#jainosh

[poisonousfey]

the spell you got on me

“I wish you would write a fic where someone falls in love with how Jaina looks when she smiles.”

part 2/4: garrosh

---

the human witch has a unique sort of strength- one that he doesn't notice, at first.

he meets her, first, in theramore, to renew their pact of non-aggression with orgrimmar. at first glance, she seems too soft, and simpering; too willing to give way when she should be standing firm, and too quick to do so. there is no remarkable physicality about her, at least not beyond what he finds typical of humans, and she avoids conflict at any cost. it baffles him, how someone so weak of will could garner such respect from even her own kind, let alone his fellow orcs, and least of all, thrall. she seems to let just about anyone and everyone walk all over her- even her supposed friend, that wretched human king. he cannot stand her, at first, and cannot see this as anything else besides weakness.

and then, her city is attacked.

it's an ambush- just as they're preparing to leave, the cowards- but she does not panic, even as her people do. Her demeanor is calm, collected, and she seems to radiate this effortlessly, the very air around her becoming cooler and cooler despite the high summer's heat. There is a strange sort of comfort in this cold, the obviousness of her presence a given safety to her people, soldiers and civilians alike. The air crackles and freezes, solidifying under her hands as she works water and arcane in tandem with each other. There is no conflict between these two entities, somehow, she bringing the natural and the preternatural together peaceably under her hands. And the feats she accomplishes with this peculiar frost- she blinds their enemies and hides her own troops from sight, she protects them from the cult's twisted fire and in return rains her own fury upon those that dare invade her realm.

And all throughout- she is calm, she is collected, her movements are measured and her voice is even, calling out orders over the crunch of ice and metal and the crystalline ringing of the arcane. she commands no respect- it is given intrinsically, just as she gives safety and surety. and at the end, when the last invader has fallen, only then does she stop to take a breath.

after the battle has ended, and the blizzard she's woven clears, she seems to shrink back into herself. the air warms up again, slowly but surely, and her arms are shaking, from effort or cold, he's not sure. she stands tall, regardless, despite her exhaustion, despite her trembling hands, and for a moment, while her guard is down and she can be herself while no one watches save for him, all she does is glance over the scattered crowd. she makes eye contact with no one in particular, content just to look on her city. there's a glimpse of a smile, here, relief in one moment and affectionate pride in another, and then, she gathers herself back up, and keeps moving. She keeps going. it's a sort of strength that he didn't realize that she had, one that he admires and envies. It's a sort of strength that he could learn to covet. There are many things about her that he could learn to covet. Her kindness, most of all.

[fitzefitcher]

I made a thrainosh server bc I love death and also dying, please join so I can bully you to make content

edit: TO CLARIFY IT’S THRALL / JAINA / GARROSH WHEEZES ;;; and all variations therein (so: thraina, jainosh, thrallosh, etc.)

[swampgallows]

my birthday present this year was having friends, honestly

steve was drunk but he wants to see me get out of my house and he wants it for me because he says i am wonderful, and that i deserve it, and that i’m a good person, and he asked me, “What do you need?” and i dont really think anybody has bothered to ask me that, and i had to think, and what came to mind was love. affection. freedom. but what i said, i think (it was late, i barely recall, but im pretty sure) was “acceptance”. more and more, i feel as if my parents say one thing, then do another. and the bulk of this last decade, for me, was coming to terms with the fact that my parents say a lot of pretty things, but when it comes to boots-on-the-ground effort, execution, they either lose their way or can’t be fucked. my mom keeps getting into these mini tirades when im locked in the car with her for the ten or so minutes to my bus stop where she just unloads all of her hatred, all of her fear that has curdled into hatred, and just steeps me in her world of negativity and rejection for that short time. she doesn’t ask me how my day was at work. she doesn’t ask me “how are you doing?”; she just immediately launches into, usually, something that is… opposite of my “politics”.

she mentioned some story about scholarships, i dont even care to recount it here, but the tired old trope about how PoC get “handouts” while struggling white people are overlooked and get nothing, or that PoC “need it more”. “You’re really the wrong person to be telling this story to,” my mom said halfway through a comment about how her brother is “the most conservative one in his office”. I can’t tell if it’s my mom’s attempt to air her grievances about “my politics” or “the world” or if it’s her having a rebellious reaction to some kind of white/republican/conservative guilt happening with the election of Trump and her, essentially, forcing me to come out.

My parents say that they’ll love me no matter what, but I think the idea of their daughter being even a sliver of gay has them upset. Perhaps not “mad” per se, but “upset”. Disconcerted. Their understanding of “how things are” has been altered. And maybe, I don’t know, my existence now makes them self-conscious, or guilty, or something, because my parents know I do not agree with them. Some of their personal politics are even reverting with the election of Trump (they are now, suddenly, both pro-life, or at least of the opinion that abortion is murder and not birth control [though i can’t say I’ve ever met or read or seen a single soul treat abortion as a flippant alternative to birth control, as they seem to think]). But aside from that, they control everything and leave me in the dark. They have bank accounts set up in my name but dont tell me what they’re for or why, my car insurance is under them, basically everything but my health insurance is handled by them (and that’s only because i got kicked off the family plan when i turned 26). And what they dont control financially or on paper, they control through guilt. I am afraid of what will happen to the dog if I leave. I’m afraid of what will happen to my snake, who already has some strange lump on her face that I’m begging someone take us to the vet for (”I have the number, I just need to find it.” Yeah, good luck in our fucking hoarder house finding anything). I am afraid of what will happen to my parents if I don’t take care of them. But I’m… I’m just sick of being afraid. I’m so tired of not taking care of myself and doing what I want to do (which is hard for me to even figure out, since I feel constant shame or guilt if I do anything for myself; even playing video games I feel guilty that I am not being productive or creative or using my time more ‘wisely’) because I feel so indebted to everyone else.

I cannot visualize beyond this, I told him. I didn’t think I would even get this far. I cannot imagine a job better than the one I have, the only drawback of which being my lack of weekends (and therefore lack of raves, which is lack of exercise, lack of friends, lack of community). I have no career path. To be frank, I have no real dreams (none that can be realized). My desires of late are fairly minimal, superficial, nothing grand. I would like to ride my bike again. I want to take Xena on a hike and have her sniff a lot of things, have a picnic by the trail, and then head back down. I want to organize and practice and play a set, even if I trainwreck. I want a big kandi party with my friends again, and I want to dance in the desert under the moonlight again, pointing out stars and space stations. (That “Jainosh” fic fucked me up. It made me want to stargaze with a big orc real bad :(. ) I’d like a smoothie, I want to eat more salads, and I want a grilled corn on the cob. I miss Appalachian summers. 

“I’m going to Thunderdome in October though. Beyond that, there is nothing.” “And I’ll get to see you!” “What? In Holland?” “You said you have a layover in Philly, right? That’s like 40 minutes from me.” “You want to see me?” I asked. “Of course I do!”

I could not help crying. Though aided by the vodka, I think, Steve began crying too. “Oh shit, I know that reaction all too well,” he said through sniffles. 

“Last summer,” speaking of Appalachian summers, “I had asked him ‘Do you want to see me?’ And he gave me some cryptic answer like, ‘You can come out if you want to.’ And when I was there, he…”

I gave details. Details I had locked up for a long time. That I hadn’t told anybody. That I wasn’t expecting to tell anybody.

“This might be the… masculine… patriarchal… I don’t know what, in me, but hearing that made me want to punch him in the face.” “He could use a punch in the face, now that he’s a Neo-Nazi and all.” And even Neena [curse all these “n”s with my stupid broken keyboard!!] had said, “I’m so sorry”, when, usually, I’m the one saying that to everyone else.

Telling my stories, hearing the words come out in the open to untrained ears, gave me new perspective on how devoid of excuses those situations were. How devoid of love they were. And how red the flags were, and how I was so blind, and how hindsight has painted it all as something so typical and hackneyed.

“I thought it would be different. I thought, because he’s older, he would know how to treat me.  I thought it would be different. I thought, because we’ve been friends for so long, I can trust him. He won’t hurt me.”

I’m sorry, I suppose I’m getting a taste of my own medicine here.

“Listen to me. I struggle with empathy. That… that is not what that is.”

He told me, and I know it’s true, but he reminded me, “It’s going to be very difficult.” He has a bias on me leaving Los Angeles, but I don’t think I would veer far from a city if I did. I want to stay close to the rave community despite my absence in it, and I am accustomed to the hubs of opportunity that urban areas provide. 

What to do, what to do.

My desires are small. I want to be safe. I want to feel accepted. I want to shed my guilt—a much bigger venture, to be sure—and I want to celebrate all of the things that deserve celebrating. 

I’m not sure where to go from here, but I think at least I am now, in some respects, going forward instead of sinking down. 

“You deserve this. I love you, I love you.” It’s… it’s really that easy! 

[esportsgg]

Trump - Hearthstone: Tavern Brawl - Jainosh (5 Minutes of Trump Talk)

[poisonousfey]

shelter

against my better judgement, putting a little ficlet up here set in an AU fic that I’ve attemped many times to write and have never finished, bc Certain People have expressed interest in it, so here it is, Garrosh Makes Jaina Get Up And Drink A Glass Of Water, The Fic

---

It's just going to be one of Those Days, apparently.

She probably should've known that this was coming, and she did, on some level, suspect something was amiss when she curled up in bed the night before and stared at the far wall for most of the night instead of actually sleeping. She hasn't quite pinned down what's triggered it this time; it could be any number of things. It could've been the weather, perhaps- storm clouds were moving in, with rain on the way, and she did always tend to have headaches until the first crack of thunder finally broke the sky open. It could have been the cold, leaving her toes and fingers clammy and numb. Something about the damp chill the air carries is inescapable, creeping into her bones, slowing her blood. It could be the seabreeze, bringing the cold in, the rush of the ocean in the far distance a call to something inside, half-forgotten and full of longing. She feels alien here, still, even after all this time; the desert is a far cry from the marshes of Dustwallow, and even farther from the isle she once called home. She is no more home here than she would be there, now. She feels alien in her own skin.

The sea speaks to her in rumbles and hisses, the churning waters crashing against the shore of her little port-town, against the base of her tower. Its song is relentless, pounding against the inside of her skull. It tries to call her to a home that now lies beneath its dark waters. It takes all of her will to ignore it. So much so, that she has none left to rouse herself from her bed.

Her mouth is dry. Her ribs are hollow. She stares at the far wall. She tries to sleep again. The ocean roars, and she can't manage much more than an uneasy doze, drifting into it and jolting out of it before sleep can take her, fully.

---

Pained tries to get her up, a few times. She pokes her head in around the time she knows that Jaina is usually awake, sees her under the sheets, and lets her have a few more minutes. This is a mistake.

She tries again, half an hour later when it becomes clear that Jaina is not getting up. She tries to coax her up, and Jaina hardly has any voice to respond with. This is when she begins to sense something is amiss. Jaina can hear her talk to Aegwynn in the hall just beyond her door, and she tells the old witch that she's sick and can't get up, which is close, but not quite. Aegwynn knows better.

Still, they leave her be, for a while longer.

Around mid-morning, she is exhausted from the sea's endless cries. She finally succumbs to sleep, and her slumber is black and dreamless. She is afforded this mercy, at least.

---

Jaina doesn't wake up again until a little after midday, to the sound of her bedroom door being slammed open. She jolts straight up, heart beating frantically inside a body that's still mostly numb and hollow, and turns to find an infuriated orc man, her friend and now-guardian, standing in the doorway. His stance is Loud, eye-catching, but defensive. He came here, for all the world looking like he meant to fight off her affliction as if it were Real and Living and he could rend it from her with his own two hands. She can see Aegwynn peeking around the great mass of his body, like Jaina doesn't already know who the culprit behind this is.

"Have you eaten anything at all today?" he snarls. Jaina shakes her head. Garrosh sighs and rolls his eyes exaggeratedly before tromping down the hall. Jaina turns to Aegwynn. She's doing an awfully poor job of covering up her grin.

"This is cheating," Jaina croaks, because she can somehow find her voice for this, but not anything else.

"I told him you needed help," Aegwynn says, smirking. "And here he is. Helping."

Jaina still feels half-dead and mostly drained but somehow is still managing to find the energy to want to stagger out of bed and strangle her. She unfortunately does not get that chance; Garrosh hardly gives her a moment before stomping back up the hallway and right up to her bedside. He shoves a glass of water under her nose.

"Drink," he demands, not growling, but close. She takes the glass from him and sips it, and he sits next to her on the bed, presumably to make sure she drinks the whole thing. He watches with a scrutinizing eye until she's drunk the very last drop.

"How are you feeling?" Aegwynn asks.

"Tired," Jaina says. Her voice comes easier, now, and it shows. "I didn't really sleep that well. I couldn't actually fall asleep until this morning after you and Pained checked up on me."

"You've been up all night?" Garrosh asks incredulously.

Jaina hesitates.

There is no correct way for her to answer this question. Clearly, she hasn't slept all night. He already knows. This isn't even the first time this has happened before. The only reason Garrosh is asking this is because if she says yes, he more or less takes that as permission to take full control of the situation. Taking full control means him dropping literally everything else that is going on that day, consequences be damned, and fussing over her until he deems her condition no longer critical. To be honest- the worst has already passed. She's awake, now. She's consumed something, even if it was just water. She's up and talking and is thinking about maybe eating or getting dressed soon. His brooding over her is... appreciated, but not entirely necessary, at this point. He has his duties, and she has hers. She is not so important that she feels herself worth him skipping out on his.

He continues to glower at her, and she can feel herself wavering.

"I mean," she starts. It's not a good start. "Not... all night," she continues, trailing off. That's enough for Garrosh, apparently, because he then inhales sharply and stands up from the bed in one fluid motion. He's staring out her window now, at the ocean. He Knows. He's practically vibrating with it.

"You're not staying here," he tells her. It's not a request. Jaina huffs, and starts to argue, but-

"Would you let me stay here, if the situation was reversed?" he challenges. Her mouth snaps shut with a clack of her teeth, and she huffs again.

"No," she replies moodily. Garrosh hums, satisfied.

"That's what I thought," he says, smug and preening. The tilt of his grin makes her want to knock it off his face.

---

She manages to stumble out of bed and shuffles around her room for another half-hour or so, packing while Garrosh hovered over her and her things and played with the little knickknacks scattered all throughout. He pockets a couple to fidget with, later. She keeps finding more and more of them around his rooms whenever she's there; it reminds her a little bit of hens, or maybe bower birds. Garrosh tends to covet those he considers His, and Jaina is no exception. She thinks he might be trying to coax her into his den, whether he realizes it or not, so that he can take care of her and stop her from running and hiding like an injured housecat. Jaina knows she's not an easy catch, despite herself. It's part of what makes her so tempting to tame for Garrosh, she thinks. He looks at her and sees something not unlike himself, a creature with wounds so deep that they have barely even begun to scab over, let alone fade away. She's not so sure how or when or why she's become this feral, half-wild thing, but here she is now, skittish and cagey and starving, and she will never be so quick to trust as she was in her youth ever again. Garrosh can tame her, in time, she thinks, with enough determined, stubborn doting, just as she's already tamed him, with patience and honesty and kindness. He can tame Thrall, too, probably, but Thrall is a fair more flighty than she is, and has far more opportunity. Garrosh probably need her help with that one. She'd be happy to. Someday. Maybe.

In any case, she finishes packing her things, and lets Garrosh herd her back through a portal to the Hold.

---

Garrosh takes her to his chambers- once Thrall's, now his, and the thought of that is a stinging comfort to both of them- and lets her hole up there, away from the dark tides that call to her. He doesn't ask anything of her- he doesn't make her come out, he doesn't make her get up again, and doesn't make her interact with anyone, save him and Malak. The worg's presence is a huge comfort, even if her brand of affection is a little smothering. Jaina drifts in and out of a shallow sleep for a while, Malak glued to her side, and only truly seems to wake up when Garrosh comes back to check on her. He sits with her when he can, probably more than he should, if she's remembering his schedule for today correctly. His visits are frequent, but short, and he seems to resent their brevity. He'd probably just call it quits for the day and just stay and fuss over her if he could get away with it. Jaina tries to get some work done, or at least tries to read and keep herself distracted, but she can never quite get herself to focus, and her anxiety lingers, buzzing passively the rest of the day.

Finally, supper rolls around, and Garrosh returns for the evening, dinner for the both of them in hand. She can't imagine what the cooks thought when he took it from the kitchens, or what his soldiers thought when he made his way here. She doesn't imagine Garrosh cares, even a little bit.

He puts the dinner tray in front of her wordlessly, brooking no argument. then, putting his own dinner aside, he dresses down for the evening, for comfort and rest. He doesn't typically pull late nights, not like Thrall did, but she doesn't think he'd tolerate being interrupted, right now. By the time he's gotten changed, Jaina has at least taken the first few bites of her food. This appears to satisfy him, for now. He sits next to her and eats, and she manages to finish her meal with some effort.

"You're staying here tonight," he tells her. It's not a question. She didn't think it would be. It's a relief, if anything.

He grabs a few things, documents, mostly, probably things that he was supposed to look at earlier but didn't in favor of being here with her, and then climbs into bed with her. She takes to him quickly, tucking herself into his side while he huffs a small laugh, all smug affection, and makes room for her to be there. His hand on her, her body lying against his and his warmth filling the bed, quiets the buzzing. His touch is grounding. The cries of the sea are silenced, and finally, finally, she falls asleep, and her dreams are warm and quiet.

---

Jaina wakes up to a cold, pale dawn, sun not even over the horizon yet, and she's okay. Garrosh is still there, long since asleep beside her, snoring softly. He's still got an arm wrapped around her, keeping her close even in sleep.

It's okay. They're going to be okay.

[fitzefitcher]

me: I should work on my original content me, immediately after: creates Yet Another jainosh AU to daydream about instead

why think about apocalypse scenarios when I can do that and have heathcliff-darcy the horrible orc man instead