writin n trigger warnings below tha cut ♡ unfinished..

(Restricted) Oc lore

Angelvitiated (sickheadedangel)

published: 2025-03-18

author notes:

tags/trigger warnings:

 Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, poetry at times (?), Blood and Violence, Blood and Injury, Drowning, Resurrection, angel protagonist, Mental Breakdown, Psychosis, Broken Bones, Unrelenting devotion, Emotional Manipulation, Abuse, Mindfuck, Mental Disintegration, surprisingly no sexual assault or stuff, Secondary Drowning, Kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome, Cult-like aspects, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Heavily Metaphorical, and also not, dove shot dead like 4 times, This is my OC - Freeform, i am projecting, yes my lore is insane, Vomiting, photophobia, Manipulation

writing:

 She would sit there and touch her face, trace her lips. Feeling the patterns of fingertips along the estuaries of her features was a greater voyage than sailing the blood in her veins. She had seen blood, lakes of life between old wood; that had been stripped like the knees of a child. A crude game of hopscotch was etched into the driveway, and inside lakes dwindled to rivers. Wet and hot. Her fingers crawled like spiders up her mouth. The vast body of water beyond her was a different color than the ones at her feet, staining her ivory socks. She had found it to be much more pleasant. Mesmerizing, almost, Watching moonlight spark up waves with such a gentle shimmer. She gazed over it in her despondence, her friend. They watched the last bit of light to grace her eyes. It was like fire’s other half lent her solace, breath in the form of a sea breeze when her insides were battered. It made her taste salt, made her fingers stick to her skin. She took a drag from an invisible cigarette, though her lungs crackled as if the burn existed somewhere outside of her. It was a behavior observed many times.

Most often when he was in thought, as was she. Was it wise to thank the moon? So kind as to share such a sight with this unfortunate girl. Misplaced gratitude was a grave sin, she thought. Retribution weighed on her mind too heavily to remain. She turned her back to the moon, and its kind gestures. Her veins felt as if they were freezing over. A silent prayer hung in the air as the waves threatened to crash over her throat. Nothing stopped, of course. The breeze still brushed her shoulders with its care. The glitter in the distance still stretched around, still reminded her of how little there was. Stars were the only light for miles other than the sick, bright yellow through torn lace in window panes. And yet she surrendered to it, told herself she favored it. She needed to return to what was right. Every creak of the wooden porch steps acted as the bell on her collar. Their vendetta for her insolence on full display, taunting her, leering at her from below. It made her legs wobble over them even harder. Her hushed apologies for spreading gore onto their faces were futile. The door betrayed her too, with a preternatural screech as she attempted to slink in. She could hear his muffled barks to the other end of the phone line. Someone, over something; She had lost that inquisitive demeanor which annoyed him so terribly.

Emptiness bit her with his toothless gums. And the ceiling lights pressed her back against the front door. It seemed to forgive her. Compliant, with soft pressure and only the sound of the latch’s click, but the synthetic sun pouring down from this close sky wasn’t giving her as much grace. It made her head waft and spin like smoke. A hazy gaze between the chaise and the stained carpet beneath her. She could barely believe it was once white, as well as the walls. Faintly floral patterned paper stripping off to show insulation. Shamefully, it seemed. Her knees kissed and her hair frayed between the chipping paint and her silky slip, between the friction of her dizziness and the rare rise and fall of a breath. She could still hear the waves, echoing out around her skull. No longer a peaceful seaside melancholy but a vicious attempt to drown her brain in its own spinal fluid. Crashing over, and over, and over, the sound of the landline’s click muddied into the crackling of the AC unit. It was as if the dial tone came through inside her throat, not on the other end to whichever poor soul had to face his tirade. She had a limp expression. Her tongue seemed to be trying to part the seas, and her lashes cast shade over any light that could reflect in her slit eyes. They rolled down to blood-slicked carpet. She had dragged it in from outdoors. The fact she had further marred that once-pristine carpet horrified her more than the bleeding ever could. Her eyes glazed back up her legs to her knees, ruined. Stripped. They looked as if they were blooming roses, She could see it on the bottom of left hand too, and her right knuckles – though those were more akin to slits. Bite marks. Bite marks… She repeated it like a mantra, a note in a bottle meant to somehow surface in this virile sea. Hollow horror washed over her as the pieces clicked, had she bitten herself? To be a dog with sharp teeth was a fate she so deeply feared. Snapping at anything that moved, for scraps won rather than given. Sinking its teeth into rotten things. Vexedly howling until it’s throat burned. Her throat burned, and the sensation set a more comforting warmth through her body. Right, she would never be aggressive. Never be out of line. She was simply hollowing out her stomach in the grass, by the sea, with her sweet company. She could see it mixed in with the blood now, her eyes never leaving that vitiated fluff.

“Tch”

A sharp chupse stopped her from drowning in her thoughts. There he was, positively negative. Agitated, active, acerbic. All that she was not. Her warm reprieve was all too quickly snuffed out when she saw his expression, her horror returned twofold and she thought she may have it in her to hurl again. But her eyes kept ever-dull as she saw his soften. A false sense of security, but she was long past understanding the concept of a lie. So the sea’s waves would still, as well as her breathing while she watched him watch her. She didn’t understand why she still felt so threatened.

“You’re really just makin’ a mess all of my floors.” He flicked a loose hand up and around in the air. His tone was sweet. Sweet, not loving. Not passive. You could hear the boiling anger that threatened to spill over, the sticky molasses that was overcompensation. How the wrong syllables were drawn out in such a mockery of fondness. You could hear it, maybe, but this poor girl couldn’t. Nor did she notice how open-endedly he phrased it. He wasn’t mad, he wasn’t pardoning her. He almost was musing.

‘I know,” It came out soft, flat, and quiet. Devoid of any spirit, and more genuine than he would ever be. Her eyes drooped down to match, from a mixture of her unquestioned affection and that ever glaring ceiling light. So yellowed. It didn’t help hide the stains at all. It only made them look worse. Everything was so yellow, Sickening. She could feel herself only growing dizzier. “I’m sorry. I can clean. I didn’t mean to bleed on things again. I don’t know why it hasn’t stopped yet.” Anxiety crept into every aspect of her when she delivered that last line. It was undoubtedly her fault, because he had told her. It was a much earlier time, but she remembered it as well as she did anything else he said. When he took a knife to her wrists over the kitchen sink, she asked him what it was for. He said ‘once all that blood was gone’ she wouldn’t ‘ruin his things anymore’. It seemed she still had some left in her.

“Stop-stopped..?” He curled a lip at her in agitated confusion. What on earth was she spouting now?Although the rip in his fragile-woven façade was sewn together as soon as he tore it apart. Only a fool or an animal could believe his actions came from anywhere close to the long hollowed out quarry he would refer to as a heart, and she no longer had half a brain to be fooled. As empty as that place with gemstones stolen from the earth when he could no longer afford to buy them for himself, no matter how shriekingly she may cry out in her loss. To adorn his teeth and his fingers while the flesh beneath rots. A row of pearls glinted between softening lips as he drew his tongue over them, if only to make it silver. “Riiight… It hasn’t. Shame. Shame…” He shook his head with a dismissive smile, her breath bated as he approached.

“Oh, but what can ya’ do,” He spoke with such grating saccharine, like granules of brown sugar caught right between the places you can’t reach. Her shoulders closed in on themselves as he cornered her in, back to the front door. He was too kind, too passive about her transgressions… it pooled fear worse than any raw aggression could dream of. “Not like you’re keepin’ it on purpose.”

Dizzy, glazed eyes, panicked breaths, shivering like a child with a fever. She was eye candy. He curled a finger around one of her golden waves, slick with grease, blood, and vomit as always. She didn’t notice how her shoulders were working like a merry-go-round against her chest. “I’m not…” She whispered, her voice gliding along her shaky exhales with the only ounce of grace left in a place like his.

“I know. Come on, sit with me, ████.” Haste was given no room to linger as he made his way to the chaise sat quaint in that narrow foyer. Stained and yellow. What wasn’t? She perked up at the sound of her own name and followed suit. She hadn’t wholly attached a meaning to it, hadn’t registered it to be the definition or label of oneself. If anything it was a command. ████; perk up. ████; look at me. ████; pay attention. It always preceded the unknown. Though, she found herself resting comfortably on his chest while he slouched over the arm, drumming his hand against a dresser drawer. Irregular but melodic. It lulled her into a drowsiness that was no longer born from photophobia. If she listened closely enough, she could start to hear it in his chest. The bass drum droning into sledge-hammering. Breaking the knees of nature yet again.

She shifted closer, trying to mold her body into as much of his as she could manage. He was warm on the outside, and all her heat had come to pool around her heart. Blood and everything else so intimate rubbed off onto his already revolting clothes. Her heart rate and his idling motions played in a quick tandem, only to be joined by her breath against his collar. She dove her face right into the crook when a gentle, loving hand tangled through her hair and caressed. She couldn’t help but faintly shiver… she was buzzing, naturally, with all the sticky-sweetness that came to well up inside of her. The only thing keeping her grounded enough to not hover away to the soft demesne of sleep.

But a man like him would never see peace as anything other than a weapon of the highest caliber. Especially not after she knocked him off his guard as horribly as she did. It was a nasty, blossoming red and black bruise on his brittle-boned ego. Unheard of. Unforgivable. But he flicked a freezer-burnt smile at her buried face when he saw it. *how docile*, he thought to himself, *how dumb.* And he was right. As docile and dumb as they come. Weak-willed and blind. A dog with a hurt paw. A perfect victim for sickening cowardice.

“████, girl…” He patted her head where the gold silk wrapped and clung around his flesh. Snaking its way into the drawer he’d played rhythms on was his free hand, rummaging idly. Her head peeled up slow to reveal groggy eyes and a deep trepidation, “Not fallin’ asleep on me now, are ya?” The gentle shakes of her head side-to-side were halted by his fingers tracing down to her cheek. Fluorescent rays continued their assault on her fragile little eyes while she leaned into the fluttering touches. The squinting only made her look impressively more disoriented. “Good, good… Sit up…” He coaxed her like a frightened child. He doted like a chronic care nurse. Her ineptitude was his high. And his attention was her sedative.

That drugged-up angel followed suit as fast as she could. Her eyes really never left him, always darting around or gratingly fixated. Wide but never bright. Caught between such a natural inquisitivity and years of beaten-in caution. Her head lolled just barely to her left and her fingers twiddled mesmerizing patterns in anticipation.

His right hand was still concealed beneath the side table. He dragged the other down her hair a final time before he spoke, “You trust me?” His malice was barely concealed behind his cavity-inducing farce. He didn’t have to try around her. All he had to do was not trip those base instinctual alarm bells so rudely hung around her head. Perhaps they could be cut down with dull blades in due time, too, if not rendering her utterly boring.

Her breath hitched. Did she trust him, oh, how could she not. He hadn’t done anything that hurt for too long to her. Never without reason, He saved her, He brought her to the light. He was her god, and she looked up at him like that was the only thing she knew. “With everything in me…” She sighed out at long last. She worried. Did he doubt her faith? Had she misbehaved? Her shivers returned with twice the fervor and none the warmth. The lights felt even brighter now, When did they not?

(aah hi.. today i am editin.. n it's been farrr over a year.. anythin beyond this point is recent, n i 've had a lot of mental decline.. so please forgive me if it isn't as pretty as everythinf before :c)

How sweet. She could have been singing his praises like thousands of angels. Music, to, his, ears. "Yeah, that so? Everythin' in you?" His lip curled it's finger in a beckon; smirking, slightly disgusted by her pathetic displays. "D'ya' even know what's left? What if there's not anything? What if your body's just as empty as you head, huh, girl?" Her eyes flutter up in her shock. True, shock aaah omgosh i cnt write

(this is where it ends off... for now ♡ ill update whn i get around to it)