#i love watching lightning weave and crawl across clouds

[noises-of-nothing]

Transient - Dustin Farrell

Lightning filmed at 1000 frames per second

[loveoaths]

@copycaat​ drawled: ‘It’s going to storm, Haku-kun. You should close your windows.’

haku is drowsy & loose in the evening light, sprawled across their couch cushions with feline grace. 

they’ve been in this spot over fifteen minutes before kakashi’s arrival, idly rolling a chakra pill across the roof of their mouth as they stare out the window. out there, lady sky is carefully changing her million garments through the flung-open window, each layer of her robes substituted one at a time for one darker, then darker, darker still; like a new bride on her wedding night she contorts herself into the woman she thinks her new husband wants, preparing indecisively, nervous for the duties of the night. haku has always found the evening sky beautiful, but this evening they are enraptured. their body’s so chakra-starved it absorbs the pill like alcohol, like a drug, curling down their throat & folding into their bloodstream. the consequential high — there’s no other word for it, & if there were they wouldn’t remember it just now in their addled state — blooms so sweet & warm that the words evade them for the moment.

haku grasps at the air in front of their face sleepily. stares at their fingers a beat when they come away empty, before remembering the man standing upside down from the roof overhang with his hands in his pockets & poking his nose into haku’s living room.

hatake kakashi. their friend the friend-killer, more animal than most of konoha, yet too useful to the village council to shoo away from his den. 

they used to think of kakashi as a wolf. packless. a strange, alien restlessness nestled in the muscles knotted in his neck & behind his quads. alert, watchful, one ear to the ground, living on the perimeter of the hustle-bustle of city living. dangerous, this one, but known. understood. the beast in haku recognizing the wolf shrouded in kakashi’s sterile lightning, inscrutable behind endless layers of cloud.

now, though —  addled & slippery, haku’s thoughts bob & weave with sharper humor. giggles & shouts waft up from the city streets, reminding them of naruto, sakura … sasuke. less a wolf & more a dog, wasn’t he, that kakashi ? nosing his wards back into line, shaking them by the scruff when their actions warranted discipline. something in-between wolf & mutt. a wild dog smelling of surreal & lightning bolts. the line of reasoning doesn’t make any sense, & haku laughs delightedly at the realization that they have, somehow, managed to wind up … chakra-drunk, or something like it. which is fucking hilarious. anko will certainly think so the next time they see her.

❛   Oh, I know Kakashi-kun. I want to smell it. The storm and the leaves and the earth and the rot and the rain.  ❜ 

head lolling back to the ceiling, haku sighs, relaxing even further into the couch as the chakra buzz shifts to a roar. the air pressure drops. a dark thrill sparks down their spine. black & purple dots bubble & burst behind their eyelids. they know immediately that they will have the shadow dream tonight, the one where the woman who was not a woman crawled from their bathroom mirror & curled atop their chest, her long needling teeth poised over their throat for hours, ready to snap at a single wrong move. haku talks faster, more intensely.  

❛   Close your eyes long enough and you can feel the natural chakra in everything, stretching toward you like mycelial filaments. Taste it, too. Sharp and fresh and clean and skin-warm, like wet pavement after it rains. I love it.  ❜ haku sits up a little, the bones beneath their pale, cool skin move wrong. too liquid, too stiff. mercury changing form moment to moment with child’s whimsy. 

❛   It is dry. Not like — ❜  human chakra, they nearly say. 

haku looks back to the cresting clouds.

another gust of air carries the scent of storm into the living room. the last of the songbirds fall silent. haku inhales deeply, letting the air wash the medicinal pill taste from their tongue. the hairs at their nape stiffen. goosepumps lick their way up the back of their arms.

the next time haku makes eye contact with kakashi their pupils are blown, irises reduced to a sheer ring of amber around a lustrous, nigh-violet dark. the voice that escapes petal-pink lips is almost their own.

❛   Storms and bones smell loveliest right before they break. I know you feel the same, Kak-a-shi-sen-sei.  ❜

thunder cracks. clouds split. sun haloes. haku smiles.

the storm breaks. & oh, how their black blood sings out.

[willowgust]

What the Horde Scum Did

The metallic clamor of Ironforge sang through the corridor stretching past Qaradoc’s stone porch, drenched in the smell of rust and earth. In his weathered chair, he settled a cobblestone with a thousand-mile daze. It wasn’t quite pensive, but thoughtful. Peaceful. A curt puff of smoke billowed from his lips. He stared into the polished bowl of his pipe. It was running out.

Throrim sat on the floor sharpening his axe, his beard still damp from his last drink of mead. "Qar old friend. I dunnae know how ye survived as ye did. But ye did, and tha' pincer made a noice tropheh." He nodded up to the fireplace inside where a large silithid hung, polished to a bright sheen.

A thin-lipped smirk tugged Qaradoc's face. "Don't be coy. I'd be popping clogs if you hadn't dragged my sorry arse to that lovely... What was that nurse's name? Sandra?" He glimpsed through the door at the manicured carapace. It was probably the nicest gift anyone had given him. "It does rather spruce up the mantelpiece, doesn't it?"

"Ain't one for interior decoratin'," Throrim chuckled, resting his freshly sharpened axe against the wall and taking another sip of his mead, drying his lips with his beard. "So wha did ya need me here for?"

"Ah!" Qaradoc perked with one last cloud of smoke. He set his pipe on the stone armrest. "Yes, I was wondering, how much do you know about Ironforge pests? I'm not certain of what mind you, but I seem to be getting some unwelcome guests in the kitchen, and I can't be sure what sort I may be deali--" Qaradoc froze suddenly. His attention was locked on something.

Throrim stroked his beard in thought about the different pests of the place, and between the rats and roaches they could be up for a tussle. "I dunnae kn... what are ye lookin' at lad?" He peered over toward his friend's point of view.

The monk blinked. They were still approaching him. His mouth parted as he slowly rose from his seat. The normally stoic Gilnean looked like Uther’s ghost was delivering him a pie on a unicycle.

Three young dwarves beamed at him from the corridor. “Oye, Master Taliesin!” a ginger-bearded man barked. “We’re back! There better be enough o’ those cigars fer all of us!” 

Everything in his chest tingled with the astonished joy he’d given up on feeling weeks ago. 

Throrim blinked at the dwarflings. "Well well, wasn't expectin' a party ya old coot." He stood with a brush of his beard and a low bow. "Evenin' lads. Name's Throrim Stoneframe." He grinned, leaning back against the wall. "What's all this with your skin fadin', weren't expecting company?"

Qaradoc shook his head at him. Before he could allow a knot to form in his throat or a sting to offend his eyes, he smoothed his expression to a blank gape. “I most certainly was not. These are Pydilgri’s nephews and niece - not sure if you recall my mentioning her. I thought they were pronounced dead back on Argus." 

"Pleasure meetin' ya, Mr. Stoneframe!" the same nephew exclaimed. "I'm Omn, that's Raggyn, and this is Dandarian," he pointed respectively. 

"How in blazes are you all still alive?” he muttered in disbelief. 

The question bore instant sobriety to their faces, slowing their climb up the porch stairs. Of course, it was a question they should have expected, but that didn’t make the reminder of their escape any less unpleasant. Dandarian hesitated. She pulled at the sandy-brown foxtail cascading over her shoulder before stepping forward. Her brothers slumped in gratitude as she accepted the burden.

“Yer, uh...” She huffed an awkward chuckle. It was shattered by a frown. “I dunnae if yer gonna believe it, Qaradoc. Or approve. It was...” Dandarian swallowed. All of them carried a vague sense of fear, shame even. Their eyes latched onto Qaradoc’s face, his posture, as though uncertain of a scolding. 

Qaradoc found himself disliking how ‘sheepish’ looked on them. It was making him nervous. 

“Well, we were critically wounded,” she said finally, “but two healers arrived and covered us so we could retreat.”

Throrim nodded as he listened, smiling as he realized the origins of these young ones. "Good old Alliance, sending healers in after the kids." He remembered his time on Argus fondly. Though his words only seemed to make the three fidget more uncomfortably. 

Qaradoc's forehead creased. “As much of a miracle as this surely was, that doesn’t sound so appalling,” he remarked. 

“We were... we were saved by a Pandaren wavespeaker.” 

There was an unimpressed pause. “...Is there an ‘and’?” 

Dandarian braced herself. “And a Forsaken priestess.”

Throrim choked on his mead. "For fooks sake lads. I'm surprised they didn't take you out themselves!" He cleared his throat and waited to hear Qaradoc’s response. 

Qaradoc said nothing. He went pale.

Raggyn took a defensive step to stand beside her, "Just--let me explain," he started.

"I'll get more mead." Throrim waddle-limped to the kitchen.

---

The Legion-painted sky was littered in planet debris. A broken horizon curved up at an eldritch angle. Azeroth’s breathtaking, marble-esque colors churned slowly across the stars; both a reminder of hope and a cruel mockery to those still on Argus’ sundered remains.

Bright felfire streaked above two figures fleeing for their lives - one blubbery, and one frail. They dashed behind a violet boulder. 

Seo-yun and Chavivah paused to clutch their knees. The shaman heaved rattled breaths, peering expectantly down at Chavivah through his scruffy mop of hair. 

She glanced at the edge of the boulder, and let out an exasperated sigh of relief. The eloquently patterned barricades of Light protecting the camp pulsated several yards away. “Oye,” she droned, “thank the Light.” Chavivah stood upright. “Catch your breath and for the last time we’ll run.”

He nodded, his deep panting beginning to fade. Practically tasting the stench of charred sulfur was proving to be an effective motivator.

Chavivah settled a sullen gaze across the wastes. It took seconds for her to spot a trio of dwarves in the distance, desperately fending off an onslaught of demons. They were losing. One of them howled as a blade buried into his shoulder.

The pallid embers in her eye sockets narrowed.

Straightening his egg-shaped torso upright, Seo-yun prepared to signal his readiness, but stopped. Chavivah seemed distracted. His caterpillar brows knitted as he veered to get a better view of her face.

She looked overcome.

In both slow motion and breakneck speed, her veins were frozen lightning, her body was lead, and her heart was falling glass. She watched as a fel axe screeched towards her grown baby’s neck. He was too far for her to prevent it. 

He could still be at home if she’d nagged harder. If he’d become a doctor or an alchemist or a farmer. If she had just caught him leaving for the Isles in time to stop him. All she could think were two blaring words, reducing the core of her being to shredded tissue: “I failed.” Her son, the warlock. Killed in front of his poor mother.

'Too far away’ her decaying tuches! In a blind frenzy she flung back her arm to prepare a shielding spell. Before it could snap back out--

THUD. 

Isaac winced. The axe was buried into a shield. The dwarven warrior it belonged to gave a ruffian grunt as her foot kicked out the felguard’s knee. He buckled. She yanked the axe from her wooden buckler. Her orange pigtails whipped back as she threw it into his chest. The demon went limp. 

Retrieving her blood-soaked weapon, the middle-aged shield maiden marched up to Isaac with three younger dwarves in tow. There was a younger woman with a long braid, a man with a weaved beard as fiery as her hair, and another, whose blond, Van Dyke brush strew loose over his robes.

Isaac was too shaken to move. Pydilgri glared. Turning away from him with a scoff, they stomped up to Chavivah, warily steadfast. The four of them bore a family resemblance.

Pydilgri wasn’t sure if she already regretted it or not. Then she saw the petrified gratitude on Chavivah’s face. 

She expected instant, bitter envy - that was the face she deserved years ago. Her son should have been saved, not this undead demon-caller! But that wasn’t what she felt. Even if it would last for meager seconds, she realized she was living through her. And it was intoxicating. The priestess's expression was so powerful, she could taste her out-of-body deliverance from grief, feel her shock, her reverence, the manner by which she would now consciously cherish him.

Her glowing orbs shuddered. If they were capable, they would be crying. “I--” Chavivah choked. “How to thank you, I can’t begin to say.”

“...Don’t go tellin’ anyone, ya deader,” Pydilgri muttered gruffly, before she and her brother’s children stormed off.

A paw landed on Chavivah’s bony shoulder. With some concern, Seo-yun gestured to the distant camp with a jerk of his head.

Chavivah turned to look back at him. The profound weight of her stare chilled him. Her head finally gave a slight shake inside her cowl.

“...No.”

Time crawled as he watched Chavivah burst out from behind the boulder, her cloak and robes blooming out in a wild flutter. Her gaunt form evanesced, half-visible, in a brief attempt to remain unseen. Seo-yun’s confused panic evaporated when he saw what she raced towards. He discovered the same grim tenderness she wore on his own face.

He knew then. He knew that he and Chavivah were about to die. Black claws tightened around his Moa’ki spear. The lumbering Pandaren bounded after her, his trinkets clacking violently over his leathers.

Raggyn, the blonde mage, wheezed in a shallow puddle of blood. His siblings grunted in fervor as they tried to dodge the demon’s blades. CLANG-- Dandarian’s eyes went wide with a gasp. She held her side, stumbled back a few steps, and fell. Blood gushed from the torn plate onto her hands. 

Omn quaked with a vengeful roar. He ignored the broken arm that flailed behind him as he flung his axe at the wrathguard’s chest. The demon sidestepped. His new momentum hastened his raised sword. SSHHHINK-- “AAAUUGH!!” He launched Omn backwards, who landed with an agonized skid beside Dandarian. The Eredar scholar poised herself to finish them off. A ball of sickly felfire erupted between her hands. She hurled it.

The dwarves grimaced. They heard it land with a smoldering blast. Nothing else happened. Their eyes peeled back open.

Remnants of felfire tumbled over a dome of Light. A Forsaken priestess gritted her teeth in pain, her arms quaking to sustain the shield. 

Seo-yun plodded to her side and aimed his spear, grizzled and determined.

The dwarves gaped at them. 

“No, no!” Chavivah snapped. “Heal them, you fish-smelling shlemiel!”

Seo-yun blinked dumbly. He reached his spear over his shoulder to holster it, then jerked his paw skyward. A totem ornamented in blue surged from the earth. Gushes of water, magically shimmering in sunny light, swelled from nowhere onto the dwarves. The glittery deluge poured over each of their wounds. With every wave that poured over them, their gashes mended further, then further...

Forcing a spare hand, Chavivah reached into one of her pockets and threw something at them. “Here, catch!”

Omn snatched it instinctively from the air, still wincing from the residual pain. He peered down at it. It was a gold pocket watch. 

“If we don’t make it,” Chavivah shouted, “be sure this gets to Isaac Benesh, my son. You promise?”

Dandarian’s throat felt dry. Raggyn’s mouth twisted as a sting formed in his eyes. Omn was glued onto the watch nestled in his hand, silent as the Forsaken’s sacrifice really began to sink in. “Aye lass,” the sister murmured, unable to say anything more.

“Good answer. Seo-yun,” Chavivah shot a glimpse over her shoulder, “are they good to run?”

Seo-yun flounced his scrutiny over their injuries. They weren’t completely healed, but it was good enough for them to run back to camp. He lowered his arms while his totem wriggled back into the ground. Then he gave a nod.

“All right, run back-- and don’t you destroy your mother’s heart by dying! Now gay avek!!”

Heaving themselves up, the dwarves stared at her, dumbfounded. Raggyn mustered the stomach to speak up, “B-but what aboot--”

“GAY AVEK, I SAID!” Chavivah bellowed, pointing a jagged, clawed finger. “GO! GO ALREADY, GO!”

They ran. In a whirlwind of thrashing limbs, wounded bodies, and sobs, they tore across the remaining stretch of battlefield.

Omn, Raggyn, and Dandarian managed to fumble behind the glowing barricades untouched. Barely able to see them anymore, Raggyn turned to a group of Draenei galloping to retrieve them. 

His eyes were raw with tears by the time a gloriously armored paladin knelt to his level. “Let’s get you--” 

“P-please,” Raggyn blubbered out. “Someone has ta get ‘em. Please...!”

The paladin knitted her brows. “Who?”

The shield atrophied into nothing. Seven demons stared the pair down. Chavivah faced him, her illuminated gaze soft. “Seo-yun...” Gratitude and heartache did not begin to describe the way she said his name.

Seo-yun gazed back. For the first time since they began working together, months ago, he actually spoke. 

“Family is worth dyin’ for, Chavivah.”

Her decayed lips quivered into a small smile.

The demons charged. Seo-yun grabbed his spear, a chorus of totems bursting beside his feet. A bubble of Light wobbled over him, then herself. Chavivah lowered into a fiendish pose with her claws erect. Tentacles of dark, celestial Void lashed out beside his totems.

The last thing the dwarves saw before being dragged off was an exploding flurry of spells.

---

Throrim had come back with his mead about halfway through the story, mouth agape and a freshly wetted beard. He couldn't believe his ears.

Qaradoc was stone. He gave a quiet sigh. “Only half-decent Horde I’ve ever heard of and they wind up pushing daisies.”

“Actually we just heard they survived,” Omn said. “They’re bein’ treated in Dalaran.” He dug into a pocket and revealed the watch. There was a brief reverent pause when he glanced down at it. “We were plannin’ on visiting ‘em to return this. Lucky fer this Isaac lad, there’s no reason to give this thing to ‘im.”

"Ye lads are expectin' us tae believe that ya were rescued by some horde fookers... Well I never thought I'd see the fookin' day." Shaking his head he looked at Qaradoc. "Well ya git. We escortin' them or wha?"

Qaradoc fixated on the watch for a long time. He couldn’t move. His neck shifted as though he had literal trouble swallowing. Hardened by a demanding thirst for answers, he cast a resolved stare on his cherished survivors.

“...May we come with you?”

Throrim trotted off upstairs to find his gear. "Well that settles that dunnit?"

Special thanks to @commander-dawnstriker who played as his muse, Throrim. Any writing about Throrim belongs to him.

If you’re interested in following my other toons: Chavivah: @illsufferdear Seo-yun: @whalecarver Qaradoc: (no tumblr yet, but there will be one soon!)

Thanks for reading!

[royal-writer]

SLAMS THIS DOWN WITH FORCE- I am a goddang dumbass addicted to this beautiful otp and I will cry and scream about it all i want thank you.

I’m absolutely positive this is an accurate representation of how Essatha’s thoughts are going to grow from little embers to an inferno and that is very important and all you need to know kay bye-

It was a metric beat. Drumming, drumming; the same four fingernails tapping along the table and then her elbow. Bouncing her leg, jiggling her foot, shifting in her seat with unsettled energy. The very same measure; a crescendo never increasing nor coming to a pause.

Restless. She told herself it was because she despised the wait. Pretty little lies, with her fingers nagging and tangling around the shorter strands of dark black hair framing her face. The fibs she could weave to herself and try to make believe them to be true.

No one else was impatient. Their smiles bright, their laughter loud. Their heads were in the clouds; drinking in the attention and the recognition. Half-hazard as some of them appeared; with tears in their clothes, scuffed shoes, bruises and scrapes.

Compared to those around, none of them looked like they belonged. From all appearances, these people had money to spare. Owning more beautiful and elegant houses than the last; larger gardens, and pristine family lines all over the region than most of the noisy bastards had come from. They were stunning people with luxurious lives and outstanding wealth. Bigger, fancier heirlooms and grand tales with decades of the same name traversing through generations.

Essätha wanted to help them, and be on her way. So easily everyone seemed distracted by the small talk, the teas, the cakes. The gesture was polite and unexpected, but the wait was agonizing. Take on their small-winded requests, accept their gracious pay, and go; that was her motto.

It had nothing to do with her abhorrence watching the women swarm Amon.

The sour pit in her stomach was merely a reflex from their gag-worthy polite charm and mannerisms. People simply weren’t this sickeningly nice without reason.

She watched with restless annoyance as the women leaned in close. Hair like spun gold, bright green eye and perfect lips. Another with skin dark and rich like chocolate with mesmerizing brown eyes. A red-head there, another blonde there. They stood so balanced, so perfectly precarious on their toes. Laughs so merry and cheerful. Dainty, lady-like, precious little angels, poised and proper.

One reached across to place a hand against Amon’s shoulder as she laughed, speaking in a rush of delighted enthusiasm.

Essätha snorted out of her nose as she looked away. It was such an obvious move. Physical contact, the lowered lashes, the pouty lips. They giggled at just about everything it seemed; even if what Essie heard wasn’t anything funny when she could overhear them past the other chatter. One would play with their hair, another nibble their lip or cast a glance to Amon’s mouth hungrily.

They might be gentlewomen, but they weren’t stupid. They knew what they were doing. Flirting so obviously; so naked and shameless. Every move they used was part of the book Essie crafted. Gullible people could be so easily influenced by such small things.

Gullible people, and those wanting to be sought after. Desired. Jumping on the nearest connection where molecules caught and sparked lightning.

She tried to catch the eye of another member of the traveling band of misfits she journeyed with, but they all seem too occupied. Her distress going unnoticed, she went back to staring across the room.

Did he have to smile like that at them? Sexy and charming; the slightest upturn on the corner of his mouth that occasionally split into a grin as he chuckle from whatever hilarious thing these women were saying. He was only encouraging their actions.

Maybe he wanted to motivate and encourage them though. The thought had Essätha’s skin crawling.

Why wouldn’t he, though? They were perfectly lovely looking women. Quite pretty in fact; Essätha could easily see herself trying to tease her way under a few skirts over there. Even if they were only a one-night stand; a simple fling.

It shouldn’t bother her. It shouldn’t grate at her nerves; drive a stake through her heart.

It had to be their bad acting. That… That was the only explanation. Maybe she should go over and teach them a lesson. There were more subtle ways to try gaining a man’s favor; or more obvious.

No, this wasn’t her place. She quickly turned the idea away with a fearful unease in her chest. Something she’d never felt before going obliviously unnoticed. She never stepped down from a challenge; never second-guessed her prey. When the thought was there, so was the intent. And she would hunt until her answer was obvious; until they were clearly through and over with the thought of her or she had them wrapped around her finger and begging for more.

Doing that to Amon… It felt wrong.

Like a trick, the same game and cards she used against everyone else. He should have a classy courting; far more genuine, far more soft.

Maybe that was the problem, she mused. Maybe it was their lack of understanding. They didn’t reach for what was beneath his physical appearances. They didn’t try complimenting his ideas, didn’t remark on how intelligent he was. None of them bothered to nudge him gently and watch the way his eyes lit up at the playful contact. None of them said a word on how hard he worked; how brave he was, the fact he listened with such calm as he took in their words.

They didn’t notice the way he’d answer with such careful honesty to every question and remark. His thoughtfulness, his wit, his stunning smile. The safety of being so close beside him; the way he stood confident, strong, knowing himself. His eyes so dark you got lost in them, his respectful consideration, his good heart.

Gods, such a beautiful heart. Her eyes went half-lidded with fondness as she rested her chin on her hand, propping her elbow up on the counter. They didn’t have a clue. Not the foggiest knowledge of how gentle he truly was. You could search high and low across the land, and as far as she was concerned, there was no better candidate than Amon for the title.

He was a bit battered; a bit bruised, but it didn’t break him in his spirit. Willingly holding out a hand even when things came back around to bite him. Taking the blow when he could have easily let it land on another. Again and again, placing everything he was on the line; his body, his will, his mind and his heart if for just a moment to be someone’s savior. Even when the word was something he would shrug off or laugh at; something he didn’t see in himself.

It made her smile falter just a bit as she watched him. Seeing not the women leaning on him, but him alone. A polite smile, but a closed expression. Keeping them at a metaphorical distance.

How could he not see what she saw in him? A hero, a protector; guardian to all the unfortunate souls stuck between a rock and hard place. No amount of his own misfortune kept him from stopping himself in being the champion of all the lost and lonely souls. Hurting faces looking for direction.

How many lives had he changed without a second thought? How many more would he continue to change? And long past his memory of them, how many looked back on their lives and found gratefulness that this Lord of Briarton had existed and lent them his time and kindness?

Her own fondness and adoration left her scattered for some time. Long enough that, without her knowing, time had slipped by like water over the falls. Someone was suddenly shaking her shoulder, and she perked up with groggy confusion.

“Are you ready to go, Essätha?” a glowing purple boy sang.

“Oh-” she breathed, her face warm. “Yes, I’m uh- I’ve been ready we can- let’s go, Ilamin.”

With a puzzled expression, the angelic boy looked down at her and then in the direction she had been fawning in. Spotting the women surrounding Amon, and Abernathy politely intruding to try getting the nobleman’s attention.

“Were you watching those women?” Ilamin asked with innocent curiosity. “They’re very pretty.”

“I-I guess,” she fumbled awkwardly, standing up to smother her hands self-consciously over her shirt as she tucked it under her pants.

This only made Ilamin look further confused. He didn’t pressure her. Almost thoughtfully, his gaze moving between her and the groupie surrounding Amon as well as the man himself. Playing a game of math in his head to try adding up the missing pieces.

The duo trailed along with the other’s as they were escorted to the grand stairwell that lead down from the gallery to the primary doors. Already a butler had situated themselves at the front door, ready to open it when they approached.

“It was so lovely meeting you all,” a women chimed; one Essätha recognized having been flirting with Amon. “If there’s any further questions we can answer, don’t hesitate to return. We’ll be waiting with bated breath for your victory!”

As she finished, the lady looked directly to Amon in a clear hope to catch his gaze. His eyes however, were turned away from her. She seemed disheartened by this; wringing her hands in front of her chest.

“Yes, do be careful.”

“Absolutely charming to meet your acquaintance.”

“A real pleasure.”

“Thank you for offering your assistance; you’re all so brave!”

As the long-winded farewells and well-wishes followed after them, the group made their way down the set of stairs. Most turned back to offer a wave and a few polite words of gratefulness and warmth. Essätha however made some haste to be the first out of the doors. This place far too stuffy and wedging an uncomfortable feeling in her heart. The bitter taste on her tongue an unpleasant after effect.

A short path extended before them to the entry of the estate. Lined with flowers and perfectly shaped shrubs, it ended at a small already open gate. Nothing too over the top there. Whether these people were foolish to not have better security or were doing in the opposite in giving an inviting appearance to their home to travelers, it was hard to say.

One by one, the others and their jabbering passed Essätha by. Her footsteps lingered in a different realm with her thoughts. Lagging behind slowly as they walked out onto the sidewalk until she was walking nearly identical in pace with Amon himself.

“Quite the group of admirers you have.”

Her phrasing seemed to catch the Illiad heir off guard. He jumped a little, releasing a quiet grunt in response as a hand went up to muse his hair. It had grown a bit long, Essie noted. It seemed to bother him how some of the strands now were boldly trying to lay over his eyes.

“Sorry if I sounded- I mean it was just an observation-”

“They were a chatty bunch,” he admitted, cutting her off. “Hard not to notice.”

Essätha gave a breathy, humiliated laugh.

When she passed him a glance as her giggles rolled to a close, she caught his eyes upon her. Warm and soft. His mouth tugged up into a smile, causing her heart rate to jump alarmingly fast.

“I’m shocked one of them didn’t try throwing you their knickers,” Essie teased.

Amon gave a choked sound at that. His smile broadening with amusement, a slight shake of his head.

“I wasn’t interested in any of their knickers, I assure you,” he snickered faintly. “I had other things on my mind.”

Business over pleasure, she guessed. But he was much too polite to turn away their questions and their kindness.

The slight twinkle in his eyes only seemed to grow brighter the longer their eyes stayed connected. The genuine beauty of his smile, as real and authentic as the sun above, robbing her of breath.

“Next time, you might not want to smile so much,” she blurted out suddenly, dragging her eyes away. “You’ll give the wrong impression.”

Like right now.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could only just see his smile falter and drop away. He reached out for her hand, but she was faster. Her pace quickening in speed and stride, she out-stepped his reach by hairs.

“Essätha, wait.”

The way he pleaded her voice, just barely above a whisper, had her moving faster. Overpassing Rava and Ilamin, and then Cackle, Adela, and Abernathy. Sulhadur and Penimra each gave her a regarding glance as she made her way to the front stiffly, almost jogging.

Maybe those women didn’t see the hauntingly gorgeous things inside of him, but she did. And she knew better than to touch it with her filthy stained hands even if she wanted to. To touch him was to commit an unjust sin. The one and only she couldn’t tolerate of herself. He was far too precious and good to be handled by someone who was always on the run. Feet hardly rooting themselves to the ground, eyes always wandering to the sky. Unable to sit still.

He might care, but that was all it was. His kindness, his gentleness, his forgiving nature. He didn’t want her. Nobody wanted her. She didn’t even want herself.

She knew what she was and what she was capable of. The pain in the eyes of so many disappointed faces. The blankness in those who didn’t make it. The ones who sneered and scorned her; damned and judged her. Every glance of disgust, of sorrow, of hunger. Beauty and beast all in one.

Besides, they were from two different planes of existence. It would never last.

Her arm grabbed at the shoulder of her bag, dragging it up so the weight didn’t lag her steps. Skipping along the cobblestone in a fashion that resembled none of her inner turmoil.

Such sweet fictitious novels she could craft. But they were a safer place than the path her heart wished to follow, and that would have to do.

[theduplicitousdame]

FFXIV 30 Day Writing Challenge

(Prompt 1: Specter)

(Trigger Warning: Domestic Violence, Blood, Death)

Numerous paper balls littered the floor where Naharé sat. Ledgers, blueprints, available contracts, all sprawled over the dining table. She sat back and loosely folded her arms over her chest. “Swivin’ ‘ells...” She was eyeballs deep in not only engineer orders but also dock inventory for the Black Pearl Trading Company. “I always do this shite ta meself.” A near empty glass of whiskey lay next to the quill. “Oy! Yer not allowed.” And by not allowed the glass had a job of remaining full until the woman had had enough. 

The gears of her Magitek arm whined from the effort of reaching across the table. “Nnh. An’ I need ta maintenance this damned thing, too.” With the bottle now in hand the satisfactory sound of a cork popping rang through the air. “An’ they say a lil’ booze never helped nobody. Piss on ‘em.” The poor glass found itself filled to the brim. “Perfect.” The bottle returned, she picked up the quill once more. She sucked the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth and pondered.

Her mind took to its normal routine of running itself into the ground and in many circles. “Vorsaile’s shipment ‘o fabrics a sennight from now. Me metal, cogwheels, springs... A fortnight!? Nay, shite needs ta be a sennight. I can’t wait that long.” A pinch of her nose was given accompanied by a rather frustrated, and drawn out, sigh. Naharé’s helper Mammet, Fidget, heard his creator’s latter statement. He immediately perked up, ran to a box containing said items, and quickly scurried over with a spring in hand. He poked the spring incessantly against her leg.

Fidget was so proud of himself that he excitedly danced from one foot to the other. Naharé’s brows knit themselves together, her nose wrinkling now. “Gods dammit,” she hissed. Looking down she snatched the spring from him. “Aye. I said spring. Good job.” While she loved her Mammet, she also hated him the same. Fidget ran back to the box and procured a cogwheel next. Once more he ran back to show off his prize. 

The little fellow lived up to his namesake, always rummaging and running around. “Ye. Can stop now. This ain’t play time.” Naharé growled. Both the spring and cogwheel were tossed onto the table. Fidget began to pick up on her ire, and feeling a little defeated, he ran back to the box and immediately fell in pom first. “Good,” she muttered with a roll of her eyes. Her handwriting wasn’t necessarily the best but it made do. The quill furiously scribbled across both the ledgers and the blueprints, avoiding the inventory for now as her shipment was deemed first priority.

She paused every so often to knock back swigs of whiskey, even adding a third helping. The beverage burned through her chest and each time she hissed between clenched teeth. Ever since her pregnancy and the birth of her twins her alcohol tolerance had quickly diminished. Naharé loathed the fact. Long did she wish for the days of drinking bastards under the table. Soon her vice took to betraying her. Legible sentences turned into smeared ink. Once focused eyes blurred the environment.

“I shhould. Probb’ly. Go ta bed.” Naharé pushed away from the table. First mistake. Her feet didn’t like moving and as such she weaved through her journey to the bed. A few nonces later her hands and knees collided with the wood floor. Her stomach churned, and her nails pierced her palms while she wretched. Second mistake from drinking too much. Blood and vomit formed a nice puddle between her hands. She simply stared at the mess.

Glassy eyes slowly pulled themselves back to the bed. She held a thousand malm expression, almost as if she were looking through the bed. A wavering hum reverberated within her throat. No more walking. Naharé crawled the rest of the way and pulled herself up by the sheets. She lay in a sprawled position and that was how she stayed. Eventually her brain shut itself down to sleep.

Grateful were the times she never dreamed, but this time proved to be different. Jin’li, her deceased brother-in-law, smiled all too wide before her. “My dearest, would you kindly join me for this walk?” Around them the scenery shifted to that of the Goblet residential district. The Keeper, though diminutive, proved himself capable of worming into the minds of others. ‘Would you kindly’ happened to be one of the phrases he frequently used on Naharé. Her chin snapped side to side and she shuddered. 

“Ye weren’t wanted in life, ye swivin’ son ‘o a bitch,” she growled weakly. Her feet moved with a mind of their own. “Come now, no need to be so hateful to your family.” A faint chuckle escaped his lips. Naharé drew nearer until his out stretched fingers just barely brushed her cheek. “It does not become you,” Jin’li cooed. His fingers went to fully cup her cheek this time. In retaliation Naharé tried hard to whip her hand up and knock the gesture away. “STOP!” She managed to bellow out.

Jin’li’s eyes narrowed themselves. His free hand grabbed her by the wrist, his fingers squeezing in a vice-like grip sure enough to leave bruises on her flesh. The hand near her cheek moved lightning quick with his nails dug into her jaw. He forced her to look him in the eyes. “You may have killed me, my dearest, but I live here now. If I cannot be with you in life then I will have you as mine in your dreams.” He let free her jaw harsh enough to cut skin. “Now, let us continue.”

He threw Naharé’s wrist down next. Along the cobblestone paths they walked until they reached the center fountain. The wind held a crisp feel to it, except it burned against the open wounds. The sun’s rays shone down with the occasional fluffy cloud wondering by. “Sit,” Jin’li commanded. Naharé did as told. A cold sweat shivered through her body, blood seeped its way down her neck. “Tell me, how you have been?” His voice returned to that soothing coo. A saccharine smile plastered itself across his lips, dark eyes alight with glee.

The rim of Naharé’s eyes threatened with the beginning of tears though she refused to let them fall. “P-Plannin’. The wall. Gyr A-Abania,” she stammered out in short words. “Fightin’ in tha war. Trading s-supplies an’ such.” Jin’li clapped his hands. “Oh, yes! We get to travel somewhere new!” Naharé turned her gaze in jerking motions to the crazed man. “I left ye in M-Mor Dhona. In tha dirt.” He withdrew a pocket watch and tilted his head to side. He hummed while analyzing the time. “Approximately when do we leave, hm? I have to prepare.”

Naharé’s eyes widened at the watch. The ticking. It filled her ears, hollow, echoing. “Put it away. PUT IT AWAY!” She repeated the plea until it rambled into slurred sentences. She leaned forward to grab Jin’li by the shoulders and shake him. His face fell deadpan. “You always were so obstinate with me. I’m so kind to you, yet you insist on pushing me away.” He lurched forward and pushed himself against her until her head went underwater. “You will learn.” He held the ticking clock against her ear while his hand held her down by the throat.

She flailed. Try as she might she felt like she was moving in slow motion, too sluggish to free herself. Blood colored the water and her vision. Choking, she was choking. She screamed bubbles around her until she fell silent, unmoving. Naharé bolted upright in bed and began screaming again, a guttural sound until it scratched her throat. At the foot of her bed the shade of Jin’li stood and from his finger dangled the pocket watch. She reached for the knife on her night stand and promptly threw it at the wall. The blade passed through Jin’li before impaling itself deep within the wood.