvanas answered after a moment.

“Then I want to do what you did,” Liria answered with confidence. “I want to be like you, Minn’da.”

Sylvanas couldn’t recommend such a practice. Not as broken as she was. Not as angry as she had once felt. This world of theirs was not a fair one, or a just one. It was not as blessed as the priests and priestesses claimed it to be. Even here, in eternal Quel’thalas, Sylvanas was surrounded by the reminders of her own failures.

As the captain looped the boat around the isle to find the docks on the other side, she could see the damage that was still done to the citadel of spires that protected the Sunwell. Some of it had been repaired, but the scars and blight around the mended walls were still abundant. Here, she had crossed the sea with Arthas on a path of ice, already a dead, enthralled thing--without a body and a mind of her own.

And there, along that shore, she had watched as the butcher cut Anasterian down and made his way past the last defences of the magisters and priests that were trying to save the very livelihood of her people. All she could do was watch. Watch, and fight alongside the man who had just killed her that same day.

“Lady Liadrin will take you once we reach the shore,” Sylvanas told her daughter, trying to look at her instead of this place. “And she will give you the blessing. Before the wars, she was a priestess of Belore, the goddess of the sun. Do well to follow her instructions and listen to what she has to say.”

“You’re not coming with me?” Liria asked.

“I cannot,” Sylvanas told her.

“Why, Minn’da?”

Because she already failed this place. Because she could feel it rejecting her very essence. Because she was no longer blessed by it, and doubting she ever had been.

But still, she wanted Liria to have her chance.

“Because I cannot,” Sylvanas said, trying to punctuate it with gentle finality.

Somehow, she believed that Liria probably already knew the answer. She knew what death was. She knew why the Forsaken were cold to the touch. It was only a matter of time before she put it together, and who was she to say that she hadn’t yet?

Still, Liria nodded and accepted this answer. Then she grinned up at her mother.

“It’s because I have to be brave, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Something like that,” Sylvanas answered.

“Then I will be brave.”

---

“Who’s that?”

“Your great uncle Jeffrey. I only met him once. He was mean as a bucket of eels, though. You wouldn’t have liked him,” Tandred answered.

He still carried Liria, though she had sagged lower on his torso as they strolled through the hall together. Even his broad frame was no match for the added weight of her growing body.

Jaina watched with her mother and Anya at the door, almost afraid to go in herself. Not afraid, really. Moreso not wanting to ruin the moment.

“I don’t think he looks mean,” Liria announced. She pointed her kraken toy at the man in the painting. “I like his beard.”

“What about my beard?” Tandred asked.

“It’s scratchy,” Liria replied with a laugh.

“Imagine if it were growing out of your face. You would never escape the scratchy! Ah, let’s see, who’s up next?” Tandred shifted the girl on his hip again before striding over to the next portrait.

The one that hung above the large hearth at the front of the hall. The one of the current admiralty, which included all of the Proudmoores, in their younger and living years. Katherine’s hair was still blonde. Derek was barely into his adult years. Jaina was perhaps only a year or two older than Liria, and Tandred, for all his beard and broadness now, was only a toddler.

And of course, in the center of them all, was Daelin. Big and hearty and grinning. He’d kept that grin up throughout most of the portrait session that day, laughing at his own jokes. Jaina could almost still hear him, and how his bellowing laughter echoed through the halls of the keep.

“Who’s that?” Tandred asked as he pointed to the image of Jaina.

Jaina tried to calculate how old she had been at the time. As the years of her life multiplied, though, such exactness was harder to come by. But she could remember the itchy wool of the winter dress, how drab its dark green was against her golden hair.

“Mama?” Liria answered, unsure to the point where she leaned in Tandred’s arms to get closer.

“Yes that’s her, and me as a little baby there in Grandma’s lap,” Tandred reported.

“You were so small, but you’re so big now,” Liria noted, turning back to her uncle. “Am I gonna be as big as you?”

Tandred laughed. “I don’t know about that,” he said. “Maybe if you eat your vegetables.”

“I like vegetables, Uncle Tandred,” Liria chided him. “I like peas and carrots. And the soup Minn’da makes.”

“I don’t know that word, little fish,” Tandred told her. “What’s Minn’da mean?”

“My other mama,” Liria told him.

“Oh, that’s what you’re saying when I don’t understand. Elf words,” he noted. “They’re all very pretty, just like you, of course. And speaking of how big you may or may not get, Uncle Tandred’s arms are getting tired. Can I set you down?”

“Yeah,” Liria agreed.

Tandred gently lowered her to the floor beside him, rolling his shoulders as she stood on her own again.

Liria, for her part, was still looking up at the portrait, hugging the kraken toy to her chest as she did. “Who’s he?” she asked, pointing to Daelin.

Jaina had half a mind to break up the scene and finally enter the room. She didn’t know what to do about it, only that she had to do something. Anything.

And worst of all, her mother would have to watch it.

“That’s your grandad,” Tandred answered, unknowingly. “He was a hard man, and stuck to his beliefs.”

Jaina stopped herself again.

“Was he mean as a bucket of eels too?” Liria asked her uncle.

Tandred chuckled and shook his head. “No. Stubborn as a mule, though.”

“He’s gone now, isn’t he?” Liria asked. “Or else he would have come to see us too.”

“You’re very smart,” Tandred noted. “And you’re right.”

“Mama seemed so sad to be here at first. She said it was because it reminded her of people who were here and now they’re gone.”

Tandred looked up, and seemed to catch the others in the corner of his eye finally. He gave Jaina brief glance, then set a hand on Liria’s shoulder as he explained, “You must be patient with your mama, little fish. She has a lot of people who were here and now are not. But she also has you, and your Minndy.”

“Minn’da,” Liria corrected him.

“I’m no good at elf words, I see,” Tandred muttered into a chuckle. “But you know what I mean, don’t you?”

“I know,” Liria stated proudly. “I know a lot of things, Uncle Tandred. I know that mama gets sad sometimes, but that I can make her happy again. Minn’da can always make her laugh. She likes jokes and hugs.”

“Don’t we all, little fish,” Tandred said with a grin. “And speaking of your mama.”

He turned them just slightly so that Liria could see Jaina, now standing just inside the doorway, still in mid-stride.

“Mama!” Liria shouted, running at her with abandon, her kraken tucked under one arm. She impacted maybe a tad too hard against Jaina’s legs, but didn’t seem to care, and hugged her knees fiercely. “Mama this castle is so big and dark. Minn’da would like it here, I think.”

“You think so?” Jaina said as she bent to return the hug properly, and gathered the little girl in her arms.

“Mhm,” Liria agreed. “We should bring her here when we come back.”

“Oh, we’re coming back, are we?” Jaina asked with a smile in Tandred’s direction.

“Uncle Tandred said he’d take me fishing when we do,” Liria told her.

“And Uncle Tandred has no clue just how excited you get about fishing, does he?” Jaina wondered at her brother, who offered a silent shrug in response.

“It would be nice to meet my daughter-in-law,” Katherine mused from behind, while Anya let out an audible snicker.

“I suppose we shall have to come back with Minn’da then,” Jaina said.

And she supposed that meant she was welcome back. That she wasn’t going to face her ridiculous worries about this day after all. No, her mother wasn’t going to lead her away in chains for crimes she committed decades ago. She wasn’t about to forgive her either. But things changed. They could keep changing, keep growing.

And Jaina supposed that this was a good thing. A very good thing. The world needed to change. And it was changing. Slowly, but hopefully, enough.

“Maybe by then we can bring my little sister too,” Liria squealed with excitement, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Come again?” Katherine coughed at that. “Little sister?”

That wasn’t exactly how Jaina had hoped to break the news. Perhaps, in hindsight, it would have been a better idea to have a very stern talk with her five year old right after they finished the Aranal’dorei about when such things would be appropriate to say. Not when she was not certain of the existence of said little sister. Not yet, at least. It had only been a week, after all.

Jaina cleared her throat, squeezing Liria’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go find us some chairs at the big table over there hmm? I have a feeling your grandma will need to sit down again.”

Liria complied, smiling and innocent of the knowledge that she had just made today a little bit more difficult than it needed to be.

“Another one, really?” Katherine asked as her granddaughter skipped off.

“I can explain,” Jaina offered.

At least, this time, she could explain herself. She loved her wife. She loved their daughter. She was nearly forty and might not have a chance at another child.

And she had more love to give, still. And perhaps, a much better reason to give it.

---

“Velonara,” Sylvanas began as she and her ranger watched as Liadrin and Liria rounded a corner and finally disappeared from view, “I have a task for you.”

“Yes?”

Sylvanas could remember a time when Velonara was just a shell of herself, still much like the banshee she had been. She took orders and repeated words and didn’t do much else. A good soldier, yes, but not nearly the woman she had once been. Kind and caring, nervous and thoughtful.

But now, it seemed, she had spent too many of these years with Anya and her lot, and what would have once been a dutiful, “Yes, Dark Lady?” had become one little word with a hint of a sarcastic bite.

Sylvanas liked this better, she decided.

“You are to stay here,” she told her. “And you are not to tell on me.”

“What?” Velonara asked.

Sylvanas answered her by leaping off the boat and into the shadow of a small building near the docks.

And as soon as her feet left those planks, she could feel the consecrated ground beneath them start to reject her. To push at her. To prod her and ask what she was, only to burn and sting, trying to drive her out like a prey animal with poison and spines.

But Sylvanas was nothing if not a determined hunter. And her quarry was not far. She could endure some minor discomfort to obtain it.

Minor, of course, became not so minor the further she strayed from the docks. She grit her teeth and defied it, though, this rejection of her homeland. This castigation of her past sins. This reminder of the last time she had walked these shores--a dead thing, serving only death.

Today, she wanted to tell this land, she was serving a decided opposite cause.

Today, she was satisfying the will of the dead, yes, to keep their traditions alive, but she had another reason for coming here. Coming to an island that knew no such thing as winter. An island that forever remained in a mild, pleasant spring. Where flowers bloomed and trees burst to life with new growth.

Where lilacs were always in season.

She drew blood biting her lip by the time she found them. Thick, black blood. She hoped that a drop would fall on the ground and that the Sunwell itself would choke on it. Vile thing. She just wanted one thing, and it could not let her have that without more suffering.

Though Sylvanas supposed she had her suffering to thank for many things these days. A little more would not hurt her.

The trip back to the ship took longer than her wild chase out from it had. She was careful and slow. And she had an armful of flowers to protect, after all.

Velonara, for her part, stuck to her assignment. She greeted Sylvanas as she climbed back into the ferry with a raised brow and a beat of silence before asking, “What...why?”

“I needed them,” Sylvanas offered as she deposited the flowers in front of herself and hauled her body the rest of the way up the ladder.

“Belore, you’re going to do it again,” Velonara sighed. “Did Jaina put you up to this?”

“Not entirely, no,” Sylvanas replied. She bent to pick up the flowers, checking over them before removing her cloak and figuring out the best way to stash them within it. “It was a family decision.”

“Excuse me?”

“Jaina wants another child. I want Liria not to feel pressured to take over anything she doesn’t want to when she’s old enough to worry about such things. Liria wants a little sister,” Sylvanas reported. “See? A family decision.”

Sylvanas looked up to find Velonara staring at her, her red eyes digging deep.

“You’re going to say I’m mad, aren’t you?” Sylvanas asked of her. “Let’s hear it then. Get it over with.”

“I...no,” Velonara said with a shake of her head. “You’re bleeding, you know. Here.”

She reached for the corner of her own dark cloak and dabbed it at Sylvanas’ chin.

“And for the record, we will love the second one as much as the first. But you know that already,” Velonara went on as the cloth came back even darker.

“Please save the sentiment for her then, and not for me when I’ve just trekked across holy ground for the better part of an hour,” Sylvanas said.

“Don’t expect me to offer to rub your feet then. Make Jaina do it,” Velonara sneered.

Sylvanas let a smile eek out that had been easier to allow. More and more as the years went by. And Velonara returned it with one that looked as close to her old one as it could.

Further snark would be interrupted by the clear cry of “Minn’da!” from the docks, as Liria and Liadrin returned.

And soon enough, all ills and pains were set at ease when Sylvanas lifted her daughter up from the last rung of the ladder, and into her arms.

“Were you brave?” she asked her.

“It wasn’t scary,” Liria reported. “Liadrin just put some water in my hands and said some pretty things. The Sunwell glows. It feels warm and nice like hot cocoa.”

Sylvanas snorted a laugh at this rather blase description of the ritual. It was all such a silly little thing. But Liria still looked up at her with her own silver eyes. There was no holy glow to them. No great transformation. No rejection. No fear.

It would be fine. She would be fine. They would be fine. After all, all of them were survivors, in their own way. Her and Jaina. Liria too. They had all defied the odds.

And Sylvanas would do it again in a heartbeat, even if her heart no longer beat.

“You did well then,” Sylvanas told her. “My Liria, not frightened of anything.”

“But I missed you Minn’da. You smell like flowers,” Liria stated.

“Oh, do I now?” Sylvanas asked with a grin.

---

They met as a family again on the cliffs overlooking the sea in Lordaeron. Sylvanas carried the lilacs, and led Liria by the hand this time. It was nearly dusk, and Jaina’s form was highlighted in red by the flames for the bonfire, and in blue at other angles by the mana crystals.

She was beautiful like this.

“Minn’da,” Liria started. “Why is mama building a fire? Are we having a cookout?”

“No,” Sylvanas answered. “We are...hmm. How do I say this? We wanted to do something very special for your birthday. Something we had been meaning to do for a while.”

Liria seemed to ponder this as they approached the ritual circle, and Jaina smiled at them as she turned away from the flames and toward her wife and child.

“Hello little star, did you have fun in Silvermoon today?” Jaina said as she bent down and opened her arms for a hug.

“So much fun,” Liria said as she ran to her other mother and returned that embrace. “We went to Lady Liadrin’s house and I played with Salandria there, and then I got to see her school. And we went on a boat ride and Lady Liadrin took me to the Sunwell. And then she yelled at Minn’da about something but took us out to lunch anyway. I got to order dessert and got a honey cake.”

“That sounds lovely,” Jaina told her. “Did you know that we were planning a surprise for you?”

“Is that what this is?” Liria asked as she looked around. “What’s the surprise?”

“You’ll have to wait a while for it,” Sylvanas answered. “But I think you will be very excited when the time comes.”

---

And a week later, they would meet again along the docks of Stormwind Harbor. Well, a week and a day. It was a long trip from Kul Tiras all the way down to Stormwind, but Jaina didn’t mind the sailing. It gave her time to think and process all that had happened, and gave Liria more time on the water, which she always loved.

Jaina wondered if she’d soon be seeing it shape to her little girl’s call, as it did for her. If the elementals would start to flock to her, and seek out her power. It was still early yet. Still not a certainty. Even if it never happened, if Liria was more a ranger than a mage, she wouldn’t mind. Perhaps, that might be easier. After all, a combination of naughtiness and magic was not the best thing for a little girl to have.

Jaina should know.

“There she is!” came the cry of a Windrunner, but not the one Jaina was looking for.

Arator met them first. He was a tall thing of lean muscle and big grins. He was the most elven-looking of his cousins by far, but had his human father’s height and broadness.

He offered a hand to Liria as she made her way down the ramp on her own, ahead of Jaina.

“How was your trip, cousin?” he asked.

“Good,” Liria told him. “So good! I saw so many boats.”

“I bet you did,” Arator said. “Your Minn’da is waiting with mine at the inn. I’m here to escort you and Jaina there.”

“For my birthday party?” Liria asked.

“Of course,” Arator answered. “Though why you get to have a whole week or so for a birthday, I don’t understand.”

“I’m special,” Liria informed her cousin.

And to Jaina, she was. She always would be.

The inn was stuffed to the brim with Windrunners. Vereesa and her gangly, red-headed boys. Alleria had even managed to get Turalyon out of his armor and into a set of comfortable clothes of the occasion. And Sylvanas, of course, flanked by a dozen or so dark rangers who would not be left behind for such a celebration, not of their favorite little charge.

Liria ran to her, of course, and Sylvanas picked her up. The room was so loud and full of people that Jaina couldn’t hear what they were saying, save that they whispered to each other in soft Thalassian, as they usually did, and that Sylvanas smiled as if the world had suddenly become a better place when her daughter was in her arms again.

Jaina peeled her gaze away from them and made the rounds, greeting the others. She would see her wife soon enough. She was more than happy to wait in line behind Liria for that privilege.

Vereesa was the last she managed to greet. “You’re looking well, Jaina. I see the trip back home agreed with you?”

“I wouldn’t quite call it home, but yes, it went better than expected,” Jaina told her. “And thanks to Liria, it looks like we’ll have to plan a return trip soon.”

“That charmer, I knew she’d melt your mother’s heart,” Vereesa said. “I’m glad to hear it, though. Can I get you some wine?”

“None for me, thanks,” Jaina said with a wave of her hand.

“A whiskey then? I think I spotted a good bottle of Admiral’s Reserve on the way in,” Vereesa pressed.

“No, I’ll just stick to water tonight,” Jaina told her.

“Jaina,” Vereesa said, eyeing her up and down.

“What?”

“I have never ever seen you go without a drink at a party,” Vereesa observed. “Not to make a comment, but…”

“I’m just tired from sailing all the way from Kul Tiras,” Jaina offered as an excuse, even though she was pretty certain that any ruse she could offer now would do nothing to dissuade her nosy sister-in-law.

“You did it again, didn’t you?” Vereesa asked, immediately proving that notion to be a correct one.

“Did what?” Jaina tried, giving it one last attempt.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Jaina. You’re too smart for that. If you don’t fess up, I’ll ask Sylvanas. She can’t lie to me. Little sister rights,” Vereesa continued.

“You’re making me want that wine,” Jaina warned.

“But you can’t have it, because you might be pregnant again,” Vereesa filled in.

Jaina groaned, sighing in defeat as she held her forehead in her hand. She should have known better. “Just--it’s only been a week. Will none of you just let me be sure?”

“You are in a room full of people who do not give up and do not know when to leave things well enough alone,” Vereesa informed her. “And you thought you could lay low? Please, Jaina, give your family some respect here.”

“You’re right,” Jaina chuckled. “I’m sorry.”

“Remember that twins run in our blood too,” Vereesa said with a sly smile, and went to sip on her own wine.

As if to prove this statement, her boys ran past in a flash of red, chasing after Liria as she proudly hoisted Mr. Kraken above her head and screeched through the common room.

“Please don’t wish that upon me,” Jaina begged.

---

It would be yet another day before they were finally back in the tower in Lordaeron. The same one Liria had been born in. The place that Jaina meant when she said the word “home”.

It had changed, of course, in those five years. They’d added a receiving room on the bottom floor, as the Warchief spent too much time here not to have a place for visitors. With it came some anchored portals, to Orgrimmar, Stormwind, and Dalaran, of course, where Jaina had joined the Kirin Tor again in an official capacity. She could have taken apartments there, of course, but she never had. The tower was enough.

More than enough now that they’d added a floor below the top one. Here, Liria had her room--filled to the brim with stuffed creatures of all sorts, both mythical and real. The kraken now rested among her pile of favorites on her bed.

And next to hers, an empty room, awaiting on occupant. Perhaps one that would come along soon enough.

But for now, the three of them were on the floor above, laying in bed, but not quite asleep. Sylvanas was reading her reports. Jaina had a book in her hand, but was being distracted by a fidgety Liria, still too full of energy from her exciting week of travels and parties to get to sleep on time.

So much so that she’d come up and asked to be with them, because she wasn’t tired and she was bored.

“Mama,” she asked Jaina as she wriggled between her and Sylvanas. “What are you going to call my baby sister?”

Sylvanas answered that quickly, not even looking up from her reports. “We do not choose the name before, Liria. We will name her when we meet her.”

“Is that how you picked my name?” Liria asked.

“Yes,” Sylvanas answered, not bothering to elaborate on how she had pretended to be indecisive about that decision, even though she had suggested Liria early on in the discussion. Even though it was fairly obvious that was the name she wanted all along.

Nor did she mention that it came from her mother’s name, and her brother's. From the grandmother Liria would never get the chance to meet, and the uncle who would never have the opportunity to win her heart over with stuffed toys.

“We might need to try again,” Jaina told her, wanting to be as honest as she could, lest Liria be disappointed. “These things don’t always work out.”

“How will you know?” Liria asked.

The questions just never ended with her, did they?

“Mama will start throwing up all over the place,” Sylvanas stated calmly. “She almost threw on Anya shoes when she had you in her belly.”

“Ew,” Liria replied with a laugh. “Anya would have been so mad.”

“She was delighted, actually,” Jaina reminded Sylvanas, poking at her over Liria’s head. “Because she knew my secret.”

“At least, thanks to our families, this one won’t be a secret to anyone,” Sylvanas said.

“And neither of us could do a thing about that, you realize?”

Sylvanas smirked and shuffled the pages in front of her. “I suppose not.”

Liria went on with her constant barrage of questions, though this one was preempted by a yawn. “How long do we have to wait to meet her?”

“Quite a while,” Jaina told her, running a hand through her golden hair. “But it will be worth the wait. Go to sleep, little star. It’s been a long day.”

“‘M not tired,” Liria protested as she yawned again.

“Sure you’re not,” Jaina laughed.

It was only a matter of a few more minutes and a few more wriggles against them before Liria was asleep. Sylvanas had made a habit of carrying her back to her bed, but seemed disinclined to that night. Jaina gave up on her book after a while and just watched her wife in the light of the fire’s dying embers as she kept reading through her reports.

“Are you well?” Sylvanas asked, looking over at her.

“I’m great,” Jaina told her. “Better than I’ve ever been.”

The fingers of her one hand were still tangled in Liria’s hair, brushing it back from her temple as she slept. The room around them was small, certainly no royal suite, no palace fit for a king, or fortress for a Warchief. But it was enough. It had always been enough. And that was all Jaina wanted.

Sylvanas smiled at her, and leaned over to kiss her briefly. “Then so am I,” she declared. “Better than ever.”

#Sylvanas Windrunner #Jaina Proudmoore #sylvaina #fanfic #consequences #why can't i stop #happy belated consequences anniversary btw #a friendly reminder that i hate children and don't know why i am doing this

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violet-t-9 · 3 years

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Decision-making in critical role

My general thought on every cast decision made in critical role game play is that I enjoy all of them - because all the choices are made in the moment under different circumstances, and they all make sense in said circumstances.

Are they always the best decisions objectively? No. Are they all exciting and understandable? Yes. It’s always easy to look back in retrospect to see how they could have done better, but nobody could have known how it would turn out, nobody knows how it will affect the future either.

Fjord’s decision to tell the rangers to engage and potentially send them to their deaths? Totally fine with me. Maybe he should have asked about where the TT/rangers were and regretted the decision right after, but maybe he was in the moment consumed with worry for his party members who couldn’t get a long rest and carrying the weight of acting and being seen as a team leader, facing potentially the end of the world. Also, Dagen may be completely fine. Even if he wasn’t, we will just receive even more great role play, characterization and development from Fjord which I’m always here for. That decision had a chance of giving them a long rest, even if it didn’t happen. That decision could have made the TT more careless, more confident, and more out of spell slots when they walked into M9′s traps.

Caleb’s decision to kill guards in the Sanatorium with gravity sinkhole? Totally fine with me. Maybe they could have gone a peaceful route (that could potentially go south and get all of them killed too, by the way), but maybe he, not in his most calm and collected mindset, just wanted to kill the enemies as effectively as possible with a spell that deals a lot of damage and get out fast with the best weapon in his arsenal that isn’t fire-related because he was trying to protect his found family without becoming incapacitated himself. It also led to the very intense confrontation and some wonderful role play moments, which I am always here for. Also, the amulets have already been very useful so far and may turn out even more crucial for the future combat (protection against scrying is such a useful thing in general) and be completely worth the trouble.

Jester and Veth’s decision to chat loudly when they were supposed to be stealthy in their exploration of a fire plane potentially full of enemies as their family members waited inside? Totally fine with me. Maybe they should have been more careful, but maybe they had a rough, rough day and everything seemed hopeless so they were trying their best to look at the future with some hope and optimism. Sure they should have waited and it wasn’t the best decision but it made sense character-wise in the moment when they really needed a moment of levity. They couldn’t have predicted the consequences that followed, which also brought such emotional role plan and high stake into the episode which I’m always here for.

Yasha’s decision to pull out a magical robe and collapse a tower? Beau’s decision to pull out a chained book and lead to a golem chasing her? Totally fine with me. Maybe they should have just left it alone, but maybe the robe or the book could have turned out useful and a clue about Aeorian history and culture and they were just too curious to leave it alone. Could it have turned out badly and buried both Yasha and Veth under the rubbles? Could it have turned out horrible so that team HFB could not get back in time or need rescuing? Yes, but they made the decisions to push the red buttons and brought us fun scenes and combat to watch, as well as excitement and an adrenaline rush, which I’m always here for.

All in all, Dungeons and Dragons is a game where you make decisions in the moment - that’s the whole point. Not all of the decisions will be well thought-out, some will turn out horribly, some will turn out okay, some will have serous consequences down the road (good and bad) - that’s the whole point! It all depends on the dice, the dungeon master’s set up, and the circumstances.

Rather than complaining that the decisions are “out of character” and criticizing the cast for every decision that you deem “unreasonable” immediately or in retrospective, why not just try to understand why they, and their characters, would make that decision in that moment? Why not think about how the circumstances - in real life and in game - could influence such decisions? I for one enjoy both the positive or negative outcomes such decisions bring. This is why D&D is exciting for me, after all.

#critical role #cr spoilers #the mighty nein #cr discourse

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magicman111 · 3 years

Text

A Moth to a Flame - Chapter One

Marcy watched the sun slowly set on Newtopia as she’d done many an evening before. The sharp squawks of the gulls rang through the orange sky. She looked quite the forlorn figure standing by the hotel entrance, the gentle evening breeze that ruffled her cloak underscoring her solitude.

Her eyes remained fixated in the same direction her friend had taken off, maybe in some fleeting fool’s hope she’d change her mind and come sprinting back right into her arms.

Not a chance, Marbles.

Anne was long gone by now. Hopefully, she’d caught up with the Plantars’ fwagon before they reached the city gate. Judging by how quickly she booked it, the odds were in her favor. That girl didn’t make varsity back home for nothing.

Marcy only hoped those sweet, simple frogs knew just how lucky they were to have someone like Anne in their lives.

Sighing, her head lowered, she licked her wounds slowly.

Really? That easy, huh?

Could Anne have made it any more obvious that she wanted to get out of there faster than she did? After they’d been apart for so long, and for a family of farmer frogs whom she’d known for what? Months?

No, don’t do that, she pulled herself up. It wasn’t right for her to be mad at the Plantars. This wasn’t their fault. Sprig and Polly were a barrel of fun at the slumber party, providing you disregarded their life-threatening encounter with the jelly-fish ghosts. Hop Pop, meanwhile, reminded her so much of her own grandpa it was uncanny. They were sweet, decent folk who’d taken Anne in and kept her safe all this time. It was just...

Her lips twisted into a bitter frown. How else was she supposed to feel but a little rejected?

However, was she really allowed to complain when holding her tongue was so normalised for her by this point? Marcy was a people pleaser, she understood that much about herself. Anytime Anne and Sasha got into an argument, she was there to keep the peace and everyone happy. So if Anna-Banana wanted to spend more time with her bumpkin frog family than her literal best friend since preschool, who was she to say no?

The story with her folks wasn’t all that different either. When they pressured her to keep up her studies, up to and including PSAT prep despite it being years away, she did as she was told like a good girl to make them proud, and they were. She hoped they were.

Goodness knows what they must be thinking right now—

Nope nope nope! Don’t go there, don’t go there.

She’d already lost too much sleep at night ruminating over the unspeakable pain she’d most surely put them through, it was the last thing she needed right now. She tried to do the logical thing and focus on the positives instead. That usually worked.

Anne wouldn’t be away for too long. They’d be together again as soon as Hop Pop’s contacts returned the Box to Wartwood and then it was off to the first of the three temples to get those gems recharged. Once that side quest was done and dusted, it was a simple matter of finding Sasha and making their way home.

Looking down, she caught herself wringing her hands.

Home.

That sure was the plan.

I mean... what else are we supposed to do?

“Always sad to see someone go, isn’t it?”

Marcy quickly wiped her eyes and glanced over her shoulder to greet the towering form of King Andrias.

Almost instantly, her mood perked up a notch. He was the one person whom she trusted, more than anyone else in all of Amphibia. Ever since she first landed outside the city walls, he took her under his wings and ensured her smooth transition into this brave new world.

Andrias was without doubt one of the kindest and wisest people Marcy could have ever hoped to meet. He was a true listener, and there were very few you could say that about, her parents included. How often had he been there to lend both an understanding ear and sage advice over games of flipwart?

Games she won more often than not, she wasn’t humble enough not to brag.

It was also he who sent Marcy on the daring missions that would eventually make her the hero of Newtopian society she was today. All because he recognised the value of her talents beyond passing an exam or helping her friends with their homework. No other 13-year-old had their own solid gold statue adorning a city bridge.

She owed this king a debt she couldn’t possibly repay, but one he was far too altruistic in nature to demand.

Then, why did he look so... solemn?

“Come along, Marcy. We need to talk.”

Maybe it was his serious tone of voice or those specific choice of words, but they made the hair on the back of Marcy’s neck stand on end. In an almost pavlovian manner, she corrected her posture and she held her chin erect.

Shoving whatever remaining conflicted thoughts aside, she silently followed Andrias back to the castle like a pilot fish tailing its great white. She was so puny next to this tremendous salamander, he could crush her with a single blow of his fist if he so chose. Not that a gentle, goofy giant like Andrias would even dream of doing such a thing.

So when he was dead serious, Marcy knew better to zip it, listen, and do as instructed.

Their quiet journey took them all the way back to the castle and into the royal throne room, a place she was all too familiar with by now. To enter this hallowed hall was a privilege bestowed only to a select few. For Marcy, it was where she had her morning debriefs over bugachinos.

Instead of going straight up to the throne for their pow wow as she anticipated, Andrias guided her down a small passageway to their left.

When they made their way up to the statue of what Marcy recognised as one of his ancestors, one of the great rulers of Amphibia, they came to a stop. Andrias then gazed down at her with the most serious look she’d seen him give anyone.

“Marcy, before we go any further,” he spoke sternly, “I need to be absolutely crystal clear about something. Okay?”

“Y-Yes, Andrias?” Marcy asked, shivering a little. She did not like being pulled out of her comfort zone, not like this.

“You’re about to enter the most secret place in all of Newtopia,” he continued, now down on one knee and his hand hovering over her shoulder, as close as they could be to eye level. “What I’m going to show you... I need you to swear you won’t share with another living soul. Not to Anne, not to Lady Olivia, no one. Do you understand? I can’t emphasise this enough, Marcy.”

“Of course,” she answered earnestly, trying to sound more confident. “You know you can always trust me, Andrias.”

A ghost of that warm, fatherly smile returned to his big blue countenance.

“Trust is a hard thing to come by, kid, and you’ve gone above and beyond to earn mine. It’s just that I’m not exaggerating here when I say this is a big one.”

Marcy simply placed one hand over his huge index, the other over her heart.

She smiled back at him sweetly, genuinely, “I promise.”

“Very well.”

Nodding in approval, Adrias rose. He reached out, pushing a luminous coral torch upwards.

It didn’t take an encyclopedic knowledge of ‘Creatures & Caverns’ for Marcy to predict that the statue was going to shift to the left next, revealing the spiralling staircase leading to Frog knows where. She probably should’ve been more surprised, but come on, it wasn’t exactly the first secret passage she’d come across in this castle lately.

“Follow me,” was all Andrias said, before he pulled off the same coral torch, then proceeded down the stairs without another word. Marcy followed obediently, unable to ignore the unnerving chill that was now travelling up her spine.

Was it... always this cold around here?

Something about all this just felt so unsettling compared to last time. She couldn’t really explain why; she knew she was safe with Andrias and that he wouldn’t do anything to intentionally put her in harm’s way. It was a gut feeling and that sort of thing bugged a rational person like her to no end.

She tried to take her mind off it by hazarding her best guess as to precisely what he was going to show her. Either she did that or started getting all worked up dwelling on Anne again, which she’d rather not at the moment.

Another secret library, perhaps? Probably not, though she wouldn’t be at all disappointed if it was. Maybe there were forbidden texts about the dark arts hidden away down there. Magic users were incredibly rare in Amphibia these days—Marcy had already searched far and wide—so might this be her chance?

Oh, how the very idea of being able to cast actual magic excited her. Being Chief Ranger of the Knight Guard was a great honor and nothing to sneeze at, but to be a powerful sorceress, one who could communicate with spirits, raise the dead, shuffle the orifices on her enemy’s faces—

Okay, rein those snails in, Mar-Mar.

Her musings were interrupted by a strange noise emanating from below. At first she figured it was just her imagination, but the further they continued their descent, the clearer it became.

It sounded an awful lot like beeping. Yes, that was it. A progressively growing cacophony of bleeps, bloops and chirps, the kind she’d expect to hear from a high-tech supercomputer. Something absolutely alien in a world like Amphibia, she and her friends excluded.

Before Marcy could ask Andrias if he heard it too, she was distracted by the emergence of an orange glow chasing away the darkness below. It was a warm, almost heavenly light that conjured the mental image of a crackling fireplace on Christmas morning, protecting you from the snowstorm outside.

The chill in her spine had by now spread to the crown of her head and the tips of her toes. Her throat tightened up. Beads of cold sweat dripped down her forehead.

What the... Marcy could not say a word, only think.

There was something down there. Something greater than any library, however inconceivable that sounded. Whether it was good or bad was irrelevant to her at that moment.

It called her.

The duo finally reached the foot of the staircase and entered the sacred sanctum.

Marcy’s jaw dropped.

“Woah.”

There were no shelves of books. No ancient Amphibian artifacts. There weren’t even any walls that she could make out from where she stood. Just an apparently endless sea of darkness encompassing a large round platform from which both the enticing glow and the lowkey din of beeps originated.

Marcy resumed taking Andrias’ lead as they stepped out onto the platform, the clink-clank of their boots confirming her assumption it was made of metal. The whole thing appeared more at home on an alien spaceship than in the dungeons of a castle.

Upon arriving at its centre, Andrias knelt down on both knees and, much to Marcy’s curiosity, removed his crown and set it down on the floor. She took the hint by following suit.

Any lingering fears melted away the more she basked herself in the radiance. It was as if the beams were steadily pouring into her body, clearing up her headspace, reducing any tension in her body. She recalled a favored memory from when she was five-years-old, when she and Anne spent a whole summer afternoon by the beach. How the tides would come in and out without fail, washing away the ruins of their sandcastles, the seaweed, one of Anne’s sandles and the teeny tiny baby seahorse they rescued.

Like a nice blank canvas.

Was this a private place of worship? Not according to her expansive studies of Amphibian anthropology. Or maybe it was a place for Andrias to meditate away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the castle. Seemed a skosh excessive if that was the case.

“Truly captivating, I know.”

Andrais’ baritone brought Marcy back down to earth. She straightened up and tried to refocus herself. They were down here for an important reason, at least she believed they were.

“One can spend hours down here,” Andrias boomed ominously. “Adrift in their own thoughts and... dreams.” The light cast his face in a rather unnerving shadow as he stared ahead into the void. “But I’m sure you know I haven’t brought you here to show off my retreat from the world.” He took a long, deep breath, like he was mentally steeling himself for what he said next, “As much as it pains me to say it, I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely truthful with you, Marcy.”

He produced from his sleeve what appeared at first glance to be two giant pieces of parchment and unfolded them neatly on the metal surface. A closer inspection told Marcy they were in fact pages torn from an exceptionally large book. Judging not only by the size, but the font and format as well, she easily pieced together its origin.

“Are these...?”

“From the book we “found” in the wing?” Andrias chuckled mirthlessly. “Yes. Still kinda surprised you didn’t pick up there were pages missing, but that's not important right now. Please, read.”

The platform provided ideal reading light. Marcy’s ability to read at a 12th Grade level meant she cruised through the text and finished within minutes.

She read it once, then twice. A third and fourth time just to make sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her.

Her bottom began to tremble.

No... Nononono, this... this can’t be right. I-It’s impossible! How in the world can it...?!

No amount of curative rays could unfreeze the blood in her veins. The metaphorical pistons in her brain were firing on full cylinders in a vain attempt to digest this earth-shattering information. For a split second, she thought she was going to pass out.

Desperate, she turned to the stone-faced Andrias to plead for some kind of answer, but she found no words with which to speak. All the personal growth and development that made her Newtopia’s champion had been stripped of her and she was reduced to nothing more than a helpless lost toddler.

A comforting set of giant digits placed themselves under her chin, the same way a father would do for his daughter.

“All this time, I’ve been testing you,” Andrias told her, his voice full of pride. “The games of flipwart, the missions, the “secret library”, even the barbari-ant colony I had lured to the city. I was watching you, studying your every action. With each challenge I issued, you excelled my expectations. You’re an exceptionally talented human being, Marcy, truly worthy of the name ‘Wu’.”

Even if these words were meant to serve as comfort or encouragement, they had only the opposite effect for Marcy. Tears were leaking out the corners of her eyes.

She mustered only a pitiful whimper, “I-I don’t understand.”

“Don’t worry, kiddo,” he promised, “you will soon enough. He’s so excited to meet you.”

“... He?”

Lifting his mighty hand in the air, he thrusted it into the nothingness facing them. Marcy instinctively followed its direction.

“Marcy Wu,” Andrias’ thundering voice resonated throughout the sanctuary, “allow me to introduce you... to my master.”

No sooner had he finished, the whole world started to tremble at Marcy’s knees, throwing her off her balance. A rumbling, mechanical ROAR struck her ears so loud she had to cover them to protect the drums from rupture. Yet despite this sensory assault, she somehow forced her eyes to stay wide open. She needed to face whatever was coming.

Marcy gazed into the abyss.

And the abyss gazed back with all thirteen of its eyes.

Terror. Pure mounting terror overwhelmed every cell of her being. Her pupils shrunk to the size of pinpricks. If her mouth stretched any wider, her jaw risked snapping clean off its hinges.

Everything around her faded into black. Andrias, the platform and its glow, the beeping, all vanished into the ether. All now that existed were herself and those colossal demonic eyes plucked from the deepest recesses of her nightmares, their leer burrowing into her very soul.

Marcy wanted to scream until she coughed up her lungs. Moreso, she just wanted to wake up. This was all a dream, it had to be. A lucid dream that had gone on for far too long. She and her friends weren’t in another dimension inhabited by talking frogs, such a notion was a scientific absurdity. She sure as heck wasn’t a ranger in some anthropomorphic newt army.

Any moment now, her wizard kitty alarm would ring and she’d wake up in her soft, cozy bed. Dad would have left for work by now, planting a goodbye kiss on her sleeping forehead as he did every morning since she was little. Mom would be already making her her favorite congee rice and youtiao for breakfast. Then she would begin the process of packing up her room for the big move to Oregon like a good girl.

Yes, she would even happily do that. Anything to bring an end to this ordeal!

Shhhh

Her train of thought screeched to a sudden halt.

Marcy

It’s gonna be okay

And just like that, as if those were the five magic words required, everything was fine again. No more panic, no more existential terror. Her heart rate lowered to a steady, non-life threatening level.

The tide had risen up and washed Marcy’s mind clean.

Like a nice blank canvas.

What quickly followed was an epiphany of sorts.

There was nothing for her to fear. Once she accepted that fact, the warm sensation from before returned greater than ever, engulfing her in what could only be described as a spiritual hug. She could feel the pair of hands, tender as her own mother’s, caressing her face and flicking away her tears. They even ruffled her raven hair in the same playful manner.

Come to me, daughter of Wu

Let me get a good look at you

Marcy obeyed. Getting down on all fours, she crawled across the nonexistent ground—the laws of physics evidently had no place here—until her face and the eyes’ chief pupil were within inches of each other.

Fresh tears, now ones of ecstasy, trickled down her cheeks and evaporated in the pulsating heat.

“You’re beautiful.”

I know

We’ve gotta lot to talk about, Marcy

And I have a feeling...

You and I are gonna become the best of friends

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haledamage · 3 years

Text

Coming Home

I'm a day late because this thing got much bigger than I expected, but better late than never! This is for @shepherds-of-haven Shepherds Summer 2021! The prompt was Pacific Rim AU!

Some of the backstory stuff is from this post here. Some is just pushing ShoH canon slightly to the left so it fits better in a Pacific Rim setting. Some is the result of reading ShoH and watching PacRim at the same time and then taking a nap to see what seeds got planted. There will be a part 2 to this because I had to split it up in order to finish it on time and then I was late anyway.

Shepherds of Haven/Pacific Rim AU. Iorwen Emroth/Blade Bronwyn (well, hints of it. more in part 2)

---

The Haven Shatterdome looked very small from overhead. Iorwen watched it loom closer with a trepidation somewhere between “being late for an important exam” and “being read her last rites.”

It had been just over two years since she’d last been this close to a Jaeger, half a world away and in a different life, but all the Shatterdomes looked the same after a while. Steel and glass and everything painted in olive drab, black, and safety yellow.

Part of her felt like it was too soon to walk into those hangar doors again, the empty space at her side where her partner used to be still a raw, open wound. She couldn’t even think xer name yet without feeling like she couldn’t breathe. Returning to work felt like a betrayal of xer memory.

Another part of her, louder with every passing minute, was just so happy to be home again.

"Wen!"

Iorwen had barely stepped out of the helicopter when she heard her name called and turned to see Red jogging toward her. He looked more tired than she remembered him, but his smile was as bright as ever, his hair vivid against their otherwise drab surroundings. She’d known he was here - he’d transferred to Haven shortly after she left Capra - but hearing it and actually seeing him were two very different things.

She dropped her bag carelessly to the tarmac and ran to meet him halfway, throwing herself at him as soon as he was close enough to wrap her arms around his neck. He hugged her back without hesitation. They were making a Hel of a scene in the middle of the landing pad, but neither of them really cared.

"I knew you'd come back," he mumbled into her hair.

"Had to." She finally pulled away, stepping back just enough that she could see him. "You can barely tie your shoes without me, Liefred."

He only laughed before leaving her side just long enough to grab her bag. He slung an arm around her shoulders as he rejoined her, dragging her towards the hangar. "Welcome home."

She stared up at the Shatterdome, hangar doors towering over them. It didn't look nearly as welcoming as Red seemed to think it should, and was much more intimidating than it had been from the air. It still smelled like blood and motor oil - or maybe it was her memory that did.

She tried to put on her best smile anyway, for his sake if not her own, and let him drag her inside.

They stepped into a hive of activity, the sounds of machinery and voices echoing off the walls, laughter and shouting and clanging metal rising up to greet them. She tried to stop and take it in, but Red was still dragging her along with him out of the main hangar and into a labyrinth of hallways; she probably could have escaped him if she tried, but she didn’t really want to.

“Have you met the Marshal yet?” he asked, once they were in a quiet enough place that he didn’t have to yell to be heard.

“Not yet. Mostly talked to his second so far.” Trouble Alder had, in fact, shown up out of the blue one day three months ago, sitting on her front porch with a stick of charch between his lips and looking completely at home. He’d revisited her every day for a month until he’d finally worn her down enough to convince her to come home. Stubborn bastard. “What's he like?”

“Intense,” Red answered almost immediately. “Most of the younger crew are terrified of him. He doesn't like me.”

Iorwen scoffed. “Bullshit. You’re the most exceptionally likeable person I’ve ever met. Everyone likes you.”

“He doesn't.”

They stopped in front of a door in what was probably the barracks, the walls lined with identical doors on either side. Sure enough, there was a simple bed, a dresser, and not much else inside. Iorwen didn’t mind; she didn’t need much else.

Once she’d dropped off her bag and they started down the next hallway, Red continued, “I don't know if he likes anyone. He barely says two words to anyone but Trouble.”

She was still skeptical, but didn’t push. “Well, he must be doing something right. Look at this place. Capra barely had a skeleton crew compared to this.”

“It’s amazing!” Just like that, Red lit up again. “Some of Blest’s best and brightest are here. Pilots, mechanics, scientists, strategists, you name it.”

“And which of those are you? All of the above?”

“Mostly scientist, I think,” Red rubbed a sheepish hand over his hair. “There’s better pilots. Pan, Neon, and I serve better in the lab than on the field most of the time.” He paused, watching her cautiously, before adding carefully, “And… which will you be?”

“I’ll be working in the clinic,” she said quickly. “As a Healer. I’m not… ready to be around Jaegers again. I might never be.”

“I understand,” he assured her, reaching out to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We all do.”

They fell silent after that, and stayed that way until they stopped in front of a door labelled Administration. “This is Shery’s office. She’ll get you all set up.”

“Thanks, Red.”

“Anytime.” With one final quick hug, he turned to leave, only to stop halfway down the hall. “Oh, and Wen?”

“Hmm?”

“Welcome to the Shepherds.”

---

It was two weeks before Iorwen finally met the Marshal, and it happened entirely by accident.

She had just finished a shift in the clinic, patching up minor burns and bruises on unlucky mechanics and restless pilots. The silence between Kaiju attacks left everyone on edge, and that led to carelessness, which inevitably meant stupid injuries. She didn’t mind. All things considered, she’d rather have the silence.

As she turned a corner, she noticed a light was on in the training room, and curiosity led her there without much input on her part.

She recognized the man in the room easily enough. Even if they’d never spoken directly, she’d seen him around enough to know who he was. He commanded the attention of a room like no one she’d ever met before. He was hard to look away from, even here, out of uniform and either unaware or uncaring of her presence.

Magnetic. That’s what he was.

He was also much younger than she expected for a Marshal. He was close to her own age, or at least she assumed he was. She wondered about the story there - obviously there must be one - but knew better than to ask the rumor mill. Gossip was like dust: inevitable, everywhere, and harder to see through the more you stirred it up.

The Marshal’s back stiffened, and Iorwen knew she’d been caught staring even before he glanced over his shoulder in her direction. She stepped into the room as casually as possible. “Hello, Marshal.”

He simply nodded, dark eyes unreadable. “Ranger.” She bit her lip to stop herself from correcting him. “Emroth, right?”

“Yes, sir.” She approached until she could finally see his face. “Iorwen.”

Another nod. “Blade.” She thought he would leave it there, but after a moment, he spoke again. “Antiqua speaks highly of you.”

“Of course he does. He's biased.” She laughed, rolling her eyes at the idea that Red was going around extolling her virtues to anyone who would listen. When the Marshal - Blade, she mentally corrected herself - gave her a look that she interpreted as curiosity, she elaborated. “We trained together as cadets. He was my first Drift partner actually.”

“But you never piloted together?”

“No. It…” Iorwen broke eye contact, the floor suddenly fascinating. “It didn't work out that way.”

“It's not too late,” he said, almost softly.

“Yes it is. I'm not a Ranger anymore. Not after…” Xer name got stuck in her throat, like it always did. She took a couple of deep breaths until she could comfortably breathe around it again, but her smile was still sad. “I'm happier on the ground. I'm a good Healer. It's where I should be.”

She could feel Blade’s eyes on her, but she didn’t look back up to meet them. Eventually, all he said was, “I see.”

He turned his back on her again and it didn’t take long before her gaze was drawn to him again. He was wearing a tank top, like most people did when they came here to train or spar, and standing this close she could clearly see the web of electrical scarring trailing over his arm and shoulder.

She knew those scars well. The scars of someone forced to solo pilot a Jaeger. She should know, she had a matching set.

Blade did an admirable job of pretending he didn’t know he was being observed, but he moved too carefully for it to look entirely casual. Or maybe he just always moved like that. He picked up a bo staff and tested the weight of it.

Iorwen took the opportunity that presented without thought or hesitation. “Looking for a dance partner?”

The briefest flash of surprise crossed his face before his expression smoothed back out. “Are you… sure?” he asked carefully. If she didn’t know better, she might say he almost sounded nervous.

She found it charming. She found him charming, with his not-quite-smile and his cool confidence, this magnetic man who could simultaneously terrify the cadets while inspiring absolute loyalty in them.

But she didn’t tell him that, of course. She just grabbed a staff of her own and grinned as she lifted it in a fencing salute. “On your guard, Marshal.”

---

After that first night, it became a regular thing. Not every day, not even on a set schedule. But sometimes after she was done in the clinic or in the garage, Iorwen would stop by the training room, and sometimes when she did, Blade would already be there. Not waiting for her, not exactly, but never surprised when she arrived.

He never really said much, but she didn't mind talking for the both of them. She could tell he was warming up to her, as the weeks passed; his silence felt much less formal and stiff and more cordial. Eventually, even friendly.

Two things were apparent from the very beginning, though. Well, three things. The first was that Blade, as a fighter, was completely out of her league. She never stopped by with any expectation of beating him; she was content to follow his lead. It was nice to be active again, to feel the familiar burn in muscles left dormant in her self-imposed retirement.

The second was that they were extremely drift compatible. While Iorwen could never beat him, she could consistently predict him. They could both be blindfolded and still know what move the other would make. There was an effortlessness to the way they understood each other that bordered on the supernatural. It was a kind of connection that she hadn’t felt since Zori had been killed.

The third thing was that neither of them were willing, in any way, shape, or form, to admit the second thing.

It was barely a week before Red found out.

He flopped down on the bench next to her in the cafeteria. “I brought those papers you were looking for to your room last night, but you weren’t there.” He didn’t say it as an accusation, but it still managed to feel like one.

“I spent a couple hours in the training room,” she said as casually as possible. “Trying to get back in shape.”

Red blinked a few times, letting that sink in, before smiling wide. “That’s really good. Let me know if you ever need a sparring partner.”

“I kind of… have one?”

“You do?” His smile went from friendly to devious, the look of a man who had four sisters and was willing to tease her as if she was a fifth. “Who?”

Before she could stop herself, she looked across the room at Blade. He sat at a table with Trouble, whose laughter was loud enough to reach them even from the other side of the busy cafeteria. The Marshal’s face remained impassive, looking like he wasn’t even listening, but Iorwen knew him well enough to tell he was amused.

As if he could feel her watching him, his eyes snapped up and locked on hers. She smiled at him; he nodded almost imperceptibly.

Red cleared his throat, and she looked away quickly, turning her attention back to the smugly amused grin of her best friend. “Well, I guess maybe it’s not everyone he doesn’t like.”

“Guess it’s just you.” She nudged his shoulder and he rubbed at it as if she’d hurt him. “He’s not as bad as you made him out to be.” She couldn’t stand his knowing look anymore and turned away, but doing so led her eyes right back to Blade. “He's nicer than he looks. And surprisingly funny. He doesn't treat me like I'm fragile. Like I'll break if someone talks about… Zori.”

Mentioning her former Drift partner and copilot didn’t hurt as much as she expected it to this time. Less like twisting a knife in her heart and more like being poked in a fresh bruise.

Mentioning xer also stopped whatever comment Red had been about to make right in its tracks. He studied her with obvious curiosity, mouth still half-open in surprise. Whatever he saw on her face had him leaning forward and tapping his forehead against hers, a quick gesture of affection and understanding. She leaned into it until he pulled away.

And then his teasing smile was back as if it had never left. “Plus, he's handsome.”

She eyed him warily, but let him have the subject change. “That too.” She picked up a piece of fruit from her plate and popped it into her mouth. “Please don’t say anything about this to Pan or Neon.”

“Scout’s honor.”

“I mean it, Red. Not a word.”

---

“So I hear you and the Marshal have a thing.”

Iorwen sighed from the very depths of her soul. “I hope Red knows how very dead he’s about to be.”

Panrachus looked legitimately confused at her response. “What? I didn’t hear that from Red, I heard it from Caine.” Then he gasped, eyes widening with sudden, delighted recognition. “What does Red know?”

She only barely bit back a groan. “Why are you even here?”

“Right! We’ve got something you oughta come see.”

She followed him, with more than a little trepidation, out of the clinic, through the office labyrinth, and out into the hangar. It took her a few minutes to get her bearings and realize where exactly they were going. “Why are we going to the Jaeger bays?” He didn’t answer. “Pan?”

Then they turned the corner, and she had her answer.

Looming over her was a Jaeger unlike any she’d seen before. It looked almost lanky, the proportions lean and sleek instead of the more familiar bulky designs. It would be unbelievably fast with the right pilots; she could tell that just from looking at it. From the top of each wrist, a wicked-looking blade extended over the hand, almost long enough to drag the ground. It was painted black, navy, and silver, but its eyes glowed bright blue.

From the ground, it almost looked like iladrin. Like the same blue light that lit Iorwen’s own eyes.

“What’s her name?” she whispered, unable to tear her eyes away from the Jaeger.

“Stellar Enigma.”

“Who’s piloting her?”

“You are.”

She jumped at the unexpected voice behind her and turned to see Blade, Red, and Trouble approaching, along with an entourage of what looked to be equal parts Shatterdome leadership, actual engineers, and nosy onlookers.

“You are,” Blade said again, quieter, softer, “Ranger.”

“Blade, I--” Iorwen started, but she wasn’t sure what she actually intended to say.

He reached up and lightly pinched her cheek, a faint smile on his lips. “You’ll be alright.”

Before she could reply, Trouble gently but pointedly cleared his throat, reminding her of their audience. She glared his way, just for a second; he grinned back, unabashed and unrepentant.

“Who’s my copilot? Sir.” She added the last as an afterthought, trying to act some semblance of professional.

“I get the feeling you already have someone in mind.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Bit early to be reading my thoughts, isn’t it, Marshal?”

---

Iorwen’s suit didn’t fit as well as she remembered. Tight around the shoulders, too loose at the waist. Like it was meant for someone else, no matter how many things tried to tell her otherwise.

Blade’s fit him like a second skin. He looked like a Jaeger cockpit was where he was always meant to be. Like it was the rest of the world that didn’t fit him right instead.

She met his inscrutable gaze before ‘admiring’ could cross the line to ‘ogling’. “You look good.”

He paused for a long time, staring back at her in silence, before finally clearing his throat. “You too.”

She grinned, both at the compliment and at the sight of the Marshal so off-balance, but she took pity on him and changed the subject. “Do you want the left or right?”

“Right.”

“Good. I prefer left.”

They didn’t speak anymore as they connected to their harnesses and their suits started interfacing with the Jaeger, the computerized voice talking them through system checks. It took longer than Iorwen remembered, but it had been a long time since she last Drifted with anyone, let alone with someone new.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked, once their helmets were in place and they’d run out of checks to do. “I’m not--”

“Yes,” he interrupted sharply. “You’re ready. We both are.”

There were a lot of things she wanted to say. To thank him, mostly, for a list of things that seemed to be growing bigger by the hour. She kept quiet; he’d hear it in her thoughts soon enough.

“Initiating neural handshake in 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… neural interface drift initiated.”

Between one breath and the next, she was somewhere else. Images flowed over her, some familiar, some new. She did her best to let them pass, to not cling too hard to any of them.

The destruction of Drummond's Point, the first attack the day the Kaiju came. Iorwen, dragging Zori's unconscious body out of town as fast as thirteen-year-old legs could carry her. Blade, stern and silent even as a child, a soldier from the day he was born. Zori, tears at the corners of xer eyes as xe laughs at a joke Pan told, Red and Neon joining in, the three of them always together even then. Blade's older brother, startlingly similar to him in appearance and demeanor, the two of them either sparring or fighting; for them, there had never been much difference.

Zori's scream as xe's ripped out of the cockpit. Gladius didn't make a sound as he met the same fate.

Iorwen's grief washed up against Blade's, soothing in it's familiarity. A gentle reminder that they weren't alone anymore, that thanks to the Drift they'd never be entirely alone again.

She saw him in her memory of their first meeting. Stern, aloof, but warm underneath, like a fire behind frosted glass. Captivating her before he even so much as looked at her.

And then herself through his eyes at that same introduction. Sad, withdrawn, but still burning bright. The embodiment of stubborn hope, like a flower blooming in a snowy field.

And then they broke through the surface, both gasping as they came up for air. Below them, Stellar Enigma came to life. The rush of memories and emotions settled into the background, present but no longer demanding attention.

“Pilot connection stabilized.” It wasn’t the computer’s voice this time, but Shery over the intercom. “How do you feel?”

Moving as one, Blade and Iorwen lifted their hands, right fist resting on left palm, and bowed. Stellar Enigma did the same, moving as smoothly as her pilots did. Iorwen couldn’t tell which of them the wave of elation came from, but it burst out of her in a laugh.

“It feels like coming home.”

#rhi writes #iorwen emroth #iorwen/blade #shepherds of haven #shepherds summer 2021 #part 2 will finally get to a kaiju battle #and also will have some actual romance instead of just hints of romantic tension lol #(will probably also have a small cameo from miss elyana trick and whiplash gunsmoke because why not)#and yes I borrowed a few lines from shoh (especially the dancing and 'trying on fancy clothes' scenes)#because they seemed appropriate and also because it was fun

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