#cross-faction

[mecharina]

It's @rrbobani's birthday today!!So I drew our cross-faction couple~ uvu

[houseildanan]

Argents Lost - Summer Winds (part 3)

The former Ebon he’d met on the trail still hadn’t given him her name, but she’d told him enough to win enough wary trust for him to return to the outpost with her.  The enterprise had been aided by a sudden ache that began somewhere deep inside his knee and a shift in the wind. ��He’d lived in Northrend long enough to know what those two things together heralded.

Stormclouds swept down onto K3 as they reached the inn, led by biting wind that stung his face and made his eyes water.  The inn at K3 was decidedly worn, weather-beaten, but in good repair.  The windows looked like they’d been replaced recently and the floors and tables in the common room were decidedly clean, though they still carried a timeworn, hard-used charm, battered and scuffed as they were. Its warmth and shelter—and the smell of venison stew and cider—were a welcome comfort after so narrowly dodging the storm.

The table his newfound companion led him toward was tucked into a shadowed corner and was already occupied by a figure tall enough that he guessed it must be another Kaldorei.  The figure had both hands wrapped around a mug of something steaming, beringed—and there was something else, something he didn’t quite see until the figure lifted the mug to drink, a glint of silver.

His heart slammed into his throat and he stopped in his tracks.  His companion put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently.

“She won’t harm you,” she said softly.  “You have nothing to fear from her.”

“There are—”

“Yes,” she said.  “But something tells me your face will strike her familiar.”

“I’m not—”

“It has nothing to do with your resemblance to Ildanan Sunstar.”

He swallowed bile, but started walking again.  The figure—a woman, and unless he missed his guess, the woman called the Mistwraith—was looking at them now, argent eyes gleaming in the shadows of a drawn hood. He swallowed again as he carefully drew one of the chairs out from the table and sank into it, glancing back over his shoulder to see where his companion was going to sit—and found her gone.

“She’ll be getting you something bracing,” the hooded woman said.  There was a faint rasp to her voice but the familiarity was unmistakable. He nearly swallowed his tongue.

“I—”

“You’ll be needing it, Lord Kyvare.”

He rocked back, eyes widening.  In the shadows of her hood, there was a flash of a smile, almost but not quite feral.

“Yes.  I’m aware of who you are.  I’m also aware of what you were taught.”

“How—”

“I’m not certain the answer to your question matters overmuch, but if you really want an answer, I’ll give you one in exchange for an answer to a question of my own, first.” She leaned back and he could feel the weight of her gaze hanging heavy upon him.  “Why are you, of all people, seeking them when you have a family and responsibilities that should preclude a mission like this—one, I might add, that has been forbidden by the organization that saw you bound to them? Of all the sorts seeking those lost, you were among the last I would have imagined to see here.”

“What of you?” he blurted. “Why are you two looking for them?”

“Because she is my mother,” she said.  “And they are her family and I should think, with all that’s happened, I should owe her that much.  And you?”

“Because I didn’t think anyone else was and I wasn’t about to ask my family to come unless—unless I knew.”

“Whatever goes into that gully doesn’t come out,” she said.  “But they’re not dead.”

“No,” he confirmed.  “No, they’re not.”

“You’re certain?”

“Your cousin is.”

She fell silent.  The former Ebon returned to the table, setting a mug slowly down in front of him as she looked between him and the hooded woman.

“Well,” she said dryly. “I see you’ve gotten started without me. I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t do that anymore.”

The hooded woman reached up to push back her hood, smiling up at the Ebon.  “One time.”

“Near unmitigated disaster one time,” the Ebon said, seating herself.  “And a lesson learned.  What have you told him?”

“Likely no more than whatever you did to get him to come back with you.”

He coughed politely and wrapped his hands around the mug, letting the warmth bleed into his fingers. “My apologies, ladies, but I think we’ve missed a few things.”

“You already know who I am, Lord Kyvare, and I know who you are,” Mistwraith said, studying him.  “Unless it’s not pleasantries you’re getting at.”

“I—well, it was, yes, but also no.  How—how long have you been looking?”

“Long enough to know there are two sites of interest,” the Ebon said.  “You stumbled across one.  The other is a frozen waterfall and a river that don’t seem quite right.”

The mug between his hands shattered.

[aprylx]

SolMedic/Fruit Scones Fic

Just wanted to advertise my main fic - yes I don't just do oneshots. Its gonna have around 25 chapter, give or take. But here it is:

'You Know You Gotta Help Me Out'

"From respawn failures to enemy medics, soldier didn't know where he stood in this war."

https://archiveofourown.org/works/49563040/chapters/125090959

Song; 'All The Things That I Have Done' - The Killers

[lordaeronslost]

Wrinkles

“Da, did Mathair write to Quel’thalas about this?”

Sam Auroran looked up from the scattered papers on the desk, brows knitting as he regarded his younger daughter.  Karinlyyn stood a few feet away, an unfolded letter in her hand, the envelope tucked between her fingers bearing the seal of the Argent Crusade.  If she had been in a dress instead of the gray leathers, it would have been like looking at both of his daughters at once.  “No,” he said slowly.  “Your mother hasn’t written to anyone there since—hell.  I think since your cousin’s wife had their last child.”

She nodded slowly, frowning at the letter in her hands, violet eyes skipping over the page again as she read it a second time, then again.

Sam drew himself up straighter.  “Why?”

“Do you know if the Crusade reached out to anyone that might have served with them?”

He didn’t like the strange note in her voice.  The elder Auroran rounded the table, moving toward where his daughter stood just shy of a patch of sunlight that streamed through the windows at their townhouse in Dalaran—their primary home these days, with Lordaeron long lost and Theramore gone.  “Lyyn.”

Her gaze flicked up from the letter, regarding her father with a quiet, probing gaze.  “Do you?”

“Everyone I’ve spoken to—everyone that you and Anthus have spoken to for that matter—have been fairly firm about keeping it quiet and refusing to send  another contingent for fear of panic.  Three units in a matter of weeks without warning?  There hasn’t been anything quite like that since the war.”

She didn’t ask which war.  It didn’t matter.  Her gaze drifted back to the page.  “If no one is supposed to know and no one reached out from the Crusade, then why are there being inquiries made by someone else?”

“Who?”

She relinquished the letter to him, starting to pace as he scanned the missive, getting the gist.  His mouth soured, stomach twisting.

“Do you know these names?” He asked.

“Yes,” she said, leaning against the windowsill and staring out at the courtyard below where her husband did his best to keep their nieces and nephews distracted from everything going on.  Her daughter’s laughter echoed off the walls, cheering on her eldest cousin as he squared off against his uncle with practice swords.

Sam waited, but she didn’t seem inclined to elaborate.  He exhaled.  “Lyyn.”

“You know them, too,” she said.

“Not quite the way you do, I imagine,” he said quietly.  “You serve with them?”

“That is a complicated question, Da.”

The ghost of a smile curved his lips for a second before it was gone.  “I meant in the Crusade.”

“It was the Dawn, then,” she said.  “Grimstryke and Brightborn, yes.  Cieltus I knew by reputation.  It was at Light’s Hope, mostly.”

“Strike forces?”

She shook her head.  “Usually not but every so often they’d deploy a combat medic with us.”

Sam nodded slowly.  “But that doesn’t solve our mystery, does it?”

“If Mathair had written—”

“But she didn’t, like I said, not since his wife had their son.  Grimstryke must have found out another way.”

Sam sank down into one of the heavy leather reading chairs near the window.  “Then how?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted.  “I know Anny hasn’t written to anyone in Quel’thalas.  I haven’t had contact since the incident here a couple of months ago, but that was before any of this happened.  I hadn’t heard even a whisper since.”

Sam frowned, glancing toward the window.  “Then how would they know to make inquiries?”

“Perhaps it’s nothing,” she murmured.  “Perhaps it’s—hell.  Coincidence.  Grimstryke’s well-placed, it could just be something he caught a rumor about and pressed on.  The other two are associates of his.  It would track.”

“Does it really feel like it’s nothing?”  Sam glanced up at her with an arched brow.

Karinlyyn exhaled a sigh and leaned against the sill.  “No.  No, it doesn’t.”

Sam simply nodded, gaze drifting toward the window.  “Then I’ll leave it to you.”

“Another wrinkle,” his daughter murmured, taking the letter back.

“There always is,” he said, smiling reassuringly, the expression lingering for only a few seconds before it faded.  “We’ll find them.”

“Of course we will,” she said softly, folding up the letter and tucking it into her leathers.  “We don’t have a choice.”

[littleblackraincloudofcourse]

My apologies to the hard working, unfairly treated, writers, directors, cast and crew but I am not exaggerating when I say I am one more cancelation from not being willing to start any more new shows. I can't keep getting attached to these characters and excited to see their stories only for them to canceled after one or two seasons and never be told. Especially when most of them only get eight episodes or less. I wouldn't mind short seasons if I got a complete story but that rarely happens anymore.

[wynilthyrii]

A letter to Anthus Steelshatter - 11 December

[This letter is written on good parchment in dark ink. It is sealed in charcoal gray wax bearing the seal of House Ilthyrii of Quel’thalas.]

Dear Anthus,

At the outset, I must apologize for my lack of communication, though I’m certain you understand.  A great deal has happened since we saw each other last, and hopefully this note will catch you up on some of the more important bits of that.  I don’t precisely have much opportunity to come to Dalaran as one might (or might not?) hope, but I do plan to be there in the next day or two, which of course brings me to the reason for this letter—beyond, of course, letting you know as much.

I plan to meet with your sister-in-law regarding the expedition she has been called upon to assemble.  I do not know if you or your wife have involvement in it, but it seems my son will.  Juden is fifteen now, nearly sixteen, and is well beyond his years when it comes to his studies thanks to some truly incredible teachers that he has been blessed to work with these past several years.  I do not know what ultimately made her think of him, but the invitation has been extended and I suspect that he would not forgive me if I told him he could not go.

In the old days, of course, I would have simply asked to come along, but my current duties in the Everlight, among other things, preclude that as an option.  I will be having some strong words with Commander Frost to ensure his safety.  A political consideration to such is that he is the last scion of House Riverwind and its lord and the kingdom can ill afford to lose him, though I think we both know that my concern is that of a mother for her son.  I am not asking that you attach yourself to whatever expedition she is organizing, I’m merely advising you of my position on the matter, should she approach you for your insight.  I do not know the shape of your relationship these days, though I certainly can recall in hindsight how insistent she was on your safety and treatment back all those years ago.  Tyr did mention to me in passing that he could not recall seeing you in Northrend more than once or twice in the near three years he spent there with the Crusade in her command, so I must imagine that retirement has actually stuck.  I am glad of it—you deserve to be settled and happy.

Clearly, I am most decidedly not retired these days, though I am relatively settled and quite happy. Overall, the family is well, and we have settled into the relative peace with more ease than I would have anticipated. I didn’t join Tyr in Northrend with the Crusade at first because I was newly wed and then caring for a newborn and that after that my duties with the Order and matters within the Everlight precluded my doing so.  All seems well enough these days, though, and quiet, and now we all are home.

I don’t know how long I will be in Dalaran, but I may call on you if there is time.  If not, I shall have to make arrangements for another time. It would be good to see your face.

Thank you.

Yours faithfully,

Wyn.

[Tagging @versusvices because I’m not sure where else to tag these days ;) ]

[homkamiro]

Because Papa will protect you

[deviationmaniac]

Heavy warm ups that derailed and I went overboard with as usual cos doodles mean nothing to me lately. I love him and need to practice his anatomy for sure. Below is some Heavy Medic after kissing with quite a bit of blood so ya can see that below :3

[asmoteeth]

Summer Ceasefire, New Mexico circa 1964

[ryuki-draws]

Silent night, glowy night

[cybertronian-reader-imagines]

Your description says any continuity so I hope Earthspark is ok. Can we please get Megatron watching s/o be very soft and letting their guard down around the Terrans. Or maybe an after interaction maybe if you don’t wanna do a Megatron pov. Just some fluff really. I love soft autobot Megs.

SOFT MEGS SOFT MEGS!!!!! so yeah this ended up being a straight up fic welp

"Soft" wasn't a disposition that came easily for Megatron. 'After so many years of commanding respect by being made of stone', one might think, but truly warmth and kindness wasn't something he'd ever been taught to lose. Of course, Optimus was far more practiced at being kind than he was, but more often than not he also kept a certain distance as a leader, a representative of Cybertron for the people of Earth, a palpable beating spark but nevertheless one behind armor.

So how did you manage it?

He'd watch you play with the terrans like you were one of their own siblings... albeit with a little more common sense under your belt. Laughing and hugging and finding little moments to weave lessons into your words without ever seeming like you were talking down to them. Another bot might mistake it for naivete, but Megatron had known you - loved you - for aeons. He knew you'd seen almost as much darkness as he had (some by his own hand - he'd finally began to not let the guilt push you away, but he'd never fully forget that, never take your grace for granted) so how could you now be... like this?

"I'm relaxing because I never got to," you tell him when he finally finds the words to ask you outright. "The war is over. Yes, we're still picking up a few pieces, but I want this next generation to have peace. I...want to finally have peace."

And before he can overthink that, you gently take his hand in both of yours and lead him towards the others. "Peace with you, if you'll let me."

[cowboygenes]

Rough Week (unfinished)

[houseildanan]

Argents Lost - Summer Winds (part 2)

The trees thickened as he followed the game trail up into the foothills, a trail that doubled back on itself twice to take a more easy grade.  That was enough to make him begin to wonder if perhaps it wasn’t a game trail at all but an old patrol route or a hunting trail.  The ground was hard, though there was little snow on the path as the trees grew thicker, blotting out the light as much as the weather as he climbed higher into the foothills.

His leg ached, though ignoring it was easier than usual.  Perhaps it was his level of focus, or knowing that perhaps he was on the right path.

Perhaps it was the knowledge that no one back home knew he’d come here, that the Crusade didn’t know he was here, that if something were to happen to him, it could be days or longer before someone managed to sort it out if Arius didn’t find the note amongst the bottles on his workbench.

But he trusted that Arius would find it soon enough if it came to that.

Wind worried the treetops above him, setting needles and branches rustling.  He exhaled slowly, squinting upward for a moment, then into the gloom of the path that continued onward, upward, for at least a hundred yards before it curved again.  Somehow, the mile described by the trapper seemed longer than any mile he’d walked before.

But they, too, would have come on foot.  The trees were too thick and they would not have risked missing anything by attempting to teleport or fly.  Perhaps they would have deployed some aerial patrols later—or had scouted from the air before starting their trek—but looking at the branches above him, even with the change of seasons, he couldn’t imagine that they would have been able to see much from above the treetops.

No.  No, they would have walked this same trail.   He was sure of it.

There was a small clearing beyond the bend in the trail, one where he could see the sky.  A few rocks jutted up from the snow and he sat down on one of them, stretching his bad leg for a few seconds and taking a water bottle out of his satchel.  He watched a few fair weather clouds drift through the blue sky as he drank, taking slow, deep breaths of the cold, clean mountain air.

It was so, so quiet.

“About two hundred more meters down that way, there’s a switchback.  Beyond it is a gully and anything that goes in doesn’t come back out.  I can’t let you go any farther.”

It was a woman’s voice, her Thalassian carrying a slight accent and the weight of age.  He twisted toward it, saw her emerging from the trees behind him, far enough from the mouth of the trail that he knew she hadn’t followed him along it.

“Why’s that?” he asked softly, studying her for a few seconds.  A kaldorei dressed in armor reminiscent of the Watchers and Wardens of old, complete with the glaives strapped against her back.  Her hair hung long and loose but for a pair of thin braids that kept it back from her face and there was a pallor to her flesh that he recognized. A Death Knight—or a former one.

“I won’t have the death of one of Sunstar’s brood on my conscience,” she answered, resting her wrist on the hilt of the blade at her hip.  “No matter how many generations removed.”

He stood slowly, capping his water and putting the bottle away.  “You knew him.”

“Not as well as some,” she said.  “But yes. I knew him.”

“I came looking for the Argents—”

“—that vanished along this trail.  We thought perhaps you had.  Come. We’ll go back to K3 and tell you everything we know.”

“We?” he echoed.

She smiled.  “Yes.  We.”

[aprylx]

Chapter 15 SolMed Fic <3

'Countless images were flashing through his head- God damnit! He felt so..so helpless! 

    He could deal with the ridicule from Scout or Demo, the anger and malice from Spy and Heavy. Hell, he’d even take the Pyro’s weird stares over this feeling!

    He couldn’t do anything. '

https://archiveofourown.org/works/49563040/chapters/131319808

[thetirisfaltheatretroupe]

Coming September 7th: "Hellsqueal, the True Warchief's REMIX"

WHO: The Tirisfal Theatre Troupe...and YOU! WHAT: "Hellsqueal: The True Warchief's Remix", a live performance! WHERE: The Shrine of Fellowship, Jade Forest WHEN: Saturday, September 7th, 6:00 PM PST // 8:00 PM Central

(Original poster by our beloved friend Erialin. Miss you always <3)

Many years have passed since the fall of Garrosh Hellscream, widely referred to as only the second worst Warchief to ever live. In the wake of his legacy of failure, come have a laugh at his expense as we take a brief and historically accurate look at his career as Warchief of the Horde! Come join the illustrious Tirisfal Theatre Troupe as we perform this revision of a classic story, filled with drama, heartache, betrayal, heroics, and jokes about bronze frogs and dubious medical typos!

The show will be held at the Shrine of Fellowship in the Jade Forest (Wyrmrest Accord's shard, non-Warmode), a quick portal away for both factions on SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 7TH at 6:00 PM PST // 8:00 PM CENTRAL! Runtime is approximately an hour and a half, though technical difficulties may cause us to go slightly over!

It's been a number of years since the Tirisfal Theatre Troupe last performed the play that put us on the map! While we said goodbye to the Hellsqueal trilogy of comedies a long time ago, with the advent of the wildly successful Mists of Pandaria Remix, we figured now was as good a time as any to dust off the old script and give people another taste of this timeless classic from the Timeless Isles. This time around, a few things are a little different - our standard of quality in what we've written is a little higher, our production value is a little larger, and we've got a number of new and old talent alike returning to the stage! Come join us for this recollection of a simpler time, and maybe find something both new and old to love about this new spin on the Tirisfal Theatre's very first major production that we premiered way back in 2013. Whether you are an old troupie, or someone who has merely heard of us in passing... you're certain to have a Hellscream of a time. Note: This post will be updated and reblogged as more information becomes available or clarifications are added! Special thanks to @shamanofthewilds for editing the time and date details on the poster on such short notice, you're an amazing asset to the company and crew! <3 And best Thrall.

[amipenthe]

It’s such a small thing but one narrative detail I love about d gray man is that (assuming cross and lavi aren’t the same person lol) post-Neah’s death Lavi was sent to take care of pasta and Cross was sent to take care of Mana. It’s such a calculated and interesting decision on Neah’s part. It also makes me wonder how well lavi and cross even knew each other.

We’ve been headcanoning for years the third side lads were all close, but that seems to be far from the case. Pasta was a rando, Lavi and Cross don’t seem to know each other well (Cross has only ever spoken about Mana and Neah and the host. He didn’t know who the host was and never mentions or thinks of Lavi period point blank. Their relationship seems to be, “the former bookman jr who was protecting the host is gone and now I got to find the host myself.”) Heck, currently it doesn’t seem like Lavi knows that terribly much about Mana which is so interesting since Mana is the reason the third side exists in the first place. It’s different than what we expected, but an interesting and more realistic narrative choice that the third side was likely composed of strangers with different self-interests running towards Neah’s goal.

Also, it makes the relationship dynamics of the third side way more interesting and complicated than the whole childhood friends forced into war bit.

Especially because that means everybody knows different things about what happened 35 years ago. No one, not even Nea, knows the full picture.