#goatshipping

[0neand0ni]

Vindicta: “They’re pushing Yellow! Where are you?”

Lash and Billy in the jungle:

[meowmorice]

redraw of an unfinished old doodle

[ramblinghusk]

[macromothmicroplastic]

the return

Here's a WoW fanfic about my DK Voldrin and @alphahusk 's priestess Mjornae and they're in love and its disgusting, guest starring my mage and my other death knight about the day i did the battle for the exodar quest 

 Voldrin gave a long, soft sigh as Mjornae's magic weaved into the marred skin of his back. The sensation was akin to the feeling of a very long time ago when he once tucked himself into bed with cold, Draenic silk sheets. It hurt in the way he could only feel pain now- not truly pain but the faint echo of upset nerve endings that were only responding in absence of real functionality. He wondered how his lover could stomach it; he knew that a demon's axe had cleaved right through the skin on his old tattoo and down to the muscle and bone. He assumed she had seen worse on living patients. Patients who could truly feel it and were healed by the Light. Perhaps patients who would be slick with blood and crying in pain. 

He felt sorry that he almost enjoyed the tingling sensation in opposition to the cauterizing agony that was the supposedly healing powers of the Naaru. It was what he deserved, though. In the back of his mind he heard the death rattle of O'ros. Had he the capacity, he would have started crying. He understood Mjornae was trying only to help, and the last thing she wanted to do was cause him pain. The sound had been an agonized scream coupled with the shattering of glass. It was like a thousand windows being broken at once. 

"You're using shadow magic again, bluebird?" He chided, turning over his shoulder to look at her out of the corner of his eye. He tried to push the memory into the back of his mind fruitlessly.  "No..." She didn't return the look, instead tucking her little hands into a fold in her dress between her legs. The cooling sensation instantly stopped and the mild discomfort of a deep flesh wound returned.  "Don't make me tickle you." "You wouldn't dare!" She giggled, headbutting his shoulder gently. "You're right," He grinned at her, "Never ever. Except, maybe later." "Not until after I'm done, at least," the little Draenei woman hummed as she continued her work, a faint blackish glow around her hands. "How's it doin' back there?"  "Good... better than I'd hoped. And you swear it doesn't hurt?" "On my life," he nodded. "Okay, then. It should be finished. There's barely even a scar at all!" He could feel her fingers kneading into the flesh of his back. They were unfathomably warm in the most cozy of ways. "Good!" He turned to her, grinning, trying to shove those horrible thoughts out of his mind again. He could tell he failed by the way her brow knitted together, her lower lip sticking out in a concerned pout. "Is something wrong?" she asked. Yes. Yes. There were many things wrong. He helped kill Velen's son. He pinned the ancient Draenei to the ground so Khyrion and Nazgrim and Thassarian could finish the deed. He watched a Naaru shatter into a billion tiny pieces and felt them enter his lungs, burning then cooling as the light within them faded. There were many, many things wrong. He couldn't cry about it. "A lot happened," he began slowly, "I don't know if... It's a lot. A real lot. It ain't that I'm not comfortable telling you, but... I'm just real tired is all.... I'm sure you'll hear from the Prophet at Netherlight, y'know? He was..." She put a finger to his lips, staring at him firmly but gently. He knew she understood. "Yeah," he finished, smiling sadly, and kissed the finger against his mouth. Her face returned in kind. "Uh, can you do me a favor?" He asked, moving her pale hand, "I've got a scrape on my leg, too. Not too bad. Could you use the light on that one?" She scowled a little, and he looked at her apologetically, "I know, I know, but... it would help me feel better. Please?" She looked at him hesitantly, and then at one of his legs. "Well, alright. If it's just the one..." "I promise." "Okay. Take your... you know," her cheeks flushed a dark blue as she glanced away. He smiled. The color she turned when flustered made her freckles light up against her skin. It was positively adorable, and possibly the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He slipped off his trousers, careful not to get the cotton stuck in the wound. It was shallow and purely superficial. He no longer wanted to feel the pain so much as he wanted to marvel in the sensation of it. He gently tapped her arm when he was finished, sticking a hoof out onto her lap so she could see the damage. His lower, outer thigh had a slight knick in it where a sword or some sharp object had smacked through his armor and managed to graze the skin. She took a moment to examine the wound and then, with a faintly glowing hand, pressed her fingers against the surface. It didn't feel like anything. Voldrin could smell his flesh burning a little and was disgusted by it. "Funny, it doesn't- Ow." The pain came on like a heart attack. He wasn't sure it wasn't a heart attack, had that not been impossible. Deep inside his breast was the sensation of something searing into everything, radiating from a central point and burning outwards. The "ow" had been earnest. At first. And then it got worse. And then it got even worse. He was faintly aware of Mjornae loudly proclaiming his name in concern before he blacked out. Voldrin woke up what could only have been moments later feeling distinctly tingly with the warm, light weight of Mjornae sobbing into his chest. "Hey," he murmured. It hurt to do so. She looked up, startled, face glistening with tears and the like. "Oh!" She threw herself around his neck, pressing his face into her bosom, "I thought I killed you! By the Light! Oh, Voldrin!" She sobbed helplessly and he wrapped his arms around her, admittedly reveling in the soft embrace of her arms and chest. He felt a warm, tingling feeling in his face as her body shook with tears. "S'okay," he grunted, and then, much to his own surprise, took in a sharp breath. "Ow--" Hot little thorns burned from deep within his chest. He went back to not breathing and the pain subsided. Mjornae quickly pushed herself up from him, looking him over with the most agonized expression. "I'm never, ever using the Light on you again, ever, you cannot make me--" she began, lip quivering and voice breaking as she stared at him, at his leg, at his whole being with almost something resembling anger, "You cannot make me. Never again." "No, it wasn't you--" he began, then found himself taking another breath, then the rest of his sentence strangled out by a harsh, chest-rattling cough. A thimble full of blood splattered out of his mouth and nose and onto whatever it was in front of him, dripping down off his hand, and even a fleck on Mjornae's cheek. She stared at him in horror and touched her face, feeling the cold, wet, dark blue blood on her fingertips. "Velen's crest-- what the hell's going on?" Voldrin sputtered weakly, wiping the blood off his mouth, "I swear, it wasn't you," he felt himself take a breath again and coughed. "It was like, my chest was on fire. I uh. My leg feels fine, honest, it wasn't you." Mjornae stared at him with her mouth agape. "I'm already dead, this probably isn't anything bad, honest, it wasn't you." "Voldrin," she whimpered quietly, "You shouldn't be bleeding." "Hey," he looked at her with what he could only assume was a pathetic expression of empathy. Her face was twisted in something between horror and misery, "I know you don't want me to feel pain or nothin' but it's sorta par for the course, being dead n' all--" "No," she continued, "Exactly. You shouldn’t be bleeding. It's impossible." Voldrin paused to think on that for a moment. He'd been dead for years now. Had it not been for an insistence on Light-based healing practices, even channeling it himself once in a while, and an aggressive use of frost magic to keep himself from decaying, he would have begun to deteriorate. Either way, his blood should be dry, coagulated, and above all frozen. She backed up from him, biting her lip. "Wait here. Please. Lie down. Don't move," she motioned with her little hands, "I'll be back as fast as I can. Don't do anything." He inhaled to speak again and he felt his lungs afire and could only let out a pathetic squeak. She gave him a stern look. "'Kay," he mewled, trying not to cough again, and slowly lay down on the bed. Voldrin stared at the ceiling, listening to her tiny hooves click down the stairs of the Legerdemain Lounge. He tried to find something interesting about it. He tried breathing more. It hurt. He only coughed a small number more times, though. The pain was definitely coming from his lungs... Perhaps it was poison? His eyelids felt heavy. Perhaps it would be in his interest to let them close... He stood before his childhood kitchen, attempting to adjust the layers of a cake that he had just made. The icing was making them slip off each other. He wanted to add decorations. Perhaps something floral? But the layers kept disassembling themselves no matter how hard he tried to keep them secure. "Is that the best you can do?" He turned around. Khyrion, the high elf, his haggard and, in Voldrin's opinion, soulless commander in chief glowered up at him. Glowing, dehydrated blue eyes mocked him from dark and bruised sockets. "Pitiful," he snarled. His voice sounded like Arthas's and soon enough the two were overlapping, "You were not fit to fight in life, and you will not be fit to bake cakes in death." "Someone's messed with the icing, sir," Voldrin insisted, and balled up his fists, approaching the tall, silver-haired elf, "I swear it ain't my fault, I'm trying my best." "How did you manage to get this far, Voldrin?" The Lich King Khyrion snarled, "Pathetic, what passes for a paladin these days." Without meaning to, Voldrin hauled off and punched him in the face. His pointed, bony skull bounced off his shoulders like it was a rubber ball and rolled onto the wooden floor that was quickly turning to the stone paneling of Acherus. "Sounds like he's got glass in his lungs. Or metal. Either way--" Began Khyrion's disembodied head in a completely alien voice. It took Voldrin a moment to realize the language was in common. Voldrin opened his eyes and wished he hadn't. His head was pounding and the room was spinning a little. A birdlike face greeted him with an indifferent, irritated glare. A small, exceptionally thin blood elf was glaring down at him with thick, scowling eyebrows and a heavily freckled face. His frizzy, bright red hair was tied up in a messy bun and his absurdly tiny, bony, long, thin fingers dazzled with sparks of arcane magic. "I think he's like. Not dead anymore or something. He's got a pulse. You can't do that if you're dead." "How is that possible?" Mjornae asked in common. "Fuck if I know. Oh. The lunk's awake. Hey, captain lardo, what the hell'd you do to yourself?" "Wha?" Voldrin squinted at the sunlight pouring through the window. The sun was about to set over the horizon. How long had he been out? "Voldrin," Mjornae began in draenic, "This is Delwynor. He's a field medic. We're trying to figure out what's happening." The elf blinked down at him, looking none the more pleasant to deal with. "Whatever she just said," he agreed dismissively, "I need you to tell me what you were doing before you got back to Dalaran." "Uh," Voldrin tried to clear the fog from his mind, and begrudgingly sifted through the day’s events, "Exodar got invaded... demons. Um. There was a fel reaver and it. Uh. Broke O'ros," he could almost hear the heavy, horrified silence from Mjornae, "I was right in front of it... um. There was an explosion..." "What's an O'ros?" Delwynor turned to Mjornae. "The naaru--" "Huh. Shit." The elf put his hands on his hips, looking Voldrin over one more time.  "Okay, so, one of those things exploded?"  "Mmn." "And I guess your boyfriend here's a mouth breather?" "What?" Mjornae asked. "Voldrin," he turned back to the Draenei on the bed, "Were you breathing when it blew up?" "I guess," Voldrin murmured, frowning, "What does this have--" "Mjorny, I need you to uh, do whatever it was that triggered this reaction again," The elf interrupted, turning back to Mjornae. "... No," she replied. Her voice was laden with fear and sadness. "I promise he'll be fine," Delwynor began, his voice cracking and increasing in furious shrillness, "Hell, better than fine. Because if he's alive again and he's got internal bleeding, whatever you're about to do is going to heal whatever wounds he's got so he's not going to bleed from the inside out and die like a stuck pig!" Voldrin sat up, furious that anyone would raise their voice to her, forgetting his pain for a moment, the wind was instantly knocked out of him by the burning in his lungs. The elf turned to him, green eyes sparked with anger. "Stay down," he began in common and finished with broken draenic, "You. Holes. In lungs. Will die. Stay." Voldrin scowled, clenching his fists in quiet rage as Mjornae approached, anger, fear, and sadness fighting for dominance on her delicate, soft features.  "It doesn't matter where you cast it as long as it's on him," the elf continued, "Sorry, just, like. You gotta." She sighed through her nose with clenched teeth and placed her hands gently on his chest. It felt like he had been kicked directly in the heart and he gasped for air for a moment and then... nothing. There was an echo of pain. He took in a sharp breath and it only hurt slightly, not enough to keep him from wanting to continue. In the dead silence of the room he heard a faint, wet, thumping noise every few moments. His fingertips tingled. "Cool," Delwynor raised his eyebrows, "So there's uh, naaru bits in his lungs amplifying the light magic, I think? Like you know when you have a crystal orb and you're doing arcane shit? Like that. Uh. So, uh," the elf cleared his throat as Mjornae turned to look at him angrily, "Okay, before you kick me out for being a bitch I'd like to uh. Check something real quick." The tiny elf scampered up to Voldrin and ran his arcane-glowing hands over the draenei again. "Well, so. He's not cured, exactly," he furrowed his brow in thought, "You know how when forsaken or, well, any undead try to channel the light it hurts and you sort of feel all those sensations of like, rotting and whatever? After a while? This is that, but... the decay is minimal, if there's any... But. Your soul's still severed from your body." His expression softened to mild interest and he tapped Voldrin's crest, much to the draenei's annoyance. "Equilibrium's all but met. It's like... you're a ghost piloting a guy in a coma."  "So--" Mjornae began. "Light won't hurt as bad. Heart's beating again. Got a body temperature and the like. Still not going to be able to commune with your Light, though... uh. My professional opinion is to keep getting blasted with whatever Holy power you've got every day or every other day to make sure that your body's still going to work. I don't know how long this'll last. Could be hours. Could be forever. I figure you'll go back to being clinically dead if you don't keep feeding those... uh. Wind chime fragments. Or. Whatever."  "Delwynor?" Mjornae began, approaching Voldrin and petting him softly. "Yeah?" "Thank you." "You're welc--" "And get out before I sear your eyebrows off," she continued, giving him a faint smile of restrained fury. "Faiiirrr enough, bye." The elf swiftly moved out the door, shutting it behind him. Mjornae quickly enveloped Voldrin in a tight embrace. He hugged her back, burying his face in her neck. "I'm sorry," she muttered quietly into his ear. "S'okay." "I had no idea he was going to be so cruel." "No, no, I've... I was angry he was mean to you." "He said such terrible things." "Well, we don't have to deal with him again." "Mmn..." They were silent as the sun finally began to set, turning the sky a soft gold color. "It sounds so sad," Mjornae whispered, her ear against his neck. "I think it's just shy to be so close to a pretty girl," he chuckled, squeezing her a little tighter.

[ramblinghusk]

[husknoises]

-immediately thinks of the Goat Ship sitting in Nagrand putting flowers in each others hair- *acne clears, illness cured, credit score balances, and I find $10 in my checking account*

GOOD CONTENT

[husknoises]

Voldrin: "oh, no, honey, I already ripped little holes in the sleeves D:"

Mjornae: "Oh no I left those there! They're thumb holes look--" [adjusts cuffs so they go over his thumbs] "That way they keep your hands warm"

Voldrin: ".....................................;_;"

[husknoises]

[SLAMS THIS SONG IN THE GOATSHIPPING TAG]