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vasito-de-leche · 13 days

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a little prompt, if you don’t mind

what about mercenary!reader and symbiote!Pavia? it’s just Pavia’s ult/wolves kinda remind me of Venom and i think it would be fun to imagine him being something like Venom

;R1999 PAVIA - "under your skin"

Symbiote!Pavia x Mercenary!Reader 2.5k words body horror What you and Pavia have is nothing more than transactional—you need him to make a living, and he needs you alive to ensure a comfortable life. It's taken some time to get used to these changes, to share everything you have with him for the sake of convenience: your home, your food, your job. And most importantly, your body. Perfect symbiosis, or dysfunctional parasitism? You've yet to figure out where you two stand. One thing is clear, though; he's the best at getting under your skin.

i just want you to know that this prompt speaks to MY SOUL bc i love venom and pavia so fucking much. you dont understand how hard i think about the concept of a symbiotic relationship between symbiote and host. so I went extremely self-indulgent with this one <3

as usual, this is written to be read as platonic or romantic, whatever floats your boat!

Bang!

A clean kill.

The only reason you watch as the body drops to the ground is out of respect for the work you do, nothing else. You've done this a dozen times, and you will do it a dozen more -- the gun in your hand has become a reliable friend rather than a tool for mindless murder, its familiar weight a fleeting comfort in the tedious routine. A shame it came from the most annoying person you know.

Screaming ensues as everyone surrounding your target runs around in panic. You remain, eyes locked on the target. When someone moves their body, attempting to cradle that lifeless corpse, you see it; a bullet right between their eyebrows, the perfect shot.

You feel a tug, but it comes from within your chest cavity. Something squirms inside you, pulling you back, and you understand this as your cue to slide back into the shadows. It begins with a single step backwards, then another, until you feel the texture under your shoes shift -- what was once solid ground is now a dark, velvety mass, floating upwards and fading away like smoke. It licks at your ankles, providing an initially cold sensation that permeates your clothes, and then it continues upwards to your calves, your knees, your thighs. The gun slowly dissolves into slime, taking the shape of what you assume to be a hand, horrible and sticky fingers intertwined with yours, pulling you downwards.

By then, you feel that burning sensation, and then you're dragged into the abyss.

"That was a lousy shot."

A voice echoes in your mind, it is not your own. It feels like a thousand ants marching alongside your cranium. Or rather, what you assume to be your cranium -- in this current state, you can't separate yourself from the embrace of the void. The voice might as well reverberate all around you.

You scoff and insist. No, it was a perfect shot.

"Perfect my ass. You were off by 2 centimeters," the biting remark makes you clench your jaw. You don't reply. The voice does the same, it remains still, only a semblance of white noise, but you understand its silence as a smug victory.

Suddenly, vertigo takes hold of you. It only happens for a split second, always unannounced, but you know better than to brace yourself. Doing so, as you've learned, would only make you nauseous, dizzy and weak -- instead, you let go and the shadows gently coax you back into the light before dissipating in the air.

You find yourself in front of your apartment door, an odd and anticlimactic way of ending a productive day. What, no snack run today?

"Not feeling it today. So you either open the door on your own, or I'll do it myself. Get a move on."

Some of these threats tend to hold more water than others, but more often than not, they're just empty words and loud, useless barking. And so you've learned to ignore them all -- however, you feel a faint prodding inside your back pocket, like a tentacle in search of something. Right, your keys. The roll of your eyes and the slowness in your movements are the only means of rebellion you have against this annoying entity in your head, it continues to breathe down your neck, impatient as ever, until the door opens and you step into your safe haven.

"Finally! Guess there's some activity in that brain dead head of yours."

You're forced to make a bee-line for the kitchen and the fridge, puppeteered by a force much more stronger, much more ancient than every insignificant emotion you've ever felt: the damn parasite inside of you is hungry.

As you both scan the leftovers -- your leech of a roommate seeing through your eyes, smelling through your nose -- the voice returns, this time in a more playful tone, less grating than before.

"Scusi, what's with the silent treatment today?" You bite the inside of your cheek and it laughs at you. "Don't tell me, wolf got your tongue? Are you mad that I saw right through your poor, shitty technique?"

A suffocating presence crawls inside you, starting from somewhere below your rib cage and making its way upwards through your esophagus and trachea, shifting until you feel the prodding of cold, slimy fingers in your mouth. They are tasteless and you can still breathe, your body not even bothering to perceive this as an obstruction or an intruding force that must be coughed and spat out. They are careless in their movements, pinching the tip of your tongue and pushing against your clenched teeth in an attempt to get you to open up.

And the worst part is that this is nothing but a mocking gesture, you've come to understand this over the years. To you, this is no different than someone poking at your sides, childishly asking for your attention. You obediently open, enough for a single digit to slip out, one you recognize as the middle finger. It presses down on your lower lip.

And then you bite down, hard.

It dissipates instantly, it is absorbed back into your body through every inch of skin it makes contact with. There is a new sound in the back of your mind, one you weren't quite expecting. Your parasite laughs, amused, no trace of that usual condescending tone.

"Good, you still know how to use that petty mouth of yours. I don't have to worry about teaching you how to chew down your food."

This makes you stand up straight, turning your head and glaring at an empty space, where you assume this presence would manifest if it chose to stop taking residence in your body, "I'm not eating while you're still in there. If you want dinner, then get out."

There is a beat, a momentary silence. You don't give the parasite any time to bargain, "I'm serious. Use your own damn mouth if you're so hungry. I already have to do everything on my own, I'm not going to start spoon feeding you, too!"

The reply comes out faster than you expected.

"Fine."

For a moment, your vision doubles and your body feels like it's being painlessly torn apart. For a moment, you have two sets of eyes, two sets of arms, two sets of legs and two minds. You are both yourself and him, simultaneously. It is like someone is cutting your soul in half, shoving each part into two different bodies.

It is over in the blink of an eye, and there is a presence looming behind you, made from the same material that took you here, the same material that often travels in your veins and every other crevice, nook and cranny available between your organs and bones. The lights of your apartment flicker, and you take notice of his shadow cast over you.

His predatory gaze burns holes in the back of your head, and in the stillness of it all, you hear his steps, the sound his leather pants and the shifting of his shirt fabric as he steps closer -- until you feel his chest against your back. An arm slides into view, closing the door to the fridge and resting there, preventing you from escaping. It is decorated with all the useless, silver jewelry he's taken from your targets, a hand covered with tattoos you've often traced with your very own fingers in the past.

Oddly enough, you do not feel like prey. Not anymore. Your instinct tells you that you should, but truth be told, you could not care less. Especially when you feel his chin dig into the top of your head, his weight pressing lazily on you.

"…But in exchange, I'm cooking tonight. You got 10 seconds to get outta here." He shifts, and his cheek nuzzles into you as he yawns, like he's ready to move on from this conversation.

"Huh?" You slide from under him, finally looking at the parasite concealing as a man -- one you recognize as the bane of your existence, Pavia. "Uh, like hell I'm trusting you with the food! I've seen the stuff you put on your pizza."

"Like you're one to talk! You add too much salt to everything you make. If you wanted to ruin your liver, you should've just let me eat it from day one. 5 seconds left before I throw you out. C'mon."

"Do you even know how to cook? Any actual recipes that don't require winging everything?"

"Does pasta with a side of 'mind your fucking business or I'll make us eat rat poison' sound good to you?"

"I swear if you put anything funny in the food--…"

"Time's up. Out!" Pavia picks you up, manhandles you even, and tosses you out into the living room. As soon as you land on the couch, the door to the kitchen closes and you're left all alone.

It's easy to forget that you have no fucking clue as to who or what Pavia even is.

No last name, no records, no personal information at all. You've touched him before—he looks and feels just like any other person. If you didn't know any better, you could've sworn he bleeds the same way you do. But there are times when that outer layer of normalcy is peeled back just enough to remind you what you're dealing with. Sometimes, the outline of his form darkens, as if the light around him couldn't affect him in any way, and his eyes go dark, so very dark.

You've seen him in this form, unhinging his jaw to uncomfortable degrees and revealing endless sets of saw-like fangs and teeth. His nails have grown longer, thicker and sharper than expected in many occasions. You would find those on the ground, like a wild dog who has never known, let alone needed, a trimmer.

And most importantly, you've allowed him entry to every pore of your body, every piece of cartilage, every muscle, every vein.

That's when you get a small glimpse into the eldritch monstrosity living under your roof—sometimes, he's a thick fog. Sometimes, he's an oozing pile of slime. Sometimes, he's the big, bad wolf. Sometimes, you can't even understand what you're looking at when he manifests in front of you. Regardless, you're certain of something.

Pavia is darkness, eternal and haunting as the night.

He is also a huge, ungrateful, bastard.

"Hey! Where'd you leave the gelato!? This freezer's a damn mess!" His voice is heard, muffled. It doesn't carry the same cadence and weight as it does when you hear it from within your mind. He sounds more annoying, in fact.

It's a strange experience, to have him coexist right beside you as if he weren't some sort of parasite, one hair away from eating your organs. But at least like this, he cannot read your mind nor attempt to puppet your body like a moron in broad daylight. You don't answer, fully aware that he's only trying to piss you off and lure you into another argument -- as if he'd ever lose sight of his precious dessert, anyway. Instead, you busy yourself with the usual routine; finishing what is left of your work, contact your employers and whatnot.

Soon enough, the kitchen door opens and Pavia slides into the room with a single plate of warm food. You look at him, eyes wide in indignation. Oh, he wouldn't …

"Huh? What, I thought you didn't trust me to cook, so I just made something for myself. There's some leftovers from your poor excuse of a lasagna, though." The smarmy expression plastered all over his face as he licks the sauce off his spoon is unbearable, and you rush to the kitchen either to find the biggest knife to drive into his chest or to resign yourself and eat those leftovers.

And then you see it, another plate resting by the counter. Full of delicious looking pasta.

Son of a bitch.

"Bring me some of that orange juice you bought yesterday while you're in there, yeah?" Pavia never gives you time to settle down, demanding your attention and your frustration time and time again, unable to form a single coherent thought nor opinion about him.

He's annoying, that's all you've been able to figure out so far.

He's annoying, and he's made a mess out of your kitchen to cook this meal for both of you. He's annoying, and stingy when it comes to sharing his favorite snacks and desserts, but he never attempts to steal your own. He's annoying, and he offers you a power beyond your wildest dreams, to get rid of inhibition and embrace the abilities of an eldritch beast. He's annoying, and he hogs all the fucking blankets at night, planting his cold feet against your legs or back to add insult to injury.

He's annoying, and he's calling out to you once more, telling you to hurry or else you'll miss "that one stupid show" you like, that he'll switch channels if you don't sit down with him to eat. You sigh. The nerve, the hypocrisy. You know the things he likes to watch -- he has no right to criticize your taste like this.

"I'm coming, calm down! Christ …"

You notice that he never lingers nor invades any of your usual places, always picking the same spots for himself, and this is ironic in every way possible given his fickle nature. There's no doubt that as soon as you two retire for the night, Pavia will make a show out of sliding back into your body, to rest with the warmth of your blood and the soothing rhythm of your heart. And you will tell him to fuck off and sleep on the couch, reminding him of that one time he got a little too comfortable, clutching your heart in his claws, causing you to believe you were having a heart attack. Then, morning will arrive, and you will find Pavia either sprawled out or gone, but never truly leaving you alone. You will feel him, that inky slime, both cold and warm in your veins. You will go to work, and you will return home to start all over again. This is the routine, one you stopped questioning a long time ago.

This parasite who gets under your skin, both figuratively and literally, is annoying. He's annoying when he teases you, forcing you to admit that he can cook a mean pasta. He's annoying when he laughs, loud and boisterous, at those stupid moments he often criticizes in all of your favorite shows. He's annoying when he gets clingy, using you as a pillow because he can't be bothered to reach out for one of the many other pillows scattered around.

He's so very annoying when he looks at you with a curious gleam in his eyes, obviously noticing the way you've chosen to rest your head in the crook of his neck. Time stands still as you simply look at each other, as you lose yourself in those bright, sharp eyes.

You stick out your tongue at him, and Pavia blows a raspberry at you. Sure, he might be plenty annoying on his own, but together you're both insufferable and unstoppable.

#reverse 1999 #reverse: 1999 #reverse 1999 pavia #reverse 1999 x reader #pavia #dreamy sigh. i love overly complex relationships that can be interpreted in 20 different ways #yeah you hate each other. yeah you love each other. yeah you cant stand each other. yeah you cant literally live without each other #yeah hes your best friend. yeah hes the bane of your existence. and yeah youre his only lifeline. yeah youre the only one he trusts #love having relationships with The Eldritch tm #if some of this sounds suggestive its bc i love romantizicing body possession and body sharing and symbiotes theyre my favorite thing ever

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evanpitars · 8 months

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Hi! Saw the ships post, decided I'd give it a go.

I am straight, but supporting and go by she/her, maybe she/they, 16 year old, junior and taking cosmetology college classes, female standing at 5'7 and I have hazel eyes, really extremely light freckles only on the bridge of my nose, full lips, and an diamond/oval shaped face. I have a resting depressed face, and to some people sometimes I give off a "bad attitude/attitude problem". Usually to guys (from what I have been told) I am cute, or some have said I'm hot. I had my ears pierced but the holes are closed up, so I wear clip on earrings. I have a somewhat hourglass, on the smaller side body, I have been told my wrists and ankles are very small, small boobs, smaller butt, and I'm toned and I have long legs and thighs on the thicker side. I'd say I'm around 130 lbs. I have dirty blonde thick hair that rests on my breasts (couldn't think of a less awkward but as detailed as possible description), I have long outgrown curtain bangs and outgrown layers. My style is unique; I love layering skirts and dresses and sweaters and I love beanies and hats, and I always like to wear my black converse with granny-patterned-type socks. And it tends to be darker colors of clothing that I like. I love necklaces, rings and bracelets. My perfume is Pink Cashmere. I am an Aries and into astrology and crystals and spirituality, the paranormal and Christianity. I also vape. I'm kind of a chill person, but I can be loud/expressive at times. People rub off on me easily, for example, I tend to say things I've heard other people say, if I'm around them enough, for example my classmate says "period slay" and I started to say it. I tend to be the big sister of the friend group and the friend that has everything and ready for any situation type friend. I also make suxcxdal jokes. I like to draw when I have the motivation to. I love music, like can't go a day without listening to it, and I usually go for a walk for about 30 mins a day listening to music and sometimes at college I walk around the campus with one earbud in if I don't have anyone to talk to. I can play a *little* piano, but all I can play is fucking Old Macdonald. My last resort on Netflix to watch is true crime docs, I did have a Jeffrey Dahmer phase, I was extremely interested in his case, I did find him a bit attractive too, but disclaimer, I am NOT glorifying/praising him. He's a horrible person that happens to be a bit attractive. I also am a horror movie fanatic, my favorites have to be the Conjuring movies and the Insidious movies. And, of course, I love AHS. I think I might have ADHD, I get told that sometimes. I do have anxiety as well. I am mentally slow sometimes, and I struggle with focusing at times. Oh also I am a psychic and I can see spirits. I am extremely clingy, and I have mommy and daddy issues. I am very, very, very hxrny, I hate to admit it, I always make dirty jokes if I'm comfortable with someone. I love my guys emo/grunge, doesn't give a shit type mentality, clingy, touchy, possessive, protective, knows his manners, tall, mentally unstable, scraggly looking, veiny hands, big hands, and, yes of course, hxrny.

That would be me:)

Also thank you if you read my literal book.

Hello my angel! How are you?

Thank you for sending! You are very beautiful and I find you a interesting person. If you want to chat, then lets go hahaha

So at first I thought about Jimmy Darling, because of your personality, but then, when you talked about what you want in a guy everything made sense .

YOUR LOVE STORY WOULD BE WITH.... ‼️

* drum sound * 🥁🥁🥁

KAI ANDERSON

There's no need to mention your physical appearance, because you're perfect and he would love you anyway. I feel like he would love your unique style and since he thinks he is God himself, he would easily become interested in spirituality. You would talk about the meaning of crystals and, although he was sometimes reluctant when it came to the subject, he would listen carefully and make observations. The only thing he would probably joke about was the signs hahaha. If you asked him to make an astral chart, he would laugh in your face, but in a funny way hahaha .

As you are horny, you like possessive, mentally unstable boys, Kai would be the perfect man for you. He wouldn't let anyone touch you without you giving permission. He would always be analyzing his surroundings and worried about you and your day, just to protect you. If you make jokes about suicide, that would be another reason to justify this choice. I see you both laughing about a serious topic, but for some reason you found it funny. Oh another thing, idk your sexual preferences, but good lord, that man would be horny 24/7 he makes very clear in the season Cult that he likes puśsÿ and with you wouldn't be an exception. His big and veiny would grab your wrist and he would tease you endlessly, until he drove you crazy. Hands on the waist, on the back of the head, on the thighs, on the groin, on the neck and in the hair. Also he would use your psychic habilities to his crimes and watch criminal doc with, just for fun or to improve his plans.

THANK YOU FOR SENDING MY LOVE ❤️

#ahs coven #ahs fandom #american horror story #kyle spencer #ahs cult #ahs hotel #ahs murder house #evan peters #kai anderson #james march #tate langdon #shipping #matchups #violet harmon

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more-than-a-princess · 1 year

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@cantillat asked: 💐 🌸 💖 🖤 💄

Romance Headcanon Questions - Accepting!

💐 - What small things go a long way for your muse? What small favors can someone do to get on their good side?

Taking an interest in something Sonia's passionate about and not taking her for granted are, bar none, some of the best ways to get on Sonia's good side. Sonia's hobbies are a bit eccentric, sure, but she's also a naturally curious person (though if you do share hobbies? She's very excited to meet a kindred spirit!). Meeting someone equally interested in life, learning, etc. tends to be endearing for Sonia. Additionally, being a kind and giving sort of person helps quite a lot: volunteer/charity work, work that involves helping the underprivileged/minorities/animals/etc. will also be very attractive for Sonia. And of course: not putting her on a pedestal. Don't do this. See more in one of the other questions below.

But small things? Offering to assist her with whatever project she's working on and soliciting help or feedback for, cooking a meal for her (as usual: let her in the kitchen at your own peril), performing some sort of artistic talent for her (she's horrible at music and visual art: she'd be impressed that you're so skilled!), and bringing a sense of humor to interactions with her.

This is different than making fun of her at her expense. But being able to laugh at the little things and not take everything seriously? That seems small but can go a long way with Sonia: she needs some lightheartedness to her life, even if she won't admit it.

Yeah yeah she's attracted to dark and broody but she very much appreciates a good laugh, especially in her older verses when she's more attune to recognizing she needs someone who makes her smile!

🌸 - What's their idea of a perfect date?

Nothing that has to do with royal duties! Whether it's a crowded, busy place or something private, a perfect date is a date where Sonia can just be Sonia. Not a princess, not a wealthy heiress, not someone's cute trophy girlfriend/wife. Just herself.

Maybe that's time in the countryside, in Europe, Japan, or elsewhere, spending time out of doors. Maybe that's a quiet museum and dinner after. Maybe that's a weekend holiday away somewhere. Maybe that's a new restaurant she and her partner have wanted to try. Maybe that's a new movie in theatres (horror, if Sonia is picking out the movie. Most of the time it'll be horror, anime, or some soap opera romantic drama reminiscent of TV dramas). Maybe it's a festival with fireworks afterwards. Maybe it's a limited time exhibit that can't be missed. Maybe it's poking into bookstores and vintage stores before stumbling on a café no one knows about. Maybe it's ordering in takeaway, staying in pajamas, and watching a silly television show. And yes, maybe it's visiting some haunted location, if not trespassing/urban exploration, to find some spirits, demons, or other occult artifacts.

But the most important thing? Not banking on her using her title and status to make the date happen. If Sonia offers using her title and resources herself, that's one thing: but if her date expects to be dating the Princess of Novoselic and not Sonia Nevermind? She'll have a horrible time.

💖 - What traits does your muse find physically attractive?

Chest Discourse.

Oh, sorry, did you want more?

Very well, on a physical level:

Chest discourse (it's so important we're mentioning it twice!), muscled shoulders, back, and arms (she likes some muscle okay), intense gazes, self-assured (not cocky) smiles, warm hands. They're a little rugged, a little rough around the edges, a little tousled. Even their appearance gives a sense of danger, if just a little. Too put together and pristine? She's reminded of the high society types she doesn't favor.

And fine, it goes here: the tall, dark, and handsome/beautiful thing will get her attention, at least at first. Her favorite novels are full of Byronic heroes. Or just hot, dark, human-shaped mythical beings: vampires, faeries, werewolves, etc.

Generally, she isn't often attracted to smaller, slighter, and softer physical types of people. Aesthetically, she doesn't often show romantic attraction to feminine partners with similar style as hers: traditionally and modestly feminine aesthetics (though if anyone wanted to write a Sonia/Celestia ship, Celeste would probably be the exception!).

In short: Sonia is the sunshine and she's generally not attracted to other sunshines (unless they have that grump/brooding side to them, if cleverly hidden). She's also not attracted to insecurity and a lack of self-esteem, especially seen in constantly sullen moods, tears, tantrums, etc.

🖤 - What's something that will instantly make them dismiss someone as a romantic partner?

Insulting/mocking/teasing her about her interests and hobbies, insulting her family, insulting her friends, insulting her title/job (if you think being a Princess isn't a real job or being the Ultimate Princess isn't a real Ultimate title, please see yourself out), infidelity/cheating, insisting on a polyamorous or an open relationship (Sonia can't do this. She has no interest and frankly, it hurts her too much), putting her on a pedestal and deeming she's perfect, only showing an interest in her for her looks/title/wealth/other unimportant crap here, taking her for granted, patronizing her. Sonia doesn't exist just to be a pretty trophy girlfriend/wife who happens to be a wealthy princess, or to fulfill some sort of royal blonde princess fantasy (Thanks Disney: she hates it).

Sonia will also dismiss people who are snobby or otherwise rude, especially to those in lower social classes, the service industry, animals, children, and the elderly. Abusive or manipulative behaviors? Yeah, see yourself out too. Flaunting wealth and resources just because you can and not to actually do something worthwhile with them? Tacky, she's not impressed.

Finally, Sonia tends not to be attracted to people with no interest or curiosity about life. If your muse has no interest in the world around them, preferring never to leave home and explore? That won't work for her long term. Not only does Sonia love to learn, explore, and travel, the older she becomes the more her life will involve working with, meeting with, and engaging with people of a variety of backgrounds. And she'll need a partner who can at least tolerate that with her, if not enjoy it (and a partner who will, of course, move to Novoselic if they intend on marrying Sonia. That partner is joining her family first and foremost, and Sonia's family will not let that person forget it).

💄 - Is there a past relationship your muse wishes they could have changed?

For canon, absolutely. Not to go into too much detail here, but during the Tragedy I headcanon Sonia not only killed her own parents, but physically, emotionally, and sexually abused plenty of people, including her own friends, and especially Gundham and Kazuichi. If I'm writing with a mun who writes those muses I'm certainly flexible on those points! But if not, those two characters play a big part of relationships Sonia regrets, considering how she treated/manipulated them both. She is not proud of it, and it is part of her declining mental health in post-simulation verses. She carries a lot of guilt about a lot of what she did as a remnant, but hurting Gundham and Kazuichi especially hits a sore spot with her.

For non-despair? Yes. It ties into why Sonia was admitted to Hope's Peak in the first place, and I've yet to reach a point in a non-despair storyline for that backstory and headcanons to become relevant.

But it is there, and it affects Sonia to a point that she spends much of her first year, at the very least, abroad in Japan in therapy that's kept very hush-hush from everyone, including her friends. As an adult...well, depending on the storyline? Her past may end up catching up with her.

#more-than-a-princess answered #more-than-a-princess headcanons #cantillat #(Romance Headcanons meme)#(Thank you for all of these!)#(I didn't have much time or energy earlier today to answer these. Or be on dash at all)#(But I hope these aren't too late and still fun to read!)

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cottoncandyjester · 3 years

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Hey guys im sorry I haven't been posting, honestly tumblr is making it hard to. every single story I write tumblr crashes then deletes it so it's been HIGHLY frustrating...guess I need to invest in a laptop or a better phone

Sorry this was so long I always want the boys' back stories to be only 2 parts

This story contains: death, torture, abuse, toxic relationships, murder, violent themes

"you're too soft! They are sinners theodore why are you being so damn sensitive"

Theo winced at the punch his father landed which caused him to stumble back his back hitting the table which held their latest victim, a young woman that theo cleaned up and dressed in his mother's clothes, he didn't like the sight of her all bloody and mangled it made his heart sting.

Theo never helped to Kill any of these women, only cleaned them up and made sure they looked beautiful in death it was his way if asking for forgiveness.

When he was ten he idolized his father but it's been two years since he caught his father and been training under him to take his place and all that love vanished he found himself feeling nothing but hate and disgust for his father, what made matters worse was the fact that his mother had to take half the brunt of his father's anger.

"I won't do this anymore, you're wrong. Women aren't devils, mother is an angel and I wont hurt her"

Theo's harsh remark earned him yet another punch in the face this one knocking him down as he spat out blood the metallic taste making him sick to his stomach.

"you're a damn fool boy, I'll make you see her filth"

With that his father left him in the attic to starve for the night which was always a common occurrence. As he laid back on the floor the boy let out a dry chuckle.

"Just a little more...then you'll be the one burning in hell father"

Theodore felt everything go black and it wasn't long until he had passed out soon waking back up in bed with his mother caring for his wounds. He could smell her sweet perfume and hear her soft humming, something about those things made his heart flutter in the purest of ways.

"you should be careful theo, you know making him angrier will only result in pain"

"it's okay, we'll leave together one day..just me and you.."

There was silence after that and for a while things were okay, the family was quiet during dinner and once it got late theo figured his father would have went to bed forgiving him for his outburst in the morning.

Theo woke to the sound of two metal objects clashing together, the sound was enough to stir him awake though when he tried to move he realized he was tied up against a chair. That clashing noise he heard was his father sharpening a few knives, the sight made theo's blood run Cold.

"f-father?"

"god told abraham to kill his son, and abraham was about to do it like a loyal sheep. God will make you do awful things theodore and as a man we must do them"

Theo frantically struggled against the ropes binding him only feeling more and more stressed as his father stepped closer and closer thing soft steps of his shoes making theo feel like he had to puke.

What's going to happen to me?

Am I going to die?

Theo felt his father press the tip of the blade pressed softly against his forehead on the left side of his face, the cool metal only brought theo to reality more, his father was going to kill him cause god said so.

"i-i know we are nothing alike but please-"

"we are absolutely nothing alike! You are exactly like your mother a sissy little housewife! You were never going to be a good man or husband! When I asked God for a son I thought he would send me one I could be proud of!"

Rage fuelled theo, he wasnt sure why but something about what his father said made him want to scream, his father was wrong... absolutely wrong.

"I'll be a perfect husband, and a better Father than you"

As soon as he said those words theo felt the sharp pain of his father pushing the blade into his skin earning a sharp inhale of breath trying not to show too much weakness. Theo kept thinking about his mother and how in a way he was protecting her, their goal were to run away safely together.

"we might have one thing in common theodore, you have a devil in you just like me..it's time to show you just how tainted you are"

With that theo felt a harsh intense pain as his father dragged his blade along the boy's face earning screams coming from him as he thrashed and tried kicking but his father pressed his knee onto the boy's legs now carving his skin off in such a slow and unbearable way that it was driving theo crazy

"accept your sins theodore! This is your punishment for being unloyal!"

Theodore couldn't stop screaming as the knife raked down his face roughly cutting a large chunk of his skin clean off, the pain was so great he was close to fainting but his father came prepared and injected him with an adrenaline shot.

"p-please f-father please please please..."

Theodore at this point didnt know what he was begging for, maybe death? The overwhelming taste and smell of his own blood was making him sick and not to mention there was a lot of blood pouring down his face.

I'm dying.. god has forsaken me

"may you be reborn as a perfect child next time"

Theo kept his head down but felt a soft kiss on his head before hearing footsteps walk away from him before the door to the attic closed, his father left him to die!

Theo swayed side to side hoping to get free, if he could just get to his father's desk and grab a knife though without his glasses seeing things far away was near impossible though he could see the shape of the desk.

"mother needs me, I can't die.."

Theo grunted in pain as he fell forward which wasn't his plan but he'll take it, with every fiber of his being he crawled and scooted along the ground towards the desk before seeing a knife handle over the edge of the desk. Thankfully his legs were tied just his arms so with some embarrassing attempts to stand of even kneel before turning around to grab the knife with his hand.

Before he could cut himself free he heard banging on the attic door before a crash, the sound was enough to startle him into cutting the palm of his hand and dropping the knife

"argh! I-it hurts!"

Soon the attic door opened and rushing towards him was his loving mother, her frantic questions and worrying about him made him feel far better especially when she untied him from the chair.

"I'm leaving tonight theo, my fiancee is waiting for me outside"

"t-then let's go mother! Now is the perfect time to go!"

There was a tense silence after that as theo felt his mother bandage his wound up, his mother was hiding something and he didn't like it.

"w-we have a little girl and he's very protective of her and well with how your face looks now you'll scare her and I don't want to bring any baggage from my pa-"

Theodore felt as if his head was spinning, what was she saying? He did everything for her he almost died for this woman and she saw him as baggage to toss away before going to her new family.

"y-you're going to leave me here? J-just like that?! I protected you from him! I made sure he never hurt you! Were you ever going to bring me with you?!"

"keep your voice down theo, please calm down you're scaring me-"

"I'm scaring you?! I'm the one scaring you?! How could you?! I'm your child! I love you!"

He watched his mother look down shamefully and slowly back away clearly afraid of what will her next words do to him. Theodore was feeling a little unstable at the moment, his own mother just betrayed him can he truly trust no one in his life?

"your eyes just...look just like him. I can't theo I'm so sorry I can't it's too painful for me.. you're too much like him"

That was the thing that broke theo all together, it was like his brain just snapped and no clear thought came just pure anger and pain. How could she think that?! Theo thought he was nothing like his father absolutely nothing!

"no! I'm nothing like him! Nothing! He's abusive and a horrible man how could you say that!? I thought you loved me but you're just like him-yeah you're like him not me! I'm pure! A good person"

Theo couldn't stop himself, before he knew it he had grabbed the knife he dropped earlier, the large blade held tightly in his hand and scaring the one person he thought he can trust.

"w-why do you want to leave me? You're just embarrassed of me..you don't want me around cause you hate me"

"no no no baby I love you I just-"

Theo swung the knife slashing his mother's arm, hearing her cry out in pain made him only smile as he gazed at her fearful expression. His sense of reason was vanished and all he wanted now was to show everyone how much they hurt him

"maybe if you were a better mother I wouldn't have gotten hurt all the time, maybe if you weren't too busy being a good wife instead of a good mother I wouldn't be in such pain!"

"t-theo please I just-"

"why couldn't I just have a normal family?! I prayed for one! So why!?"

Theo slashed at his mother again and again over and over sloppily slashing at her without caring about where he aimed. He was far more focused on releasing all this pain and betrayal he felt

"why doesn't anyone want me?! Why don't you want me! I want you so what's wrong with me?! Why am I so broken?!"

Theo ignored the sobs and begging for her to stop, they were not processing clear enough to him he just wanted to hurt them to hurt them in ways they hurt him. Her thrashing soon stopped but it wasnt enough for theo, he moved ontop of her now raising the blade and slamming it down inside her chest his eyes glossed over as he did so.

"I'm not like him, I'm nothing like him! I'll be a good father! A good husband! I'll never abandon my family! Never! Never ! Never!"

The knife slipped I his hand and when he tried to catch it he grazed his hand before hearing the knife clatter onto the ground, theo panted heavily before looking at his hands seeing hands were lightly bruised from gripping the knife so hard, he then looked down at his mother and her horror stuck face.

"look at what father did, I told you we should have left before...it's okay I'll protect you"

Theo reached out taking the scarf his mother wore before putting it on himself before pressing it to his nose and taking a deep inhale, the sweet scent gave him shivers.

The sight of his dead mother made the boy tear up but he honestly didn't realize he was the one who had did such a thing, it was something he refused to accept. Now gripping the knife he once had before he creeped down the attic stairs each step more and more anxiety fuelling, from the quiet sounds it seemed like his father was asleep.

Theo had never acted out so violently than when he saw his father sleeping soundly in bed, once again much like before he had completely snapped now walking over and plunging the knife deep into his father's side earning a painted grunt along with his father's eyes to snap open

This caused theo to panic and he did the first thing he could think of which was to bite his victim's ear using that time to shove the blade into his father's chest before biting his ear off and spitting it onto the ground in a feral snarling mess.

"t-there's your demon... y-you're just like me"

"I'm nothing like you! Nothing!"

Theo gripped the knife blade shoving it deeper til it became stuck and his father stopped breathing, what struck theo as odd was the lack of struggling..didn't his father want to live? That escaped his mind as he tried wiggling the blade out of the corpse only to whine lightly at how stuck it was

"heavy, too heavy"

Theodore decided his next plan was to change out of his bloody clothes except for his scarf of course and to turn on the gas stove as high it can possibly go, he used his bedroom window to escape since his mother's boytoy was still waiting for her outside.

One match, it took one match to burn the place down starting the fire in his bedroom and letting it spread. A few minutes after theo jumped out the window the house roared to live now completely on fire.

Theodore only 12 years old had killed his parents and burned the place down, he had no one else to turn to no family or anything so he turned to his local church. They sent him to a boarding school where he grew up and found a passion for medicine as well as helping others.

His dark past always haunted him, he was known as the boy whose family died horrible deaths. There were always rumors about what happened that night some say that his father killed everyone before burning the place and stabbing himself others think that his mother's lover killed them all in an angry rage. Theo would always just shrug and laugh it off thanking God that he's alive

Those dark desires of having a family only grew as he grew older, it became a twisted obsession that festered stronger and stronger by the time he was 18 he was already waiting for marriage..after all a good husband waits for the perfect bride.

"theo? Hey theo? Hello earth to theo?"

Theodore snapped awake only to see his sweet darling staring at him worriedly, he must have fallen asleep in his office again. Theo simply smiled as he stood from his chair

"what's wrong?"

"well, dinner's ready have a good dream or something?"

Theo chuckled softly before running his fingers through his hair trying to come up with a suitable answer

"just dreaming about the past my angel, though I should focus on the future with you after all the past is the past..."

#yandere imagines #yandere #yandere ocs #yandere oc x reader #tw death #tw toxic behavior #tw yandere #tw religious themes

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illicitivywp · 3 years

Text

mal de vivre.

The morning that Harry wakes up and you're not sleeping peacefully beside him is the worst of his entire life.

He can sense that you're not there. The air still circulates whiffs of your caramel shampoo and the breeze of your automatic fan that you always insist on leaving on all night still whirs leisurely and tickles the back of his neck.

Regardless, the room is vacant. He doesn't have to open his eyes to know that much.

For now, he remains entirely numb. Immune to the flooding sobs and intolerable agony and festering anger, he supposes it's in his best interest to stay like that for a while.

For a few days, at least. Until he can fully process your absence. He's not certain how long it takes the average person to wholly recognise an entire chunk of themselves missing, but he figures he's already suffered enough.

Surely, the universe isn't that cruel.

Your love is delightedly grand, and with its sudden unavailability, he feels so dejectedly vague.

He's clearly not perceiving time correctly, perhaps it's his distant concentration or maybe even his body's method of rejecting life and the wretched torture of its innate malice.

A few times, he's experienced sleep paralysis. The first, horrifying occasion is long-forgotten, when he was seven or so - it happened only after staying up until one in the morning to watch a horror movie that he'd been specifically warned not to watch and a towering vacuum of danger stood solid as stone at the end of his bed.

If it weren't for his fingertips subconsciously tracing featherlight scribes of your name on his forearm, he might reasonably assume he's haunted with the condition once again.

A clattering of paws on hard floorboards injects a little more reality into his thoughts, and he still can't bear, physically, to turn over and greet the sweet puppy you'd snuck home and surprised him with upon his arrival home from work around a year ago, knowing that his acceptance of a familiarly-shaped void is waiting just inches away.

Eventually, and after another chaotic scramble of claws in need of a cut, Chi is bouncing enthusiastically at his side and attempting an ambitious leap onto the mattress. She fails theatrically, landing in a resounding thud on her back and launching back to her feet, completely unaware of her owner's awaiting grief.

Masking his greatest fears with scooping a palm beneath Chi's belly and hauling her upwards to nestle into his chest, the reposition forces him to lay on his back (she's always detested laying on her side, especially when smothered with adoring cuddles) and, like the coward he truly is, his eyes focus adamantly on a random spot of the pale ceiling. With every minute shuffle, it becomes more and more achingly apparent that you're really not here.

And if everything runs correctly, you'll squirm and giggle graciously at his waking before returning his kiss, to his lips, this time, and he'll suggest applying a little moisturiser, like he always does, and you'll love him like you should.

When his eyelids snap open and his head curves breezily to your claimed side of the bed, he's somewhat unsurprised to confirm that his life truly has transformed to a dreadful bundle of tragedy. In your imposing place, is a neatly-made bed and an envelope.

A single, white envelope, stained by the sweet, flowing cursive that could flow only from your touch.

Chi leaps naturally to the spectacle, sniffing curiously at the letter and nudging it around a little, whilst Harry is so unexplainably pained that he's unable to move. Swallowing thickly, he's not certain word-for-word what lies in the confines of this envelope, but he does know it'll confirm your leaving him, and for some strange reason, he's relieved you left an explanation, at least.

A souvenir of you to hang onto forever, along with the millions of other items and memories of yours in his possession.

Carefully removing it from Chi's vicinity and replacing the object of her attention with a random squeaky toy that he'd discovered burrowed beneath his bed a few nights ago, he traces your exquisite handwriting with his fingertip and reads along with inaudible movements of his mouth; For Harry, mon amour.

In that moment, he realises profoundly that he'll never get to request hearing you say different words in your accent again.

The amount of times he implored relentlessly to hear je t'aime and have it accompanied with an endearing kiss is infinite.

Harry, my love,

I'm so incredibly sorry that I couldn't handle the pain.

Seeing your face cures any anguish I feel, but not this time.

I really, really tried; I know you did, too. I wanted it to work out, I prayed every day that our suffering would magically end and we could return to our love, I hoped that one day I would wake and cuddle you tightly and describe this awful nightmare I'd had.

Possibly, I may write to you in the future; please, don't try to contact me, it won't work and you know it's for the best. My family and close friends know where I am, where I will be, and they also know not to tell you if you ask.

I wish I could kiss all of your heartache away and protect you from all evil in this world, but I feel my presence is detrimental to your recovery.

My love for you is never-ending. Please be okay.

Forgive me and love someone else like you loved me. Let someone else love you like I loved you. Tellement, tellement.

Forever, I'll think of you and how unbelievably content I felt waking up next to you every day for seven-hundred and eighty (? - I'm estimating) mornings straight.

I will never, ever leave our love behind, and I adore you more than I can express. Your strength and resilience are admirable, and you are truly the best thing to ever happen to me.

Mon bébé, I miss you terribly.

Toujours, ton amour.

Chi tugs eagerly on her lead at the sight of the familiar entrance to her home, Harry in tow right behind. Sludgy snow muddies his shoes and soaks the hem of his jeans. His puppy's paws are undoubtedly drenched, too, but her fur is protected valiantly by her favourite jacket. He'd purchased it from a specialist store in France a year prior, and, since surprising her with the present upon his shared return, it'd become her primary option during the winter months.

Retrieving a reasonable pile of letters from his designated section, a rapid flick through displays bills, scams and all of the usual junk he usually receives. He offers his elderly neighbour a polite smile and holds open the door with his knee to construct a clear path for her exit.

He grimaces slightly at the teeth-shaped arc of damp dents into his mail - he hadn't particularly considered the repercussions of carrying it that way - and unclips Chi's lead, allowing her to run rampage through his airy apartment. Absently dropping his keys into its small dish of residence and taking a closer inspection at his post to infiltrate any wrong addresses or scams, he selects an apple from his fruit bowl and steals one firm chunk before noticing something peculiar.

Groomed eyebrows knitting together in confusion, he plucks one particular letter from the bunch and stacks it to the top. Perplexed by the sorely familiar curve of the writing scrawled on the front, his head shakes in denial - you wouldn't have, surely.

Discarding of all other mail on his kitchen counter, he's puzzled beyond belief; you'd left with no verbal warning and a letter that, admittedly, had been the source of several bouts of severe depression and, in spite of its awful affects, read dutifully every single day since your disappearance.

Rashly, he wishes you hadn't changed your phone number and email address shortly before leaving so he could possibly contact you regarding this mystery. However, he knows just as well as you clearly foresaw; his topic of discussion wouldn't be only the letter.

Tearing open the corner cautiously, he's incredibly delicate with checking inside the envelope once open to ensure it contains only his presumed note. Reviewing the front with a scouring gaze of disbelief, it really, truly has come from you.

He can't remember how many times he read each postcard that you'd gifted him with at the very beginning of your relationship. You'd recently made the permanent move from France to England, and, in a new country with limited knowledge of the native language, Harry had unintentionally become your beacon of comfort here.

With his fluent French and English, he was the perfect contender for kindly correcting your terminology and educating you on the essential etiquettes of Britain. Within weeks, however, your sweet smile had changed from an enjoyable sight during your frequent coffee shop meetings to something he craved.

He misses reading your silly, awful puns based around your home country, especially his favourite. A laughably unfunny joke paired with a matching scribble of the two of you; what do french fries do when they meet? They ketchup!

Harry,

I feel awful for waiting so long to speak to you again.

Your voice and your hugs. I've imagined them every single day.

I miss my Chi. How is she? I hope she's not missing her maman. Give her a kiss from me.

And the biggest kiss to yourself, because you deserve it, mon tout.

I'm inexplicably sorry for leaving so abruptly; I just couldn't take much more. The reminders were too much. Seeing your inconsolable pain every day was too much.

I'm so, so selfish, but I still believe allowing you to heal without my troubles was the best and easiest path for both of us.

I'm sure you noticed, but I may have stolen one of our pictures. It was your favourite, and that's why I had to choose that one, I suppose. Horrible, again.

I miss your dimples (and irritating you by poking them all the time). I miss your lips, they were so soft. No wonder you always bossed me around with the lip balm - I have my own now, I take it everywhere with me.

It smells like caramel.

Most of all, I miss your love. I've never known someone to love like you do. You were, are, and always will be, incredible.

Have you found someone to love yet?

Do you still think about me? If yes, please don't.

It's not fair of me to appear out of nowhere like this and not allow you a chance to reply. If you wish, post your letter to my maman's house - I'm not there, just to crush any other hope you have, but I'll receive it.

I'll be sorry forever, mon amour.

Sois gentil avec toi-même.

Câlins pour toujours, your baby.

Auriele,

I'm so thankful you decided to reach out again. I've missed you. Tellement, tellement.

Chi is brilliant, still eating everything and constantly in need of a haircut. She does miss you.

My hurt is still prevalent, I've accepted that it always will be. I truly don't believe it can be fixed again, but I'm still trying.

I spent the two weeks after your leaving searching for every single picture in existence of us. I cried so many times, I wish I could tell you that I'm wholly recovered and that you're fully forgiven, but I can't.

I think I counted them all. It's either three-hundred and seventy-seven or one-thousand, one-hundred and two (I have two sticky notes labelled pictures, I'm not sure which is correct.)

No one could ever love me like you do, tu es le meilleur.

I suppose that answers both of your questions.

Thank you for the chance to respond. I was incredibly confused when I received your thoughtful letter. I'm assuming by this one's destination being your maman's house, you're in France? You don't have to answer that. I would understand.

Mon bébé chéri, je t'aime.

Harry x

Harry,

It was the least I could do. I hurt you doubly and you never deserved that.

Tell her I love her. Buy her an ice cream for me (note the two dollars also enclosed in this envelope!)

There aren't enough apologies in the world to properly cover the extent of my mistakes, but I'll continue gathering as many as I can. And send them straight to you.

I also wish you could truthfully claim that you're okay, and I hope, with time, that you will be. It's all you ever deserved, mon chéri. You don't ever have to forgive me. I understand entirely if you hate me.

I wouldn't be surprised if those numbers were both low counts. I loved your face, as superficial as it sounds, but it truly was prettier than anything, and my favourite thing was always surrounding myself with it. Aussi longtemps que je pouvais.

My baby, I only tried my hardest to love you, and I sincerely hope I haven't ruined your idea of love so much that I'm your standard. Please, travel, find people to connect with, fall in love with a place, if not a person.

I bet Chi would love Spain. Australia, maybe? Thailand? Your choice entirely. You always were smarter than me (i.e. I left you - doesn't get much dumber.)

I am in France, feel free to ask any question you want about my current life if you decide to write back - you really don't have to. It's okay. You're still perfect.

Just not my address. It's so selfish of me to hide away from you when you're the one who deserves closure, but I'm not ready to share that information. Again, I'm sorry, and I hope you understand.

Tu me manques. Tu me manques ma maman et mon père. Tu me manques au cœur.

All my love, Auriele x

Every day, his thoughts are plagued with ideas of how to write his next letter. Your previous few communications ran smoothly; you seem incredibly apologetic and, as much as he would've gladly ignored the past tense use of 'love' in your most recent letter, he can't help but realise the difference from your first each time he reads it.

He's not certain why his first letter practically poured from his pen and before he knew it, it was sealed, posted and received. This time, however, he can't even construct a way to greet you.

Has distance and time really weakened your connection that much? His favourite childhood Disney movies would be ashamed.

The heartache you've endured together is insufferable, the bitterness remaining fresh and the misery continuing to roll onwards with him, and yet, you're both still alive. Perhaps, he should be a little more thankful.

He's tested out various support groups over the past few months; they appear to help in the moment, but once he returns home to a completely empty house, - aside from Chi - he realises all of his progress to be entirely fake.

How can he realistically recover from his insurmountable loss in solitude?

An apartment which used to breathe vibrant life and excitement for the future, diminished to nothing but silence.

He might as well have lost his house, too. Every second he spends there, surrounded by reminders of his grief, is draining. Of course, if he were a millionaire, he would've discovered a lovely, one bed flat with wide, open floors and windows. If he were a millionaire, though, maybe none of this agony would've ever happened.

He could’ve fixed it.

Regardless, he didn't, and now he returns home every single day, monotonous and finding solace only in rereading your letters and running through his local park with Chi, no matter the weather.

Sometimes, he hears the faint echo of your melodious voice ringing in his ear; mon doux bébé. For a moment, he believes you may be talking to him, but with a resounding giggle of contentment, you never were.

Within a month, he lost both of his sweet baby girls, and the pain is simply too much to comprehend.

Elle, mon cœur,

Firstly, I apologize for my late reply. This letter was, for some reason, incredibly difficult to write.

You hurt me never. Life hurt me, and it hurt you, too, and I'm sorry it's so cruel.

Chi adored her ice cream - vanilla, your favourite - and said thanks! (complimentary picture attached, for you).

Sympathy and apologies aren't a cure. I've received enough of them to know. I hope you have, too. We might not accept it and it might not heal our pain, but it is nice to know you have people by your side.

Mon amour, I would/could never come close to hatred for you. You are my entire heart, and you own everything within it.

I hope, one day, I can forgive you. I hope you can forgive me. We both made mistakes. We're both accountable, and so is fate. Unfortunately, it wasn't on our side, and we have to welcome that.

Your face is certainly Top Five list of physical attributes, which goes as followed:

1. your lips. I know I complained about them being dry all the time, but I miss them, still.

2. your eyes. Somewhere between the ocean and a cottage filled with flowers, they were paradise.

3. your thighs. I am a man - a broken one, but a man nonetheless - and they are certainly the most family-friendly feature I could think of.

4. your smile. Even on my darkest days, your smile was heaven. I hope you're smiling right now. I wish I could see it.

5. your face? All of the above and everything else. Was that cheating?

I wish I could leave here. I wish I could find a small, tropic island where Chi and I can get tipsy on Virgin Mary's and surf all day, but I feel it wouldn't be fair for both of us to run.

Although, Chi would certainly have a great time in Thailand. She told me so.

Did I mention she misses you? We miss you.

I have more questions than you can imagine. This is only my second letter, however, so I suppose I'll stick to three for now, (sorry for all the lists!)

How are you? Mentally? Physically?

Have you made new friends whilst you've been out there?

Would you ever visit London again?

I miss you forever.

Ton bébé.

Harry x

Harry,

It's more tough to write my letters than you might assume. No need to apologise, I understand.

Life is shit. I thought I had accepted that. I never imagined how evil it could be.

Chi, my baby, looks so pretty. I love her haircut (number 8694743? out of infinite).

I have heard my fair share of sympathy. At first, I felt bitter. They didn't understand what I had suffered, they didn't understand the pain I felt. With time, I realised that, sometimes, sorry is all you need to hear to feel a little better. To feel like you're managing life, at least.

I wish I could believe I deserve it, but I truly don't.

My mistakes seem perpetual. I'm constantly remembering new ones. Things I could've noticed faster, signs that I should've recognised. Yours are nothing. You made no mistakes, mon amour, please believe that. As much as fate has been my least favourite higher power for the past year, I agree about welcoming our own.

I would make a list of my personal favourites of your appearance, but I'd be here all day, and I'm meeting with a friend in an hour (your second question - check).

It wasn't fair for either of us to run. I think it's turned out for the best, however.

I can imagine Chi passed out on the beach. You both deserve a holiday. Go to Scotland, or something, at least. Just away from London.

I miss you both. Much more than I can express.

I'm well. Mentally; it's a struggle, but that's just life, I suppose. Physically; my sickness stopped a while ago. I hope your headaches did, too, but I've been searching for cures for those for a long time.

Yes! I've made quite a few close friends. They all know and love you. I'll tell them you asked.

London holds far too many memories for me to bear. You're the only one I can stand. Maybe one day.

Tellement de câlins.

Auriele.

The second your letter arrives and is read fully three times over, Harry's scrambling to collect his fancy paper and ink pen, thousands of ideas about how to reply brimming in his head.

Pen to paper, however, his mind is entirely blank.

You're inching closer to addressing the subject of your pain, and so is he. So far, the only discussions you've had regarding that difficult topic have ended either in awful arguments or uncontrollable, endless crying and they all occurred before your disappearance.

Since then, you've had ten months and seventeen days shared to mature from and process the situation. Perhaps, if you were to have a conversation about it now, it would be beneficial.

Harry is aware of the solution to his strange writer's block and urges to attempt to fix your hurt, but he's not quite sure if he's ready. Physically forcing himself up from his cluttered desk, he tries not to think of the main event when changing his sloppy t-shirt and joggers to jeans and a jumper; it's February, so the wind is still well and alive but, luckily for Chi and the duration of her walks, the temperatures are beginning to rise.

His destination is barely a thirty minute leisurely stroll through the city away, and he feels shameful to admit that this is his first visit in ten and a half months. Several times, he's gathered his courage to stand on the pavement, surveying the vast area but never making it closer than the protective fences.

This time, though, he's determined to make it. And he will, with je t'aime's and sweet giggles bubbling in his ears.

Your je t'aime's and her sweet giggles.

Auriele,

Life will continue to surprise us. It may be malicious, but it's also given me you, so I guess there are a few reasons to be grateful.

I think it's more like *8694744 out of infinite, and I'm sure she'll have many more unpleasant trips to the groomers in the future.

You are handling life impeccably, considering all. You deserve showers of recognition for just being here.

No one has ever been more deserving of my love, and no one ever will.

Please, don't blame yourself entirely. Yes, there were signs. Signs that we both should've seen earlier. We knew as much as everyone else. We can't know if things would be different if we'd noticed them, because they're not.

I'm glad you're enjoying life in France. Is it peaceful? Is it too far to ask if you're living with one of your new friends? What're their names, if you don't mind my asking?

If I were to go on holiday right now, Paris would be my first choice.

I'm glad you're feeling better, I hope you continue to improve mentally in the future. I wish you nothing but true happiness.

If you're ever here, I'd be honoured to see you again.

This might surprise you. Before I wrote this letter, I went to visit her.

I haven't since we were there together.

I talked to her for hours about my life and my pain and your letters and your pain and anything I'd love to say to you if I knew how. Meline always was the best listener, no offence to you. She just understands.

I miss her. I miss you. I miss my babies.

Please, send me a picture of you (always topping lists) in your next letter. I need to see you now. I bet you're glowing.

Toujours, Harry x

Harry, mon amour,

I feel as if I should address the end of your letter first, because I certainly wasn't expecting it. I cried a lot. I'm still crying as I write this.

It feels nice to feel.

I've been so numb to it all. I know I should sob every day, think of her every single second. I don't. That may make me an awful person, but I always preferred not to lie. Especially to you. I don't think the gravity has quite hit me yet.

Back to the normal, top to bottom of your letter.

My family is a gift. My parents, you and Meline, specifically. I've never admired anyone more.

I miss Chi. Especially today, for some reason. Send more pictures of her when you next write. (I enclosed an updated picture of me in town, if you hadn't noticed! It was taken last week.)

I had concerns. Concerns that I didn't follow up on. We knew something was wrong, but we did everything we could, right? We found help. We found medicine. Why didn't it work?

How fucking cruel can life possibly be?

It's much quieter than London. The air quality is visibly better. I am, actually. My closest friends are Leon and Aline. I'm living with them!

Paris is about as good a holiday as you can get. If I'm ever near you, whatever country it happens to be in, I'll be sure to see you.

The last part of your letter. I already touched upon it but not nearly enough.

I haven't said, heard or read her name in eleven months. I miss it. I miss your voice. And her laughs. She was so, so lively and enthusiastic for life.

It's so unfair that she didn't get the chance.

And I agree; she always was a fantastic listener. I told her about our issues more than I should've.

I wish I could hear her again. Her name wasn't Meline Risette Styles for nothing. Her laughs were so pretty. I could've listened on repeat.

I did. For a year.

I miss her.

I miss you. I miss your warmth. I miss your heart and your love and your smile and everything about you.

I miss normality.

When we thought things would be okay.

We were wrong, and hindsight, that's okay, too.

We will heal eventually, I trust that life can't take much more away from me.

Tout mon amour, Auriele x

Since that day, Harry's visited Meline every Sunday without fail - it's only been three weeks, but going in the first place was an unimaginable step.

He even combined Chi's walk with the most recent, and each time, entering, staying at and emerging from the cemetery becomes easier.

The first time, he paced through the gates several times before building the bravery to even step inside without running back. His flight or fight instinct had been touchy the whole time, bias towards flight the entire time.

He just wanted to be as far away from the source of his pain as possible.

At the same time, he just wanted his daughter back. Alive and healthy.

Once he'd settled, laid on the ground like a madman next to her grave, he never wanted to leave her again. He even brought her flowers and a little teddy bear from a shop he'd passed on his hurried journey there.

It was well and truly dark by the time he even considered returning home, because he'd rather be with his sweet baby than alone at home.

Now, Chi sniffs inquisitively around at the bundles of flowers placed on surrounding graves whilst Harry converses with his dead child's grave like she was as animated and eager as he remembered.

It's a little questionable for his sanity, but extremely helpful for his own mental health. And he's trying to fix them both.

He just wishes so much that he'd pushed for more tests in the hospital. If he could, he'd reject their diagnosis and prescription of heart medication and an inhaler for when her asthma flared up.

They claimed she had a weakened respiratory system and, subsequently, her heart didn't deal well under stress, mostly due to her premature birth.

They were correct.

However, they were entirely wrong when they sent you all home with a tub of medicine and advice to lower any potential stressors around her.

Harry remembers scoffing to himself; she was one, what could possibly be stressing her that much?

Apparently, a lot of things.

Your je t'aime's and her sweet giggles.

There's truly nothing better.

Auriele,

I understand completely about any emotion feeling refreshing. For a while, I felt immune to it. I cried and I got angry, but nothing ever really set in.

I'm thankful that I can feel now and it doesn't destroy me.

You're not at all a bad person, or a bad parent. Often, I wish I could forget about her. And not just to remove the pain for a day or two. Also, I appreciate the honesty.

Important things must be talked about first. And while this paragraph isn't quite at the top of my letter, it certainly is my most admiritive.

You're so, so unbelievably beautiful. Even more so, now.

Your eyes are still paradise. That picture is stuck onto the cork board in the kitchen forever.

We did absolutely everything in our power to help our baby. As soon as we noticed an issue, we took her to the hospital. Maybe they accidentally underestimated her condition, maybe they just assumed it'd be treated with that medication.

Either way, we helped her as much as we could. And you were, are, and always will be the most incredible mother.

Meline was lucky, truly. She loved you so much.

As it turns out, life can be our greatest enemy. It's difficult to control and even harder to accept, but everything happens for a reason, I suppose.

Leon and Aline sound wonderful. I know it's not my place, but tell them I said thank you for being there for you? You don't have to.

I've never known someone deserve a full, healthy life more than our sweet girl, and it's an injustice to steal that opportunity from her at such a young age.

She would've been two next week. I'm sure you don't need reminding, but I'm still trying to handle my feelings about it. I already know her birthday is going to be the worst day since she died.

Meline Risette Styles deserves the world, as do you. Please don't be afraid to take it. You've earned it.

Her name still brings me so much joy; little honey, pleasant little laugh. It was such an apt description, in her short life.

Life can always take more, but it gives things that are so wonderful. Sois optimiste.

Tout mon amour et câlins, Harry x

wattpad:

#harry styles #letters #heartbreak #sad books #harry

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act-addict-actors-matchups · 4 years

Text

❀ ｡˚ Taichi Nanao x F! Reader┆What The Heck I Gotta Do

1.6K Words ⋯ Sorry, there isn’t any ‘read more’ option. I’m on mobile. 😔

Sighing, Taichi rested his head in the palm of his hand, eyes gazing dreamily at the back of your head.

Wait, was that weird?

Bright blue eyes darted back down to the mindless notes he'd been taking on and off during the lesson. What class was this again? Maybe he should've paid more attention, because his notes didn't give him any hints. The entire paper was basically just one big ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

Sighing again, Taichi looked up, trying to pay attention to what the teacher was saying instead of wondering what you were thinking.

'She can probably feel you staring at her, idiot! Don't be weird!' he scolded himself, face reddening just the slightest. Could anyone really blame him for staring though?

Not only were you the one of the regular audiences and pretty much befriended everyone in the company but you just so happened to be a classmate of his as well! The fact that Taichi found you the most beautiful person he had ever met didn't help either.

Needless to say he switched seats so that you sat in front of him, sharing little conversations with you whenever the opportunity presented itself. He even got to eat lunch with you!

Now by no means was Taichi a prideful person, but he had to admit he harbored a faint smugness over being the only member able to interact with you inside and outside of the classroom. Aside from Tenma and Juza, the others could only talk to you through the chatrooms, via phone calls and messages or whenever you decide to visit the dorms, but he was able to see you face-to-face five days a week without a miss and he felt closer to you because of it.

What drew him to you in the first place? True, your personality shared a faint resemblance to his first crush’s, but there was something different about you, something that made his heart swell and flutter like a lovestruck schoolgirl's. You were so mature and kind, diligent in your work, not to mention strong and serious when the situation required it. As time went on and he grew closer and closer to you, he found it wasn't hard to fall in love with you.

There was only one problem. He had no idea if you felt the same.

When the other members of the company flirted with you, you responded in kind, but that was just being playful, right? It didn't really mean anything, right?

Whenever Kazunari in particular openly flirted with you, Taichi couldn't help but feel all tingly and wrong inside, the urge to draw you away from the tall, handsome blonde making his hands clench. He wanted to think you showed a special interest in him, but he had no way to know for sure.

Except...

The beginnings of an idea began to take shape in his mind, an idea that could end in extreme awkwardness or charming success.

Pulling out his phone, Taichi made sure to keep the device safely out of view beneath the desk, hiding it from any prying eyes. His fingers seemed to move on their own, typing out a message he probably should've checked before sending. When his brain finally did catch up and register the words he'd written, his heart dropped into his stomach, a small gasp escaping his lips.

"What the heck I gotta do to be with you?"

Followed by:

"Who do I have to be for you to be with me?"

'What are you thinking?! How cheesy can you be?!' Red haired boy screamed internally, his horror growing as he saw you pull your phone out of your school bag, it's screen illuminated with a new notification.

Gluing his eyes to his notes, he tried to act like nothing happened, hastily scribbling whatever the teacher was saying. A few seconds later his phone vibrated with your reply and he couldn't disguise his fervor as he answered it, dread and excitement making his stomach turn.

Unlocking his phone and tapping on your message he found a neutral smiley face staring up at him.

'Yes!!!'

It wasn't quite an acceptance of the feelings he'd made so obvious for you, but it most certainly wasn't a rejection either!

From that day on you and he texted day and night. He really hadn't met anyone like you before. You listened to all his problems and even let him copy your notes from the lessons he spent daydreaming about you!

The redhead couldn't remember the last time he felt this way, if ever. It was like a ray of sunshine had made its way into his heart, filling it with warmth and light. As cliche as it sounded, you were his angel.

Well! There was only one thing left to do!

Gathering his courage, he called you one night before Omi caught him in action going to sleep, ready to lay everything on the line and confess.

...He went straight to voicemail.

Blinking, he stuttered for a few seconds after the beep went off, leaving a jumbled, "H-Hey, I um...I just wanted to call, but uh...I had something really important to tell you, but I guess you're busy right now, so um...call me back when you can!"

His brow furrowed as he stared at the piece of technology, your number flashing on its screen. You never missed a phone call and it wasn't even that late.

'Did something happen to her? What if there's been an emergency?! What if she's in trouble?!'

Pulling up the messenger, he sent you a quick text, asking if you were okay. The minutes ticked by with still no response from you and Taichi’s worry only grew, leaving him unable to sleep as he stared at the phone lying peacefully on his nightstand. Turning to bury his face in the pillow, he groaned.

Reason told him he was probably overthinking things. Most likely, you were okay, safe in your apartment and he was just being clingy.

His adoring heart told him otherwise. It told him you were kidnapped, lost, alone and scared somewhere he couldn't find you, and that he needed to see you and make sure you were okay.

Unable to decide which to listen to, Taichi didn't get a wink of sleep that night, relying on the magical powers of coffee and Omi’s delicious breakfast the next morning to give him life. When he got to school, his first priority was to find you and make sure you were okay.

He didn't think you would be the one to find him.

"Morning, Taichi!"

The redhead whipped around at the sound of your voice, the contact of your hand on his shoulder. For a moment, all he did was stare, expressionless. Here you were, perfectly fine, nothing wrong.

Your face shifted as he continued to regard you so blankly, confusion replacing your morning happiness. "Are you okay? You look a little t-!"

Before he knew it, your name had already left his mouth as he threw his arms around you and buried his face in your neck, relief making his knees tremble. "I was so worried when you didn't answer me last night! I thought something horrible had happened to you! I thought maybe you had been kidnapped and that I wouldn't be able to find you and then I would never get to confess to you and-!"

"Taichi!" Your hands cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look at you and effectively silencing his rant. "My charger broke yesterday! My phone's dead until I can get a new charger this afternoon! I haven't seen any of your messages!"

He blinked, his confusion present on his face. "Y-You haven't?"

"No! I'm okay, see! There's no need to worry!" The concern on your face softened, affection taking its place. "You said... you were going to confess to me?"

Taichi could feel the blush creeping up his neck. Had he really let that slip? "...Maybe?”

You smiled, eyes bright as you looked up at him, hands still on either side of his red face. "Silly. It was pretty obvious already."

Blue eyes glanced downwards, breaking eye contact. "I know, but...I wanted to make it clear."

Lips brushed his cheek after you let one of your hands drop and his eyes darted back up to yours, wide with surprise. "Then I might as well make it clear that I like you too, Nanao Taichi."

"Y-You do? Really?" he asked, excitement and a kind of happiness he had never felt before replacing his embarrassment.

"Of course! How could I not?" Leaning up, you pressed a kiss to his cheek one more time, smiling against his skin. "You're wonderful, Taichi! You don't have to do anything to make me like you except be you!"

His arms wound around you again with renewed enthusiasm, drawing you against him as he smiled into your hair. “Thank you! Thank you so so much!"

"You don't have to thank me, but Taichi?"

"Hmm?"

"You do realize everyone's watching, right?"

Glancing up, he realized that you were indeed correct. Everyone in the hallway, including the bright orange haired and purple slicked-back haired boys much to his embarrassment, had stopped to watch as he practically broke down sobbing at your feet. Beneath the icy numbness of pre-mortification, he knew he was never going to live this down.

His blue gaze returned to you when he heard you giggle softly, your eyes sympathetic as you took his hand and led him down the hallway to your first class. He still felt horribly self-conscious after his emotional display, but there was warmth there too, requited love giving him all the strength he needed to push through.

As your hand held his beneath the desk, giving him little, affectionate squeezes from time to time- you had switched seats to sit beside him- he couldn't help the tired, longing sigh that left his lips.

Why was falling in love so wonderful and so terrible at the same time?

#act! addict! actors!#act addict actors #a3! actor training game #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3 act addict actors #a3 actor training game #a3!#a3 #nanao taichi #taichi nanao #a3! taichi #a3 taichi #a3! taichi nanao #alyssa wrote

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archadianskies · 4 years

Note

you're writing captain allen fic! can i um, request a nines/allen fic??? not sure if you're taking requests but it's a rarepair fo mine i'm desperate for more content /sweats no pressure though absolutely understand if you say no!!

→ on Ao3

While Markus and his merry band were busy demanding equal rights for the bots of America, a neat little plot was uncovered when the CEO of CyberLife was stood down. Part of their agreed terms was to halt the production of androids immediately, and release all those in storage as awakened deviants. What they didn’t count on was the discovery of confidential emails, staunchly denied by the government, placing an order of 200,000 RK900 units for the purpose of crushing the android revolution under heel and restoring the power balance back into the hands of humans.

Never happened, of course, and the RK900 never went into production. Only one was fabricated, and was in its final stage of its testing phase when the revolution ended. It then became a reluctant olive branch offered to the DPD, a ‘sorry we tried to make killing machines behind your back but you can have this one and keep the prototype too’.

There’s no reason to double up, Fowler says, and this model has military upgrades so it will suit your unit better. That’s all the warning he gets before there’s an android standing in his office at 9:00am sharp on Monday.

“Captain Allen, I am the RK900. I have been assigned to SWAT unit 32, under your command.” He says, in a voice deeper than Connor’s and a little more polished. He seems to loom over him, filling out the space of his office like a large shadow, like a Terminator from those movies one of his mothers always liked.

“Do you have a name?”

“No, I was not assigned one.”

“You’re Connor’s little brother aren’t you?” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Heard you were called Nines or 900 or something.”

“No.” Firm refusal. “I do not wish to be associated with a number.” A pause, a frown. “It feels demeaning.” Feels , he says, because apparently androids can do that now.

“We’re going to have to call you something.” He cocks a brow, and the android averts his gaze, unsure. “Well. You’re the newest guy to the team so that makes you the rookie.”

“Rookie?” The android echoes curiously.

“You’re the rookie until the next recruit shows up.” He shrugs. “That’s the rule. We’ll call you rookie until either you give us a name, with which we will occasionally call you while still referring to you as rookie, or until there is another recruit; whichever comes first.”

“Understood.”

*~*

Connor’s baby brother is 6’5” and if looks could kill everyone would certainly be dead. Terminator’s got the worst case of Resting Murder Face he’s ever seen; it’s as if the psychos at CyberLife used nothing but rulers to design him, as if they took Connor’s model and took away everything that could possibly allude to friendliness. They even gave him startling grey eyes, as if the brown of Connor’s eyes was too warm to keep. What he learns quickly, though, is that even if CyberLife made him look like a cold blooded killing machine, they failed to scrub away the almost puppy-like demeanour so integral to Connor’s personality.

He walks in on his team in the training hall enthusiastically trying to beat the android at every obstacle course, using their years of teamwork to try and pool their skills in order to beat CyberLife’s latest and greatest. They fail spectacularly, to no one’s surprise, but the rookie’s grinning in that slightly lopsided goofy way Connor grins and the team muss his hair like one would pat a dog and he lights up just the same. He’s just as eager, as desperate to please, to integrate, to gain the approval of his human peers and there’s something both endearing and a little sad about it.

*~*

Everyone’s lives depend on trust and teamwork and that means figuring out where the rookie will fit in best. He runs them through endless simulations and the android bests them all; he can be placed anywhere, given any role, and adapts to each situation perfectly. It’s not enough- a simulation is hypothetical, a simulation is safe and is nothing like the chaos of a real mission with very real lives at stake.

“Will that be all for tonight, Captain?” He knocks his reading glasses up briefly to rub at his tired eyes, looking up from his reports to find the android standing dutifully at parade rest in front of his desk.

“Weapons cleaned, locked and logged?”

��Yessir.” A nod.

“You’ve been here a week now.” He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “What do you think of Fowler’s choice, assigning you to my team?”

“I believe I am where I ought to be.” The rookie says slowly. “This is the department where my skills prove most useful. Connor is built to assist with detective work, and has the social programming to build strong social bonds. I lack such programming, and have been built with military modifications instead.”

“The team like you plenty.” He shrugs, and the android’s LED spins yellow as he looks away almost self-consciously. “I am glad.” He says quietly. “I find their company enjoyable.”

“Good. Their lives depend on how well you work with them, you understand that right?” Another nod, and he spares him one last glance before returning to his reports. “Alright. Dismissed.”

“Do you?” It’s said so quietly he almost misses it. When he looks up, he catches the briefest flicker of red before the android’s LED swirls yellow.

“Do I what?”

“Like me?” Another brief flicker of red. “You command this team, Captain Allen. You are the most integral part of it. I wish to get along with you too.”

He thinks back on the week that just passed, on the drug busts, on the anti-android protest that turned ugly, on the black market CyberLife raid. He thinks back on the stunned horror on everyone’s faces when the RK900 snapped a rifle in half, picked up a grown man and tossed him aside like a ragdoll in order to protect a fallen teammate.

He thinks back on that afternoon when he ran a segment of the baton relay race, of both the SWAT unit and Android Crimes Division combined up against Connor and the rookie. He remembers how easily the brothers had beaten them and how his team had so melodramatically displayed their fake disappointment at losing by trying to tackle the RK900 and piling on him ineffectively. He remembers hearing him laugh and seeing him smile that slightly lopsided smile.

A killing machine with the personality of a puppy; loyal to a fault.

“We get along just fine, rookie.”

“I am glad, sir.” He says again, softer this time. “Good night.”

*~*

He turns 44 on the job, and they’re filthy from chasing perps through the slush, teeth chattering from the cold as they huddle in the van headed back to the precinct. He expects to die on the job, so a birthday holds no special weight. He bargains with himself that if he makes it to 50 then he’ll make a big deal out of it. Maybe.

He likes to think he’s still in his prime, and this job demands the best from him both physically and mentally. Careful with what he eats, diligent with his exercise and strict with his training he refuses to let himself slip up; he knows better than anyone what this job requires. Still, though, on missions like these he reluctantly admits to himself he’s not 20 and spry anymore.

The showers cloud with steam as they all scrub off and it’s heaven on his sore muscles and cold skin. Wrapping a towel around his waist he heads back to his locker to grab a fresh set of clean clothes, lost in his thoughts as he goes over the mission in his head. A success, though a messy one. Another slightly amusing, slightly horrifying moment when the rookie snapped a perp’s arm simply by squeezing a little too hard. Jesus he’s glad they’ve got him on their side.

Fingers ghost along his ribs and he instinctively grabs the hand and twists.

“Captain I-”

“What-”

“Sorry! You-” Red LED as he drops his hand, and the RK900 steps back to put distance between them. “Your scar- it’s- you have-”

He stares at him and the android fidgets under his gaze. Looking down at himself, he turns slightly and lifts his arm to touch the long jagged scar along his ribs. “Serrated hunting knife.” He taps a puckered scar below his collarbone. “Gunshot.” Another skimming his hip bone. “Gunshot.” Another on his shoulder. “Gunshot.”

The rookie steps closer hesitantly, reaching out slowly to give him every opportunity to knock his hand away. He remains still, and lets him touch a faint scar on his forehead. “And this one?”

“Courtesy of my cousin swashbuckling with sticks when I was five.” A small smile spreads on the android’s lips, and he takes the opportunity to look him over. God it isn’t fair the android literally hasn’t put in a day’s work to have a body in peak, perfect shape. He’s plated in kevlar too, and he raps his knuckles on the hard chest plate. “You’re brand spanking new, rookie. Not a scratch on you.”

“Shiny and chrome.” One of the men pipes up. “Don’t worry rookie, you’ll earn your battle scars too someday.”

“Then you’ll really be one of us.” He grins, and the android grins in return and something catches in his throat and he thinks oh no.

*~*

“Will that be all for tonight, Captain?” Every evening, the same question, the same earnest expression on his face.

“Weapons cleaned, locked and logged?”

“Yessir.” A nod. “I-” he steps forward hesitantly and thinks the better of it, stepping back. “Happy birthday, Captain Allen. Good night.”

“Thanks rookie.” He manages a tired chuckle. “See you in the morning.”

*~*

Not every mission is a success. Sometimes the intel is bad, sometimes the raid is premature, sometimes the weather fucks them up. Sometimes things just go wrong, horribly, horrifically wrong and all they can manage is damage control.

“No, not like this. Not like this rookie, not on my watch.” He skids over to his side and drops to his knees, the RK900 lying on his back with his chest blown open by an explosive. By a fucking grenade he caught to protect the team. The android is shaking uncontrollably, LED blood red and he bleeds and bleeds and bleeds.

“I- I don’t know what to do. Rookie, I don’t-” there’s nothing to press down on, there’s no human anatomy here, he has no fucking clue. There’s just blue everywhere, and some distant part of him thinks Hank Anderson will literally kill him with his bare hands for getting one of his sons killed. And he wouldn’t blame him, he wouldn’t fight him on that either. “Not like this, c’mon rookie, please god not like this-” the call’s already been made, and a medtech van is being sent with the EMTs but he knows he won’t last that long. This is the worst part of the job and though he’d give anything not to be in this position, he wouldn’t wish this on anyone else.

The android weakly grasps his wrist, clumsily pulling his hand to touch an erratically pulsing circle just below his sternum. The blast has indented whatever it is, pushing it in a skewed angle.

“You want me to pull it out? Get it back in properly?” A weak nod, and he scrambles for his knife. “Okay, okay uh-” He wedges the tip of the knife under the edge of the glowing circle, and it takes a few tries for him to get it to catch properly, the blood making the surface so slippery the blade ends up sliding out of place. It pops up just an inch and then he has to reach in sideways through a missing chunk of plating to push it awkwardly back into an upright position, only then can he pull it out completely. It detaches with a wet click, and then he’s carefully lowering it back in until it latches into place. He’s trying not to focus too much on the fact he can see the rookie’s insides, at all the broken tubes and wires and the sparks, and the blood just pouring out.

“Stay with me rookie, what’s next? What do you need me to do?” The android pulls insistently on his hands, guiding them towards an open segment on his chest. “Here? I don’t- ugh!” he’s unable to stop the sound of disgust that leaves his mouth as the android pushes his hands inside of his chest until he touches some sort of glass component. It has thick tubes connected to it, and the blast has fractured it in several places. He shifts a little so he’s nearly straddling him in order to keep his hands securely on the biocomponent. It thrums in his hold, warm to the touch. Whatever it is, it’s stabilising him and the rookie looks less frenzied than before, taking slow, measured breaths most likely to ventilate his overheating systems.

It feels like an eternity before the medtechs arrive with their fancy equipment and then they’re very gently extracting his hands from the rookie’s chest and before swarming the android and whisking him away for surgery.

Somehow he makes it home. He’s not sure of anything, really, but somehow he’s showered and all the blue blood is gone and he’s in his favourite old hoodie from his academy days. His hands shake when he tries to pour himself a drink so he settles for a bottle of water from the fridge. When he looks at his hands they’re clean and then they’re not, they’re drenched in blue, and then they’re clean and they’re blue again and so he takes some advil and goes to bed.

*~*

He goes to Jericho in the morning, to see the rookie and he doesn’t know if he’s there to pick up a body or is there to visit as a guest. It’s the latter, thankfully.

“So he’s alright?” He asks one of the android doctors, and she nods with a smile.

“Yes, you saved his life.” She leads him down a hallway. “His heart was damaged by the explosion but you held it together and allowed it to keep pumping blood around his body.”

“I had-” he swallows thickly and thinks about the warm glass against his palm, “I held his heart in my hands?”

“And saved his life.” She gestures at a door. “He’s running a diagnostic cycle, but he’ll be ready for discharge in an hour.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you .” She laughs softly, before taking her leave.

The rookie is propped up by a couple of pillows, looking down at his chest.

“Hey.”

“Look, I have scars now.” The android says quietly, tracing a few jagged lines on the black kevlar plating around the glowing blue circle beneath his sternum.

“In my defence,” he takes a seat by the bed, “there was blood everywhere and I couldn’t wedge my knife under it in one go.”

“I like them.” He smiles tiredly, touching one of the thin jagged lines. “They remind me you saved my life, Captain.”

“I was way out of my depths there rookie, I’m glad you were awake enough to guide me.”

They sit there quietly and he listens to the machines beep and whirr and tries not to focus on how exhausted he feels, how raw and exposed he feels because of all that’s transpired.

“I have been alive for exactly one month today.” The rookie says quietly.

“This is a pretty lousy way to start off the day, sorry.”

“I’m starting it off alive, so I would consider that far from lousy, sir.”

“Oh so you’ve got no social programming, but you’ve got sass is that it?” He rolls his eyes, unable to stop the smile on his lips. The android regards him with those striking grey eyes and he knows the only cold thing about them is the colour. Reaching for his hands, just like yesterday, he guides them to rest on his chest.

“You held my heart in your hands and you saved my life.” He murmurs, LED flickering yellow and holding. “Would it be alright if I entrusted it to you for safekeeping?”

He knows what he means, he knows what he’s asking of him and it terrifies him. He knows this job is hell, he never wanted a partner to get caught up wondering, waiting for him to come home and the one inevitable time he won’t. He’s kept everyone at arm’s length, he’s given his mind, body and soul to this job in place of his heart. Maybe this way they’ll keep each other safe. Maybe this way it’s better; they both know the risks, they both know what the job demands of them.

Leaning in, he presses their lips together and gives his heart in return.

#rk900 #allen900 #captain allen #detroit: become human #rarepairs #annie writes: dbh #there's...spiciness...to follow...#👀👀👀💦#oh anon #adventures in text posts

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butwhyduh · 5 years

Text

I'll Be Home for Christmas

Warning: it's long and sad.

Word count: 2150

Summary: basically what would happen if Tony Stark died instead of Peter Parker at the end of infinity war. Basically my one chance to write a space odyssey. For @naturallytom challenge. Part 1 of 2.

Peter sat in the cold chair overlooking space. Colors he couldn't describe flew by and he felt so lost. Nebula knew where they were. She could get them home. She got them to a inhabited galaxy and they were rescued by a people Peter couldn't even name. But the price of going to safety only days before they would have died was going farther from earth. Farther from his life. And no one to know he was alive.

"Kid, eat," Nebula said handing him a fruit. Peter nodded before taking a bite. He ate but had no hunger. Nebula assured him that it was from almost starving but Peter thought it was probably because he watched his mentor die in front of him.

"How long do you think it'll take to get to earth?" Peter asked.

"About a month," Nebula answered as she ate. Her knife sliced the fruit in her hand before eating.

"So Christmas," Peter said. He'd kept up with the dates. They were saved right around thanksgiving.

"What's Christmas?" Nebula asked. The pair talked about many things on the journey. It wasn't like they could do much else besides listen to Starlord's music.

"It's a holiday. Family gets together and gives each other gifts. There's food and lights. Its-it's nice," Peter said.

"That sounds... nice," Nebula struggled to say something nice. She wasn't used to being around someone as kind as Peter.

"I wish we could decorate in here. Or make some real food," Peter said wistfully. The ship felt colder than before and Peter pulled his boroughed clothing tight.

"Get some sleeps. Its been 22 hours since your last cycle," Nebula said looking at a monitor. Peter nodded and went to the back. He laid on a cot and strapped in to sleep. It wasn't long before he drifted off.

Nebula stared out. The people had been decimated by Thanos. His snap had killed half of them. She knew Peter was only holding on to get back to his aunt. What if she was dead? Would he lose his mind?

9 hours later Peter woke. Nebula was holding small swords in the middle of the room. Peter sat up quickly.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing. I think you need a hobby," she said practice swinging the swords.

"Knives?"

"A useful hobby," Nebula said handing Peter a sword. "These aren't dull. You can cut yourself. So don't."

Peter held it awkwardly. Nebula rolled her eyes.

"Earthlings are so weak. Hold it like this," She said handing him the sword correctly. "Turn your body sideways. Smaller target."

Peter turned and opened his legs hips width apart, mimicking Nebula. She nodded. She put her hand behind her back and Peter copied. Nebula held the sword out with her elbow slight bent. Peter made the same motion to have the sword hit from his hands by Nebula. Peter gasped.

"Hold it tightly. You're strong," she said. Peter picked up the sword and moved back to stance. Nebula hit it again and he held it tightly. She hit him from another side and he barely smacked it away. This went on for a minute.

"Hit me," Nebula said. Peter widely swung the sword and Nebula easily blocked and tapped him with the flat side. The rest of the session consisted of Peter trying to deflect and hit as Nebula easily bounced around him. By the end he was smiling, sweaty, and bruised. It was the first time he'd smiled in a long time. Nebula hid her smile as she took a drink. Peter greedily gulped his water. When they landed on the planet, Peter had drank so much fresh water that he literally threw up, much to his embarrassment. On the ship that only recycled water and towards the end, it was only a cup a day.

"Eat," Nebula said tossing him a bar and a fruit.

"What's that?" Peter said looking the colorful fruit over.

"Food. Eat. It'll make you strong," Nebula said. She viewed his collar bone and wrists being more defined. His high metabolism had made him skinny.

Peter tentatively tried the fruit before devouring it. "It tastes like a fruit roll up! Do you have more?"

"You'll only get 1 a day to make it last," Nebula said. "Watch out. I'm going to sleep. Don't touch anything. Wake up if you see anything."

"Oh-Okay," Peter said moving to the seat.

"I counted the fruit," Nebula said before laying down. Peter snapped his fingers in defeat. She was clever.

Peter watched as he saw nothing. But also He saw everything as they sped along faster than he scientifically understood. Which is a lot to say about a genius. He stared for hours as Nebula slept. Peter's eyes got heavy and he drifted off.

Peter woke to Nebula gripping his shoulder. He jumped up.

"Fell asleep on the job? You didn't do that when you were starving. You can clean the toilet when we next land," Nebula said pushing Peter out of the chair.

"Aw man," Peter said.

"No sleeping next time," she shrugged.

And for the next 5 days they followed this pattern. Peter sleeping, training with the sword, eating, bothering Nebula, and watching out as she slept. Finally Nebula wakes Peter during his sleep time to tell him that they were landing on a safe planet.

Peter wiped the sleep from his eyes and grabbed his iron spider suit. He snapped it on over his clothing. Nebula seemed relaxed but Peter was nervous. Any place could be dangerous. The sky was blue and the visible dirt poking through the dense foliage was pink. When Nebula opened the door, a wave of heat hit Peter and he put his mask on.

"Guard the ship. Turn on the incinerator," Nebula said.

"Really?" Peter protested. "I can't leave?"

"We're here just to buy supplies. Don't do anything until I come back. I'll bring more fruit," she said. Peter groaned before sitting in the pilots chair.

Nebula rolled her eyes as she left. She didn't know why she kept the Stark boy. She could have left him on Titan, or planted him back on the first planet they landed. But she felt she owed him a ride back. She had helped Thanos for years towards his goal. And if she hadn't told Gamora where the soul stone was, Thanos would never know.

She met the people outside her ship. They were primitive small people that barely fit the shape of humanoid. They were purple-ish brown with snouts and arms that closer resembled flippers. Nebula held her communication device close to her face and announced her wish to trade. The people parted and a leader came forward. Nebula began offering what she had for trade and the leader agreed.

On the ship Peter sat with his feet on the console. Nebula never let him. He was also eating some kind of sweet bread. Music played in the background. It was under the name sTarLLord89. Whoever it was, had tons of 80s earth music.

Peter was softly bobbing his head when Nebula ran in with a crate of food. Peter quickly flopped his feet to the floor. "What's going on?"

"Not. A. Peaceful. Planet," she said smashing the buttons to fly the ship away. Peter hopped ftom the seat and sat in his usual chair. Nebula roughly lifted the ship off the ground.

"What happened?" Peter asked after they escaped the planet. The ship survived with only a few scratches from spears thrown at it.

"They were cannibals. That's why you couldn't leave the ship with me. You would have been eaten," Nebula said.

"Eaten?"

"Yeah, kid. Inventory the box," she said.

Peter opened the crate to see a few boxes of the food bars, some fruit, and bread. A bundle of rags sat underneath. Peter pulled them away and shrieked.

"What?? What?" Nebula asked from her seat.

"There a spider?"

"You don't know?"

"It's kinda like a spider. In a cage. It looks like a pet or something," Peter said keeping his distance.

"Wait, Spider-Man is scared of a spider?"

"Maybe. You can look at it yourself," He said pouting. Peter grabbed a fruit and sat down. "I'm not dying from space spiders. I've seen that movie."

"What?"

"It's an earth thing. I'll show you," Peter said watching the box suspiciously. Nebula walked over to the box and laughed. A deep belly laugh of joy. It was jarring to Peter. He had never heard that in the weeks they've known each other.

"It's just," she resolved into laughter. "It's harmless. Come here," Nebula said opening the cage. Peter jumped back as it scurried up her arm.

"What should we name it? I had one as a child. I snuck it aboard a ship, just like this," She said smiling.

"You stole it??" Peter said.

"No, this was luck. I'm not turning around to bring it back. Here, have a pet," Nebula said placing the creature on Peter's shoulder. Peter shrieked.

"Take it back! The fuck! No! No. No," he said as she took it back. "I don't want a mutant spider on me."

"That's just ironic," she said sitting back in her chair. She pet the monster under the chin and Peter shuttered as it purred. "I had one until Thanos found it and killed it. Said it was a waste of air."

"He's just a horrible person," Peter said used to her talks about the horrors that Thanos had done to her.

"And I'm going to rip his throat out," she said roughly before going back to petting the animal. "It's your sleep cycle."

"Don't let that beast go. I don't want it laying eggs in me," Peter said suspiciously.

"I'm going to name it," she announced. Peter laid down to sleep. It took him longer to go to sleep after knowing the little monster onboard.

Peter didn't sleep any better. He often had bad dreams. He had dreams about Mr Stark turning to dust. The way he smiled and told Peter that it would be okay before he dusted.

This dream was the last few days before they were rescued. When they had run out of food and water and the air was going turn off soon. Peter felt the cracks on his lips. His throat painful to swallow. Nebula had gone a few more days without food. She could survive longer hungry with all of her mechanical parts. She was worried about Peter. He was laying around now. His skin thin and body bony. Peter could see the worry on her face.

Her hands ghosted over his face. His core temperature was dropping. He couldn't thermo-regulate any more. His lips cracked. Peter watched her in a haze. Peter couldn't understand why he lasted shorter as super human. He was supposed to be strong.

"Why," he crooked. Nebula moved over to him. "Why am I dying?"

"We have no food, kid. I'm going to get us saved. Okay? We'll be fine. You'll eat till you pop soon enough," she said with a false smile. The past few weeks she'd grown pretty attached to the kid.

"But I'm a superhero," Peter said softly with a weak smile.

"Still a human. I think your metabolism is super too. You have to eat a lot. We ran out a little early," she admitted. She clenched her jaw before releasing another smile.

"Makes sense. Yeah. Sorry about that," Peter said.

"No. Its Thanos fault. He's the bad guy here. Don't forget that," She said. She turned away and went back to the front.

--------------------------------------------

Peter woke up panting. He looked at his hands before relaxing. They survived. He was on the way home. He was okay. Nebula looked over at him before turning back.

"This planet you can get out," she said. Her own way of comforting Peter.

"I can?"

"It should be fairly safe. We'll be there shortly."

Peter hopped up and looked out the window. They were above a large metropolitan. Gleaming sliver and bronze buildings we're buzzing with creatures of all kinds. Peter slipped on the iron spider suit with the mask on.

"Smart. Earthlings would get attention," Nebula said. She was kinda proud of her companion. She had started to regard him as almost like a little brother. Peter waited for Nebula to walk out first. She grabbed her little monster before leaving. Peter was nervous after the last cannibal world. 2 tall elegant light green persons met the pair. They welcomed them to the world. Nebula paid them units and they motioned for a crew to do a tune up on the ship.

"We're going to sleep here tonight," Nebula said smiling. Peter gulped nervously. Was he going to be wearing a mask overnight? That wasn't super great for his skin. Nebula walked away from the landing pad and into the city.

"So you know this city?" Peter said following her.

"Oh yeah. I ran away as a kid and lived in the streets for a few months before I was caught again," Nebula said smiling.

"I don't want to be rude," Peter said ducking around a street cart. "But you need serious therapy."

"A what?" She said stopping before a stall making food. It smelled wonderful.

"Nothing."

Nebula ordered for them both. When the food arrived she was on the move again. Peter looked at the foreign food in front of him as he hurried to catch up. Nebula ate as she walked. Peter followed her lead. The flavor was unique but not a pre-made squished bar. In front of a modest building, Nebula stopped. She pulled out her purse and walked inside. Peter followed as she ordered 2 beds at a hostel. Peter sighed. He was sleeping in a mask.

Nebula laid down in her bed. Peter could see the damn little monster snuggling her. It took him a second to realize that this was her sleep cycle. A few other beds had people sleeping. Peter sat on his bed bored.

"Here, don't get in trouble. And don't get drunk," Nebula told him handing Peter some units. "Stay in the market and don't get lost."

Peter smiled. "I won't."

Permanent tag list

@meg-holland @smexylemony @flashgunashton @calum-hoodwinked-me @laucontrerasv @courtneychicken @beeloverqueen @imahoformarvel @joyfullyje @jiminiecricketz @cassiopeia-barrow @caterina4304 @nefelimalfoy

#tom holland #spiderman #avengers #peter parker #avengers 4 #avengers infinity war #marvel #spiderman far from home #spider man: homecoming #spidey #avengers infinity spoilers #nebula #thanos #allyscwc

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winter-the-selfinsert-trash · 6 years

Text

A true tragedy (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Lewis Pepper (Mystery Skulls) x Ghost Reader) (MxF)

Warnings: Implications of rape, death

Summary: After a very unfortunate event, the reader wakes up in a weird mansion, scared, alone, and dead. But they don't appear to be haunting this place alone.

Rating: Teen (14+)

Prologue

When you awoke, you were no longer laid out on the dirt. Instead, something soft and fabric like laid below you. Your immediate thought was that you were at home, that you had just fallen out of bed and were laying on the carpeted floor. But you didn't remember going home, you only remember...

Then it all came rushing back to you and you sat up abruptly. Sobs immediately began to escape you as the pain left over from the experience stung between your legs. You cried harder and harder, your life had been ruined, you had been ruined, soiled, dirtied, however you wanted to put it. You weren't sure how long you had stayed like that but eventually you stopped crying. You hadn't exactly calmed down yet but the crying had ceased and a mental numbness began to wash over you. That's when you noticed the horrible pain in your neck, a sensation you could only associate with choking, but not like the kind you got from having something in your throat. No, it was more of an applied pressure, as if some phantom hands were squeezing it unbearably tight. On instinct one of your hands trailed up to grasp at your throat, you reached and reached until you froze. You were certain you should have grabbed it by now. Your hand was all the way to where the back of your neck should be. You tried again, nothing, then again, still nothing. You repeatedly waved your hand around before frantically jumping to your feet, not even taking a moment to process your surroundings, you rushed over to the first reflective surface you saw. A shiny silver tray of some sort reflected back not the usual sight of your everyday face, but instead the image of a skeletal one, with bright indigo blue flame like hair and piercing bright blue orbs staring back in the deep dark sockets of the skull. Out of shock, you dropped the tray, it clattered loudly back into its previous spot on an old coffee table. Your eyes trailed over the table, then to the sofa across from it, then around the rest of the room. This wasn't your home nor was it any place you recognized. You had never been here before. Your breathing picked up, throat screaming in agonizing protest as the pressure was still there, you began to hyperventilate and the pain only made it worse. Tears threatened to spill over again as you panicked. A step back, another, and then another until you finally tripped over a lump in the rug below. You were back on the ground again, having a panic attack. You screamed an indescribable scream, one mixed with agony and fear and confusion. You slammed your hands into your closed eye sockets, pulling your knees to your chest.

Something shifted in the dark, startling you out of your meltdown for a moment to look around. You squinted to see anything, seeing something move out of sight at the last second. You stood up slowly, wiping the tears from your eyes but not relaxing, fear began to bubble back the surface. You wearily looked around, hearing something behind you move, you whipped around to catch sight of it, but were only met with the sight of a tea cup swiveling on its bottom to keep standing, as if something had tried to push it over. There was a soft giggle in the dark to your left and you glanced over only to once again see nothing. You grew paranoid and frantic as you tried to spot what ever was toying with you. There was another giggle, right in your ear, and with that you spun around only to catch sight of what looked like a purple tail vanish into the floor. Clearing your throat the best you could with the pain still there, you called out.

"Who goes there? Sh-show yourself!" There was a pause, before something slowly moved down from the ceiling, it almost looked like it was dangling from there if it weren't for the fact it didn't sway like it should. Instead, floating less that a foot from your face was the face of what looked like some silly stereotypical purple ghost. A glowing cartoonish yellow-orange heart floated from its chest, it had what appeared to be some spike protruding from atop its head, and the rest of it seemed to vanish into the ceiling. The two of you stared at each other for a moment before it spoke first with a soft "boo!"

And stupidly enough, it did startle you, causing you to jump back slightly and yelp. It began to giggle profusely, floating down further from the ceiling and flipping back upright. The room began to fill with the sound of multiple giggles and laughs, more of those cartoonish ghosts began to pour out of the floors and walls and ceiling. They surrounded you as they laughed mischievously amongst each other. You stared in horror, there looked to be at least fifteen of them in the room alone. And yet it sounded like it was coming from the whole house. Suddenly it all cut off abruptly, and the ghost you had been previously engaging in a staring constant with titled its head and spoke again. "You shouldn't be here, he won't be happy about this."

He? Who the hell was 'he'? "P-pardon me?" You asked in return, the ghosts seem to exchange glances and a few quiet and hushed whispers coupled with giggles.

The ghost replied again in a giggly voice, "you're not supposed to be here. He doesn't like visitors, especially not other ghosts. If I were you I'd hide."

You began to back away only to bump into several ghosts behind you, they didn't budge and some even seemed to lean in and sniff you, a few smacking their lips. One of them responded to the others in a hungry voice, "or we could eat them. Saves the boss the trouble and gives us a snack!" You froze at that, turning to scan the now hungry looking ghosts, you swallowed the lump in your throat, watching as they began to lean in and nod vigorously. And in a split second they were lunging for you and you were diving for the floor. You slid for a moment across the wooden floor before catching your footing again. And with that you took off down the first hall you saw, just aimlessly running. You could hear them giving chase, glancing over your shoulder you could see they were practically climbing over each other in pursuit of you. You quickly returned your attention back to where you were going.

You tried everything to shake them, turning sharp corners, hiding behind objects, hell even attempting to confuse them with zig zag motions. Finally you decided to try one last thing, skidding around a corner, you grabbed the door knob to the first door you could reach and swiftly went inside, quietly shutting the door behind you. You backed away from the door slowly, listening to the approaching sounds of the hungry hisses of the ghosts. It quickly passed your room and you relaxed immediately. After a few moments of making sure they weren't still near or coming back, just by sound alone, you finally poked your head out. Once you saw that they were no where in sight. You took off in the opposite direction. After at least two minutes of running, you finally slowed down to a comfortably slow walk. You took this time to relax and take in your surroundings again. Your eyes trailed over the many paintings, trying to ignore the fact that all the eyes on them followed you as you walked. It was spooky sure, but much calmer than before, and it gave you time to finally process what all had just happened. The 'he' they were referring to, they had called him boss, perhaps he was the owner of this place? Also what did they mean by 'especially other ghosts'? Were there others here? Would they try to eat you too? Would the man they spoke of try to?

You didn't have much time to ponder this as the sound of that familiar voice of one of the ghosts ripped you from your thoughts, "there she is!"

You gasped, looking back to see they had found you once again, so in a panic you took off running without taking your eyes off them. Just as you were about to look where you were going, you ran face first into something solid and bounced back, tripping onto the floor. The sound of the ghosts persuing you came to an abrupt halt as they all seemed to stop and cower in fear at what ever was standing over you. So with great reluctance, you slowly looked up at what you had hit.

There, right above you, glaring coldly at the crowd of purple ghosts which seemed to be mostly dissipating as many of them vanished into the walls and ceiling, was a sharply dressed skeletal man, bright magenta flamed hair in the classical shape of the pompadour. His fists clenched slightly, squinting at the remaining ghosts who only whimpered in response. You gaped slightly before a shuttering breath left you, that seem to grab his attention as is head suddenly snapped down to stare directly at you. His bright purple eyes, glowing deep in the dark sockets of his skull, seemed to stare through you and pierce your soul. So you quickly averted your eyes to the same cartoonish golden heart on his right breast. It matched the ones of the other ghosts, so you concluded that this must be who they called 'boss'.

Finally the man spoke in a deep, cold, and dark voice, "who are you and how did you get here?"

#lewis pepper #mystery skulls lewis #mystery ben productions #mystery ben #lewis x reader #lewis pepper x reader #mystery skulls lewis x reader #ghost reader #mystery skulls

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