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absentmindeduniverse · 2 years ago

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New Year's Kiss.

Masterlist of this series

Comments/Notes/Housekeeping: Thank you to everyone who reblogged and commented on my last of the RA Character Headcanon Series. I appreciate it very much. I know I sound like a broken record, but please do consider a reblog if you like a post, and if you wish to be added on to my tag lists, please let me know. You are also very welcome to request head canons as well, so I can continue on with this series and open it up to a lot more scenarios.

This head canon post was requested by @sweetestgbye Thank you very much, hun. You're very welcome to request head canons with these 9 characters. Just send the request via my ask box, please. This instalment will focus on how all the characters handle a New Year kiss more precisely, a kiss which involves you, the reader. Enjoy!

GUY OF GISBORNE: Guy takes you to a secluded area, wanting to get you out of the way of everyone. He takes your hand and begins talking about new beginnings and asks if you'll begin a new adventure with him. Then the two of you kiss beneath the stars.

RAY LEVINE: Ray is nervous as hell around you. He's liked you for as long as he's known you. The two of you are at his flat, watching the countdown on TV, and as it happens and the party-goers on the screen start screaming "HAPPY NEW YEAR!" you think to yourself, "Fuck it" and pull Ray in for a kiss.

FATHER LORENZO QUART: New Year means very little to Father Quart. It's just another day of the week for him, but he knows you love celebrating the change of the year. He breaks open a bottle of champagne and just as the clock strikes midnight, you clink your glasses together and lean in for a kiss.

THORIN OAKENSHIELD: The Dwarves know how to party and as midnight begins to roll around quickly, you and Thorin notice that there are fewer Dwarves still standing, and even less sober. But when the moment arrives, you realise how Dis and Dwalin have purposefully moved you both closer together, manoeuvring you across the hall, until you cannot escape that New Year kiss. Thorin knows the tradition and with flushed cheeks, he offers you a sign of his intention to court you.

FRANCIS DOLARHYDE: Francis spends the evening with you as he lives alone. You've invited him to your apartment to see in the New Year and, as you stand in your garden and the fireworks begin to soar into the sky and burst open in an array of colours, you place a gentle kiss on Francis' lips.

JOHN THORNTON: The two of you are at a large gathering of people whom your families know, as friends and business partners. It's getting closer to midnight and John knows he wishes to kiss you, just not in front of all these people. At a minute before midnight, he checks his pocket watch and asks you to accompany him to his balcony, and there as the local clock strikes midnight, he offers you a kiss.

RAYMOND DE MERVILLE: Raymond has no interest in the changing of the years and seasons. But when the two of you are at his father's annual feast, which welcomes in the change of the year, you go to him and kiss him with no warning. He scowls at you at first, wanting to know what the kiss was for. But as you smile at him, he can't help but reciprocate that smile.

JOHN PORTER: John has had enough of partying in his younger years and wants to spend a quiet night in front of the TV. So he invites you over, his colleague. You're excited for the night ahead; the two of you have fancied each other for months. And as Big Ben chimes 12 on the TV, John sees his chance and sweeps you into a kiss.

LUCAS NORTH: The two of you go for a drink after work together. Lucas has been invited to a work party with some of his colleagues who aren't on call, but he's made an excuse, just so he can be with you instead. The two of you are close friends, and after your drink, the two of you walk together, not realising the time. Fireworks begin to bang in the distance. Lucas stops. You stop. He smiles, and then cups your cheek, drawing you into a kiss.

***

Follow Forever tag list: @lathalea @i-did-not-mean-to @xxbyimm @middleearthpixie @meganlpie @linasofia @knittastically @luna-xial @asgardianhobbit98 @guardianofrivendell @sunflwrnsunnieshine @msjava1972 @rachel1959 @eunoiaastralwings @lemond57 @tschrist1 @quiall321 @evenstaredits @missihart23

Guy of Gisborne tag list: @puggledy-huggledy-is-not-a-pig @whoooooisthis

Thorin Oakenshield tag list: @braidedheart

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antimonyandthyme · 8 months ago

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carcar the last of us au snippet

warnings: past character death, descriptions of the infected, descriptions of use of weapons and violence

What Carlos wants to say, in a way fashioned entirely after his father: That grave is about as deep as it needs to be. No one has the luxury to mourn. Stop fucking around and move on or die standing still.

What he actually says: “Do you need help?”

“No,” Oscar says, curt. “I should be the one to lay him to rest.”

“Okay,” Carlos says.

Maybe it’ll help Oscar, and Carlos shouldn’t begrudge him that. Help him avoid the scenario in which every infected thereafter shared facial characteristics with Charles. Max. A pretty mouth, a strong jaw. It’s his fault, after all. Carlos should have taken the time to bury all of that under the dirt. But all he could do was run.

There’s an almost relaxing rhythmic sound to the ground being hacked up, and a different kind of tanginess to the smell of fresh earth that lets him forget about blood for a moment.

He could be kind, sit at the foot of the grave and listen to Oscar talk about Logan. Why he thought coming back to where they grew up was a good idea. All these good ideas crumbling to dust, at every town they've witnessed that has eaten itself from the inside out.

Carlos closes his eyes. He doesn’t quite know what to do with another faceless loss, can’t add another number to his collection.

And anyway, Oscar's seen his fair share. He’s too good with the shovel for this to be his first.

Carlos clears his throat, when Oscar's finally done placing some leafy branch at the head of the grave. Flowers. On a grave. That’s some doe-eyed rose-tinted bullshit. There’s a strangled bird, caged somewhere to the left of Carlos’ chest. He doesn’t allow that bird any food or warmth or hope, for fear of softness. Can’t be soft if you want to survive.

“We should move,” he says.

“We?” Oscar reels his head up. The loss carving its way down his cheeks haven’t fully dried, but he looks hopeful, almost like a lost dog. With how Carlos acts, he probably hadn't expected an offer like this. It should've been cut and dry. Getting you to your city, in exchange for a car battery.

“It’s a simple question,” Carlos says. “Are you coming?”

If he wasn’t already fucked all ways to Sunday, making his way along this forsaken earth with two rounds of ammunition and less than a quart tank of gas left, he’s definitely fucked now, adding a bleeding heart to their journey. But Carlos imagines Charles’ face if he were to leave a kid behind and—damn him for that. For being a ghost and still demanding good of him.

“Yes,” Oscar says.

Arguments and energy spent on arguments should be saved for the important things. Carlos throws what’s left of their shit into the back of the trunk, and wordlessly, gets into the driver’s seat.

“I’m just saying.” Oscar’s insistent. He’s spent the first half an hour of the journey staring vacantly out the window, but apparently, country music’s where he draws the line. “If for some reason this car caught on fire—”

“Don’t you even dare,” Carlos says. The thought of losing the Sienna makes him want to shrivel up and die. With luck, they managed to jack a vehicle with a working CD player. Tunes are a necessity in what is essentially a never-ending road trip. “I don’t want to think about it.”

“If it did,” Oscar says, “and I only had time to save one album—”

“Zach Bryan,” Carlos says.

“No,” Oscar says flatly.

“Dios mio. I should have left you back there.”

“You nearly did,” Oscar points out, but it doesn’t sound accusing. At Carlos’ furtive glance, he shrugs. “No hard feelings. I know what you’re doing.”

“Yeah?” Carlos doesn’t like the sound of that, gets his back all up. Ten and two on the wheel, lest he reaches for Oscar’s shirt to shake him until his teeth rattle. “What am I doing?”

“Self-defense,” Oscar says.

“I really should have left you.”

“I didn’t mean that in a bad way.” Seemingly chastised, Oscar digs his teeth into his lower lip. Charles used to do that too, before he acquired the ability to unhinge his jaw and take larger bites. “You look out for your own, right?”

Carlos wonders if Oscar can see his trauma for what it is. The way Carlos has been tuned toward Oscar in the passenger seat, as if an infected would crash through the windscreen at any second. The way he’d swerve right, driver’s seat to the road, without a second thought, if it meant his neck would be exposed instead of Oscar’s.

He’s got nothing to offer but his own body.

“I’m doing such a great job of it.”

“Mate,” Oscar says warily. If he could hedgehog his way any further into the car’s upholstery, he would be so far back he’d be invisible by now. Zach croons in the staticky background, There ain’t no world in which I am good for you. Ain’t no world, now or ever. “I wasn’t saying you weren’t.”

“No, really,” Carlos says, a little hysterically, “I’m doing such a great job—”

There were things in the world that should not have applied to Charles. Spend upwards of two months to four years with him and you’d start to imagine that his fingernails never got dirty, or that his smile never got ugly, or that his face never got bloodied.

But he turned like everyone else.

His skin bleached itself until every single vein was visible, and his eyes lost all recognition. He could still speak, for the first bit. Said their names in what was almost a parody. Cahlos. Cahhhlos.

“We have to,” Max couldn’t finish his sentence, though he kept trying. “We have to—”

Charles lunged for them like a rabid animal. They cringed, but the tire chains wound around Charles hold fast, and he shrunk back. Before lunging again, and again. If Carlos were a better man, he’d put Charles out of his misery. Too bad he was a big fucking coward.

“Don’t,” Carlos hissed, absolutely feral, when Max squared his shoulders and took a step forward. “Don’t touch him.”

Max’s chest rose and fall in rapid succession. His eyes were glassy and hollow. Max, who Carlos had never seen shed a tear once, who they all joked would survive them all. He looked a gentle tap away from breaking. “This isn’t about our stupid feelings, it’s about what Charles would have wanted.”

“Fuck you,” Carlos said, to nobody in particular. To maybe himself. Charles was his responsibility when they went on the raid for food, and Charles was still his responsibility now. Till the end. He’d shown Carlos the bite on his calf, almost guiltily, and remained docile and quiet when Carlos wrapped him in chains, while Carlos breathed through what was most definitely a panic attack.

Easy, Carlos. You’ve got to care of Max now. Easy, come on, breathe Carlos. It doesn’t hurt much, not now anyway. Just. Do me a favour. Make it quick, alright?

Cahhhhlos.

“I’ll take care of it,” Carlos said, because all of this was his fault. In the chaos at the grocery store, he got separated from Charles for a harrowing two and half minutes. That was all it took. “Just. Just give me a moment. Just give me a second, alright?”

Charles snarled, snapping his teeth against the metal biting into his skin. This couldn’t be how Carlos remembered him.

“I’ll do it in the morning,”Carlos promised. I’ll do it after sunrise, so he gets to see it one last time.

In the morning, this is what he found:

Charles, chest cavity open, lying still like he was peacefully asleep.

And Max, bleeding out from a bite wound in his forearm, the gun used to lay Charles to rest tucked at his feet. His skin was paper white, but his eyes were still bright.

“I fucked up,” Max said. It was the way he said it. Completely accepting and calm. It made Carlos drop to his knees and hack out the nothing he had left in his stomach. Bile burned his throat raw. “I thought I could do it, so you wouldn’t have to. Sorry.”

Carlos trembled, pushed his forehead into the ground. The entire world was bearing down on him like a magnifying glass on an ant. He didn’t want to look up. If he didn’t look up, then this didn’t have to be real.

“Carlos,” Max said, more gently than Carlos had ever heard him. By some magnetic, supernatural force, it lifted Carlos’ head from the dirt. Max had enough in him to kick the gun over to Carlos, and life in him yet for the corner of his mouth to twitch up. “You can do it.”

Carlos shook his head mutely.

The expression on Max’s face morphed into something unfamiliar. Pleading. It would carry itself into Carlos’ nightmares and every single infected running after him after. “You can. Just don’t fuck it up this time.”

“I’m,” Oscar says. He sounds heartbroken for people he doesn’t even know. “I’m sorry about your friends.”

“You didn’t know,” Carlos says. He never should have said anything. Maybe it’s the kid, snapping, I should be the one to do it. Mirrors are a relic of the past, but Carlos looks at Oscar and sees the same jagged stubbornness lining all his edges. “I’m sorry about Logan.”

They pass the rest of the drive in silence.

#athy texts #fanfic #rpf #carcar #please heed the warnings #hey remember when #remember when naughty dog built up two characters that you fell in love with #killed one of them off #made you despise the character who killed him #AND THEN made you play 10+ hours of gameplay using the character you despised?#YEA I REMEMBER THAT TOO #anyway #this is carlos as joel and oscar as ellie #guess what happens at the end!!!!!#guess!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#tlou au

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jamneuromain · 2 months ago

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Wild Child Chapter 7

Series Summary:

As the granddaughter of the sole Duke in your country, you know that you were going to marry some douche prince, because it is the only way to solidify the grasp the future king has on the Upper House. On the flight home, you come up with a brilliant plan to defy your upcoming matrimony.

Bringing a random man to your grandfather's place, and say you have a boyfriend already.

"Is there anything else I should know about? Before I meet your family?" Ari cocks his head to the side, watching you adjusting your cerulean Valentino dress when you wave your hand dismissively.

"Just say we're in love and help me get out of marrying this D-bag."

Ari Levinson x You

#i didn't know he is my fiance-douchebag-prince

#when i did, it was too late

A/N: I'm sorry it took me LITERAL half a year before squeezing(?) out a new chapter😬😅 thank you all for loving WC!Ari and Reader, and last but not least, a huge thanks to @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory who is betaing for this fic ;)

Your father had been surprisingly kind after the incident. Granting you limited but nevertheless, freedom outside. And your phone. You got your phone back, which is good news. Great, even.

Only that you did not have anyone to call.

Not that you had any chance of making friends while you were in Ancetol – your father made sure of that - nor in a foreign land where you could not risk sharing your true identity with people you know.

So many numbers. So many contacts. Stored in your phone.

With no one to call and no one to confide in without them blurting to their tabloids or their friends. Their real friends.

Your finger hovered above one particular name on the phone screen. One particular contact.

Your finger tapped on it.

It was ten pm.

Who sleeps at ten pm?

“Hello?” A sleepy groggy voice greeted you through the speaker.

You could've come on the spot if he talked to you like that again.

“Old age creeping up on ya’? It’s ten pm and I didn’t think you’d be sleeping.”

Ari, on the other hand, sighed heavily. Pushing himself up from the bed and massaging his eyes with the heel of his palm, “Could we talk during a more humanly hour, Your Highness?”

“Eh-no.”

“Christ.” He grumbled, “What do you need, then?”

If he was being honest, Ari was very much disturbed at this time of night, very grumpy, and very agitated. No one could keep his emotions under check when being woken up out of the blue, no even he was the soon-to-be King of this bloody country.

Aside from the shallow breathing, the other end of this call had just become very quiet.

“I’m sorry.” After a small while of silence, you apologized quietly, “I’m sorry for disturbing your sleep. I will talk to you in the morning.”

“You should.” Grunted Ari in an almost sarcastic way.

He felt bad for snapping at you, but also for him not behaving properly. It was … uncommon for him to act this way. More often than not, he was able to control himself, no matter the circumstance.

But the silence. The silence from your side. That was what had been bothering him. The silence felt weak. It felt unnatural. It did not feel like the usual you. Being oblivious to the world and the people in it. You were kind, sure, but a glimpse of indifference he had spotted from you during your earlier coffee date whispered otherwise. You were unattached, to your home, your family, and the world. And this silence, whatever human emotion was behind it, demonstrated a different you.

A true you, it seemed. Because according to his observation, you shouldn’t care. About the disturbance. About waking him up.

“Sorry.” He said, as softly as he could with his hoarse throat, “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No. No, you’re right. I should call you in the morning.” You apologized again, carefully.

Was it the night that rendered you defenseless? Or was that he, out of the most impossible scenarios, gained a spectrum of respect and entered your “inner circle”?

He shivered at the thought. He couldn’t imagine himself as the glamorous quarterback from the American high schools. This contract you had was strictly professional. No feelings were involved. Not now, not ever.

…but there sure would be a ton of feelings if you ever found out that he was the “wimp douche” you were talking about.

“Good night, Guy.”

“Wait!”

His brain responded before he was able to comprehend what he was doing.

“…Guy?” Your voice layered with a thin veil of uncertainty, asking softly.

“I’m …” He made up an excuse, poorly, “awake, anyway. We can … talk, if you want.”

No, he was not. Not fully awakened.

“I don’t know what to say.” You admitted rather bluntly, whispering another sorry.

He rattled his brain for topics, “Something that couples talk about? Like what did you have for dinner? Or if your dad is acting like a dick again?”

His hindsight warned him after a few seconds that your father might be a somewhat sensitive topic for you that he should not have brought up in the first place.

“Sorry.” He murmured, “Your father is … probably not a nice topic.”

You chuckled through the phone, making his heart thump like a teenager.

“But the allergic comment served him well. So, thank you.” He could imagine a small smile on your face as you said so.

“None needed.” Ari found a pair of Bluetooth earbuds on the desk nearby, and put them on his ears, leaving his phone on the bed before heading to the kitchen for a glass of water, “Your father still wants you to marry the … prince?” He was about to say “the douche”, but then he realized he was talking about himself.

Your voice less enthusiastic, “The wedding’s going as planned. Got a few errands to run. About to visit a kindergarten and take photos. In three days or so.”

“You don’t like kids?”

The silence was pretty much all the answer he needed.

Ari chugged down some cold water, standing barefoot in his kitchen, and a brilliant idea came to mind. “How ��bout I take you out?”

“What?”

He imagined your eyes widening and your lips slightly apart out of his abrupt proposal.

“Take you out, as in, on a date. Fake date – real date, your call.” His hand tugged on his locks by the root, as his mind ran full speed to construct this idea, “So you’d have something to think about when you are doing the photo op.”

You chuckled, “Not sure the kids would appreciate it if I lost focus when I’m supposed to be a kind and caring motherly figure – princess.”

“Hey,” He reminded you, “I’m here to help you have fun, right? Besides, what kind of boyfriend am I if I don’t take you out for a date?”

“The fake kind?” You offered.

“Not helping.” He mused. “I’ll call you when I get everything in place. Meanwhile, try not to kill your dad, okay?”

A small while of silence.

His heart grew softer at each fragment of speechless moments you had. Each subtly implying that you were more than what you led others to believe. A tender layer beneath the hard crust. Like a crisp little bun fresh out of the oven.

Was he feeling … sympathy?

“You better hurry because I’m browsing Amazon for cyanide.” You paused briefly, “And kerosene.”

That made him laugh, “Let me rephrase that. Try not to get caught.”

A small smile made its way onto your lips, “Why, you are not planning to bail me out?”

“No, I’m planning our getaway car. Isn’t that what good boyfriends do?”

Your heart skipped a beat, “I have to consult my lawyers before answering that.”

He chuckled. The smooth baritone sounded more comforting than ever before. “I will call you after the getaway car is ready.”

“Good plan, my fake boyfriend.”

“Good night, girlfriend.”

“Good night, Guy.”

You hung up first. But for some reason, you stared at the phone in your hand for a long time, before slipping under the covers and allowing the dreamless sleep to take over.

Ari insisted that it was a surprise. He would not tell you where you were going or what you should prepare for it, only telling you “to dress casually," so you picked a thin dress with floral patterns.

Having picked up at your doorstep, you were half surprised by how fast your father agreed to this “date”, and half curious about where your fake boyfriend would be taking you.

Ari chose a white henley and a pair of khakis, with sunglasses on top of his head, as if you were going on a vacation. Sitting in the driver’s seat, he told you to buckle up before hitting the gas pedal of the Black SUV.

“Beach?”

“Nope.” He popped the “p” at the end.

“Um, mountains.” You took another guess.

“Two strikes, Your Highness.”

“Does it have anything to do with outdoor activities?” And before he could answer, you narrowed your eyes and said, “That’s a question. It doesn’t count as another strike.”

He shook his head and his tone grew lighter and happier, “Not in the slightest.”

“Then why the sunglasses?”

“Because my eyes are terribly sensitive to lights.” He looked pouty? Was this grown man pouting at you? “I have baby-blue eyes, haven’t you noticed?” Ari released a dramatically sad sigh, “You are being the worst girlfriend, not noticing the color of my eyes.”

“Worst fake girlfriend.” You corrected him, clearing your throat as you felt the blood rushing to your face, “Don’t tell me you are getting attached.”

“Attached to what? What attached?” He let out a sharp gasp, too sharp to be true.

“Baby-blue eyes are cute, Guy,” You brushed your hair from your face, turning to look at the streets, hiding the smile on your face, “Playing dumb? Not cute.”

“You like your men smart?”

“I like my -” You put a halt before giving his question a thorough analysis inside your head, “Oh, I like you better when you are not dumb.”

“Is that a compliment?” Ari quirked up his brow. You could not see his eyes under the sunglasses, but you suspected that his eyes were gleaming in triumph as he continued, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

“See it for yourself,” Ari smirked, pulling over by the curb.

He opened your side of the door at light speed, taking your hand so you would not stumble while getting out of the car. Surprisingly, he did not let go when you stepped onto the solid ground. He took it for granted to take your hand as you walked to the mall gate.

“Is this …” You eyed him nervously.

“This is.” He confirmed your thoughts.

“A mall.”

“The biggest one in Ancetol.” He helpfully supplied.

You had only seen it a few times from the outside. There was not a lot of free time on your timetable when you were scheduled to be the future queen of the country.

All the people. All the shop assistants. All the phones and cameras.

“This is going to make my father’s life miserable.” And yours too.

“Probably not.”

“Why?” You looked at him skeptically.

He presented an annoying smile, a cunning one. Like cat got the cream. Like the kind of smile which you knew something was up, and he was deliberately keeping this from you.

You hate him. You hate not knowing. You hate being kept in the dark.

He pushed the door open in front of you, and gestured you to step inside.

Apart from the shiny marble pavements and sparkling lights from each floor, which made your eyes hurt just a bit. You were more astonished by what was inside. Or rather, what’s lacking inside.

It was …

“…empty.” You murmured.

Not empty-empty, well, you wouldn’t phrase it like that. It was more like empty, as in, no tourists dwindling along the cosmetic section of the mall, asking the shop assistants which she would recommend; no crying babies and anxious mothers, each making life difficult for another; no … customers.

Staff and assistants were occupied. Taking their positions.

“How did you-”

You turned around to look at him.

“Clear it out?” He shrugged, “A favor from the owner.”

It was really no big deal if the Prince wanted this place all to himself for one day.

“Surprised? Touched? Wanted to thank me?” He removed his sunglasses from the bridge of his nose to the top of his head, “C’mon, I’m waiting.”

He didn’t know why he just had to be cocky. An asshole.

Went matching his playboy profile, yes, but.

He isn’t – wasn’t like this.

The scent of your perfume, something light, tingling, sweet and quiet, softly reached the tip of his nose.

“Thank you.” You whispered, pressing a small kiss to his bearded cheek.

Ari grew envy of his beard all of a sudden.

He should have shaven this morning.

Taglist (also tagging those who might be interested: @irishhappiness @patzammit @identity2212 @lokislady82 @petalj

@thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @magnificentsaladllama @xx-rennyxx @cringeycookies

@autumnrose40 @hawkeyes-queen @vonalyn @theliheat @boo8008

@mrsevans90 @bradfordmyworld @delldenaro @molisighs @otpcutie

@clockworkballerina

Find the Wild Child Masterlist here 👈

Questions? Comments? 👉Send them to my inbox 👂

#ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x you #ari levinson x female reader #ari levinson smut #ari levinson fluff #prince!ari levinson #royalty au #ari levinson fanfiction #ari levinson #wild child

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angellurgy2 · 6 months ago

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Wormom

new story time ^-^ trying out some weirder shit this time

content: worms and abusive mothering. thats all you need to know

_____________________________

doll’s mother is not a good person. she never was. since the day of her birth, her mother looked down at her with disgust. her father used to “joke” all the time about how she begged him to go into the nursery and switch doll with another baby. that was before he left too. not that he helped, his presence meant mom just had to dodge his gaze. go behind closed doors with her evil. though he wasn’t good in his paternal behaviour either, one of doll’s few comforts is knowing her father hated her mother too. it’s been just them for an infinitely long amount of time now, closely quarted, virile disgust insulated inside and left to stew. it swiftly became prey locked in with predator, like leaving a cat alone with a fish bowl, or letting a child wander into the tiger cage.

the marble kitchen island quakes as two boney white hands slam down in front of doll’s sunken face. mother screaches like a harpy. decades of cigarette smoke and opiate usage slowly abrading her insides have left her with an ever-present coalegenic grate to her voice that has haunted doll’s ears her entire life.

PAY ATTENTION

doll’s needed for something today, so says mother. her calloused and torched hands grasp fiendishly at the black sleeves of doll’s hoodie and pull her off of her seat, sending her crashing into the filthy linoleum floor. pathetic, vertigous doll. waste of a skeletal structure. her mom forces her back up onto her mushy patellas by her ragged hair.

HURRY UP

dirt is picked up along doll’s skin, musky carpet scraping into her. stains and dust and filth writhe up her body horribly.

* * *

a shiny porcelain bowl sits atop a black coffee table directly in front of doll’s eyes. she remembers picking that up from that weird swedish store with her, shortly after dad left taking all the good furniture with him. it was floor cereal for months before they had it. though table cereal wasn’t much better the way she made it.

doll’s face is hidden behind her shivering sleeves. mother forces them away. she grabs the bowl and places it on the floor by doll’s feet. her talons dig into doll’s tremoring shoulders. doll's on her knees, clenching her eyes.

no no no. no no no no no.

I MADE YOU MY FAVOURITE.

scaly fingers pry open her eyelids. the inside of the bowl isn’t clean like the outside, dirt ladens it’s walls. dozens of pink digits wriggle around each other inside. a thick living pasta, crawling for the bits of ground remnants. it’s almost hypnotic. doll can feel herself shaking uncontrollably. her vision spirals and blurs with scolecic tears.

EAT YOUR BREAKFAST.

doll won’t. a river flows down her face torching her eyes. she shakes her head finally managing to force the hydraulics controlling her will to do their job.

DIDN’T YOU WANT ME TO BE NICE? HOW ARE YOU ALWAYS SO UNGRATEFUL.

it’s voice burns with hot breath, searing and rotten like her teeth.

the doll pulls back, but extremities tangled through her long ungroomed hair keep her stuck, lest she rip it out. the voice gets closer. the sound of heavy haggard breathing flooding her senses. she would flail, if she had any fuel left inside of her.

please.

the hand pushes her in.

EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW

tubular pink slime glides across every inch of her soft face, coating her in greasy red worm juice. her lips remain closed until the food begins to search for other orifices. shut eyelids begin to feel probing tips, desperately trying to dig under the grass of her eyelashes and into the supple earth beneath. like rats in a bucket. then mother’s other hand reaches into view from the void behind. hands gripping the rubbery flesh inbetween her lips tight, pushing and pushing and pushing her sharp black nails stained yellow into her poor skin. doll can’t take it, her mother’s going to force her jaw open any second. she can’t take it she can’t take it she opens her mouth to scream STO P STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP PLEASE MOM (she almost bursts out into even more tears just calling her mom) NONO-

and her screams are stifled with a wave of annelid suffocation.

and they don’t stop wriggling inside her until the last one is left worming at the bottom of the bowl. she can feel every inch of their slothful slime dripped crawls down her pipes, hear their shrill dying screams as they melt in her acidic antechamber.

the brown worms atop doll’s head are pulled taught, back up into the air. juice and saliva drool down her quivering chin. mother picks the last surviving soldier out of the trough, dangling him above doll’s mouth, tantalizing her, her baby bird, unwanted but fed. all you are is a baby cuckoo, a brood parasite, locked in the nest with a ‘mother’ who knows exactly what you are. it only makes sense that she has treated you so.

mother slowly lowers the worm into doll’s tear pit of a mouth. its head or tail flails with reckless abandon, excited to be let loose into this dark, wet tunnel. back inside the dirtwomb.

it falls, and doll can tell it does enjoy it. almost as much as her mother.

#puppy writing #queue

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linasofia · 1 year ago

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@sweetestgbye I'm so glad you still like it. 😘

Since I apparently can no longer go near a church or candles without thinking of a certain priest... I'm throwing this to your muse, in case she sparks anything.

My dear @sweetestgbye, thanks for leaving your confession in my ask box. ⛪️ and🕯you say? I hope you'll like what my muse came up with. 💛

Burning Desire

Fandom: The Man from Rome

Relationship: Father Quart x OC Lucia

Warnings: 18+

The wax is warm and soft under her fingertips, and Lucia gently squeezes the top of the candle. The edge bows to her will and collapses in the already melted wax. She smiles as the flame seems to take a deep breath and then returns to its original shape.

”You should not play with candles.” A dark and slightly intimidating voice, coming from behind, sends a shiver down her spine. She can tell the man is standing close to her—too close to be considered a coincidence. ”You might get burned.”

Lucia doesn't have to look over her shoulder, she knows the deep, alluring voice belongs to the man she spent over an hour to both seduce and ignore at the same time.

The church was packed when she finally found a spot for herself, and when she looked out over the ocean of faces, she instantly noticed him. A bit taller than the people seated next to him, he really stood out from the crowd. Not only by his looks, even if he is incredibly handsome, but an unusual calmness appeared to surround him. The enigmatic man was seated a few pews behind her, and every time she turned her head, their gazes met. When she tried to focus on the choir and the beautiful Christmas songs that seemed to float through the air, she could feel his piercing gaze burning the skin on her neck. Her long, blond hair was arranged in a messy bun, leaving her neck fully exposed. When she made her scarf slip on purpose, she instinctively knew he took notice. And she loved it.

She squeezes the candle again, and this time the melted wax drips down the length of the slim candle. With great fascination, Lucia watches how a beautiful pattern takes form, but eventually, the heavy candlestick stops the wax from continuing its journey.

”I don’t mind the heat from the wax, it can be controlled.” The words slip from her, and she bites her lower lip. Why did she say that? Lucia moves her fingers to the slightly taller candle, second in line at the altar. She repeats her small assault on the new candle, but as it starts to give in, she doesn’t remove her hand. The warm wax slowly drips over her fingers, but she doesn’t flinch nor withdraw. Instead, she closes her eyes and breathes through her nose. It’s hot, yet not unbearable, but the smell from the burning candles is abruptly replaced by an unfamiliar, musky scent that makes her knees weak. Suddenly a large hand clasps around her wrist and pulls her fingers away from the candle. She spins around and meets the man’s cerulean stare.

”Inflicting pain on yourself is a sin.” If he spoke louder, his voice would roll between the stone walls in the church like thunder, but now, as he speaks in a hushed tone, his words find their way under her skin and make her heart beat faster. The man is much taller than she expected, and he towers over her as he gazes down at her hand. His hair is dark, kissed by age at his temples, and in his stubble she can read the traces of experience and sacrifice. He wears a dark suit, an aegean shirt, and around his neck—the evidence of his calling—a white clergy collar. Lucia swallows hard; he looks even more handsome up close.

”Is it still considered a sin if I ask someone else to inflict pain upon my skin?” she whispers, too overwhelmed by his appearance to be able to command her tone.

”It depends,” his voice drops even lower, and it makes her tremble. ”Is the pain for penance, or simply your own satisfaction?” Lucia gasps at his words. Who is this man? He is not a usual priest, and something in his eyes reveals that he has seen far more than the average man. And yet she can’t deny it; the quite intriguing look in his eyes gives her a thrill unlike anything she has ever felt.

”Both,” she lowers her gaze but registers the change in his eyes. A storm is approaching, and she's without shelter. Against his demeanor, she stands defenseless. She should have known; she felt the raw attraction when seated in the pew, and now, as he exposes his true self, Lucia is struggling to keep her feelings under control.

”Why these candles?” His voice is sharp, but she senses a curious question behind the scolding tone.

Lucia lets her gaze fall back on the candles standing on the altar. They flicker as a result of her disobedience.

”They are beautiful.” Her answer is simple—too simple to be the whole truth. She didn’t expect to have this conversation, at least not here, so soon, and she is not yet ready to reveal the real reason behind her act. ”And I like to push my limits.” Her last words are only a soft whisper, even if the last visitors left the old church a while ago.

”That can be done in many other ways.” His remark surprises her, and she turns to face him again.

”I know.”

A long pause follows, questions lurking in the silence between them, and Lucia perceives how she’s physically drawn to the man, as if he’s the strongest magnet and she a thin needle.

”How long has it been since your last confession?” Another surprising question, and she lowers her gaze, slightly embarrassed.

”Too long I assume,” Lucia mumbles. It’s the truth. She was raised catholic, but as an adult, she struggles to feel included. Still, she enjoys visiting church, but when she does, it’s mainly for the music and the possibility to admire the grand architecture and the paintings.

”So it’s pleasure you’re seeking then, not penance.” Something in his words ignites her inner fire, and she lets out an involuntary, longing sigh.

”May I ask your name?” She can hear her own voice tremble slightly.

”Quart.” His reply is instant and harsh, like the crack from a whip being wielded in the air.

”Tell me, Father, why are you asking me all this? What are you seeking?”

Father Quart ponders over her question; he’s not really sure himself. Recently he has questioned his choice in life. The sometimes shady work he does for the Vatican comes with a high price. He knows Monsignor Spada expects him to carry on, but there are many nights when Father Quart dreams of another life. A life without a vow of celibacy.

The woman before him is beautiful, yet something tells him she might not realize it. She is almost a head shorter, with a golden glow in her blond hair, which reminds him of a burning match. Her neck is long, and her skin pale. But it’s not her features he finds irresistible; it’s the depth of her eyes. She’s a seeker, but not only for spiritual guidance.

Without even thinking of it, Father Quart lifts his hand and strokes the collar around his neck. For some reason, it feels heavier now than it did when the sun broke free from the night, but not even the smallest muscle in his face reveals his inner struggle as he speaks. ”I have found my place.”

Lucia watches him in silence and nods. It makes sense to her, but she can’t shake away the feeling of a growing bond between them—unspoken yet undeniable.

”My name is Lucia,” she then says and smiles warmly at him.

Father Quart smiles back, but it’s a restrained smile, forced upon his lips, for her mouth moves sensually when she speaks, and he can’t hinder his own thoughts. In fact, he doesn’t want to. He watches her hand, the one he pulled from the candle, as she reaches out and strokes the altar.

Lucia looks around in the empty church and back at the man she now knows as Quart. Father Quart, she corrects herself.

”Will you hear my confession, Father?” Her voice is once again only a seductive whisper.

Father Quart closes his eyes briefly to gather his thoughts. It has been a long time since he helped a parishioner in confession, but he can’t refuse. When he opens his eyes, she looks straight at him with an expression he has not seen in many years.

”If that is your wish.”

She smiles and makes the sign of a cross. ”Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been so long since my last confession, I can’t even remember when it was.”

Father Quart chooses to stay silent and allows Lucia to find her own pace. Soon, a stream of words start falling from her lips, spoken calmly and detailed. She doesn’t hold back when she explains her lust and desire. How she needs a man who can satisfy all her needs. Father Quart remains silent and listens to how she carefully changes her focus toward the candles, the melted wax—and the altar. Her admiration for their beauty becomes very clear to him, and the strange feelings they awake in her. She doesn’t have to say it out loud. He can still read the forbidden fantasy in her eyes; Lucia, lying naked on the cold altar with a man standing beside her and painting her body with dripping, warm wax. And Father Quart has a good understanding of who that man should be. Then she falls silent, as if lost in her own thoughts. He waits, but when she neither continues nor ends her confession, Father Quart decides to speak.

”Lucia, your confession doesn’t sound like you’re truly regretting your thoughts.”

She doesn’t respond, but a sweet blush caresses her cheekbones, and Father Quart notices the smallest shift in her eyes. He recognizes that look—guilt—and it only confirms his suspicions. ”I don’t think it's the Lord’s forgiveness you want, so what is it? Why are you telling me this?”

She captures his gaze and holds it steadily. ”Can’t you feel it? Or are you just too afraid to acknowledge it?”

Father Quart knows exactly what she’s talking about, for it has been on his mind ever since he grabbed her hand. Her soft skin against his was enough to wake his desire. He’s drawn to her, a powerful attraction—yes—but also on a deeper level. He senses they are more alike than he’s comfortable with. Her needs mirror his own, only he has spent years suppressing his carnal lust. He takes her hand in his and holds it closer to the candle. No red marks or traces of wax can be seen on her delicate fingers, and Lucia is standing completely still, as if waiting for something. At that moment, Father Quart realizes he wants to see the melted wax drip down on her again. And he yearns to see those beautiful eyes in front of him burn with passion.

”You want me to do this to you, don’t you?” His voice grows thick when he meets her gaze, and the strong need in her eyes almost makes him lose control. Almost.

”Yes,” she breathes. ”More than anything.”

💙 If you like my writing, please consider spreading the love and reblogging.💙

Taglist and others who might be interested: @lathalea @legolasbadass @laurfilijames @i-did-not-mean-to @enchantzz @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @xxbyimm @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @kibleedibleedoo @mariannetora @haly-reads @sunnysidesidra @rachel1959 @knittastically @jaskierthelover @quiall321 @medusas-hairband @fulltimecrazy @s0ftd3m0n @emrfangirl @glimmering-darling-dolly @lilith15000 @clumsy-wonderland @theawkwardbutterfly

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#father quart #father quart fanfic #father quart fanfiction #richard armitage #the man from rome #la piel del tambor #ficlet #father quart x oc

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valorascult · 1 year ago

Text

𝐃𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐑𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐬 (𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴)

𝗠𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗮𝘆 🌙 [Moon’s Day]

- Planet (Moon = Selene = Mother)

- Colors (Gold, Orange)

- Crystals / Stones (Moonstone, Pearl, Silver, Selenite)

- Practice (Sleep, Healing, Companion, Nurturing, Purification, Friendship, Medicine, Cooking, Psychic work, Emotions, Personality, Family, Comfort)

𝗧𝘂𝗲𝘀𝗱𝗮𝘆 [Tiu’s Day]

- Planet (Mars = God of War) 🔥

- Colors (Red, Autumn shades)

- Crystals / Stones (Ruby, Garnet, Iron, Steel, Bloodstone)

- Practice (Sex, Passion, Self Control, Protection, War, Physical strength, Victory, Athletics, Agriculture, Courage, Hunting, Contests, Negative spells, Hex’s)

𝗪𝗲𝗱𝗻𝗲𝘀𝗱𝗮𝘆 [Woden’s Day]

- Planet (Mercury = Hermes) 🧠

- Colors (Yellow, Grey, Mixed Hues, Orange)

- Crystals / Stones (Agate, Citrine, Zinc, Quicksilver, Mica)

- Practice (The Conscious Mind, Travel, Study, Communication, Mental Combat, Debates, Bad Habits, Fear, Luck, Enlightenment)

𝗧𝗵𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗱𝗮𝘆 [Thor’s Day]

- Planet (Jupiter = Thor / Zeus / Jove) ⚡️

- Colors (Purple, Deep Blue)

- Crystals / Stones (Tin, Amethyst, Lepidolite)

- Practice (Teaching, Reason, Success, Expansion, Flexibility, Marriage, Self Improvement, Skills, Prosperity, Honor, Acknowledge Faults, Harvest)

𝗙𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗮𝘆 [Freya’s Day]

- Planet (Venus = Aphrodite) 💞

- Colors (Red, Pink, Light Blue, Copper)

- Crystals / Stones (Jade, Rose Quarts, Coral, Emerald, Malachite, Emerald, Lapis Lazuli)

- Practice (Nature, Arts, Pleasure, Music, Perfumes, Fertility, Growth, Love, Friendships, Romance, Social Activities, Physical Beauty)

𝗦𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗱𝗮𝘆 [Saturn’s Day] 🪐

- Planet (Saturn)

- Colors (Dark Shades, Black, Maroon)

- Crystals / Stones (Jet, Hematite, Salt, Lead, Serpentine)

- Practice (Endings, Logic, Style, Habit Breaking, Experiment, Manipulation, Longevity, Caution, Apprehension, Slyness, Limitations)

𝗦𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗮𝘆 (Sun’s Day) 🌞

- Star (Sun = Father)

- Colors (Gold, Orange, Yellow)

- Crystals / Stones (Gold, Topaz, Diamond, Tiger’s eye, Carnelian, Amber)

- Practice (Work Power, Fortune, Prosperity, Self Expression, Victory, Beauty, Money, Healing, Individuality, Quick Change, Creativity, Power, Strength)

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