#;drabble | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

deathinfeathers · 3 months

Text

Collision

She still remembers how big his hand felt clutched about the back of her neck like a vice, dark fingers applying just enough pressure to her carotid arteries to make her head feel light and flimsy. But she was still alert and keenly aware of the mess she'd made. The trouble she was in. The looming threat of oblivion creeping in out of the corners of her vision, an abrubt and unceremonious end to a short and miserable story. Only appropriate, Eluthéria supposed—that she would find her end in the clutches of the man she was born to live and die for.

Commander Adam hoisted her Petite frame off of the shiftless cadaver upon which the dimunative soldier had perched like a peckish kerstrel. She heard him click his tongue through the thumping heartbeat in her ears, but she couldn't see him. He made sure to angle her head far away from his person, tapered talons digging deep trenches into the base of her skull. She struggled to find her footing. Skinny arms rose to cross themselves over her naked chest—the motion exacerbated the cat-o-nine-tail's latest object of vicious art stretching astride her pale back. A fresh, abstract portrait in the museum of suffering that is her frangible body.

"Drop it."

She'd only ever heard his voice booming from the Carmine pride skies on the eve of new years, the thunder which heralds the great annual slaughter of the wicked and damned. It didn't sound half as imposing inside this cramped stone chamber, but she would not make him tell her twice. Wouldn't dare—not inclined to make her suicide any more torturous than it needed to be. Spindly fingers uncurled from about the circumference of the spear-head she'd illicitly nabbed from the arms depot. Blessed. Deadly.

It clattered to the ground at her feet. The pool of ichor dampening the sound of metal meeting with stone but she flinched anyway. That made him laugh. It's was soft but pointedly derisive sound.

"Woof! Feisty little thing. A bit on the scrawny side. Are they skimping on your rations? For shame. C'mere. Let me look at you."

With that, his big hand slid Up along the meager curve of her neck, his fingers, thick and coarse, bunched her ratty bird's nest up into the hollow of his palm, which promptly balled into a tight fist, flush against her scalp. Adam turned her head on the axis of her spine so that she would face him, vis-á-vis, his gilded lightning against her ruby flames.

She remembers thinking that he had beautiful eyes. An odd thought to dedicate to somebody so vicious, maybe, but she always had a way with finding beauty in the macabre.

Those eyes roved her tremulous form, clad only in a threadbare pair of boxer type shorts.

She'd never felt so naked. Not because his gaze was overtly lascivious in nature but because it pierced and bored through her, like he was looking right into the core of her being. For a moment she wondered if he might be able to read her mind, but she banished the notion quickly. If he could see the playback of the events which had transpired inside this chamber, now tomb, he would not be so soft. This was his subordinate, after all, a trusted comerade in arms, and she had not been kind in her ministrations. She made him suffer, the same way he had made her suffer.

And she enjoyed every second of it.

If the commander had not barged in, she would've liked to spend more time with his body, looking at his insides, picking them apart, watching as every sign that this thing had ever been alive slowly evaporates, and chiseling it all into the deepest niches of her mind so that these precious moments might continue to bring her joy for the rest of her life—however short it might be.

But when does she ever get the things that she wants?

"You know, ordinarily, this type'a stunt might have left me a touch, hmmm, irked. But hell, i gotta tip my proverbial hat to you, pretty bird. Impressive work! Really! The cards weren't exactly stacked in your favor—I mean, obviously...look at you! Shrimpy little cherub looking ass! Hah! And yet here you are, alive and kicking. I dare say we might be looking at an act of divine intervention. What a world!Allelujah, amen and all that good shit!"

Swaying on her feet, Eluthéria looked up at this man, who was easily twice her size, with all the bewilderment of a toddler hearing a foreign language spoken at her for the first time in her life. She saw his lips move, heard the sounds but she couldn't by any means process what exactly he was trying to tell her. Adrenaline. Exhaustion. Fear. It all bore down on her like a big stack of cinderblocks, threatened to crush her frangible faculties under it's enormous heft.

Tears. First one. Then two. She blinked, and all at oncethe floodgates ruptured. This took him off guard.

"Oho, no, no! None of this sniffling nonsense! You don't perform a top grade kill like that and then cry about it! Come on, girl, suck it up."

Adam swiped a calloused hand somewhat brutishly across her porcelain countenance, whisking away the brunt of the tears and the blood and the sweat. She didn't object. she wanted to, make no mistake. The touch of his skin against hers felt like needles in her brain, an absolutely vile sensation, she wanted nothing more than to be rid of it, but she hadn't the verve to make a fuss.

He shrugged his intricately embroidery cloak off his shoulders and draped it around hers.

Warm.

"Alright, come on, let's see if you've got any more fancy tricks up your sleeve, eh?"

His grip on her stark white locks slackened, and he ushered her towards the steel doors.

She remembers thinking that this was the day she was going to die.

In many ways, she supposes that wasn't an entirely inaccurate assumption.

#;drabble

8 notes · View notes

teamlarl · 2 months

Text

Drabble - The Hero of Argus

----------

"Oh that?"

"It was a day unlike any other. The year? 57 PW. The Faunus Rights Revolution had been over for a decade by that point. The scars were healing all across Remnant. It was a time of peace. A time of prosperity. No one could have anticipated what would come for the city of Argus, located on Mistral's northern coast.

Now, Argus has always occupied a strange diplomatic gray area between Mistral and Atlas. Nominally, it's Mistrali territory. But it holds an Atlesian military base and culturally speaking, one could make the argument that it's closer to Atlas than Mistral. Which is something Atlas likes to take advantage of.

Rumor has it that Atlas was testing out some special, particularly destructive weaponry off the coast of Argus. With Atlas gone, I suppose we'll never really know the details but... they woke something. Out from beneath the waves it rose slowly. Methodically. Dangerously.

A great reptilian beast, larger than most skyscrapers. Black as night and covered in bone-like armor, as most Grimm are. Like a great, lumbering bear, but conforming itself like some grandiose, ancient lizard of old.

The Leviathan.

The beast had been angered by the weapon testing, either injured by it or incensed that its habitat had been disturbed. And, like all Grimm, it was beckoned towards the nearest human settlement. To exact its vengeance upon those that had a soul.

It turned towards the city of Argus, and began to march.

No one was prepared.

It rose out of the waves like some great herald of doom. As it entered the coastal waters of Mistral's Second City, it tore through the great bridge that made the city famous. See, Argus has walls surrounding it - but at the time, they only had it on land. The city was wholly unequipped for an aquatic attack. And this was no mere Sea Feilong, dangerous as those are! This was a beast out of the nightmares of the most seasoned huntsman!

And it began to attack.

Entire swathes of the city were destroyed within the hour. Neighborhoods that had stood since the founding half a century earlier? Erased from existence. Crushed beneath the Leviathan's sheer mass, like it was stepping on an anthill.

The Atlesian military did its best to repel the beast. But they were still using mid-century weaponry. Nothing like the railguns or dust-powered laser cannons they have now. Well, had. Still! Soldiers were crushed. Planes swatted aside. Artillery and missiles brushed off like they meant nothing!

Fun fact - the current Atlesian base in Argus was built in 58 PW. That's because the old one got destroyed in its entirety during this attack.

And then, like it had gotten BORED, the Leviathan retreated and slunk back beneath the waves.

Argus was left to recover, to pick up the pieces. But no one believed this was the end. No one knew WHY the great beast fell back, but everyone knew that it would be back. Grimm did not just RETREAT on the verge of victory. Except, perhaps, to further savor their meal. To play with their food.

So began the great defense of Argus. Communications were down all across the city, destroyed in the beast's rampage. There would be no help coming. Not from Atlas, not from Mistral. It would be up to Argus and Argus alone to defend itself. As if it could. Now, it’s true, Argus was home to Sanctum Academy, Mistral’s preparatory school for huntsmen and huntresses before applying for one of the Big 4 academies. But these were children. Less than even huntsmen-in-training. They would be no help.

And yet, in a roundabout way, Sanctum Academy would prove to be Argus’ salvation. Because, the morning after the initial attack, a team of freshly graduated huntsmen showed up at the gates of Argus. This team were intending to visit Sanctum and the job board located there, intending to pick their next mission.

And on this team was one Willow Schnee.

White of hair and pale as freshly fallen snow, garbed in the telltale colors of her illustrious house, no one would have blamed the young heiress for choosing a life of luxury. Of ease and comfort. And make no mistake, the woman has a taste for it, I can promise you that. But! She chose to become a huntress anyway. To work hard for her place in the world at that young age, like her father before her. So, at 21 years old, having just graduated from Atlas Academy a scant few months beforehand, Willow Schnee entered the city of Argus for the first time.

She was horrified by the destruction, as anyone would be. To think that a single Grimm had done all of this! But the ice princess, the once and future hero and matriarch, knew that she had a duty to the survivors, to the city. So she stayed. She and her team introduced themselves to the remaining forces of the Atlesian military, who knew that this was the only help they would be getting. Four, freshly graduated huntsmen. It would have to be enough.

Night fell. A storm rolled in from the sea. The city was dark, for most of the power had been taken out during the first attack. Even fires and candlelight were put out, for fear of drawing the beast’s attention. A wise precaution. For, before the clock struck midnight, a deafening roar like a demon from hell came from over the horizon.

The Leviathan had returned.

The only light in the entire city came from the port docks. A shimmering, ethereal Boarbatusk – white, instead of black – shone like a beacon to the entire city, and even to the Leviathan itself. And there, saddled on it like the ghostly Grimm was some great beast of war, sat Willow Schnee – saber in hand.

Slowly, the massive form of the Leviathan peeked over the horizon – trudging along the bottom of the ocean, splitting the waves like a knife. Even with half of it buried beneath the dark waters of the bay, each step was like an earthquake. But its challenger did not back down, did not move an inch. Eventually, the Leviathan reached the docks. It towered over all, its head reaching into the heavens, and it leered down at the bright, shining light offending eyes that were used to the deep depths of the sea.

The Leviathan opened its maw, large enough to eat countless people in a single bite, and roared in defiance – no doubt bursting the ear drums of anyone unlucky enough to not be wearing protection. Willow Schnee responded simply. She lifted her sword and shot out a shard of ice from its chambers of dust. The ice, the size of a boulder yet as sharp as the sword she carried, struck true. It embedded itself in the roof of the Leviathan’s still open maw.

No doubt, to the Leviathan it was the equivalent of a splinter, but as anyone can attest a splinter is deceptively painful despite its size. The beast roared in pain, and the battle began.

Willow CHARGED at the Leviathan, the summoned Boarbatusk she’d summoned running along the waves as if it were on land! In reality, Willow was using her semblance to conjure footholds of ice with every step that her steed took. Then, as one, the remaining functioning artillery of Argus fired – striking the beast while it was distracted with the ant that offended it so! The Leviathan once more roared in pain, and this did everything to boost the morale of the defenders. The beast could feel pain! The beast could be hurt! And if it could be hurt, it could die!

The sky LIT UP, both due to the flashes of lightning the storm conjured and the pounding of artillery fire upon the Leviathan! But in the end, these were just distractions. It had already been proven that the beast couldn’t be felled by the firepower available to the military. But the sheer force of the barrage forced the Leviathan to defend itself.

In a show of power unforeseen by the defenders, the Leviathan revealed its trump card. A low hum filled the air, even as the future Hero of Argus was slashing at the beast’s heels in an attempt to bring it low. It built, and built, and soon the beast itself was becoming yet another light in the stormy night. Some prescient commander ordered his troops to get down for cover, but it would do them no good.

FIRE shot from the Leviathan’s fanged mouth. With the intensity of a blowtorch, and all the power of the bombs that had been dropped on it that caused this entire disaster. A blinding flash of light filled the sky, blinding those who made the foolish mistake of staring directly at the blast. It was like the sun had risen, hours and hours too soon. In an instant, the entire Atlesian military base was VAPORIZED, all hands taken with it. There were no survivors.

A deafening silence filled the city as the Leviathan’s firebreath ceased – the only sounds coming from the pounding waves and the din of the rain. For a long moment, not even thunder rumbled across the sky. Then the beast leaned back and let out a bellowing roar of victory.

An utterly hubristic gesture that shows the folly of the Grimm. One must be careful to not declare their win before all of the combatants are down.

For the sting of a Lancer immediately took out one of the beast’s eyes.

All the while the Leviathan had been preparing its decisive blow, Willow Schnee had been herself preparing. Without dismissing her Boarbatusk, and directing it to continue harrying the Leviathan’s calves, she had summoned yet another vanquished beast – this time, a Lancer Queen. She’d hopped onto the back of the great wasp Grimm and launched into the sky. Willow had been smart to avoid the Leviathan’s attention while it charged its destructive blast. But now that the beast was finished and reveling in the death it caused, only then did Willow strike. And strike she did! The Leviathan did not even realize what was coming until the stinger of the Lancer pierced its eye!

The Leviathan roared in pain! But the damage was done. The beast was now blinded in one eye! And others were soon to follow, for Willow conjured up more great shards of ice to pierce the other two eyes on that side of the Leviathan! Utterly unable to see an entire side, such was the nature of its vision and the placement of the eyeholes in its skull.

The webbed paws of the beast, larger than some apartment buildings, began to swing wildly! Trying to knock the pesky insect that wounded it so out of the sky! The chase was on. On her Lancer, Willow Schnee dodged and weaved, doing everything in her power to avoid getting knocked off her flying steed. It was much like trying to swat an annoying fly out of your personal space, and much like that, it only takes one lucky hit to do so.

Eventually, the great beast did indeed get lucky. Those massive, clawed paws clipped the very edges of the Lancer Queen – and that was it. The summon disintegrated on contact, sending Willow Schnee tumbling out of the air and into the sea. The summoned Boarbatusk did its best to reach and catch its master, and it just barely managed the feat before Willow’s body collided with it – breaking her fall some but also breaking her hold on the creature, and it vanished as Willow Schnee herself vanished beneath the waves.

It had been the first and only blow Willow had taken during the fight. But when dealing with a monster like the Leviathan, it was enough.

For a long moment, it seemed like the last champion of Argus had fallen to their doom. That the Schnee heiress had perished before her life had truly begun. Then a shock of white peeked out from beneath the waves. There floated Willow Schnee. Battered. Damaged. But still holding on, albeit, struggling against the stormy sea. Distant observers noted the telltale flicker of white light – her aura. A single blow, a mere glancing blow at that, was enough to take it from full to nearly broken. She would not survive another.

And unfortunately for her, she had fallen on the Leviathan’s good side. It quickly noticed that its foe had survived her fall. The great beast then decided that, well, there’s no kill quite like overkill.

A telltale hum, one that haunts the nightmares of survivors, filled the frigid air once more. The spines on the beast’s back lit up one by one as the Leviathan charged its ultimate attack. And there floated Willow Schnee, utterly defenseless against the great God of the Sea.

The fire at the back of the Leviathan’s throat grew and grew until, finally, it was let loose upon its single human opponent. It was not prepared for what happened next. For a potent beam of lightning shot, not from the sky, but from beneath the waves! This blast met the Leviathan’s firebreath and held it at bay! Then, out of the waves, rose Willow Schnee! And beneath her heels was the horned, regal head of a summoned Sea Feilong!

The God and the Dragon battled for supremacy, their beams clashing in a light show that we will never see its like again!

But Willow Schnee was wise. The Sea Feilong held its own, but it would not do so forever. The Leviathan’s firebreath was just too strong. But that was fine. The Sea Feilong’s lightning breath was just a delaying action! Without so much as pausing its defense, the dragon unfurled its wings and leapt into the sky with Willow gripping its sleek, wet horns for dear life! Not once did its lighting cease battle the Leviathan’s fire, instead causing the great beast to turn and follow the dragon, directing the clashing beams out to sea rather than towards the city.

Just as planned.

Suddenly, the Sea Feilong shut its mouth and DOVE out of the way, the Leviathan’s fire breath shooting out into the night sky and parting the very storm clouds themselves! Once more, another sun momentarily filled the night sky and the storm itself dissipated, the clouds ceasing to exist. Such was the power of the Leviathan’s firebreath and the resulting shockwave.

The Leviathan lumbered. Clearly, using its ultimate attack so many times in a row, and for so long at that, took a bit out of it. And in that moment of weakness, Willow Schnee struck.

The Sea Feilong dove towards the Leviathan and wrapped its long, serpentine length around the great beast’s gilled neck! Like a python, it began choking the very life out of the great beast, bringing a God itself to heel! The Leviathan clawed and scratched at the dragon, but its massive clawed paws were more for swimming than grabbing. Making matters worse, the way the Sea Feilong had wrapped itself around its victim was deliberate. All at the behest of its master, the dragon had wrapped around the Leviathan such that the dragon’s head would line right up with the Leviathan’s pierced and bleeding eyeholes.

The Sea Feilong charged its lighting once more. And Willow Schnee raised her saber just as she had in the beginning of the battle.

The dragon’s lightning breath PIERCED right through the Leviathan’s skull like a knife through butter. After but a moment’s hesitation as it burrowed through the beast, the blast of lighting came out the other side and struck the waves at an angle, turning the sea utterly deadly until the attack stopped. The Leviathan twitched and shuddered, lightning pouring down its insides, and its maw remained opened in a muted scream.

Then the lightning stopped.

There was a beat. A pause that lasted but a moment but must have felt like an eternity. And then the great beast, the God of the Sea, the Leviathan… began to disintegrate. Like all Grimm do upon death.

The ghostly Sea Feilong, summon of Willow Schnee, began to flicker as well. Its master’s aura had run out. The vanquishing dragon flew towards the ports of Argus with all haste. But fate was smiling upon the hero of the hour. For the dragon only dissipated as it laid its head down on the closest dock.

And there laid Willow Schnee.

Battered. Most certainly broken in places. Utterly exhausted. But victorious.

And she laid there for a while, not having the energy to move. The ice princess stuck laying on the wet, dirty dock that smelled of fish – which had begun to float to the surface of the bay, boiled by firebreath and electrocuted by lightningbreath – until the survivors began to peek out of the rubble. Slowly they crept towards Willow, the one that saved them all. Many of them doubted if she was even still alive. But as they approached her it became clear that she was.

Willow Schnee was alive, and she had saved Argus.

Willow looked at the survivors and choked out a single sentence.

“I could really use a glass of wine right about now.”

A resounding cheer rose up from all of Argus! The people hoisted the battered, soaked form of Willow Schnee up on their arms and gleefully chanted one thing:

“The Hero of Argus! The Hero of Argus!”

Willow Schnee would only serve as a huntress for one year, effectively retiring once she married and gave birth to her first child. But it was a year etched in legend. To this day, there is a statue of Willow at the Argus docks. And, in the main hall of Sanctum Academy, there is a large mural of the battle. Depicting Willow atop her Boarbatusk, raising her saber and pointing it at the Leviathan that almost laid that great city low.

I walked past that mural every day while I was at Sanctum.”

@schneebriated

#;drabble #;renatus #schneebriated

5 notes · View notes

merchantofwhispers · 3 months

Text

Grieving (TW: Torture, murder, manipulation, depictions of suffocation and head trauma) [ Not proofread- as usual ]

"You've made a terrible mistake."

Her voice is just above a whisper, quiet purring curling around the words as though she was speaking with love and adoration. Even the look in her eye was gentle, her lips curling into a tender smile while she approached the chair the other was sat in. Blood dripped from his nose, but he was otherwise unharmed.

"You were stupid enough to believe it." John spat defiantly, trembling as he lifted his heavy head to look up at the outline of her. Even in the dark he could make out the near-white hair and the heavy fur shrug that sat upon her shoulders. Gemina was a woman of opulence, especially in moments where a statement had to be made.

"I was." She admitted with a curt nod. Suddenly she was holding his chin, sharp nails poking at the top of his throat, but otherwise showing no signs of aggression. John squirmed in the metal chair, but it -- nor the handcuffs that bound him to the support post behind him -- gave. "I believed every word you said. I let you hold me, I let you use me, I let you fool me. How sweet that was of you to let me believe I was loved."

His labored turned to panic gasping as her grip tightened, beautifully painted claws now digging into the underside of his jaw. The more John thrashed, the deeper the claws went, and so he tried -- fairly unsuccessfully -- to hold still. "Y-You fucking bitch!" He growled through grit teeth. "Everyone-.. Everyone knows--"

"What I am? Oh yes, I know." Gemina finally released her grip and pulled her hand back to examine it, admiring the way his blood had stained the underside of her nails. "You went about telling my secrets to everyone that would listen, didn't you?" John sat silent, shoulders trembling from the pain, but he kept his head up in defiance.

She allowed that silence to sit between them as she stared down at what he'd become; she'd once admired him for that strength, for his intelligence, for his drive to succeed. What a shame that she'd fallen for his charms and that those charms had caused him to fall.

"It doesn't matter. This isn't the first or last time someone like you has broken my heart. I only wanted to know why." She started to turn away, but paused as he started to choke on rugged laughter.

"Maybe if you weren't such a stupid whore it wouldn't keep happening." He said with raw defiance. "Imagine having it all and still giving away to the first moron that talks nice to you. All your wealth, your power, that pretty little body.." John squirmed in the chair, practically shouting at her as he continued. "You're fucking worthless! You're nothing! You're a lucky whore that the old men are too attached to fucking and that's all you'll ever be! Don't you fucking get it? You're a tool, a thing to be fucking used, and god--.. That's all you want, isn't it? Just someone to make you feel fucking useful, to tell you that you're pretty, and that you aren't a fucking waste of air."

She turned slightly, eyeing him from the edge of her vision as he continued. That smile, still soft, remained in place.

"You're fucking pathetic! An ugly fucking beast willing to play house with whatever disgusting pig that'll stick their dick in you and call you cute things." John suddenly spat at her, a thick glob of blood and mucus landing on her fur shrug. The room was quiet then, only the sound of his own labored breathing echoing off the basement walls. Gemina remained still -- still smiling as she watched his chest rise and fall.

And then she wasn't still.

A horrid screeching ripped from her throat as she lunged forward, one arm ripping the shrug off her shoulders as the other slammed his head into the metal beam behind him. Whatever noise of pain he made was muffled by the shrug being shoved into his face, suffocating every available airway while he tried to thrash to get her off him.

His attempts were unsuccessful as she pushed, one leg up and pushing into his bare abdomen as all her weight was focused on keeping the shrug in place over his face. A horrible red flared out from her pupils, like blood seeping across her iris.

"Shut up!" Gemina snarled, teeth bared and jaw clenched. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!" She continued shoving, bouncing his head against the beam a few more times until his thrashing stopped. As he grew calm, as did she, leaving her back in a room filled with quiet-- only now it was her own labored breathing.

Gemina slowly pulled the shrug away, revealing how it had been stained by the blood from his mouth and nose -- damp with his tears -- and looked up to see his head rolled backwards at an unnatural angle. His mouth twitched, his chest moved shallowly, but there was no light left in what she could see of his half-lidded eyes.

Another scream echoed off the walls; anguished and horrible and deranged. Fury and mourning and agony mingled together in a poisonous concoction while her body trembled. Behind her she heard the door creak open and footsteps fall in.

The soft clicking that followed was Nikolai's; he walked nearer to her, as if he were approaching a wild animal, and grabbed either side of her shoulder to slowly draw her away from the gradually dying body of someone she'd said -- only an hour before -- not to kill.

That she intended on letting him go.

That she still cared, even if he had hurt her.

"Come on.." Nikolai muttered as he held her close and pet her hair. "Let's get you home."

#;Mina Journal #;Niki Journal #;Drabble

4 notes · View notes

onlylivinboy · 10 days

Text

With the return of abilities, fantastic though they felt- like never before, warmth and ecstatic joy strong and bright-

He’s been on edge. Ready, waiting. For the catch, the cost, the problem.

His gaze constantly flickered to his love, on the rise and fall of his chest whenever he felt the other wasn’t looking.

At night he keeps a more fixed vigilance.

A scar just over Rúne’s heart in the shape of Gabriel’s hand. He doesn’t let Rue catch him staring at it when the Asgardian is awake.

He tries not to, anyway.

Now Gabriel has been for blood tests, for DNA analysis, to Magni and today was more of the same. Inconclusive. ‘Everything looks fine!’ ‘Sometimes wonderful things happen with no explanation. Miracles.’

Hm.

not to me.

So what’s coming next?

#;Drabble #rxne

3 notes · View notes

wastheheart · 27 days

Text

Drabble;

( cw: domestic violence & physical abuse )

She had endured for months. In a tender, few weeks it would be their first wedding anniversary. She had nearly forgotten until opening the pocket diary she took shopping with her. The date was circled, something she had done the morning of the new year in the hope that it would all work out.

That belief was the only thing that got her through the wedding ceremony.

She hadn't slept at all last night. It was a Friday; Charles had come home drunk after missing dinner. By the time he stumbled through the door it was cold and of course it was her fault. She tried desperately to outrun him, use his inebriation against him, but her foot caught the leg of the dining table as she made her attempt to evade him. She was never quick enough at returning back to her feet.

Plates smashed as he swiped dishes from a clothed table, cutlery falling deafingly around her. His fingers found her ankle as he dragged her toward him before her back was against the wall and his fingers around her throat.

She never cried.

His spittle found her face with every angry word— every insult he hurled at her. She did her best not to struggle, but his fingers grew tighter and tighter which caused her to wince. Soon enough she was struggling to breathe.

Is this how she died?

He released her on the brink, allowing her to fall onto her hands and knees as she heaved, desperate for air in her lungs. The respite was brief. Soon enough he had his fingers in her hair, forcing her to follow him clumsily into the living room.

She couldn't remember what happened once the door closed, but from the bruises staining pale skin, she had gathered it was nothing pleasant.

The fingerprints around her throat were her most urgent concern. She settled on wearing her hair down accompanied by a coat with a generous collar. No-one would notice if she kept herself to herself. Charles had left for work and he expected Esme to shop for groceries. A fruitless endeavour in her opinion, especially when he most often hated what she cooked.

The decision was sudden and unrailing. Instead of turning left as she normally would, Esme instead found herself walking a route she hadn't dared tread for months.

As she walked, the first few raindrops began to fall. It was gentle at first, almost relieving against skin that ached beneath clothing, but soon enough the rain pelted down as hard as her husband's punches and Esme found herself beginning to soak through. As roads transformed into dust tracks, the hem of her skirt picked up mud with shoes sinking into it.

The smell of the farm was a different type of pungency to the city. Manure was familiar to her, as was the sight of pigs and chickens.

The tree that came into few as she rounded the curve of the road caused a smile to pull at her lips. She was glad it was still there. With its presence, she was also reminded of the blonde-haired doctor so long ago.

She stood for what felt like hours at the door or the farm house. With every stuttering breath, she tried to find her bravery. An equally as shaky hand (curled lightly into a fist) came up to rap knuckles against the door, but she was interrupted by her name said behind her.

Esme startled. She turned, expecting Charles but was instead met by her mother with a cluster of eggs collected freshly from the hens.

Esme's chest collapsed in partial belief, but anxiety remained chained around her ankle. Rain dripped pitifully from the rim of her hat as she offered a strained smile. Of course her mother ushered her in with comments about Esme catching her death.

They had barely closed the door before Esme revealed she had come to talk to both her mother and father about something which drew her father from the doorway leading into the living room.

They invited her to sit, but nerves refused them.

With nothing more than an deep inhale, Esme revealed the treatment she suffered at the hands of Charles. She peeled away material to show bruising, her voice trembling but not breaking as she detailed his true nature before asking for their help.

The silence between them was as violent as Charles himself.

Esme's mother spoke first; Esme had to understand that Charles had a very taxing and stressful job. Perhaps she could do better not to frustrate him after a hard day's work.

Then Esme's father joined in, supporting his wife by suggesting Esme try to please him physically. The last thing a husband wanted when getting home was a wife who criticised them. He'd want to let off steam somewhere, she should be available for him to do that.

The figures in front of her suddenly became unrecognisable.

In the midst of their appeal of Charles' character, Esme's fingers found the door handle.

The rain had not subsided, but she did not care to stay a moment longer.

She had always wondered when she would lose her parents. This unexpected grief of losing them despite still living nearly doubled her over. Even with the aching in her chest, Esme retraced her steps until the key found the lock of her own house. Tears fell as heavily as the rain outside as she shed nature-stained clothes.

She would not wash them, Charles would be too suspicious. Instead she watched them burn in a fire that burned not only fabric, but any lingering connection to her parents.

Eventually, Esme found her diary again. She circled this date before glancing her reflection in the mirror. Lingering tears were wiped away, a smile stretching cheeks despite her agony. A dwindling fire was extinguished, the evidence of her disobedience gone and absolving her of her crimes.

The grocer commented on how late she was, how she usually appeared like clockwork. Esme dismissed his observation with a laugh, fruit and vegetables finding her basket as she explained she simply lost track of time waiting for the weather to pass. He laughed in return as bills were exchanged and Esme accepted her change.

And again she was alone, the sickening recognition of deja vu lodging itself firmly in her throat as she cleaned and peeled potatoes. She wondered if she would be able to enjoy any of this tonight or if it would be her usual meal of iron with the threat of teeth.

Just a few more weeks. Maybe she would learn to be a good wife, yet.

#;drabble #;land of yesterday (née platt)#cw: domestic violence #tw: domestic violence #domestic violence men #abuse men #cw: abuse #tw: abuse #do not reblog

2 notes · View notes

eideticspider · 4 months

Text

Where was the GLOW? The walking on CLOUDS? The unending and teeth rotting HAPPINESS? Everyone else around her was chattering and smiling, seemingly unaware of the internal PURGATORY Cindy found herself in. It felt like she was FROZEN in place, like someone else had command of her body and she was watching through a hazy shield.

Clutching her champagne glass, Cindy glanced around at the engagement party, toes wriggling in her white pumps. It was opulent in the way the Cervantes felt looked best. Like a backwash Kardashian cocktail party. There had been no input from the Moon camp, but honestly, she would've been happy with a backyard BARBEQUE at her parents' house. Hell, she didn't even know HALF of the people here. Hector had introduced her to about a quarter of that half and then left her to reconnect with old friends of his.

It's fine. We LIVE together. We'll talk when we can.

At least Peter and MJ made it. And from the doorway she could see the Morales bunch with George and Gwen. Hobie was somewhere in the crowd giving Mr. Cervantes a hard time for his apparent FASCISM by having the event be valeted. Her FRIENDS brought a small smile to her lips, despite being awash in a typhoon of social anxiety.

She couldn't remember getting DRESSED for the party and yet every aunt and sister-in-law and grandmother seemed to LAVISH her with compliments. The WHITE dress was pretty, she supposed--very BRIDAL, her mother complimented. It was short, simple and exposed her legs, but Hector seemed to LIKE it. His tie was white satin, he'd chosen it to MATCH her.

But it was OFF white. Like a creamy eggshell. The shade of white that was just a tinge away from being PUS colored. It was...WRONG. Cindy felt bad to focus on such a minute detail, but it just seemed to signify everything she FELT since saying 'yes'.

She LOVED Hector. They'd been together since middle school, so moving in together? Sure. That made sense. Buying FURNITURE together? Of course--she was a sucker for some good IKEA meatballs. Marriage? Children?

...maybe? They were happy.

Right?

At least they were happy ENOUGH?

Hector loved her. He seemed to, in any case. He told her at least ONCE a day. (Okay sure, he'd forgotten to a few times in the past few MONTHS, but he was caught up in work. That's understandable.) He took her out on semi-regular DATES. (Lots of GUYS forget that their fiancée' didn't care for CURRY. It happens.) He brought her FLOWERS. (Sure, the last time was PROM, but that counted.)

At least they still had plenty in common to TALK about. He would tell her about his job, how STRESSFUL it was and how he was praying for a promotion. She would LISTEN, offer advice--even a few pieces HELPED him out in his last meeting! He would ask her about her day and she would answer.

All he was looking for was that it was FINE. Anything else risked an argument or a lecture.

They were INTIMATE on a semi-regular basis. She did like the way he kissed her NECK--one of the more sensitive spots on her body. She just wished he focused more on her than HIMSELF. Surely she could finish too, right? At least they had TIME to learn more about the other's wants and desires.

Till DEATH, right?

The party moved in FULL speed around her and no one else seemed to noticed the HAUNTED glaze in her eyes. A image came to her mind, something she'd HAVE to paint. Not something she'd want to paint--but a necessity. A room full of color and NOISE and there she was, a vision in WHITE and completely gray with just the thud of her heart to signal that she was ALIVE.

Lost.

Audrey bounced over to her but her words were MUFFLED. It sounded like a compliment and Cindy forced a smile to her lips, tilting her head to her BRIDESMAID. Her friend's little upturned nose was already PINK, a sure sign that she had taken full advantage of the BAR and it reminded Cindy to take a sip of her champagne. A VAGUE attempt to look human. She gave her friend's hand a gentle squeeze, brown eyes flickering down to the RING on her finger as Audrey slipped away back into the party.

It was BEAUTIFUL. For someone else.

She could've understood if it had been a FAMILY heirloom, but Mrs. Cervantes had guarded her engagement ring like the HOLY Grail. Not that I would've wanted her RING. But the ring Hector had chosen was just on the verge of GARISH. The diamond was huge, square cut, and glittered in the CANDLELIGHT of the party. But it was cold, hollow. As if he had just walked into the jeweler and picked the FIRST one he saw.

Which was FINE. She could hardly complain--wouldn't COMPLAIN about it. Even if MJ and Rio, even little Gwen had recognized the dissatisfaction on her face.

Cindy glanced away from her ring and took another sip of COURAGE, setting her glass on a tray as she searched for her fiance. A rare flare of ANGER curled in her stomach like a vine, twisting and SQUEEZING her into action. He should be by her side, holding her HAND. He should be BEAMING and kissing her cheek--not hoisting beers with his old college friends.

He had caught her look: something near DESPERATE and pleading, her lips turned up as if begging him to join her--and he looked away at some JOKE his best man guwaffed out.

He had been lucky she glanced away before his hand landed on Audrey's back in a less-than BROTHERLY fashion. As if there was something more...familiar there. Something UNTOWARD and unkind to the woman he was marrying.

Just as soon as the anger had flared, it had cooled down to a resigned, disappointed SIMMER. She recognized it as the familiar sting of UNHAPPINESS, but tucked it away. Regardless--they had been together for YEARS. It was only natural that they'd get married. Of course, they'd met before puberty. People CHANGED. She wondered if they had both changed to the point of INCOMPATIBILITY. Hector wouldn't understand if she brought her CONCERNS to him anyway.

It was easier to just focus on the POSITIVES. (What few there were.)

Her parents seemed so PROUD of her and Mr. and Mrs. Cervantes were THRILLED to have Cindy join their family. They had all done so much to be so WELCOMING. Maybe she was overthinking everything. Maybe...Maybe they could FIX things before they became irreparable.

Maybe things would be OKAY, if not perfect. She could learn to TOLERATE the decay.

#;drabble #;she's a long way from suburban towns {koth | verse}#((this aggressively hurt me to write))#((yes i did listen to you're losing me on repeat to write this but it's so good))#((anyway *will smith hands*))

3 notes · View notes

desertdigger · 4 months

Text

Would it matter?

The thought came to his mind amongst the whirling gears and pounding pistons of machina. It is enough to give him pause. The machinist crossing his arms as he stopped to ponder it.

They were causing a lot of noise lately...

Those two.

How long had it been since they were together? They used to be a team. He had come to consider them his friends. That had gone to hell in the end though. Now the world plunged itself ever closer to war. A war he didn't care to have any part in.

Let New Yevon and The Youth League tear themselves apart.

The Al Bhed had seen enough of the horrors that came with war. A thousand years of persecution and hate. All because of Yevon and it's teachings. After the fall of old Yevon, his people had been scattered to the wind, with no place to call home. Cid was content to do nothing. To try and turn the ruins of Zanarkand into an amusement park.

Even Gippal thought that a rather insensitive and foolish idea.

Too many people had given their lives in that nightmarish place for it to be turned into some kind of carnival attraction.

It wasn't his place though.

His place was here now. The Machine Faction. He was just as guilty of the blasphemy as Cid. They moved into an old temple and started peddling machina to the masses. He had good intentions really. At least that's what he believed. He had given a handful of Al Bhed a purpose again.

He really was trying to make Spira a better place.

"Puo ur puo."

The words leave his lips softly, as he uncrossed his arms and returned his attention to his work.

In truth, he missed them.

His friends.

A shame he was too proud to admit it.

#;writings #;drabble #-taps his finger against the pressure gauges-#that can't be reading right...

3 notes · View notes

doctorjulie · 3 months

Text

Having been here once before doesn't help remotely with navigating the giant empty halls. The click of her shoes echoing with every step.

"Excuse me--" She spots an attendant, but they're already rushing off somewhere on important business. But hers was important,

She just didn't know what it was, yet.

It was the strangest feeling, her grief interrupted. Like her very heart having been ripped from her chest, unexpectedly shoved back into place.

A wash of relief, instantaneous, confusion at the pain, still bleeding and angry. Why would you do this?

The only thing she can really know in this storm is that,

she needs to see him.

#;drabble #fuascailt

2 notes · View notes

itworksifyouworkit · 3 months

Text

Please stop calling..

You’re so young, you can forget this, please, i can’t hear this—

With each shrill cry from the house, growing hoarser but not getting closer, it’s doubtless the boy has been made to stop. He’s shouting after, calling for his uncle to not leave, to come back-

they put you in my arms and i’d never wanted to protect anything more,

‘TIO, COME BACK.’

Following him around the garage ever since those little legs could walk, peering with curiosity, with stars in his eyes and all this hunger to learn.

Where did they get you? What planet did you come from? Ever since Theo was born, he was fantastic.

‘—Please.’

Turn around. Turn around now. It’s too late, he’s heard him, and he can’t.. keep walking. And like many such dreams before, Damien starts to feel the relief of getting it right this time.

That he turns on his heel and starts back, that the kid keeps calling so he picks up speed, he runs- to find that boy in the doorway,

and the protective arms let go, so Damien’s can haul the little one into his own, that his hand can cradle that little head, a kiss pressed to the top of dark hair and he hugs him,

so tightly.

‘don’t go.’

Okay.

“okay.” Damien promises, relenting with a tired nod. “Okay, mi niño.”

#;Drabble #;dream #theo ry

3 notes · View notes

hymnofshadows-archive · 3 months

Text

The summer sun is high overhead - but Maria can't bring herself to sleep.

Again there's been a rise in the frequency of spatio-temporal rifts showing up. Again she's worked herself to near exhaustion trying to track them all down.

Such are the joys of being one of the few sensitive enough to even detect them.

She was tired, but her mind raced with worry.

There were only two capable of closing the rifts - were they just as exhausted as she was?

What would happen if things got out of hand? She couldn't save everyone. Not alone.

But the people of Iraclaad relied on her. The Royal family named her 'Caretaker'.

Maria wasn't sure she could protect them all.

She stared blankly at the window.

#;drabble

4 notes · View notes

xcoatlicuex · 4 months

Text

The scent of jasmine hit Coatli the moment she stepped into the redhead’s chambers. In the corner, she could see said redhead arranging a bouquet of flowers into a vase.

“I have not been sleeping well,” Donna said in greeting, before looking up and offering a tired smile.

“I heard the news, is congratulations in order then?”

Coyol had come rushing in to tell her the recent gossip she had heard. It had amused her to no end that Coyol had thrown herself into the many gossip circles. It was to learn how to wheedle information from people, she had told her mother, but Coatli knew better. It meant Coatli did not have to go anywhere to hear the gossip, it all came straight to her anyways.

Her daughter came in to tell her that she heard it from someone who heard it from someone that someone had asked for Lady Donna Tyrell’s hand in marriage. This itself was not surprising, their Princess had been quite forthcoming in sharing who held Donna’s heart. However, from the sound of it, it was not the Lord Paramount who had asked and so Coatli found herself seeking out the redhead.

“Does everyone know by now?” Donna asked, not liking that she was the center of the current gossip. This was the last thing she had wanted.

“It wasn’t you fishman?” Coatli asked, for calling him that usually made Donna smile and flush but this time around, Donna only seemed to wilt even more.

“No, he has not returned from the Riverlands yet.”

Coatli would like to say that she understood why the man was gone to try and deal whatever was happening, but she did not care. What she cared about was Donna’s current situation.

“What idiot thought they had a chance?” she asked, because it had to be someone who was not within their walls. Coatli watched Donna, the way she looked at the flowers, unwilling to answer, but why? Silence settled upon them as Coatli waited and waited.

“Lord Reginald,” the title was spat out, a difference to the more familiar way the redhead had spoken about him before. “If I will not help him one way, then he figured trying to marry me would work,” Donna continued, eyes beginning to tear from how angry she was.

It was all Coatli needed to hear, she nodded and turned on her heels. She had given him a warning.

A hand wrapped around her arm brought her to an abrupt stop.

“Please don’t, Her Grace would never force me to marry, no harm done.”

Donna’s voice tremble, despite trying to offer a comforting smile as if it was Coatli who needed to be comforted from the prick’s actions. Truth was, harm had definitely be done, because people were happy enough to ignore the lack of a marriage contract attached to Donna, but now that one had been offered up….

“Do not worry, no one would know-“

“Reginald dies after he asks to marry me? Who do you think they will blame?”

Coatli pursed her lips together, unwilling to admit that this would need a longer course of action. However, she could wait, plan this out…just because Coatli did not like it, did not mean she was not good at it.

Guess it was time for Coatli to spend more time in the kitchens, that was all. Besides, slow and painful sounded like a better end for that man.

#;drabble #gv ;; the dragon must have three heads #i keep saying this is the last one but another snippet pops up #am i going anywhere with these? no but i been having fun writing them

2 notes · View notes