#Derek Proudmoore

[eighthdoctor]

In which Ihz is just trying to deliver the mail (also both Nathanos and Derek are against women's wrongs, and there's another water elemental).

#the power to manipulate belief #nathanos blightcaller #derek proudmoore #world of warcraft #my writing

[girlmachinezeph]

Proudmoore involved in Forsaken politics

Good end: Sylvanas Windrunner x Jaina Proudmoore

Bad End: Calia Menethil x Derek Proudmoore

#world of warcraft #sylvanas #sylvanas windrunner #sylvaina #jaina proudmoore #forsaken #derek proudmoore #calia menethil

[mdame-meme]

"I am a Proudmoore, and I always will be. But I've changed, and it's time to see where the tides will take me."

(Clip sources below!)

[Spoiler] An Unexpected Reunion: https://youtu.be/2wREeahXw1Q?si=8BeQKitOor1yiUyY

The Resurrection Of Derek Proudmoore Cutscene | Battle for Azeroth 8.1: https://youtu.be/o_fbZKlKUAA?si=Xjc9TN8nr53JR6JK

WoW: The Return Of Derek Proudmoore - Quest: https://youtu.be/if4OVk8v2DI?si=-rLS4ZGyMI7XvtOd

Memories Of Derek Proudmoore | Battle for Azeroth Patch 8.1: https://youtu.be/OLYCWllt6NM?si=8_VX_9Dh6T1pfSaf

--

'abbey' by mitski but you're in a cathedral hungry and waiting for something: https://youtu.be/JlSGCsVQDq8?si=5u7BRGj_VLTrzjYM

Abbey: https://youtu.be/4WykMxuJKuk?si=C-HqQiAP6wPrxxAU

#WoW #Derek Proudmoore #Wow Edit #World of Warcraft #Wow bfa #bfa #battle for azeroth #jaina proudmoore #baine bloodhoof #mitski - abbey

[blue-eyed-banshee]

Baine would speak with Sylvanas before her penance and ask for forgiveness for the way he treated her in the past.

Derek and Tandred would also be present by Jaina's side. Baine would want Sylvanas to complete her penance intact and gives her a Tauren gift to help on her task. I'm not sure what that would be.

I also wish we had a conversation between Syl and Lor'thermar! They were friends in life, and he was saddened when she died as were her people, which was evident in the blood elf heritage questline!

I would have settled for Syl and Derek having a conversation to give him closure.

I may write a thing based on this, so keep an eye out!

#goth mun speaks #sylvanas windrunner #jaina proudmoore #derek proudmoore #baine bloodhoof #lor'themar theron

[mdame-art]

“I’m still your brother, Jaina... For as long as stars do shine.”

#derek proudmoore #wow #world of warcraft #i dont know why he's become my latest meow meow hes my little puppy splash

[wolf-of-stormwind]

i think a cool alternative to removing calia's title would be giving the rest of the desolate council unique titles, like giving Velonara the title "The Shadowed Arrow" or something like that. honestly her title isnt even that bad, i just really want them all to be equal.

but derek's HAS to go, like i cannot see a SINGLE reason for him to have it. i can see "champion of the desolate council" if they started having him do a bunch of stuff protecting them with or something

#world of warcraft #forsaken #the forsaken #the desolate council #dark ranger velonara #calia menethil #derek proudmoore #tbh they should just give him SOMETHING to make him a character #tbh i actually really like calia and her potential but some of her writing is euch #i also think WE should get the champion of the desolate council if we're horde/forsaken from like a wuest like baines #especially if we're horde/forskane

[azerothtravel]

Heir To The Throne Of Lordaeron, Tirisfal Glade, February 10, 2020.

#wow #world of warcraft #tirisfal glade #battle for azeroth #calia menethil #derek proudmoore

[aatroxskitten]

sylvanas being a rape victim headcanons are misogynistic and entirely to do with forcing sylvanas to be victimized in a more womanly way than any real reading of the text.

i'm just saying, derek proudmoore was raised from the dead, subjected to mental torture, and had his body permanently altered to try to force him to fit another character's will, and i've never seen rape narratives surrounding him, so.

#i am sylvanas discoursing on main again stop me #also derek proudmoore wasn't raped either so we're clear #what happened to him was fucked up #doesn't make it rape #same with sylvanas

[redisaid]

Beneath the Blue Moon - Chapter 2

Waxing

Please don’t expect me to continue at this insane pace. I’m just really excited for this fic, and obviously the first two chapters here are companion chapters, so you all deserve to see the whole picture they paint sooner rather than later.

Boo at the Mid BFA crew for making me acknowledge Shadowlands, but it’s fine. I’ll fix it. With a bulldozer.

5644 Words

Read it on Ao3!

And the ghosts they lie under roots deep, Where golden tresses decay, The marks still burned in the still sleep, Of those I had to betray.

Anger had been Sylvanas’ constant companion through the years. The only thing, in fact, that did remain constant. Its target often shifted, but she was always angry.

Tonight was no exception. No, none at all as she stared down at the corpse that had been placed for her inspection in the captain’s cabin of the Banshee’s Wail. Tonight, she was angry at many people and many things, but mostly at the circumstances that had brought the body of Derek Proudmoore upon her table. And those that had brought the decision about what to do with it to rest on her shoulders.

She knew her orders. One of her remaining val’kyr, Signe, had brought them to her the night before on ghostly wings, just as many of Sylvanas’ orders came these days. Yet she had not followed them. She did not intend to follow them.

And therein lay the problem. The Jailer, Zovaal, whatever she chose to call that being to whom she had bound herself in servitude towards his vague plan to free the universe from death, wanted her to raise Derek Proudmoore to unlife, willing or not. Sylvanas had done many awful things, but had never raised unwilling undead. And certainly never with the intent to turn them against their own families and bend their will.

There were many lines she had sworn not to cross, but had crossed anyway in pursuit of his goal. Why it was this one that she hesitated at, she couldn’t say.

Derek was a water-logged, leathery thing, recognizable only from his dog tags. A bag of skin and bones with a mop of blonde hair and a blonde beard still clinging to him--along with the tatters of a fine greatcoat, made from tight woven broadcloth now turned to soggy rags, but once grand enough to be befitting of the Lord Admiral’s son. He’d been dead years longer than Sylvanas herself, and the condition of his body reflected every one of those years.

A hollowness in her twisted at the sight of him, not so dissimilar to the one that jerked at her from deep within her chest and stomach as she watched Teldrassil burn.

It was easier to assure herself it was all worth it, dripping with righteous anger--boiling with the knowledge that it was Saurfang’s failure that forced her hand that day, even as she knew the Jailer would be quite pleased with the more destructive outcome of her victory.

But here, alone in the night--a corpse staring at a corpse and wondering truly, if she were any different than him--the anger didn’t blind her, nor did she let it. Here, alone, she could count what and who it was that she was angry at. Nathanos, for one, for dragging Proudmoore’s body up onto this table and presenting it with glee, as if it were a cake at the world’s worst surprise party. The Horde champion, secondly, for apparently having been the one to have the bright idea to bring it up from the bottom of the sea along with their original target.

And chiefly at herself, as always, for bringing this decision upon herself. Sylvanas was no fool. She knew she had signed herself away, what little freedom she had. And sometimes, she felt as if it was worth it. It would be worth it.

But not tonight.

She felt more than heard Signe appear next to her. While eventually, the flapping of her wings grew corporeal enough to disturb the air and bring sound to Sylvanas’ ears, there was sense about her first--a looming, frigid thing. A weight. A burden.

Signe’s booming voice was somber as she reported, “He’s waiting.”

“I know,” Sylvanas answered.

He had given her saviors and turned them into his messengers. His parrots. The val’kyr liked her better, though, and meant every loyalty they’d sworn to her. She didn’t ask much of them. She didn’t want much from them. She kept her responses brief and her use of their powers as minimal as she could get away with. While they had been a blessing in their ability to raise the willing dead, Sylvanas only had a need for so many soldiers. And now with the whole of the Horde at her command, what was one more corpse, one more brittle and broken body, and one more spirit disturbed from slumber?

It was one too many.

“Take me to him. I wish to speak with him directly,” she commanded of Signe.

Sylvanas knew such a thing was possible. Zovaal had seen to it that his chosen agent among the living world was able to cross the plane of death, even if he was not. The Shadowlands, it seemed, didn’t mind her passing through. After all, Sylvanas stank enough of death to be at home there. Surely nothing and no one noticed her passings back and forth into the Maw, or at least not enough to object to them.

But she did. She hated that place. She hated Zovaal. She hated the things he had her do. She hated what he was making her, and hated the knowledge that it was ultimately him that had forged the tools to make her into this abomination to begin with.

Yet he also held the key to her salvation, and took great joy in taunting her with that fact, in his own way.

Signe understood the request. She likely offered a nod, but Sylvanas didn’t see it. She kept her blood red eyes on Derek’s body, then closed them as she listened for the sound. A rush of silence, if it could be called anything. A lack of the familiar sounds of her flagship--of wood creaking and the footsteps of her Dark Rangers patrolling above deck. They faded into nothing, into a void that Sylvanas slipped past as Signe’s arms wrapped around her, and she carried them into the land of the dead.

Tonight, Zovaal was in Torghast, as he often was. The silence broke into the sounds of distant screams of torment--the eternal torture of the irredeemable. A real hell, somehow worse than the ones any mythology promised. He’d boasted to her before about the infinite, twisting nature of his tower, and how it offered floor after floor after floor of punishment. Sylvanas wasn’t here to discuss the architecture of torture, though.

“Where are your sisters?” Sylvanas asked of Signe as she let her go, dropping to her feet onto the tile of Zovaal’s throne room, shifted and twisted and slightly different from last time, as was to be expected.

“Brynja and Kyra await your call not far from here, Dark Lady,” Signe answered.

There were only three of them left. As much as Sylvanas found that cause for concern, Zovaal did not. He assured her he could send her more, but never did.

“I’m feeling foolish tonight,” Sylvanas told her. “Have them come here and wait with you.”

“What do you mean by that? Foolish?” Signe asked.

Sylvanas had not been prepared for the frank question. Her val’kyr were the type to just take orders and not ask about them.

Nor did she have an answer to give. “I don’t know yet. Have them wait.”

“Yes, Dark Lady.”

Sylvanas did know a part of the answer. She was going to tell Zovaal no. She just didn’t know what that would mean for her. All she could think as she strode toward his throne was that she should have said no much, much earlier.

But hindsight was a thing she could reserve for her anger at herself. Tonight, she needed to focus on Zovaal.

“Have you come to explain yourself? Or to argue, as you so often do?” he asked her as he sighted her.

He was a massive hulk of a creature. A god? A demon? A titan of some sort? Something that had come before them all? Sylvanas wasn’t sure. This realm defied so much of regular logic, so many of the things she thought she once knew with abject certainty, that it was tough to compare it or its denizens with any of that. She wished she could forget it, but the promise of her freedom from its clutches was the only thing driving her to continue on these days, lest she forget. And she never forgot.

Sylvanas looked up at him, a bald-headed figure of stone, otherwise dull, but alighted with blue runes in some sense of sick irony. The gaping hole in his chest had been what had made her feel there was a kinship between them once--an understanding of sorts. They were both missing so much. But over the years, Sylvanas surmised that Zovaal deserved to be missing what he was. And now she knew that he was the one keeping her from being whole.

Another matter to be discussed, certainly.

“Neither,” was all Sylvanas answered as her boots clapped over the tile of the floors. The pattern it formed seemed to twist and transform even as she walked across it. The entire tower was a writing, slithering thing.

The spikes and jagged piles of debris that formed Zovaal’s throne were subject to the rate of subtle change. If she looked away long enough, or focused on one feature only, then those around it would change. It was maddening. Terrifying.

And yet Sylvanas kept walking toward it.

“Our work is only beginning, Sylvanas,” Zovaal told her. He was relaxed between the jagged arms, well, as relaxed as a statue of animated hatred could be. “And yet you delay it.”

“You asked for Marshall Valentine. I have him too. Why bother with Proudmoore?” she asked as she finally stopped short of him, closer than she normally dared.

His size often shifted, just like everything else about him and his tower. Today, Zovaal was about three times her size. Who knows what he’d be tomorrow. But as usual, she had to crane her neck to look up at him.

“You know why,” Zovaal answered. Always cryptic--his stone face unmoving, but something about it still betraying a hint of sick delight.

“To rattle the Kul Tirans? Sailors don’t play mind games,” Sylvanas informed him.

“You have always been so unwilling to strike at her,” Zovaal noted. “I am offering you the opportunity to have someone else do it for you.”

Her. Of course, her. Jaina Proudmoore had the nagging habit of making herself a constant target--of getting in the way. Sylvanas hazarded a look down at her wrist. Her gauntlet covered the silvery mark there that had once bound them together--in life. But she’d been dead thirteen years. She was a broken and butchered thing. Unlovable and unwanted for all things but war. And Zovall knew that all too well.

“You’re so unwilling to speak a mortal woman’s name? Jaina Proudmoore knows nothing of you, Jailer. Regardless, she is too stubborn to die. Not for lack of trying, believe me,” Sylvanas answered.

“I don’t,” he replied. “Your world was always such a curious one. So tangled and interwoven. Separating souls from it was like picking a thread from a fine weave--tedious and treacherous. I will be happy to see it gone.”

“To what end?” Sylvanas asked--a question she had asked before, but Zovaal had never answered with any certainty. “All this destruction and chaos. You promised me much and have given me nothing for all of it. Now you ask for more. Don’t I deserve the same?”

“Loyalty is its own reward,” Zovaal assured her, leaning deeper into his throne as he reached somewhere behind him. “Or is that not what you tell your soldiers when they wonder at the atrocities you continue to commit?”

Sylvanas wished she could say it was into some pouch or pocket. Some container she could understand or plan to steal. But it was always into nothingness, and then something. From nothing, he produced the very thing that had made her cross every other line. The very thing that she had given up everything for.

Zovaal twirled the glowing blue gem in his massive hand. It was so small, so faint against the cold, grey expanse of him. “Lest you forget,” he said as he pointed it toward her. “Where exactly your loyalty lies.”

In her years of arguing and bargaining, Sylvanas had learned exactly what that gem contained. A half of her soul--more or less--torn from her by Frostmourne. All of it orchestrated by this being, this devil in his tessellating hell. Her army, her kingdom, her world, and her everything, lost in order to make her a willing pawn for a chance to be whole again. And what’s worse was that she did exactly that. She was exactly that.

But not tonight.

“If you give me what’s mine, then I’ll come to an understanding about raising Proudmoore and what you mean to have me do to him,” Sylvanas offered.

It wasn’t the first time she’d tried to bargain for her very soul. What else did she have anyway? She was half herself, but enough to be aware of it. A being of rage and logic and cunning. Joys were lost on her, ringing hollow in a place inside of her that was a black, gaping void. Sylvanas thought it was just a part of undeath at first, but her Forsaken were not like her. Not all of them, at least. They laughed and meant it, they still sang and danced and loved. Sylvanas had only ever surprised herself once, with a song of grief over Alleria’s necklace--the one sentiment she still felt purely being loss, of course.

Even her soulmate, the stubborn and beautiful Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras--or so crowned not but a week ago--was a thing lost to her. Jaina could not fix what was broken. She didn’t deserve a soulmate with half a soul, not even enough left to her to make the mark of their bond shine as it should, bound to a pact of destruction she made in an effort to rid this world of her wrongness, only to find out that what lay beyond was far, far worse.

No, Sylvanas knew there would be no rest, no end for her until she was whole. Until the part of her the Jailer held between his very fingers was hers again.

Until then, the sacrifices she made to get it would just have to be worth it.

“No,” was the Jailer’s answer. “It’s not yet time.”

“Give me another’s then, as proof that things are as you say. I know you have more,” Sylvanas offered.

And he did. She’d made a note of mapping out the other hollowed ones like herself--those that died directly to the cursed blade. Some of her own Dark Rangers were among them, of course. Plenty of other Forsaken who had fallen in Arthas’ path as well. If she could just see how it affected them, just understand that there was hope, that might be enough.

For Proudmoore, at least.

“So altruistic you are. Or at least you pretend to be,” Zovaal taunted, flipping the crystal between his fingers. “I know you’re not. There’s nothing wrong with being selfish, Sylvanas. And when the time is right, you will be the first I restore. As a reward for your obedience.”

But she wasn’t selfish. After she’d learned of her own soul’s fate, she’d instructed her val’kyr to seek out more information. All she knew came from them, and they had the terrible habit of being just as cryptic as their former master, but the benefit of being completely loyal to her. But neither did they know where the gems went when Zovaal did not summon them to torment her. Nor did they know the mechanisms for keeping soul fragments in these gems, or how it was possible to forge a sword that stole them. In fact, they knew and had found out precious little, but it was all Sylvanas had.

“I won’t be your monster without reason, Jailer,” Sylvanas hissed. “Think of those reasons what you will.”

“I think you’ll find you’re better off without this,” Zovaal said as he tossed the gem up, catching it tightly in his huge fist. “You currently enjoy your existence free from distraction. Why would you want it back?”

Because she had to fix what was broken. To mend what was torn. To clean what was stained. The compulsion was so great. Every part of her raged against what she was. She hated it. She had died again for it, only to find her wrongness in death compounded. Anything was worth this price. And for a moment, the clawing emptiness within her begged her to just comply. Just do this one more thing. And one more. And another. Then and only then would he let her have herself back.

What would the Horde say, if they knew the truth behind their proud Banshee Queen of a Warchief? If they knew that she was bowing to the feet of some unholy god in secret, begging for her very soul, and had been for years?

If they knew that she’d had enough? That for some reason, the thought of waking Derek Proudmoore from his eternal sleep because of just how deeply that would hurt his sister, was too much, even echoing in the hollow recess where those feelings for her once lived? There were lines she did not cross. There were things Sylvanas would not do, even for all the souls in this hell, and not just her own.

And while Lady Jaina was always a great inconvenience to the Banshee Queen, she’d never hurt her. Never directly. Not even once.

“What an interesting little weakness you have,” Zovaal muttered as he splayed the gem across the tops of his fingers again. “Again with that strange and frustrating way the souls of Azeroth tie one another together. You still feel obligated to it, even when its force no longer binds you. When there is not enough soul left in you to require it. Do you see now? The freedom your current condition offers?”

“You lie and you know it,” Sylvanas spat back. “It’s my bondage to you that you desire, and to this plan you won’t speak plainly to me. Say it like it is.”

“Kill the Lord Admiral then,” Zovaal said with the hint of a laugh. “Send her soul to me in exchange for yours, and then we’ll see if the time is right.”

One life for the wholeness of another. It was so small a price to pay. So easy. Right now, Jaina was likely still recovering. She was weak. Her fleet was still patching up from their battle with Ashvane. The Zandalari were enraged by their latest losses and all but ready to pledge to the Horde. It would be so easy. So very easy.

As easy as a thousand night elves, screaming while their home burned around them. As easy as the terror in the eyes of her Rangers, who had known her in life and beyond it into death, watching and waiting for what awful things she would command them to do next. As easy as blighting her own city, and watching the vengeful soldiers rise again to form a wave of bones and horror, only to die the second, cursed deaths she knew they would face. Only to lose.

Only to always lose something for nothing.

Sylvanas was tired of losing. “No,” she muttered.

“Fair is fair,” the Jailer offered again, stretching out his arm, holding the gem between his thumb and forefinger, just out of her reach. “Don’t you think so?”

“Fair is never fair. Not with you,” Sylvanas said.

And then she screamed. She wasn’t sure what it would do, or if it would even surprise him. Here, in his lair, he did not dictate her thoughts. He did not dominate her to his will. Why would he? She was trapped here in his shifting, slithering hell.

Well, at least she was, until she could make it back to the val’kyr. Her loyal guardians and lifeline. The only beings that seemed capable of moving in and out of this plane, at least for now.

But it was enough. He wasn’t expecting the ear-shattering screech of a banshee’s wail. It didn’t seem to affect Zovaal so much as confuse him. She’d always argued with him, but never fought him.

He hesitated. Long enough for her to draw her swords and leap up to cut away his fingers.

And somehow, she did. She’d long suspected he wasn’t quite made of stone, but something else like this twisting tower of his. Something changing and fragile, but not quite living or dead, organic or manufactured. Something that could be cut. Something that could suffer. Something that would yield, for once, to her will.

His hands were so large that she could only manage to sever the very tip of his thumb and forefinger with one swift and scissoring strike from both swords. But that was enough. It was enough for him to drop the gem. Enough for her to reach out and catch it as it fell, forgetting her swords and letting them fall in favor of cradling her salvation.

Enough for her to feel the warmth of it in her hands, already threatening to overwhelm her. Memories of home and happiness were calling to her as if just beyond a thin pane of glass. Memories of herself. Who she really was. Whole and complete. Not a starving animal, desperate for anything that satisfied for a time.

But she couldn’t think about that now. She couldn’t lose herself in what might be. Because she had to run.

A good Ranger General knew when to make a tactical retreat, and snatching their fate back from the hands of some god of death himself was as good a time as any.

Zovaal let out a grunt that may have been as much surprise and annoyance as pain, and moved to clutch at his hand. That’s when Sylvanas turned and ran.

She dissolved herself into her incorporeal form, managing to keep the soul gem locked in her spectral hand all the same. She was faster this way, but hated how it made her feel--bodiless and defenseless, like the half a year she spent as a banshee at Arthas’ side, razing her own homeland and powerless over herself and her actions.

Never again. Never again would she kneel or beg. Even if she died here, running. It was worth it. Anything was worth this chance.

But Zovaal was something powerful and terrible and older than time. He was an arrogant devil with a throne of lies, but he was no fool. He just expected obedience. Sylvanas was never very good at giving that.

He cried out after her. A scream of utter rage, deep and shattering. The shifting tiles of Torghast rattled with it. But Sylvanas sped on through the air, carrying her salvation clutched tightly in her ghostly fist.

“You will not defy me!” Zovaal roared after her.

He’d said as much before. The words themselves had a power that Sylvanas was infinitely familiar with, and one that he used gently on her for that reason. She knew domination. She had lived it. She understood it. She knew she was powerless against it.

She knew if the magic caught her, it would bind her limbs like a puppet’s frame. Everything about her would be his to command. Her thoughts, her words, her actions.

And though the wave of sound that came with those words reached her, domination never did. Something about the object she held shielded her, calling for a greater power before she would bend. The longing for her very soul throbbed within her, like some sort of terrific power of its own, like magnetized iron calling for its partner. North to south. Banshee to whatever there was of her that had been missing.

“Signe!” Sylvanas called out ahead of her as she approached where the val’kyr waited. Alone. Why was she alone?

Signe turned to her call, and to the shouts of the Jailer behind her, watching as they failed to affect her. Sylvanas could hear the tiles shaking differently now, no doubt with his heavy steps and with the dark power he wielded, lashing out toward her.

A whip of that energy reached for her. A chain. Always a chain. Sylvanas tried to dodge it, but the magic followed her, and latched onto her shoulder. It somehow managed to bind her, biting into flesh that wasn’t flesh, into a form that arrows and axes had flown through before. But this chain was for her. It didn’t know the difference.

She lurched to a halt, so near to Signe yet so far. She dropped her banshee form, but not her soul gem as she fell to the ground. The chain bit into her flesh as it reformed around it, rippling through her body with a searing pain.

And then, it pulled. It tugged from within her flesh, drawing her backward, away from freedom. Away from wholeness.

And Sylvanas tried to fight it. She tried with every ounce of her own rage. Every bit of defiance she had. Every shred of will. She fought and pulled, but it wasn’t enough. The chain began to drag her across those shifting tiles.

“You will not defy me!” rang out again behind her. “It’s useless to run. I will catch you. I will find you. I will make you my puppet, for I only need your face, Sylvanas. I do not need you.”

She’d lost. She’d tried and lost again. All for nothing. All for a glimpse of victory, only to have it snatched away. So close. She was so close.

At least, until she heard new shouts join the fray. Deep, but feminine. Metal on metal, but neither were metal at all. Kyra’s glowing form flashed behind her as she swung her spectral sword at the dark chain that bound her. And it broke. Somehow it broke.

“Go, Dark Lady,” was all she could say before she had to turn to deflect another chain with her shield.

Next to her, Brynja landed, already entangled and wrestling with a chain that was binding her wings. The domination that the Jailer shouted didn’t seem to affect them either, perhaps because they were his creatures, or creatures made in the same way as him. Sylvanas didn’t have time to speculate.

Because just ahead of her was Signe flying toward her, arms open.

Sylvanas jumped into them, and then watched as the tower melted away around them, until it reformed into the darkened cabin of the Banshee’s Wail.

Until the soul gem was somehow still in her hands as Signe set her back gently on the ground. It warmed them to facsimile of life, glowing softly in sharp-edged gauntlets that were meant to frighten and intimidate. And to hide.

Her shoulder hurt. It hurt beyond hurting. Sylvanas could feel the thick black ichor dripping from it and onto the floorboards of the cabin. But she could ignore that for now. Pain had been her reality for so long. Pain and emptiness. But she could end it. She could end it right now.

“What do I do?” she whispered, looking up to Signe.

“I’m not certain, Dark Lady. I have never seen Zovaal restore a soul kept in such an artifact before,” Signe answered.

She didn’t offer anything else, and Sylvanas knew why. Her sisters were gone. She could feel it too, the fading of their binding to her as the land of death reclaimed them in whatever capacity it did. She still had so many questions and so few answers. She knew more about how the machine of death worked than any other creature that had walked the face of Azeroth, but still almost nothing at all.

But the gem seemed to answer her question itself. Its warmth demanded cradling. Sylvanas only wanted to feel it spread through her. So she held it to her chest--to the very wound its absence had left behind. The gaping slash from navel to sternum she still bore, ugly and twisted and never quite healed. Even beneath her armor, its presence plagued her and reminded her of her darkest days, or at least made her question what and when those truly were.

It happened so fast. Too fast. The warmth flooded through her, coursing out of the gem like a raging river and into Froustmorne’s scar.

It was everything. It was her father’s laugh. Her mother’s hard-earned praise. Vereesa, as a little girl, looking up at her as if she were the most important person in the world. Baby Lirath reaching out to be picked up. Alleria hugging her goodbye before another deployment. Her most trusted Rangers, dressed down and drunk, singing trail songs as loud as they could around a campfire at night. Jaina in bed next to her in her room in the Spire, golden hair shining in the morning sun, love in her heavy-lidded eyes, just as it was meant to be.

It was just as Zovaal said. The connection of it all. The intermingling of souls. That was what had been taken from her. Not joy, not laughter. No, the ability to share it with others. With the world that had borne her, and had woven her very being into its grand tapestry.

And now, it was weaving her thread back in. A miracle. Sylvanas knew it was nothing short of a miracle, one that she would certainly pay a dear price for, if Zovaal got his way.

She breathed. She laughed a heady, foggy laugh. It was all too much for her. The pain in her shoulder somehow hurt more.

She knew Signe was calling to her, trying to rouse her from this stupor, but Sylvanas let it take her. This, her greatest of victories, she would savor as she pleased until the very moment it became too much for her body to handle.

And as she collapsed onto the floor, she began to dream. For the first time in thirteen years, she dreamt as she slept. And she dreamt a memory she’d been trying so hard to forget for all this time, but had never truly banished from her mind.

In bed next to her, Jaina was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. She’d told her as much over the course of that week, several times, but that hadn’t diminished the truth. While Sylvanas had been surprised with her soulmate, she was nothing but pleased with her. No, that wasn’t enough. She loved her. She already loved her.

And Jaina felt very much the same, though distinctly different in some ways. Her affection was more of a creeping thing, ever-present and then brightening like the sun peeking through the leaves at times--when Sylvanas said something funny or endearing, or touched her, or did just about anything. It was so odd to feel what someone else felt, to experience the world as they did, even if her bond to Jaina only brought a fraction of that feeling over to her. It was interesting. Endlessly interesting. Not unlike the woman it came from.

“I don’t want to get out of bed,” Jaina protested, laughing as she sprawled back out across the pillows, naked and unafraid of it. What was flesh, even, to someone with whom you shared your soul?

It made sense. As much as Sylvanas enjoyed that flesh, and having it on display in her bed in the morning sun. She loved Jaina for everything else that her soft skin contained.

But that didn’t mean Sylvanas couldn’t run a hand over it, drawing a shiver from her beloved as she ran her fingertips from across Jaina’s belly and up between her breasts.

“So don’t,” Sylvanas offered as her wisdom. “We have nowhere to go today. No one to see. Nothing to do. Stay here, and I’ll have the cook bring us breakfast. Lunch. Maybe even dinner.”

Jaina turned toward her, coaxing that hand to make good on its promises, but Sylvanas skirted around her breasts, laughing as Jaina pouted, and went to grab her hand. The one that bore the mark that now glowed a brilliant blue. Sylvanas still couldn’t believe how fast this had all happened, and how quickly she’d fallen for her. She liked to remind herself it was all real, very real, and in doing so, ran her thumb over the mark that was the inverse of her own--a moon. A blue crescent moon dotted with patterns that Jaina insisted were meant to be snowflakes.

Her bond told her that this was just as agreeable to Jaina, as a more temperate pleasure thrummed over it. Jaina turned her hand in Sylvanas’ grip to run her own thumb over the mark on Sylvanas’ wrist, just as radiant as her own.

“You’re sure about that?” Jaina asked as she smiled, no doubt feeling the same sentiment coming from Sylvanas. “That you don’t have some distant cousin who needs to approve of me, or whatever.”

Sylvanas laughed. Jaina had expressed that elven rituals and customs regarding soulmates were quite intense, and Sylvanas supposed they were. But still, it was important for one’s friends and family to meet the person you were meant to love. Though for Jaina’s sake, she’d see about keeping any other visitors away for a while.

“I’m sure,” Sylvanas assured her. “For today, you are all mine and only mine.”

She flipped Jaina’s hand in hers again and brought it to her lips, recreating the kiss that had set it alight, just as she planned to do every day for the rest of her life. For as long as they both still lived.

#Sylvanas Windrunner #Jaina Proudmoore #sylvaina #fanfic #beneath the blue moon #soulmate trope go brrrrrrrrrrrrr #now i gotta think about what the next poll will be #i am becoming completely unhinged

[katieskarlette]

“The Vow Eternal” reaction post

WRATHION SHORT STORY!  OMG!  OMG!  THIS IS NOT A DRILL!  WE GET AN ENTIRE SHORT STORY FROM WRATHION’S POV!  AAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!

Reactions typed as I read it, cut for spoilers and length...

Quotes in italics, my comments in...not italics. 

He pretended not to notice Mifan’s eyes darting to all the empty wine bottles.

NO NO NO YOU ARE TOO YOUNG TO HAVE A DRINKING PROBLEM!  STOP IT RIGHT NOW!

The youngsters were well behaved, Wrathion supposed, though he knew very little about children . . . Well, nothing at all, really, and he had no desire to start learning now. 

Because he never had the chance to be one, himself!  ;_;

In the past, Wrathion had sought to protect Azeroth by pitting Horde and Alliance against one another, in order to determine which side was the mightier. Now he understood that the fate of the world hung not on conquest but on collaboration.

Insert “you know what that is? that’s growth” meme here.

Re: Derek Proudmoore:  In theory, he has enemies on all sides, Wrathion mused, but he also has family—blood or found—on all sides too. Wrathion realized perhaps he was a touch . . . jealous.

Awww :(

Hey, Moira’s kid actually gets acknowledged!  Nifty.

Wrathion understood not having many friends—or any friends. He’d never truly been a child; he had grown so swiftly and been driven by so dark a purpose that there had been no time for play.

EXACTLY!!!!!!!  :(

*waves Baine/Mayla ship flag*

...and Fairshaw! <3  And is that a Talanji/Zekhan implication?  Hmm...

Kurog kept going, scrutinizing him. “How were you made, Wrathion? Cobbled together out of pieces of corpses? You and your depraved kin . . . You are the very symbol of all that has gone wrong in this world.”

You can’t just walk up and ask someone how they were made!  Rude!!!

“Alexstrasza . . . this feeling, this . . .” Lost for words, Wrathion thumped his chest. “What is happening to us?”

I love how he just calls her by her name.  No ceremony, no titles, just...her name. Heh.

“Wrathion,” she said softly, “you are homesick.”

The ache. The desperate longing for something he had never had.

“Homesick?”

The Dragon Isles had never been denied to him. They were only waiting. For him, and for every other dragon in Azeroth. His people. Wrathion had not been excluded.

He was being welcomed.

He belonged.

I’ll just be over here crying uncontrollably...

Oh, my dear boy, you’ve grown a lot but you’re still you.  My precious, lonely, whelpybaby, facing the world on your own...  Overshadowed by a dark legacy you had no part in...  Being judged by others because of it...  Yearning for belonging, never knowing what it’s like to be part of a family...  Trying to put on a brave, regal front to hide your vulnerability...  OMG I LOVE HIM SO MUCH a;wtej;awe othao;yiaoyiha;yh;a;hy yai a4yu8yu zikg;8za a;ekl fj ka;g h;lahyoua hja;lkjlfkj

Just get a handle on your drinking.  Don’t make me stage an intervention.

#my precious drake son #insert filler tag #and another one #and one more #I don't even know #if those work anymore #but there's nothing coherent enough here #to bother the tag with #and I still can't see worth crap due to this eye infection #but I had to scream about #why I love wrathion #the vow eternal #wrathion

[eighthdoctor]

Can you expand on why being a middle child is a defining trait for Sylvanas? I hope you don't mind if I share my own thoughts on it first: She is objectively the most intelligent and skilled Windrunner sister, but tradition prevents her from taking the position everyone knows should be hers, but as the spare to the throne she isn't allowed to go out and do her own thing either, so she was stuck under an artificial ceiling she was only allowed to pass by the grace of her elder sister.

HAPPILY

so i mentioned this briefly in another ask of yours here, but there's an early psychologist, adler, who proposed that birth order has an enormous predictive effect on your personality. it since looks like it's not AS strong as he said, but also these are fictional characters and i make the rules.

anyway.

oldest sibling: we're all familiar with eldest daughter syndrome, where you're constantly pushed to be older, be more mature, be more competent, parent your younger siblings, etc. this is the conceptual root of that--less built-in sexism, and an acknowledgement that if you're oldest, you HAD some time where you were The Only Child and got 100% of the parental attention, and then had the trauma of losing that when your sibling was born.

psychcentral, which i am pulling from bc i'm lazy, has the following characteristics: controlling, conscientious, cautious, reliable, achievers, structured

middle sibling: for most of their childhood the middle sibling is the left-out one. they're attention seekers. they're not the most obviously successful (just bc they're younger) but they're not the most obviously needy (just bc they're older) so Inferiority Complex time (ALSO proposed by adler)

psychcentral has: Middle children can become competitive or rebellious. But they can also be even-tempered, being able to compromise between family members.

wikipedia also adds: Consequently, the middle child, who would experience neither dethronement nor overindulgence, was most likely to develop into a successful individual yet also most likely to be a rebel and to feel squeezed-out.

aaand youngest: the baby. the spoiled coddled child. the one who gets away with everything.

wikipedia has: Youngest children would tend to be overindulged, leading to poor social empathy

so let's put the windrunners into this bc they're FASCINATING.

alleria: alleria had one moment of self awareness, which is also the most self awareness ANY of them have shown, and realized that Eldest Daughter Syndrome was going to actually kill her. she quit because she could not live up to her mom's expectations, she knew this, and she was determined to save herself. which BACKFIRED HORRIBLY BECAUSE WINDRUNNERS but hey. there was an attempt.

otherwise alleria has the eldest child thing of "i love my siblings but hey do you remember when i was the only child best beloved bc i sure do. i only have minimal resentment about that." and DEFINITELY has the eldest child thing of "the entire time they were growing up i was better (literally because i had had more time to practice) ergo i am STILL better and know more than them wait come back here why aren't they listening to me--"

vereesa (i'm coming back to our girl don't worry): lol. lmao even. vereesa is DEFINITELY the baby. vereesa got away with fucking murder as a child and continues to do so as an adult. on the other hand, she has never ever ever been the best at ANYTHING ever and no there's no resentment about this either. definitely not.

so sylvanas.

sylvanas has never been the best. sylvanas has never been the baby. sylvanas has--literally from birth this is not a post-death phenomenon--ONLY EVER gotten attention when she KICKED AND SCREAMED AND MADE A FUSS ABOUT IT. she has never been impressive for doing something (because alleria did it first). she has never been coddled for not getting something (because vereesa was having more problems with it). she's just there.

and if she EVER wanted one-on-one attention she had to deliberately go get it herself while watching her siblings get OFFERED it, readily.

the FIRST TIME IN HER LIFE she got free serotonin parental attention was after alleria stepped down. no wonder she imprinted on the position so hard, no wonder she's just neurotically obsessed with it.

even if you're doing a pre-third war AU, or even a pre-SECOND war AU and alleria's still around, sylvanas is a middle child. she thinks you get attention by forcing it to happen, by MAKING people pay attention to you. and like toddlers she doesn't really care if it's positive or negative attention, because anything is better than being ignored.

she doesn't think people will help her Just Because, because that never happens. she never got that. she wasn't the oldest, wasn't the baby, was just There, she's always had to figure everything out herself or suffer.

which means from the outside she comes off as an arrogant asshole (don't ask for help) who interjects herself into every conversation (have to get attention) and makes everything about her (nobody else will).

and that's BEFORE the traumas start happening and prove this all 100% right. nobody helps her. nobody pays attention to her. nobody remembers anything she says.

--except jaina.

#asks for ts #deloxd #proudmoores ALSO fascinating bc derek's death just fucked that all up #but jaina is 100% straight down the line incurably eldest daughter #rip to her #blorbos from my games #sylvanas windrunner #the power to manipulate belief #sorry vereesa but i haven't been able to care about you yet so you get the least thoughts here

[hordebreaker]

day 4 - favourite character

Darion Mograine is the leader of the Four Horsemen and the former Highlord of the Knights of the Ebon Blade. The son of Alexandros Mograine, one of the Highlords of the Knights of the Silver Hand and the original wielder of the Ashbringer, Darion was a paladin of the Silver Hand, and later of the Argent Dawn. After his father was murdered by his brother Renault Mograine, he came into possession of the corrupted Ashbringer, and tried to save his father's souls inside. During the First Battle for Light's Hope, Darion used the sword to kill himself, destroying the Scourge forces and releasing his father's soul. Following the battle, the Archlich Kel'Thuzad raised him as an undead, while the Lich King made him the Highlord of Death Knights of Acherus and the ruler of Acherus: The Ebon Hold, once again wielding the corrupted Ashbringer. After defeating the Scarlet Crusade in the Scarlet Enclave, he and his fellow death knights broke free from the Lich King's control during the Battle for Light's Hope Chapel and founded the order of renegade death knights known as the Knights of the Ebon Blade. Under the leadership of Darion, the Ebon Blade spearheaded the attack against the Scourge alongside the Argent Crusade during the war against the Lich King, temporarily allied with them to form the Ashen Verdict and topple the Lich King.

Lady Jaina Proudmoore is the daughter of Daelin and Katherine Proudmoore, and sister of Derek and Tandred. She is considered one of the finest mages in all Azeroth and the most powerful human sorceress alive. She is the Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras, the former leader of the Kirin Tor of Dalaran, and of the port-city of Theramore. Trained as the personal agent of Archmage Antonidas, the late leader of the Kirin Tor and Dalaran, she was sent to investigate the plague of undeath with Prince Arthas Menethil, her childhood friend and one-time romantic interest. She witnessed the first stages of the fall of Lordaeron during the Third War firsthand and, guided by a mysterious prophet later revealed as Medivh, Jaina rallied what survivors she could find and fled across the sea to Kalimdor. There, her expedition forces joined together with the night elves and the New Horde and defeated the Burning Legion during the Battle of Mount Hyjal. The human survivors then founded the port city of Theramore, joining the Alliance led by Varian Wrynn, while maintaining peace with the Horde for several years. Shortly after the fall of Deathwing, the Horde led by Garrosh Hellscream destroyed Theramore. Jaina managed to escape with her life, but the experience transformed her, making her more bellicose and even altering her appearance. Following the death of Rhonin during the attack, and fulfilling a prophecy made by the dragon-mage Korialstrasz, Jaina took the fallen mage's place as leader of the Kirin Tor and head of the Council of Six. In spite of personal tragedies, she attempted to maintain the Kirin Tor's neutrality during the Alliance-Horde war. After the Horde-aligned Sunreavers aided Garrosh to steal the Divine Bell, Jaina exiled the Sunreavers from her city during the Purge of Dalaran and aligned the Kirin Tor with the Alliance. Following the Battle for the Broken Shore, the Council decided unanimously to re-admit the Horde into Dalaran for the greater good. Furious, Jaina left the Kirin Tor. Following the War of the Thorns, Jaina returned to her homeland of Kul Tiras in the name of the Alliance but was imprisoned for treason by her mother at the suggestion of Lady Priscilla Ashvane. After Ashvane's own betrayal was discovered, Jaina reconciled with her mother and brought the lost Kul Tiran fleet back home. Katherine stepped down as Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras and named Jaina in her stead, re-pledging their nation to the Alliance cause and to the Fourth War.

#Darion Mograine #jaina #Jaina Proudmoore #warcraft #world of warcraft #warcraft25 #mage #death knight #wow

[acherys]

hey question

given zoens whole .. thing. with Jaina. and their complicated relationship. what does she make of her uncles. specifically the undead one

That depends almost entirely upon Jaina! As difficult as their relationship often is, Zoen ultimately, dearly loves her mother. She’s as loyal to her as she can afford to be, and would never, ever want to see Jaina come to harm.

So you can imagine she didn’t take the opening scene of Boralus particularly well.

Zoen’s generally wary of his Proudmoore relatives. Forgiveness is for the living; the dead remember. While Tandred and Derek had nothing to do with Katherine’s cool response, they’re still the kin of her and this place. Kul Tiras hated Jaina so much. Everyone might have let bygones be bygones, but there’s a scar on Zoen’s heart that he’s entirely happy to nurse for the rest of eternity. ( His father’s son, through and through. ) Tandred would be kept at arm’s length until something especial should happen to change that. 

( Of course, he’s wary of his Menethil relatives as well. It wouldn’t be him who informs Calia she’s got a long-lost nephew. Shared blood brings out such a tentative nature in the Deathlord. There’s too much to hope for, and even more to be disappointed by. )

Derek being undead does afford him a particular leeway and … kindness … from his niece. As mentioned before, Zoen’s best nature is reserved for the newly-risen, chiefly those of especially traumatic rebirths. While she might be somewhat more terse with Derek than any other in his position, he wouldn’t be denied any of the actionable means of her compassion. The Ebon Blade stands ready to accept him, should he request it. And her long knowledge and experience with their shared condition is his to benefit from, should he ask. 

But she might not be so comfortable around him as she is the rest of her deathly kin.

#﹙ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ᴏғ ᴍɪɴᴇ. ﹚ meta. #﹙ ɢʜᴏsᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀᴄʜɪɴᴇ. ﹚ inbox. #// #ooh this one was a doozy #thanks for sending it in! i had a lot of fun thinking on it #anonymous

[scalpelsister]

Pallid Lady is the title they gave Calia. Derek Proudmoore is "Champion of the Pallid Lady." It was not a joke. It's real.

noooooooooooooo I thought yall where joking around and meming about it 😭😭

also yall know im a (jaina) proudmoore stan but can they STOP casting alliance as horde people? like whats next, a human horde leader? a night elf tauren leader? a gnome champion of goblins? (like i get theyre undead but like. theyre alliance and human still.)

#fr need to quit wow and caring about it. need to delete wow from my brain #everything new i learn about wow makes me genuinely angry #world of warcraft #asks

[blue-eyed-banshee]

Each sister took turns standing in front of Lirath's grave. When Sylvanas stood before the grave of her little-lord sun, she dropped to her knees and her hood was down.

"Lirath... I'm sorry I wasn't able to protect you as I promised when Minn'da first let me hold you.. not a night passes where I hope you visit Jaina and I. And yes, Jaina and I decided to marry, you know Minn'da never approved of my relationship to her..."

Her ears twitched as she heard the caring voice of her father. "My darling girl, we have seen how you have progressed since that fateful day."

Jaina watched as her wife's family appeared to her. "By the tides..." She whispered to which Verath heard before he grinned happily. Before Lireesa made a gesture to Jaina, who stood nearby. "My darling, don't be afraid. Come, come. Let us look upon the woman my daughter chose to court." She looked up from Sylvanas with a smile as the mage approached slowly.

"Lord Verath, Lady Lireesa. I apologize for listening in." She said slightly placing a hand on her showing belly which made Lireesa grin. "Ah.. you and Sylvanas are expecting another child?"

Sylvanas' ears twitched as she quickly wiped away her tears and felt Jaina bend down next to her before waving her hand to manifest a blanket around her partner.

"I- Minn'da, Ann'da... this is my wife, Lady Jaina Proudmoore." She saw her mother's eyes soften. "Please... you are family, Jaina. Call me Lireesa." She then saw a boy walk up to them. "Daelin... it's an honor to meet you, my grandson."

The half elf sailor bent down and held his mother's hand, which made Verath smile softly. "Bala'dash, beloved grandson." The elderly elf smiled before Lirath chimed in.

"My nephew! I hope you've been causing your mothers grief. I know I did with my sister." He laughed, which still sounded melodic as it had in life.

Daelin-Verath smiled softly. "You don't even know, Ann'tha."

Verath's eyes sparkled upon seeing how much care his grandson had towards his mothers. "Surely my daughter has told you about who you were named after, my boy?"

Another voice was heard.

"Aye, surely your mother has told you tales of my adventures."

Jaina's eyes widened before she saw her own father manifest. "Father..." She whispered with tears welling up in her blue eyes.

Tandred and Derek walked up. "Ah, sister. Mother wants to kn-"

Derek's gaze widened upon seeing a familiar face, and he opened his mouth to say something before he glanced at the ground in shame, shame at what he was turned into.

"Father?"

Tandred's voice shakingly, to which his father smiled softly before the youngest of the proudmoore lineage walked up to him with a hug.

Verath immediately took notice of Derek's expression. "Derek... please do not feel ashamed.. your father won't judge, I'm sure. Just as I do not judge my daughter for..."

Jaina grimaced in pain as she let out a small cry before Sylvanas turned urgently.

"Dalah'surfal?" She asked, taking her hand into hers, her brows furrowed.

"I'm fine, Sylvanas. Don't worry about me." She said, smiling softly.

Sylvanas glanced at her mother. "Minn'da... Jaina and I are naming our daughter after you." She smiled widely as Lirath grinned happily at the fact he would be getting a neice as well.

"Does this mean she will be a sun or a moon?"

Lireesa stepped forward and placed a corporeal hand on Jaina's belly.

Jaina had silently cast a spell which Sylvanas family and her father would briefly become corporeal.

Lireesa felt her niece kick against her hand.

"Thank you, my daughter. I can already tell she's going to stronge like you."

Lirath ran forward and enveloped Sylvanas in a hug. "Where is Little Moon and Lady Sun?

"Right here." Alleria spoke as she and Vereeaa dropped down from their perch in a nearby tree.

Vereesa's eyes widened before she ran into the arms of her father with tears in her eyes.

"Minn'da?" Alleria whispered before sensing Turaylon and Arator join her side.

"Minn'da? Are you okay?"

Alleria's ear twitch as she glanced at her son.

"I'm fine, Arator. There are people who I would like you to meet, both of you."

Verath bowed his head slightly. "Ah... the paladin who my daughter met in that other world. It is a pleasure to meet you at last, paladin."

"The pleasure is all mine, Lord Verath. I have heard much from Alleria and Vereesa."

Arator shifted nervously before Lireesa's eyes landed on him.

"Come, my child. Is that really how you greet your grandmother?"

Alleria chuckled at how welcoming and understanding her mother was, despite their arguing in the past.

"Minn'da, this is Arator."

Lirath grinned widely before hugging his nephew tightly.

"Arator, it's an honor to meet you! I've been watching over my sister for a while."

Verath went over to Turaylon and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Call me Verath, my son-in-law. Welcome to the family, paladin." He said offering a hug.

Jaina leaned her head on Sylvanas' shoulder, which made Sylvanas run a hand through her hair with such care.

Lirath grinned widely. "You two are so adorable, Lady Moon. I could tell you were smitten for her when I saw you two on the balcony." He gave his sister a fanged smirk, which made Jaina chuckle.

Sylvanas rolled her eyes at Lirath before Lireesa glanced at her daughter.

"How come you never told me?"

Sylvanas' ears drooped slightly, and Jaina lovingly placed a hand on her wife's shoulder rubbing her thumb in a loving manner, which made Sylvanas place a hand atop her partner's.

"I... I was afraid you wouldn't approve, Minn'da.." She said, glancing at the ground before hearing her mother chuckle.

"My darling, I would never judge who you love. I know I was too wrapped up in our family being an inspiration to our people.. I regret that I made you feel that way."

The matriarch walked over to Sylvanas before bending down in front of the two women. "I am so happy you finally found love, Sylvanas. Even after...."

Sylvanas' blue eyes veered to the ground in shame before her mother lifted her chin to look at her, the former banshee's eyes welled up in tears.

Lireesa frowned before hugging both women tightly, careful not to put too much pressure on Jaina's belly.

"You both have endured so much.." Jaina's father spoke before he too walked over to Jaina. "Jaina... You finally have a family of your own."

Daelin glanced over to his mother who was rubbing her belly.

"Minn'da, are you okay?"

Jaina glanced up at her son. "Yes, I'm okay, I'm just so happy that your mother's parents and your grandfather approve."

Sylvanas wrapped an arm around her wife's waist and kissed her hair.

This was perfect for all of them, Lirath even got a chance to talk with Vereesa, who walked over and hugged her little brother with tears in her eyes.

#sylvanas windrunner #jaina proudmoore #sylvaina #sylvanas musings » i deserved a clean death #sylvanas x jaina #lirith windrunner #verath windrunner

[sparklymanacakes]

the cut scene ware jaina gets derek back, everything's normal, except every one has the overwatch googly eyes slapped on

O, of course.

#jaina proudmoore #derek proudmoore #world of warcraft #warcraft #i'm sporadically getting to my ask box i swear #// asks // #Baine Bloodhoof #battle for azeroth