#francy alert

[nachocheezos21]

got bored while waiting earlier for dost exam so i did some quick doodles

ft. tiny francie teehee

#my artcho #spoiler alert: i failed 🗣️🗣️ #that's not my neighbor #that’s not my neighbor #tnmn #tnmn fanart #mia stone #dr w afton #anastacha mikaelys #nacha mikaelys #francis mosses #(a little bit) #art #artwork #artists on tumblr #doodle #digital doodle #doodles

[halfcorpse-halfghost]

Words cannot describe how hyperfixated I am with this motherfucker.

I WANNA SQUEEZE THIS MAN LIKE A STRESS BALL. (platonically)

#new blorbo acquired #new blorbo just dropped #new blorbo alert #hyperfixation #the autism is autisming #milkman #that's not my neighbor #francis mosses #seraph (me) being feral

[ericaportfolio]

TW: For references/mentions of abuse. You all are going to hate this character.

After some of the last crazy few weeks, I finally finished another character sheet based on the art from the Hello Puppets games with another OC I created if the show did not get canceled, no fire, and no possessed murder puppets ever happened. This character was created when the Lackadaisy Pilot came out, but I added some Helluva Boss (don't watch the show if you are under 18 kids, please wait) mafia episode influences.

On the outside, Francis Nack, Father of Nick Nack, runs an Arcade Casino in one of the cities near the town the Handeemen lives. But in reality, Francis is the French Mob Boss and uses his Arcade Casino as a coverup for a money racketeering scheme. Sadly, after years of emotional and physical abuse, when Nick was about to turn 18 in a month, he was secretly approached by a banker who was hired by his missing mother, Jancis, years ago to give Nick his inheritance from her to use if he wanted to get away from the crime family and use that money for anything he wants to pursue. Obviously, Nick took the money, went to an art college, and years later joined the newly formed Handeemen group that later became a show. Blessing or a curse, on the premiere episode of Season 3, when the Handeemen accepted an offer to help a kid win a pinball tournament, they are suddenly picked up by a mysterious luxurious travel escort transportation. To Nick's (even Virginia's) dismay, it turned out that the pinball tournament was taking place at the same Arcade Casino with Francis waiting for them. As Francis's premiere episode progresses, his intentions are made clear becoming the main antagonist for Season 3. Yep, Season 3 became a French parody of The Godfather.

Historically, the law chased the Mafia out of Las Vegas during the Mid-1980s. Whoever got the character approved by the censors must have been the many therapists at the time when PSA episodes really started to kick in the late 1980s/early 1990s to spread awareness of child abuse because the Handeemen fandom was theorizing if Nick came from an abusive home, but nobody was expecting The Godfather route. So what better way to bring awareness than by making the abuser the main antagonist for the season. Francis is literally the French version of The Godfather. Along with Lackadaisy and Helluva Boss, his biggest inspiration came from the 2003 French animated comedy, The Triplets of Belleville, which is a CLASSIC!!! Though be warned of mature content in the film since the movie is for audiences thirteen and up. The mafia in that film is similar to the Nack Mob in this AU. Like father like son, they are almost alike, except for height and Francis is commonly nicknamed Scarface for his scar. Francis originally had Brown Hair that faded over time. To get the season approved by the producers and the censors, instead of having a regular Casino as a backdrop, they instead went with an Arcade Casino with arcade games, pinballs, and fair games in a classic Las Vegas-like setting.

Nick's mom, Jancis Nack, was a mixture of Riley and Daisy with Audrey Hepburn influences. Speaking of Daisy, Jancis's hair was inspired by Daisy's blueprints from the Hello Puppets games. Nick's mom's disappearance becomes one of the biggest mysteries in the show, some thinking Francis had something to do with it. So yeah, Nick has 🎵 parent/daddy issues🎵 everybody!

#hello puppets #hello puppets midnight show #hello puppets midnightshow #hello puppets fanart #hello puppets au #Scout Saves the Show AU #hello puppets nick #hello puppets nick nack #nick #nick nack #nick nack's dad #Francis Nack #the godfather parody #the triplets of belleville #villain alert! #slight tw

[skitskatdacat63]

17,82

War AU x Second Love

Lmao Sam this is literally the plot to the Nandopoleon AU this exists in my head 😭😭

So Fernando is Napoleon, right? And Napoleon had two wives, right? Mark is his first love(i.e. Josephine), older than him, and who he is deeply in love with but has to divorce because Mark can't really provide anything(i.e. no political advantages, infertile, etc.) So Fernando needs to make a political marriage. And who does he marry! The young son of one of the most prominent monarchies in Europe: Lance, Archduke of Austria.

Lance is very resistant to this at first of course. All grumpy like, "Dad, why do you want me to marry the guy who just defeated us in four separate wars. He's literally beaten us since practically my birth, and now I have to marry him? Yuck." Both him and Fernando come into the marriage with bad expectations, Lance despising Fernando for all he represents and Fernando viewing Lance as just a means to an end. But Lance fits in to the kingdom very well and Fernando comes to adore him and pamper him all the time. And suddenly Lance to his father is all like, "the Emperor is great actually 🥰 I was so wrong 🥰"

Meanwhile Mark is just forced to the side, and has to watch while Fernando's love for him diminishes, and his love for Lance grows. They still talk a lot and spend time together, but Mark is constantly sniping at Fernando about his new "wife."

I think Lance would stick by Fernando's side during his exile and subsequent return. He grows to be more loyal to Fernando than to his own family and original kingdom. And even though Fernando originally just views him as a means to an end, he eventually lets Lance fight alongside when they are eventually drawn back into war. Maybe in this AU, he actually wins 😔

#imagine lance on the battlefield 😭😭 #hes been a pampered spoiled rich boy his whole life #but he really admires fernando and how different their upbringings were #i think he def recieved military training when he was younger just bcs thats what guys did back then no? #but obviously was never expected to ever fight in a war or be in battle #just his dad being like yeah ee have the best of the best military leaders so you should learn from them #and then eventually is drawn into battle himself bcs he doesnt want to leave fernando's side #<- irl the woman that Lance is based on cheated on Napoleon and they never interacted again post-Elba so 😬 #lance would be like IM GOING TO ELBA WITH HIM #and lawrence is like huh what no??? you have land to inherit still!!! #and lance just sulks in vienna for those eleven months of nando's exile #and then gets alerted abt his return and they have a very dramatic romantic reunion #where Lance commissions his own uniform and such and goes to greet Fernando lkke 'I knew you wouldnt leave me 🥹' #also the age gaps of mark-fernando-lance is remarkably close to the historical age gaps i am stealing from #<- literally only 1 and 5 years off. so im glad it fits so well 🤭🤭 #also yeah dw how pregnancy works ( ._.) it just does. mpreg :) we sweep it under the rug #also the thought of lawrence as francis i is funny to me just bcs i feel he should be cast as a driver or smth but its okay #also the 'third love' of this is just Seb as Alexander I whom Nando is weirdly obsessed with #catie.asks. #strollonso #webbonso #nandopoleon alonsoparte

[headroom-moods]

Reading the secret history rn and damn.. idc what anyone says but Henry and Richard are literally just Hannibal and Will in a college/boarding school setting. The way Henry is so hellbent/fascinated with murder and “becoming” while Richard is first reluctant about it but slowly descending into a downward spiral and finally snapping as well because of his influence is so hannigram coded. 

#and bunny being mason just further strengthens my argument #also considering I've seen a handful of TSH fancasts with Michael Pitt being casted as bunny is so cathartic to me. #so. much. parallels. #the secret history #the secret history brainrot #hannibal #though I know Francis and Richard's relationship is more prominently talked about in the fandom #idc I still feel like Henry and Richard's relationship has more dynamic and depth which ultimately doesn't make it feel forced as per sé #unlike the former #anyways random hot take that might give me a one way ticket to the guillotine LMAO #oh y3ah uh #spoiler alert #sorry girliepops

[superiorkenshi]

Des fois je me dis que je dramatise ma santé mentale puis je me rappelle que j'ai perdu 50% de mon cercle sociale en quelque mois et que la raison pour certains c'est qu'il préférais ne plus avoir de nouvelle de moi que des mauvaise car il pensait que si j'avais pas mon diplôme j'allais me suicider :D

(En ce moment je radote beaucoup alors oublier pas vous pouvez bloquer mon tag "kenshi's life" si vous voulez pas m'entendre radoter sur ma vie!! Je le prendrais pas mal si vous le bloqué 👌🏼)

#kenshi's life #d'une certaine manière c'est drole un peu #au temps au debut je leur en voulait et j'ai couper les pont avec eux #car je trouvais ce comportement affreux #mais maintenant I just missing them #*francis forever playing in the background* #j'ai jurer je me sens trop con sur ça #je sais pas si couper les pont avec eux était une bonne ou mauvaise idée #mais la maintenant I just miss them #spoiler alert jai pas eu mon diplôme et je me suis pas suicider wow #toujours la banane toujours debout comme on dit!

[emacrow]

The Watchtower found a enormous floating crystallized casket in space. Part 2.

The one idiot to accidentally open the casket was Francis whom just came to work and decided not to check the do not get near tape wrapped around the casket by Constantine who was too busy at the moment to explain why they shouldn't open it.

He wa so getting fired when one of the corpses slowly rose and stretched slowly, cracking a couple joints. It was the middle corpse that was a young boy, who rubbed his close eyes and opened them to reveal glowing lararus green eyes that was enrapturing Francis deeper and deeper as the light kept him staring deeper and deeper until...

Which seem like it was a mere 5 minutes, but unfortunately for Francis to unholy scream as his eyes, nose and ears literally bleed, his mind ruptured beyond belief as he saw the very end of what becomes of the living when they become dead.

Which alerted the justice league immediately to the laboratory section of the watchtower.

Only them to see Francis passed out on the floor, bleeding slowly from his face, and a corpse missing from the casket where the other two remains.

Batman immediately got everyone of on a man-corpse hunt around the watchtower base for 3 hours straight..

Only for Flash to speak through the comms..

"I found him. He in the kitchen." Flash spoke as he watch in slight horror and amazement as he watches this kid eating a enormous amount of unique combination of food mashed together like an unholy yet fascinating dish.

The kid looked much more ravenous then a man dying for thirst in the Gobi desert when flash found him first, literally raiding the fridge, eating every leftover and frozen food items as he almost got flash hand as well if it weren't for his extra fast reflex before getting an idea to distract the once corpse being with a large enough meal to keep him occupied.

Meanwhile danny only took a nice long vacation nap in his casket for a lil 10 days as a break from king work... which would've been about 100 years in another dimension before he gotten a not so good awakening and his dormant caveman reptilian brain went straight to hunt food instinct until his main consciousness wake up later.

#dp x dc crossover #danny is the ghost king #danny phantom #dpxdc #dc x dp #dc x dp prompt #dp x dc #even his corpse has to eat every once in a while #that body been sleeping for so damn long #he was ravenous to the point of near cannibalism level #he woke up and immediately hunted for the newest food source #found the kitchen and started food raiding #flash is watching this like it a fast mukbang of a boy downing about 200 pounds of food and still going

[notmyneighbor]

Let Me In ~ Doppelgänger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Chapter 4

Word Count ~ 4.5k

Rating ~ Explicit

CW ~ minor blood and violence, sexual content

Also available on AO3

taglist @luthien-elvenia-asher

Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok

You’ve only barely begun to recover from the wrung out feeling of ultimate bliss when you hear it: the warning klaxon, followed by the sound of tires screeching to a halt. The aggressive roar of truck engines. Doors opening in rapid succession. Loud voices and boots pounding on pavement.

The doppelgänger jerks upright, sliding off the bed and wrenching the curtains to one side to peer down at the scene unfolding on the street below. “They’re here,” he says, and for the first time you detect something like fear wafting from the imposter.

A flood of relief washes over you. Someone had alerted the disposal unit. It wasn’t too late to save lives after all.

You search for your discarded clothing, hurriedly sliding the retrieved garments back into place. Francis’ copy looks at you.

“They’ll know you let me in.”

“Yes,” you agree distractedly, hastily shoving the hem of your blouse back beneath the waist of your skirt.

“They’ll know,” he says again, more firmly this time, moving in front of you, one hand closing around the wrist you’ve yet to refasten the shirt cuff upon. “They’ll know about me.”

You stare at him, realization kicking in. The others were safe. You, however, had no such guarantee. “Are you going to kill me?”

“I should. You’re a liability.” His grip on you abruptly relaxes. He’s merely holding you now. “Your organization will punish you for this.”

You shake your head, trying to hastily tuck your hair back into place. “Not once they hear my explanation.”

The intruder scowls. “What defense will you offer? You knowingly let a replicant into your precious building.”

“I…” Your confidence wavers as you begin to consider how your actions will appear. He’s right. There’s no excuse for what you’ve done. You’ve not only failed at your assigned task, you’ve betrayed your own kind. An unforgivable crime.

He seems to read the slight panic on your features, his voice gentling. “Suppose we make a deal,” he says.

You look at him warily. “What kind of deal?”

“I make it look like you were attacked while you tried to fend me off. Make up some doppelgänger appearance when they ask you. Don’t tell them about Francis’ death. You get to live. I get to go down the fire escape, avoiding extinction.”

A life for a life, in essence. The elevator was temporarily disabled the second the alarm was pushed, but it won’t take the team long to sweep each floor. You were running out of time.

“Okay,” you reluctantly agree.

He turns your arm over so the underside is exposed, thumb pressing firmly just below the hollow of your elbow. “This will hurt,” he cautions. The only warning you get before you see it: that thing inside of the milkman breaking through, emerging. A sickly gray-green digit topped with a sharp yellow claw. He drags it right through the fabric of your shirt, right through your skin. It burns. A blossoming line of red appears, your lifeforce weeping out of the laceration. You feel lightheaded and nauseous.

“Don’t look at it. And don’t let it get on the carpet. We need to leave, now.” He steps back into the milkman’s shoes, not even bothering with the laces. You follow him to the front door, exiting the apartment. Locked again. You hear voices echoing in the stairwell, the heavy tred of the suited disposal unit pounding on the steps.

“Remember what I said.” The imitation’s knuckles graze your cheek, the touch almost tender. The injured arm cradled against your chest is throbbing. “I’m going to knock you out. It will help further disguise what happened.” The voices are getting louder. They’ve finished on the second floor, making their way to the third. The doppel’s fingers curl around the back of your neck, his mouth brushing yours hurriedly before your head is slammed against the wall, sending you hurtling into a void of darkness.

***

There is a debriefing after the incident.

No casualties. The residents were safe, excluding Francis, of course. You have a lie ready to account for his sudden absence. You say you’d heard him mention something about an emergency visit to a sick relative in a neighboring city as he’d dashed out the front door earlier that day. A phone call to his employer wouldn’t match this story, of course. You weren’t sure what family the man even had. None that would corroborate your fabrication, certainly. You were just hoping that your claim about him needing to leave abruptly very early in the morning without contacting anyone was convincing enough. It’s all you can think of on the spur of the moment.

The director, a severe looking middle aged man, frowns over the lenses of his glasses at you. You keep your hands folded tightly in your lap. Your stitched wound is slowly healing, the ache now a sort of dull throbbing that you’re consciously aware of from time to time. No apparent signs of infection, the surrounding skin clear.

“Your track record, up until now, has been impeccable.” The older man’s voice brings you out of your reverie.

“Yes, sir.” It’s true. For six months you’d performed your role as doorman perfectly. Never failing to detect a single doppelgänger. Protecting the innocent.

“Still, this is not a transgression that can simply be overlooked. The consequences of your misjudgment could have been dire.”

You’d stated that you’d realized the person requesting entrance was really a copy only after the door had been opened, catching an error on the paperwork at the last minute. Intervening, attempting to stall the intruder. Injured and knocked unconscious. You knew nothing more after that.

“It’s suspicious that none of this alleged false documentation has been retrieved at the site. Strange also that you’d been carried all the way to the third floor. We also have no record even remotely matching the description of the doppel you’ve given. How do you account for these discrepancies?”

“The replicant stated they were a new resident moving in to the vacant apartment on the third floor. It seemed plausible that there hadn’t been a chance for them to be featured on the day’s list yet. It’s hardly the first time someone’s name hasn’t been placed as it should be. The subtly incorrect DDD logo was the tip off I unfortunately picked up on too late, sir.” You pause, clearing your throat. There is virtually no moisture left in your mouth and you find it suddenly parchment dry. It’s difficult to speak, your nerves betraying you. “The replicant must have taken the paperwork with them in order to conceal the evidence. And I was knocked out immediately after being cut. I don’t remember anything after that.”

His lips press into a thin line. Your force yourself to maintain eye contact. This was your explanation and you could not falter. “Even so. You failed to follow protocol. And you failed to contact the disposal team.”

“There wasn’t time to dial the phone number. Not even time to sound the alarm. I simply reacted on instinct. I was hoping to…”

“To what? What did you think you would accomplish? You, a mere unarmed woman?” He drapes the last word in contempt. You flush, squirming in your seat at the insult.

The suited man sighs heavily, closing your file folder. “You’re going to be suspended without pay for one week. Then I expect you to return to work. Your temporary replacement is…less than ideal. Let me be clear, though: if anything else happens, you’ll be terminated. No debriefing. No excuses. Understood? This is your final warning.”

You nod, saving your sigh of relief for when you’ve exited the office. The air departs your lungs in a loud rush. You’d done it. You’d actually managed to talk your way out of it.

Your thoughts immediately shift to Francis’ doppelgänger.

He was out there, somewhere. The safest move would be to travel, to just flee the area entirely, but you doubt he’ll leave. He’s still here.

You can feel him.

***

You drive to your house, to the home of your childhood. An inheritance from your great grandparents, passed down through each generation. Outside of the city. Quiet. It’s a relief to see green again. The air smells clearer, too. No waste from factory smokestacks or concentrated exhaust from automobiles. A light scent of grass and summer wildflowers. You roll your window down, inhaling deeply. It’s the best you’ve felt in a while. Since before the incident.

Francis. Your good mood departs just as quickly as it had arrived. How terrible a person you are. Lying to save your own skin. To protect the doppelgänger that had killed your beloved milkman. Putting innocent lives at risk. You had no right to feel anything even resembling happiness or contentment. You should turn the car right back around and return to the office. Confess your sins and receive whatever punishment would be decided for you. Imprisonment, certainly. Perhaps a life sentence to match the life that had been stolen from the third floor resident.

You trudge up the steps of the porch, sinking down onto the topmost stair, your head resting against the post of the railing. There are strips of paint peeling, you notice. You’ll need to sand them down before you apply more stain. Something to occupy you during your week off. Distract you from your own misery.

You close your eyes and listen to the hum of insects. There is another scent in the air now; something damp. The sky’s clouds were white and fluffy looking, but you know those can change in an instant. You think there is a storm approaching.

Perhaps you will wait it out. Just rest here and see what happens, studying your surroundings. There are birds singing in the vacant field that hasn’t known crops for many seasons. You only tended a much smaller one close to the house. Some vegetables. That was all. More often than not the local wildlife took a sample, but you didn’t mind sharing. You should have a look before you head back inside later on, see if there is anything to harvest.

It’s comfortable here. The sun is at the perfect angle. You still have plenty of shade. Warm enough to warrant rolling your shirt sleeves back. Catching sight of the scabbed, sutured line marring your forearm. You trace the mark. You think about the copycat tracing your cheek. That final kiss before he’d knocked you unconscious. It made so little sense to let you live. Had some remnant of Francis’ psyche influenced him somehow? Urging him to spare you?

Your eyes slide closed and you drift off to sleep still mulling this over.

***

In the dream you are standing in the nearby orchard.

You know it is a dream, because in reality these fruit trees are no longer tended. Yet here you are, standing beneath the crooked branches of one peach bearing specimen. The many smooth emerald leaves shield you from the sun.

Francis is beside you.

Or not-Francis. You cannot say which it is. The smile is as you remember. The perpetually tired eyes. He reaches for one of the velvet skinned fruits, plucking it easily and handing it to you.

The texture is exactly as it should be. Not too firm and not too soft. Ripe and ready to take a bite from. You do so, your teeth sinking into the soft yellow flesh. A burst of sweetness on your tongue. The excess juice drips down your chin. You offer the peach to the milkman but he doesn’t accept, instead moving to take a taste of it from your face, first doting on your lips before he laps at the dribbling trail. You clutch his shirt and his kisses become rougher. Pushing you gently to the ground. You drop the fruit and your hands become full of his shirt, his hair, the soft earth beneath you. His mouth plants kisses along your cheeks, your jaw, your neck. Hand dragging down through the floral patterned button front dress you’re wearing.

“Francis.” You reach for his face. It’s wrong. Something in the structure of the nose. So subtle it could easily be mistaken. The teeth suddenly bared in a smile that’s unfriendly. A grin of triumph. It isn’t Francis. You’ve been duped by an imposter.

The skin ripples. His eyes become bloodshot. You struggle to move. Your wrists are pinned at your sides. Sharp teeth nipping at the skin of your throat. A wolf ready to destroy its prey.

The thunder awakens you.

You jolt upright, massaging your stiff neck as you glance around hurriedly. The sky is a mass of gray clouds now, the natural illumination of the heavens notably dimmed. The air is laced with the scent of petrichor. You rise and the first drops of rain fall, pattering on your bare arms, sinking into you hair. Another disgruntled warning rumble, louder this time. The interval between that and the next shortening. You’re about to turn and enter the house when you see a figure standing nearby, on the outskirts of the side yard.

It’s him. The imposter that took over Francis.

The normally pristine, starched uniform is dirt stained, collecting souvenirs from the unpaved road leading to your house. The bowtie around his neck is loosened, draped around the unbuttoned shirt collar, the first several buttons of that work shirt similarly unfastened, revealing the white undershirt beneath. He’d never bothered retrieving the hat, the uncovered thatch of thick chestnut hair now tousled. Your fingers curl around the railing for support as he begins walking towards you with determined strides, closing the distance rapidly. The thunderstorm’s namesake harbinger sounds again. A flash of lightning. The rain is no longer a faint scattering of drops, now falling in an earnest deluge.

You both manage to escape being drenched, finding shelter beneath the porch roof in the knick of time, the imposter halting just in front of you. His chest is rapidly rising and falling, as if that brief exercise he’d just participated in was taxing him. You know that’s not the reason for those panted gasps for air, your own body mimicking that movement.

“Francis,” you say, but the name is drowned out by the growing ire of the storm.

He moves then, pressing you against the weathered clapboards near the living room window that overlooks the front yard. He cups your face between his hands and his lips crush yours. You respond without hesitation, kissing him back. Not giving yourself time to think about what you’re doing; to recall the dream you’d just had where you’d been destroyed by one of his kind.

“How did you find me?” You gasp when you part for air.

This utterance is barely audible, threaded between the next two bouts of thunder, muffled by the sound of the downpour. He slides his fingers against the harsh furrow on your arm. “I could sense where you were. Tracked you…” The words drowned out once again. His mouth moves close to your ear. “What did you say to them? What happened?”

“They bought it, for the most part, I think. The director is suspicious, though. I got suspended for a week.”

Another flash of lightning. It was foolish to remain outside any longer. You invite him in, struggling to fit the key in the lock, your trembling fingers not cooperating. His hand closes over yours, steadying you. The door surrenders, swinging inward.

It’s dark in the living room. You switch on the nearest lamp and toss your keys on the table.

“I’d offer you something to drink, but I don’t know if you still do that, or…” It was unknown what the doppelgängers consumed for nutrition. Perhaps it would be different now that they could occupy a human body and not merely disguise themselves as one.

“I do. But that can wait.”

“Did you know that would happen? You being able to trace my whereabouts when you cut me?”

“No. It’s uncharted territory. Like so much of…this,” he murmurs.

“You need to call Francis’ workplace. Explain to them that there was a family emergency. That’s the excuse I gave for the sudden absence. The DDD has been looking for you. Well, for him,” you correct yourself.

“They’ll expect me to return at some point.”

“Yes.”

“So you’ll let me in. To dwell there. And what of my brethren?”

“I can’t let them in. You know that.” You swallow nervously. “You can’t harm anyone. If I let you inside, you have to promise me you won’t. You got what you wanted. You got to be one of us. There’s no reason to hurt anyone else.”

A large clap of thunder makes you jump. The doppelgänger moves closer to you, tipping his head to one side thoughtfully. “You think I’ll cooperate?”

“We had a deal. I let you escape. I lied to protect you.”

“And I let you live. Both ends of the bargain fulfilled. There is no obligation beyond that.”

“You don’t want to hurt me.”

“Are you quite sure of that?” One arm circles your waist, drawing you against him. His fingers sift through your hair, tugging your head back slightly. “These hungers for the flesh are so distracting. How your kind manages them…” His voice trails off and his lips touch yours.

The light flickers and dies. You’ve lost electricity, now standing in the darkened room cradled by the deceiver.

“<i>The earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep</i>…”

You inhale sharply, thinking of the Bible on Francis’ nightstand. Reading scripture like any good devout soul, learning verses by heart. That memory resurfacing now.

“Francis.” You know it’s no longer him, not in his purest, human essence, but this evolution still holds traces like this that you can’t help but hold dear.

“I’m here, sweetheart.” His hands slide down over the curve of your buttocks as he kisses the corner of your jaw. You guide him towards the nearby couch, watching him sink into the cushions before you climb into his lap, your shoes sliding off and falling to the hardwood floor. You run your fingers through his hair, your mouth ravaging his. It’s the parts of Francis that you love that you’re adoring, you tell yourself. Not the pretender, but the fragments of the man inside he still carries with him. That is what your fingers caress and your mouth cherishes. You unbutton his shirt the rest of the way, then reach for the belt buckle, jerking the leather strap free from the metal, all while your lips and tongue work in a frenzy over his.

The rain and the thunder becomes white noise, a nearly muted sound in the background as you unbutton his pants and pull down the zipper, the metal teeth parting to reveal white briefs. You touch his erection through that thin material, feeling the hard, thick line of it and he hisses, then groans somewhere near your neck.

“Yes, love, that’s what I need…”

You shove your hand beneath the elastic waistband and you make contact with feverish flesh. Another groan from the imposter. You sweep over the head of his cock, realizing he’s circumcised, smoothing leaking precum over the dome before you wrap your fingers around the shaft and begin stroking up and down. He moans into your mouth. It’s not the best angle, your hand a bit squashed awkwardly between your bodies. You slide off his thighs to sit beside him, never breaking contact, still pumping his prick, rolling your fingers over the crest as you reach the top, thumb dragging over the frenulum with each pass. Your tongue dances over his and you feel the arousal leaking from your own sex, soaking your panties.

Another glob of clear fluid oozes from the tip and your mouth waters. You want to taste it. Want to feel him in your mouth.

Your lips abandon his and he frowns, confused until he sees your head bowing over his lap, your body shifting as you engulf his turgid member. Another hissing sound of pleasure as the slightly musky flavor hits your taste buds. You haven’t fully taken him inside yet, only reaching close to halfway, applying suction as you move across that shallow expanse, allowing yourself to become accustomed to the length and girth of him. His fingers touch your head, not applying force, just resting there. You release his cock with a wet popping sound, stroking your saliva over his erection before taking him into your mouth again. You push deeper this time, forcing your lips closer to the base of his cock, to the nest of dark pubic hair. Your throat protests and you gag, the fingers on your head now tightening, pressing, urging you on.

“Sweet girl, that’s it, you can take it. All the way. Fuck.” The curse is something you’d never imagine coming from the milkman’s lips, but you find yourself aroused by it, the depravity of what you’re doing erotic. Your head bobs, dipping lower each time, eliciting an obscene wet squelching sound as his prick collides with your throat. There’s a higher pitch to his sounds of pleasure now. His hips lift to meet you, shoving him in as deep as he can reach while your nostrils flare, searching for a greater air supply.

Your nails dig into this thigh. The loosened belt buckle jingles with each thrust into that moist cavity you’ve provided. The fingers in your hair loosen, allowing you a brief respite. You withdraw and cough. A thick trail of saliva connects your lower lip to his glistening cock. Your fingers massage through the slick and he hums appreciatively. Your lips feel slightly numb, tingling from the stretch. There’s a burning sensation in your abused throat, a soreness when you swallow. But the discomfort is bearable. You want to do this. You want him to feel good.

You suck in a lungful of air and then begin again. You hear the replicant’s breathing becoming shallower, more rapid. He’s getting close. You redouble your efforts, moving fast and deep.

“Sweetheart, you’re going to make me…it’s so fucking good…”

His hips snap up and an acrid spill of semen floods your throat. It catches you by surprise and you choke around the pulsing erection. It’s a copious amount of seed that spills over your retreating tongue. You swallow down the last of the bitter fluid, straightening, dragging the back of your hand across your spit drenched chin.

“That was…you…” The creature is speechless. You can’t help but feel a little pride over that. He captures your lips, mulling over the taste he’s left there. “I want to taste you,” he says, and your pussy throbs. “I want you to cum inside my mouth.”

He moves off the couch, kneeling in front of you. Shoving at your skirt. You hurriedly hook your thumbs over the edge of your panties and drag them down, feeling how wet the crotch is as they drag across your legs. Scooting closer to the edge, spreading yourself open for him.

His face moves forward and his tongue parts your folds. Laving down to gather a sample of your arousal. Humming with approval at the taste of you as he focuses on your clit. A long, slow drag over the sensitive nub. You whimper. His thumbs wedge along either side of your sex, stretching the pink flesh further open. His mouth covers your cunt and he sucks and your thighs try to close, the sensation overwhelming.

“Oh sweetheart, you’re delicious.” Slurping on your clit now. You thread your fingers through his hair, caressing his head as his tongue flicks across the hooded button. He doesn’t need guidance this time. Everything is the way you like it. Dividing attention between your clitoris and the entrance of your pussy. Pushing that muscle inside, fucking you with his tongue, alternating with lapping at your bundle of nerve endings. You wish it wasn’t quite so dark. You want to see his eyes. You know he’s looking at you even if he can’t discern much in the dim gray light filtering in through the windows. Watching your reaction even as he feels it in his mouth. Hears the pleading, the needy gasps and moans, the whining that begins the closer you get to coming apart in his mouth.

He moans, too, and the vibrations of that sound add another layer to your pleasure. A finger makes its way inside you. Violated by a second soon after, thrusting while he sucks your clit. You climax, panting his name over and over, your fingers frantic in his hair, your pelvis quaking as your grind yourself against him.

Eventually your movements lessen. He eases back and your quivering legs draw closed. He rejoins you on the couch, his mouth on yours, gifting you a taste of yourself.

Then you sit quietly, listening to the diminishing storm outside. The rain drums on the roof and taps along the gutters with a soft metallic sound. Your face is tucked into the doppel’s shoulder, one hand resting on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, his arm curled around your shoulders.

You shouldn’t enjoy this. Any of this. You should be afraid, disgusted. Instead you feel oddly calm. Safe in his arms, even though you certainly aren’t. These alien beings were masters of deception and manipulation. You know better. It was foolish, what you were doing. Dangerous—for you, for everyone else.

But you’re convinced more than ever that some part of Francis is still buried within. The goodness of him negating the evil of this imposter.

“I’ll make the call in the morning.” The first words spoken in a long time. Your head lifts. “And I’ll move in to the apartments.”

“Just you. And you won’t harm anyone.”

“You ask for too much.”

“I’m giving up everything for you. Risking my job, my life, the lives of the people I’ve sworn to protect. My heart. My soul,” you finish with a whisper. “I don’t think you understand how many things I’m sacrificing.”

“I’m not human. It’s impossible for me to. There are no words for them in our language because they simply don’t exist.”

“But you want to be us. You should understand…”

“I will make the call and I will move in. Beyond that I am not promising you anything. Except…I do not want you harmed.” He reaches for your arm, tracing over the healing wound he’d inflicted. “I will try to prevent that, at least.”

A small concession, perhaps, but an important one nonetheless. If he was willing to spare you, maybe you could convince him to spare others.

Teach him the value of a human life while taming the monster within that wears the face of the man you love.

#francis mosses #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #milkman #milkman x reader #milkman x you #thats not my neighbor

[roxanneslosteyes]

So I went on YouTube and I check my alerts on my account from YouTubers I subscribed to and I saw a new video from Jay from Kubz Scouts and I saw this on his thumbnail

And I can't stop laughing at this image of Francis 😭

#that's not my neighbor #thats not my neighbor #tnmn #francis mosses #milkman

[cielphantomhive321]

Why OurCiel Pretended to be his older brother. Alert: Spoilers

Let me Just say this. So Francis Milford is literally asking why OurCiel pretended to be his brother .I mean seriously take a look at this part in chapter 132.

She’s calling him the spare and a burden for the watchdog’s duty. Her of all people should know why he pretended to be r!ciel 😑.

He looks so sad I really wanna hug him 😭. He knows that he’s not fit to be an Earl and to him he’s just a spare and a burden. And he had to hear it from his aunt saying that. Not only did he suffer on his 10th birthday but he felt like a burden to his family too 😭.take a look at chapter 137 how he felt about himself.

Exactly what I meant he knows that everyone won’t be as happy if he was the one to return home he described how every one of his family will react if the r!Ciel doesn’t come home. He even said I’ll be better if he was the who died. That’s too much 😭😭. He’s so innocent and cute I love him soo much 😭🥺.

#anime and manga #manga #anime #fanart #art #black butler #anime art #anime fanart #animation #ciel phantomhive #manga art #our ciel #real ciel #black butler ciel #ciel #yana toboso #anime black butler #manga black butler #kuroshitsuji fanart #kuroshitsuji sebastian #sebastian michaelis #elizabeth midford #francis midford #rciel #anime twins #phantomhive twins #phantomhive #anime sad #anime demon #anime ciel

[tiaramania]

TIARA ALERT: María Ybarra O’Neill wore a pearl and diamond bow tiara for her wedding to Ángel Colón de Mandaluniz, Duke of La Vega, at the Royal Basilica of Saint Francis the Great in Madrid, Spain on 16 June 2023.

#Tiara Alert #Duchess of La Vega #Spain #Spanish Nobility #Spanish Aristocracy #tiara #bridal tiara #bow tiara #pearl #Maria Ybarra O'Neill

[notmyneighbor]

Let Me In ~ Doppelgänger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Chapter 9

Word Count ~ 5.5k

Rating ~ Explicit

CW ~ doppelgänger sex, body horror

Also available on AO3

Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok

taglist ~ @luthien-elvenia-asher @fishfetus @gaudesstuff @nekee-lilac02 @msdevil333 @rrnrjn @maskedpacific @yoongiwantsme @that-0ne-simp @kaislashes @charli33-b33 @finalitgirl

Francis Mosses’ route is almost done for the day.

He normally started with the farthest destinations first and then worked his way backwards, finishing close to his home in the DDD sanctioned apartments.

But there had been a last minute add on, sending him back out again, further from the city and into the suburbs. He’s tired, as always, the early start to each shift, the thin walls of the building that do nothing to suppress the activities of his neighbors taking their toll. He rubs at the drowsy lids that keep insisting on shutting. Almost finished. Just this last one. Humming to keep awake. He should stop on the way home, pick up something for dinner. But that would mean delaying his return. Did he have the energy to even cook?

He’s thinking about you, the pretty young woman that guards the entrance now. The best part of his day. He should get you flowers. Say something, anything, instead of just polite formalities. Maybe today would be the day he found enough courage to express his feelings.

A little more alert now. His eyes flick to the paper on his clipboard. Yes, nearly there. He’s not familiar with this road. The houses are not as well kept. Some even look abandoned. Overgrown lawns. Broken windows. A tendril of misgiving curling around him. Something felt wrong. Maybe he should just say he couldn’t find the address. Offer up this part of the route to someone else working for the company.

But what if the person really needed it? It wasn’t fair to discriminate, was it? That sense of duty keeps his right foot pressed on the pedal. He’s going to finish the job.

He’s reached his destination. It’s difficult to see the numbers, half hidden by the weeds threatening to overtake the mailbox. At least the window panes are intact in this dwelling. Curtains cover the interior completely. The entire home is encased in shadow, darkness that seems to sap the sunlight from above.

The milkman shuts off the engine, easing out of his seat. He’s a little stiff from the long drive, the lateness of his shift. He touches one ear to a shoulder, repeating the process for the opposite side. A satisfying series of cracks. The rear compartment slides open and he lifts the wire rack from storage. The sun is strong against his back, a little perspiration making the white material of his workshirt cling to his skin. He’s suddenly craving something cold to drink. Maybe he should just invite you out. There would be enough time before curfew. Sodas at the local diner. He imagines you blushing that pretty pink shade, your hand covering your mouth. Shyly accepting his proposal.

Francis isn’t really paying attention to the cement walkway he’s traveling on that leads to the front door, ignoring the crab grass poking through the seams of each concrete slab. He doesn’t spare a glance for the peeling paint of the clapboards, the tarnish of the metal doorbell. The door creaks open and he’s got a smile on his face, his customary greeting for customers combined with thoughts of you. Just a heartbeat shy of reacting in time to who—what— waits for him in that dim interior, the hand reaching for the handle of the basket changing course at the last moment, latching onto his wrist and dragging him inside, the basket falling from his fingers, the glass shattering, spilling dairy product over the entryway.

He’s pulled off balance, thrust to one side, barely managing to keep his head from cracking against the wooden floor. Subflooring, not even a proper finished layer. No furniture inside. The home was stripped bare, except for the heavy drapes over the windows, the last illumination from outdoors disappearing from view as the door slams shut. The air is stale, musty. He feels the dust beneath his fingertips. No one has been inside here for a long time.

He’s barely started to struggle to his feet before the creature is upon him. Doppelgänger, he thinks with panic. It has to be. Hands pin his wrists down to either side of his face, his body shoved down beneath the heavy weight of the invader.

It’s not the first time he’s encountered one directly.

Once, when he was younger, he’d gotten separated from his mother at the supermarket. Not paying attention, distracted by the array of goods on the shelves, lost in whatever daydream had overtaken him, until he’d felt the hand on his wrist, the hand that didn’t belong to his parent or a concerned employee or fellow customer, but a doppel. The feeling of claws digging in. Seeking to break the skin, to draw out some blood, just the smallest amount needed to copy his appearance. The pain before an off duty DDD member had thankfully intervened had been sharp, hot, an intensity he’s still never forgotten years later.

This was not that feeling. This is like being submerged into a warm bath, but the water was sticky, cloying. It hurt, but there was something pleasurable about it as well. A kind of numbing tranquility. Pressing against becoming pressing into.

Hold still.

The command said aloud, or in the depths of his mind, he can no longer tell. One last burst of adrenaline making him struggle. The quick, disdainful flick of a claw, the alien’s true appendage, dragging across his skin. He feels the flecks of blood spattering near his collar, hears the wet collisions with the starched fabric.

“God help me…”

The only part of a plea or prayer he can muster. There was no escaping this. He can feel the thing burrowing inside of him. How was it even possible? The doppels only cloned or consumed humans. This merging was something new.

He can feel it digging around in his brain. Sifting through his thoughts.

A DDD establishment resident? Challenging.

Your face. He focuses on it in his mind, recreating each detail of every feature. The scent of you. Summer flowers.

Who’s this?

Don’t hurt her. Don’t you dare—

The numbness has worn off. It is no longer a soothing feeling. He is burning from the inside.

I won’t let you harm anyone. If you’re going to be me, then be me. You’re not going to hurt anyone ever again.

Let me in. Let me in, stop resisting.

Forgive me.

What’s happening? Changing me, I’m not…

Not one or the other. Combining.

Something new.

***

“Francis, wake up.” The doppel’s eyes fly open. A moment of disorientation and panic visible on his features until his eyes find yours in the wan morning light spilling in through the farmhouse window. “I think you were having a nightmare.”

Your hand rests against his bare chest, feeling the pounding of his heart. What would an invader dream about that would make them so afraid? Being discovered? Destroyed?

He reaches a hand to touch your cheek. “Sweetheart.”

“I’m here, love. It’s okay. You’re okay.” You kiss the corner of his mouth. He turns his face slightly and captures your lips again. Hungry. Nipping at your bottom lip. He’s turning, rolling you beneath him.

“My love. Mine.” Tasting your neck. His palm warm and heavy as it dips beneath the scooped neckline of your nightgown. He rolls your nipples between his thumb and index finger, tugging lightly, bringing them into stiff peaks. You squirm, writhing beneath his touch, the mouth of your sex watering for him. Always so ravenous. You can never get enough.

You’re not wearing panties. It’s easy for a pair of fingers to slide right into that warm, wet tunnel. Your breath hisses. He steals the next one, his mouth covering yours. Your fingers wrap around his forearm as he begins sliding the probing digits in and out.

“I want to devour you.”

“Yes, Francis, please…”

“Eat you and then fuck you,” the copycat’s voice continues low beside your ear. “You’re mine.” A growl. His tone coarser. A little more of the doppel side of him showing. Possessive. Aggressive. Acting in retaliation to something in the dream he’d felt threatened by.

“I’m yours.” Your pelvis rocks up against his hand. “It’s you that I love, that my heart belongs to.”

“What’s inside…”

“Yes, what’s inside.”

“Mine forever.”

“Forever.”

He moans against your neck. A broken, human sound. Lips trembling. Pressed gently in a line down your body, the fingers still thrusting in and out, tongue darting out to taste between the petals of your flesh, nose digging into your mound as he grinds his mouth against your clit, sucking. Your hand is now buried in his hair, your eyes watching the way the rising sun filters through the lace curtains, dappled light and shadows painting your torso, lighting threads of gold and chocolate in his hair, on the fine hairs that cover his forearms. A haze blooms around him, a shining halo, a precursor to the pink tinged eyelids, the exploring fingers now withdrawn, claws just peeking out, hinting at what lies beneath, his tongue replacing that vacancy, no longer the short one belonging to the man whose body he inhabits but something serpentine teasing inside, unfurling, squirming, reaching deep, fangs teasing the pink flesh outside, the reddened invader’s eyes asking, begging for permission.

You’re terrified, exhilarated, he’s never been there before, not when he’s like this, he’d been so careful to not let the beast out and you haven’t pushed him, it’s only been a week but it feels like so much longer and you want it, gasping an affirmation, fingers tightening in his tresses. The sensation of being so thoroughly tasted, explored, consumed as the intruder’s teeth sink, pierce, lost in that pad of fat above the start of your sex, his tongue buried inside while he sucks, drawing your bundle of nerves taut against the roof of his mouth drives you right over the precipice, the back of your skull digging into the pillows as you keen, whine, whimper, he drags every desperate sound of pleasure he can from you until you can no longer stand it, overly sensitive, overwhelmed, quaking as you see the rising face of Francis Mosses, no longer giving way to the monster inside.

His next kisses on your mouth are gentle, allowing you to recover, stroking your shoulder, carding through your hair.

“Where did you go,” you murmur, suddenly feeling languid, relaxed, your extremities tingling pleasantly in your post orgasmic state.

“You’re not afraid at all?”

“A little. But I trust you. I know you’d never hurt me.”

“It’s difficult to stop it.”

“So don’t,” you challenge.

“Oh, love, we’ve talked about this. I can’t…”

“Kiss me with that mouth. Your real one…”

“You want that?”

“I want you. I love you.”

“Sweetheart…” His tongue spears your mouth. Still human, still holding back.

You reach down, caressing his hardened cock. “What were you dreaming about? Tell me, I’ll chase them away. Won’t let anyone hurt you…”

“Hnggh…” He moans, his breath quickening. His body shifts, his erection nudging your entrance, your splayed legs tightening around him as he penetrates you, his mouth close to yours. “I was dreaming about the past. The day it happened, when I took Francis. He changed me when I went inside him. Weak body but strong mind. Faith. His feelings for you. I was terrified of being lost in that union. Sharing, merging…unmaking and rebuilding my identity. The way that feels, coming apart like that…”

You gasp and he settles his hips against yours, resting his weight there for a moment, buried inside of you. “He made me want to be him. I couldn’t resist. I’d never wanted anything so badly. Until I met you. The want I have for you, love. The sheer ache of it. I would do anything for you. Risk anything, give anything. You have become my entire world, my universe. The thought of losing you, because of a momentary slip of the reins, because of something I’ve done…I can’t bear it.”

You swallow past the lump forming in your throat. You’d asked him about Francis’ end so many times, halting after he’d stated it would be the end of your reason for he, the doppelgänger, to be with you. But that wasn’t true anymore, was it? Because you’d fallen in love with him. And you felt the same way. You’d risk anything, give anything to be with him. And now you know the truth of it. Why this doppelgänger was so different from the others. Different, because the human whose body he’d taken had irrevocably changed him. Altering his goals, his desires. Tempering the craving for annhilation. Seeking a more peaceful integration. A life with you. The milkman’s final gift.

“I know why you’re scared. I won’t try to push you. I just love you so, so much. I want you to know that.”

“Sweet girl,” he sighs. He’s blocking most of the sunlight now, his face looming above yours. “Just a little. I’ll try…”

You nod. “Let me feel you, love.”

His hips lift. Creeping out of you inch by inch. His eyes changing again. Jaw shifting, mouth evolving. A ripple across the surface of his stretched lips. Teeth parting. He’s entering you again, his cock mirroring the violation of the alien tongue now probing yours. Still gentle, cautious. Your flavor there. Closing your lips over this new shape and texture. Still muscular, smoother, thicker until it tapers at the end, coiling around yours.

Your body is on fire, your earlier release already forgotten as you roll your hips against his. A rough groan. The hand cupping the side of your waist tightens, thumb digging into your flesh. Every time his body collides with yours, the pressure against the bite he’s inflicting sends waves of pleasure through you, your swollen cunt throbbing around his prick.

You’re whining again, a needy, pitiful sound hummed around that foreign tongue invading your mouth, curling and stroking, sharp teeth dripping saliva down onto your lips, sliding over your chin and down your neck.

Then it is Francis’ mouth hovering over yours again, his soft brown eyes gazing into yours as he sheaths and withdraws over and over, a little crooked grin of triumph, pleased he’s done it, he’s maintained control.

“My bride to be, my future wife…” The words becoming temporarily incomprehensible, his face burrowing against your neck. “Forever…eternal…I am yours…” He’s looking into your eyes as he cums, filling you with hot spurts of seed, everything in that gaze begging, pleading, that this will be the time, the future he wants to conceive inside of you coming to fruition at last.

***

You’re watching Francis Mosses’ doppelgänger in the mirror.

Hair tidy, side parted, slicked into place. Dressed in a button front shirt and slacks. Freshly shaved. You love watching him get ready. The care and attention he gives the process. Wanting everything to be proper. Perfect.

“I believe I’m ready. What do you think?” He turns to face you.

“Very dapper. I’m sure everyone will be very envious when they see you leading me inside the theater.”

“I think it will be more the other way around. Beautiful,” he murmurs, admiring your dress, your lips and nails painted to match, a deep, dark shade of red. “And what is underneath this loveliness, I wonder?” His fingers tuck beneath the neckline of your dress, trying to sneak a peak at your lingerie.

“If you start that, we’re never going to make it out the door.”

“Would that really be so terrible?”

“After, Francis,” you reprimand gently. You’re not used to rejecting him. But you think it will be good for both of you to get outside, have a date together. You want him to enjoy every element of the human experience. So much of what he knows is based on war, on violence. Sometimes you yourself get so caught up in your work you forget what it is you’re struggling so hard to protect. Not just lives, but the quality of those lives. You want the best for those residents you guard.

You want the best for your fiancé, too.

***

You’re screened at the entrance of the theater.

It’s nowhere near the level of scrutiny you provide working for the DDD; the likelihood of doppels wanting to infiltrate an old movie house was very unlikely. The bored looking attendant barely glances at your ID’s before waving you through.

“That man is terrible at his job,” your beau murmurs as you enter the theater, heading towards a pair of seats near the back row. There aren’t many people present; perhaps lured by the nice weather outdoors. Enjoying a lazy Sunday afternoon. “Maybe we should have started the invasion here.”

“Francis!” He’s not speaking loudly, but you look around hurriedly. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“I’m only teasing, love.” He wraps an arm around you, pressing a kiss against your temple. “No one’s listening, anyway. I’m sorry. It was in poor taste,” he apologizes, seeing your persistent scowl. “Forgive me?”

You tuck your dress beneath you before taking your seat. “I’m not cross with you, I’m just worried.” You didn’t want to draw any attention. As much as you like being out in public like this with the invader, you had to keep reminding yourself that you’re still at war. He’s still seen as the enemy, and no amount of declarations of affection for you would ever convince the DDD of his innocence. It was dangerous for both of you.

“Stop worrying. You’re meant to be having fun. Relax and enjoy this,” he whispers beside your ear. “No one knows. We’re okay.”

You try to comply, willing your furrowed brow to straighten. This had been your idea, after all. He was right. No one was paying any attention to you. Everyone present was seated in front of you, all facing the curtain shrouded film screen. Your doppel’s arm curls around your shoulders and you let yourself melt against him, the tension easing. Trying to recapture some of that feeling you have when you’re together at the farmhouse, away from the city, away from prying eyes. Your own little safe haven.

At last the heavy drapes shift aside, revealing the screen beneath. The sound of murmured conversation is extinguished, the only noise the occasional rattle of a straw in a cup, fingers digging into a box of candy or bag of popcorn. You have some chocolate in your purse. You withdraw it now, thumb dragging along the paper wrapper, trying to be quiet as the film begins.

The Warner Brothers logo appears. Then there is a map overlaid with the opening credits before the focus shifts to a rotating globe. You glance at your companion. His eyes are fixed on the screen. There was the invader’s original goal, so tantalizingly out of reach, that objective shifting to a very normal life with you, pretending to be human.

You squirm a little restlessly in your seat. The copycat’s thumb strokes your shoulder. “Easy, love. It’s okay.” His breath hot by your ear. “I love you.”

The words instantly soothe you. You manage to tear the foil and extract a piece of chocolate, already starting to melt. It was warm inside the theater. You offer it to your companion, watching his features as he takes the rectangular sweet between his teeth, breaking off a section and chewing, considering. “Good. Not as good as the jam. Not as good as you, but nothing is,” he whispers, mouth pressed close to your ear again. He accepts the remainder and his tongue darts out to taste your fingers, reminding you of the previous morning, when he’d invaded you with his real one, your pussy and your mouth teased with it, the familiar warm pulse between your legs asking for more.

You struggle to return your attention to the screen, absently slotting the next piece of candy into your own mouth.

It’s different watching the film again now that you’re older, in a serious relationship. The sheer ache of the tragedy of it all. The woman thinking her husband was dead, killed trying to escape a concentration camp. Falling in love with another man. Leaving abruptly to nurse her spouse back to health after learning he’d survived. The bitter conflict of the backdrop of the world war. Meeting again. Forced to choose between both men she loved. The nightclub owner insisting she leave, promising she’d regret it if she didn’t, a famous line of dialogue that was so often quoted.

It’s impossible not to see some parallels with your own romance. Choosing between Francis and the doppelgänger. A war that encompassed the world, this one not with other nations within that globe but alien invaders. What was the greater sin, betraying your heart or betraying the human race?

You’re quiet as you leave the theater, squinting against the dazzling sun outside. Francis’ doppel offers to drive your car and you let him, staring out the passenger window, watching the brick and mortar surrender to the trees and fields you’ve been missing already.

“This melancholy concerns me.”

You turn to find the milkman’s copy staring at you, eyes darting occasionally to check the road ahead. Empty, as it so often was.

“I’m sorry. I meant to ask if you enjoyed the film.”

“I enjoyed being with you. I always do.” He focuses once more on the path, steering around a deep dip in the ground. “That’s the hole the truck struggled with,” he murmurs. You’re so accustomed to it your body runs on autopilot, maneuvering around it without even thinking. “You’re worried about us being discovered.”

You chew on your bottom lip, silently cursing yourself. “I didn’t want to ruin the experience for you.”

“You didn’t, love.” One hand leaves the steering wheel to cup your cheek.

“I don’t want to get caught. It would kill me to lose you. Absolutely destroy me. I can’t, Francis. I can’t lose you twice.”

You’re jostled as the car abruptly leaves the road, pulling into one of the fields near your house. The doppel hurriedly shifts the gears into park, cutting the engine with a rough turn of the key. He turns to you, one arm resting on the back of the bench seating. “Listen to me. You’re not going to lose me. I’m not going to let anything happen to either of us.”

“You don’t know that, though. Sooner or later someone is bound to find out.”

“Leave the DDD.”

“Francis, we’ve talked about this.”

“Leave the DDD and move in with me. Here. At the farm. Or wherever you want. Just get away from all this.”

“Francis…”

“Be with me. Please, love.” His fingers curl around the side of your neck, his lips brushing yours. “I couldn’t do it. I could never give you up like Rick did with Ilsa in the movie. You’d be safer without me, but how could I ever want that, how…”

“I love you. I’d never leave you. Never.” You kiss him, your mouth rough against his. His tongue strokes yours and the heat you’d experienced in your core earlier returns. Your fingers break through the carefully coiffed stiff strands of hair, returning them to their natural, untidy form. His fingers work on the buttons of your dress, his mouth now laving at that exposed patch of skin below your throat.

You’re so close to home, but it’s impossible to wait just those few more minutes, exiting the car, allowing your body to be pressed down into the fragrant grass. He strokes up your thigh, nudging aside the fabric draped over you, a little hum of appreciation escaping when he feels the new satin that covers you.

You’ve never owned so many pairs of lingerie, so different from the standard fare you’d worn before. You like the feel of it clinging to those intimate places, like the reaction of the doppel every time he reveals them, like unwrapping a gift, fingers shifting each piece, palming your breasts, your sex. He makes love to you under that open blue sky, in that clear air that’s just starting to turn a little cooler as the afternoon bows to evening.

Back at the house, you’re assisted in preparing dinner, steak and baked potatoes and green beans while Perry Como croons in the background.

Till the end of time

Long as stars are in the blue

Long as there's a spring, a bird to sing

I'll go on loving you

“Move in with me,” the pretender says again, drying his hands on a dish towel, then slotting his hands on your waist after you’ve finished sliding the potatoes into the oven. “I want this every night.”

Till the end of time

Long as roses bloom in May

My love for you will grow deeper

With every passing day

“After you meet my parents. Then we’ll move in together. One more week.”

Till the wells run dry

And each mountain disappears

I'll be there for you, to care for you

Through laughter and through tears

The smell of the meat sizzling in the fry pan on the stove makes your stomach growl. You’re starving. Always so ravenous, now. Working up such an appetite.

“Dance with me after dinner.”

“Yes.”

So take my heart in sweet surrender

And tenderly say that I'm

The one you love and live for

Till the end of time

After dinner, in his arms as promised, he steers you in a neat circle.

“I had a wonderful weekend with you.”

“It’s not over yet.” He kisses your neck, his hands sliding over your abdomen. “I hope…”

“I know. We’ll keep trying, love.” You want to give him a child. That fear still there. Discovery. You were never as devout as Francis had been. Would it be blasphemous to pray? To ask for help, protection, mercy for a creature that was so reviled?

He switches off the record player and the final lamp in the living room. There is now nothing but moonlight to guide you.

He settles onto the couch. You sit beside him. The ticking of the grandfather clock is loud in the sudden stillness. Your mouths collide. A different kind of hunger afflicting you now.

“You’re still hiding from me,” you chide gently, sliding a hand over one thigh, moving to the front of the fly of his pants, where the bulge fits neatly into the curve of your palm and fingers.

“About that,” he murmurs. “Partly it’s for fear of losing control.”

“You won’t,” you reassure him, sucking at his bottom lip.

“Partly because I wanted to fill you with human seed. Our best chance to make a baby.”

“And the other part?” You prompt, sensing there is still something left unsaid.

“I’m not sure if you’d like it.”

“You mean find it appealing?”

“Yes,” he admits reluctantly.

“I love every part of you.” Your hand squeezes and he sucks in his breath sharply.

“You really do, don’t you?” This said with a kind of wonder and disbelief.

“Is it really so strange? You find me attractive, and I obviously don’t look like your kind.”

“You are beyond attractive. You are gorgeous. The softness of you. That texture. The flavor…” He kisses your jaw. “I can never get enough.”

“So you can relate to that feeling of being addicted.” You’ve slowly begun to unfasten his belt, now working on the button and zipper.

“I wonder how much of that isn’t a result of the bites.”

“I think that contributes to it.”

“I didn’t know they’d have that effect.”

“It’s all new. Uncharted territory, didn’t you call it?”

He hums in agreement, the sound changing to a moan when your fingers dip beneath his briefs. “I’m tempted.”

“Do it.”

“What if you don’t like it? It would ruin things…”

“No. I want it feel it. In my hand. In my mouth. Inside of me.” He shudders against you. “I love you, my doppelgänger.”

A growl. The leash slipping. He nips at your ear lobe. “Sweetheart, if that’s what you really want, I’ll give it to you. It’s all for you…”

Heat against your hand, not the customary warmth of that reproductive organ but something else, a scalding kind of sensation. The flesh morphing, rearranging beneath your fingertips. Growing slicker. Reminiscent of his true tongue, the structure thicker at the base, narrowing at the end. Root, tentacle, something else, no word for that pulsing member you hold in the near darkness.

He’s sweating with the effort of restraining himself, tasted every time your mouth touches his, salted kisses accompanied by your hand cautiously sliding along the length, exploring, forced to stretch your arm as you caress the alien’s cock, finding the head at last not so unlike the human one, ending in a kind of domed, mushroom shaped tip. Fat, thick, it would definitely stretch you. The thought of it makes you shiver, your body drooling arousal.

“Does it feel good? I don’t know if I’m doing it right…”

“It is…” He says a word you don’t recognize, something in his native tongue. You can’t replicate it. “That’s why I didn’t tell you my name. You could never say it. Even what I just uttered isn’t quite…fuck. Right there. Oh sweet girl, you’re always so perfect for me. Sit on it, sweetheart. Let me fuck you.”

Your heart is pounding as you stand long enough to pull your dress off overhead and remove your panties, climbing over the doppel’s thighs, that foreign prick tapping impatiently against your bare stomach. His hands clutch your buttocks as you raise yourself, guiding his dick into position. Your breath saws in and out roughly. Almost panicked. But so aroused. It’s too late to stop now. You’d asked for this. You asked for this and now…oh. Inside of you. A burning stretch, like having your maidenhood taken again for the first time. A whimper escapes you. Somewhere between pleasure and pain. Blurring from one to the other. Filling you. So warm inside. You can’t possibly fit all of it in there. A sob of frustration.

“My love,” he croons soothingly. “Our bodies weren’t meant to fit together, the anatomy, you can’t…”

“I want all of it,” you say stubbornly, disappointed. Feeling like you’ve failed him somehow.

“Look at how well you’ve done, sweet girl, letting me inside…” His hand strokes over your abdomen and you mirror his movements, feeling the bulge there. “Fuck me, sweetheart. I want to make you feel good.”

Your hands grasp his shoulders as you lift yourself up, supported by his hands, some supernatural strength from the invader providing assistance. Back down again. Up and down. A rhythm building. You’re getting used to it, slowly but surely. That tender ache within you starting to evolve into something else. A coil of pleasure knots your insides.

“Tell me your name. Even if I can’t say it…to hear it…” A foreign word. “No. From your tongue. That mouth…”

“Risky, love. Can’t…” The hands holding you are shaking. “Even this is…”

“What…what is it? Tell me.” You’re properly riding his cock now, grinding yourself down as far as you’re able.

“It’s dangerous. The desire to be let out…tear free…love, it’s…I can’t stop it…”

The coil inside of you snaps, your orgasm ripping through you. There is something else, something searing hot spilling into you, the stream of it running out as he lifts your body clear of his, then cradles you against him.

“You didn’t warn me,” you chide softly when you’ve recovered, your fingers gliding curiously across the trail of slick cum streaking your thighs. “There’s so much of it.”

“Wanted it to be a surprise.”

You slap his arm playfully, then rest your forehead against his. “I told you you’d be okay.”

“Are you sore?”

“A little. It’s okay.”

“I don’t like hurting you.”

“I wanted it. I don’t regret it. I’d like to do it again sometime.”

“My love, what am I going to do with you?” He says in mock exasperation.

“Hopefully marry me.”

“Oh, that’s definitely happening. Speaking of which. We need to plan that out. The details of where and when.” He makes a little disgruntled sound. “Can we go take a bath? This is getting rather…unpleasant.”

You can’t disagree, the feeling of being so damp and sticky, the decreasing temperature and congealing nature of the ejaculate getting more and more uncomfortable to be lingering in. “Yes. Let’s go upstairs. We can plan things out while we wash up. Then it’s bed time. We both have work in the morning.”

“I love you,” he says softly. “I’m so grateful you love me. The real me. I like being called your doppelgänger,” he adds, stealing a quick kiss before you scoot off his lap, allowing him to stand. You manage to find your discarded clothing.

“Well, it’s the truth. You are mine.”

He hastily buttons the front of his pants to keep them from sliding down as he rises, reaching out to take your hand, leading you to the foot of the staircase.

“Do you have a last name?”

The doppel chuckles. “Get upstairs, you.”

“I think I’m entitled to know, seeing as how I’m going to be your wife.”

“I’ll tell you my real name. Soon.”

Another kiss in the dark, the promise of a shared secret.

#francis mosses #thats not my neighbor #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #milkman #milkman x reader #milkman x you #the milkman #doppelganger #that’s not my neighbor

[evillysilly]

5 | check out.

content warning: nsfw (lewd), blowjob, dubcon, hair pulling, sub francis, dom doorman reader

a/n: i feel like the last drabble i made was ass so why not make another one hehe. holy shit word count is around 1.3k

(⸝⸝๑ ̫ ๑⸝⸝⸝) , (,,¬﹏¬,,) , ( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) 

"mmm.. is this.. really necessary?" your lovely and attractive neighbor, Francis, asks you, sitting on the desk right in front of you. your warm hands sending electric shocks through his body, exploring his body.

"juuust checkin' for something, Mister Mosses, no need to worry." you reassure him, fingers stroking his navel soothingly. "mmm.. I see..." he murmurs, he couldn't help but if everyone in the apartment building got this treatment, he tried to focus on his breathing, telling himself that you're just doing your job.

he could feel his hands on the edge of the desk twitching, wanting to grab yours and pull you closer, but he keeps them still, not wanting to get ahead of himself at all... while you trace delicate circles on his sensitive skin, his breath hitches, a soft whimper escaping his lips. his eyes closed, his mind racing with such thoughts. he does not know why he's reacting this way, but he couldn't deny the burst of pleasure flooding through him.

"mmm.. a-apologies... I..-" he stammers, his voice barely audible. he feels vulnerable, exposed, but there's an undeniable thrill coursing through his veins. Francis clenches his grip on the desk, trying to calm himself down as you shush him.

"hey, it's fine. it's normal to feel like this when getting checked." he reassures him, acting like he has done this to the other residents— spoiler alert— he has not.

Francis swallows hard, trying to keep his composure as you continue tracing your fingers on his navel, wanting more noises to come out of him. you were making him feel things he hasn't felt in probably years. his head spinning, he quietly sighs as you continue to trace your fingers across his skin, his heart pounding. He can't help but lean into your touch, his breath hitching again.

"mm... alright..." Francis mutters quietly, his voice shaking. he doesn't know why, but he wants this to continue, even though it feels wrong. he's never felt this excited about being checked, but there's something about you that makes him want more.

you relax your eyes, loving Francis' reactions, you never thought you'd be doing this to the resident you were always drawn to because of how mysterious and how pathetic he looks, you couldn't help but be drawn to him just because of that! but here we are now!

"well, what do we have here?"

your fingers trailed down to Francis' crotch, the unknown bulge showing visibly and it was tightening the milkman's pants. Francis gasps at the touch, he's never felt anything like this, his breath hitches, his whole body tensing up. he's not sure if he should be embarrassed or if he should be enjoying this. His mind is spinning, unable to process the sensations coursing through him.

"wuh- what are you doing..?"

"look, it's growin'."

Francis blushes deeply, realizing what was happening. his heart pounds in his chest, his breath coming in short gasps. he can't believe he was getting aroused just because of you touching him, but there's no denying the evidence in front of him. his eyes dart to the side, avoiding your gaze as embarrassment washes over him.

"mmm.. I- I don't.. didn't know... I'm-"

"now, don't apologize, Mosses, I'm here to check you out, remember?" your lips curve up into a smile, hands going up to Francis' waistband, slowly pulling them down along with his boxers. Francis could feel his knees going weak, his heart pounding. He can't believe this is happening but.. he doesn't want you to stop. at all.

as Francis lifts himself up slightly for you to slowly pull down his lower clothes, he bites his lip, his eyes locked on you. he can feel the heat creeping up his face, his breathing coming in short gasps. "mmm..."

his body trembles, his cock standing, begging for attention as you look at it in awe, it was twitching already, you look from the shaft to Francis, smile widening. "well, didn't expect you to be wet already."

you look behind Francis just to check if someone's there, but luckily for you, there's nobody there, before someone could catch them, you shut the blinds by pushing one of the buttons on the desk, looking back to Francis and his dick that's been needy for attention.

you finally lean down, blowing the bright red tip a kiss as you feel Francis jolt, his heart hammering in his chest. he can't believe what's happening, his mind racing with thoughts and emotions. he swallows hard, his breathing was so uneven. he feels like he's in a dream, a beautiful, erotic dream.

"mmn.. you.. you don't have to..." he whispers, he's never felt so turned on, so desired, and it's both terrifying and exhilarating. he doesn't know what to expect, but he can't help but feel a sense of excitement.

you look at him with a smile, sticking your tongue out. "but I want to." you proceed to lick the tip that's been leaking with pre-cum, hearing Francis let out a soft moan, his hips slightly jerking, wanting more. "ahh.. please.. mm.. more..." he doesn't know what's coming over him, but he can't help but plead for more. he feels like he's on a precipice, and he's not sure if he wants to jump.

you hum in response, taking Francis' hand and placing it on your hair, gesturing that if he needs to stabilize himself, he can just grip your hair.

after that, you begin to put all inches of Francis' shaft in your mouth, feeling the tip hit the back of your throat.. that would definitely leave some kind of mark there. you slightly gag on it, covering his dick with your saliva.

Francis grips your hair tightly, relishing the feeling of your mouth slobbering on his cock, your mouth enveloping his aching erection, your tongue swirling around it. he feels like he's in a fantasy, something he never thought he'd experience.

"mm.. oh..." he breathes out shakily. he feels alive, like he's experiencing something he's missed all his life. you're taking him deeper, and he can't help but let out another soft moan, his hips bucking as you take more of him.

you close your eyes and hum around his cock, sending vibrations as you start bobbing your head, hearing more of those lovely noises from the resident you're sucking off on. his body was trembling. your mouth moving up and down his member, tongue lapping the pre-cum spilling out of his slit up, your warm breath brushing against his skin. your hands grip his hips, holding him in place.

"mm.. yes.. m-more..." he whines, trying his buck his hips but couldn't due to your hands gripping his hips firmly. your mouth moves in perfect rhythm, receiving more moans from the resident, those noises got you addicted, ever since you've heard it earlier, you were having a raging hard on.

you swirl your tongue around the sensitive head, fastening your pace just a little bit, feeling Francis' grip on your hair tightening, making you moan around him. he feels like he's on the edge, and he doesn't want to come down.

"mmmngh.. o-oh God..." he breathes out, his voice scarcely heard. he can't help but let out more soft moans, his back arching slightly. this feeling is unlike anything he's ever experienced, and it's both terrifying and exhilarating.

his orgasm is building, and he can feel it coming, his body tense, his breath coming in short gasps. he doesn't know what to expect, but he can't help but want more, more, more.

and then, it happens. w wave of pleasure washes over him, and he lets out a soft cry, his body arching slightly, his hands gripping your hair tightly. you're there, catching every drop of his release greedily as his body trembles.

as you swallow every drop of him, you pull away, licking your lips. "guess we're done here, hm? you're free to leave, Mosses."

"a-ah, yes." Francis slides himself off the desk, pulling his boxers and pants back up and hastily buckling his belt as he steps out of the security booth. "..thank you." he mutters, before leaving.

let's just say you two were definitely gonna meet up more often after this.

#zzz... writes #dom male reader #francis mosses x male reader #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #milkman x reader #oneshot #smutshot #whatever its called #i was gonna make this longer where reader breeds francis but im so fucking lazy rn

[deeptrashwitch]

Marcus "Poison" Lombardi

Name: Marcus Lombardi

Nacionality: American🇺🇲/Italian🇮🇹

Age: 25

Date of birth: 8th march 1997 - New York City (U.S.A)

Residence: Killeen, Texas, USA

Afilliation: U.S Marine Corps / 75th Ranger Regiment Specters

Rank: Private

Callsign: Poison (Current)/ Charlie 3-6

Occupation: Infantry operator

Height: 1.86 m/ 6'1" ft

Weight: 80 kg

Blood type: AB-

Pronouns: He/him

Sexuality: Straight

Languages: English (Native), Italian, Portuguese, Indonesian

AFILLIATIONS

Specters members:

-Captain Alicia Marchant (alive)

-Lieutenant Luke Michaelis (alive)

-Sergeant Jackson Blackwell (alive)

-Sergeant Edward Jackson (alive)

-Corporal Noah García (alive)

-Corporal Elijah Wilson (alive)

-Airman First Class Nicholas Fowlett (alive)

-Private Elliot Stevens (alive)

-Private Alexander Christensen (alive)

-Private Francis Scott (alive)

CIA:

-Chief Station Dominique Wright (alive)

Underworld:

-Liù Xiao Chen (alive)

FAMILY

-Kenneth Lombardi (Father) (alive)

-Janice Lombardi nee Crane (Mother) (deceased)

-Nick Lombardi (Uncle) (alive)

-Keyra Lombardi (spouse) (alive)

PERSONALITY

-He is energetic and joyful with his teammates, but when he's on mission his personality becomes a mix of cautious, ferocious and analytic.

-During the conjoined missions he stays near the other soldiers as his Captain commanded, but he always is alert and is always trying to get the most information he can of them only by their looks.

-He always stays deep in his thoughts when he thinks about his parents, and sometimes is difficult to bring him back. Every time he came back, he shake his head and then sighs, and when he does that...everyone knows he has zoned out.

BIOGRAPHY

Born in New York City, New York. His family during many years were his father, his mother, his uncle and him, but now there's only the men. As a kid, he was an absolute mom's boy, although he keeps an amazing relationship with his father.

When he was younger they all lived on Little Italy, and he passed part of his time inside his father's store, helping with the register while he was on high school. During that time he met Keyra when she went to buy groceries, it was a daily thing, but that time was somehow different and they ended up dating after many funny situations. He took a year and half before enlisting, again to help with the family bussiness, and once he enlisted to the Marine Corps, he departed to Camp Pendelton.

When he finished basic training, he was assigned to one team, his first and last team before the Specters. After his first deployment, and even against some people advices, he proposed and married Keyra, and has never regreted it. But during that first years, he learned about his mom's diagnosis, she had stomach cancer.

It was difficult to hear, and mostly to see his father so drained when he accompained her to chemotherapy. He talked with Keyra about and both decided to help with the costs of the treatments, so a big part of his salary went to it. Even his uncle flew from Florence to help them with the bussiness, to gave his own brother a break, also Keyra helped her mother-in-law everytime she could.

Marcus had a hard time to go and see his mom, but when he was able to do it, he went even if it hurted like hell to see her that way. Right now he prefers not to evoke the image of his mother, how tired, sick and sad she looked, and how she tried to smile to him. That lasted during a couple more years before his mother passed away, and it hurted during the next two years and still hurts until today.

It was difficult to keep going, but he did, helping his father and with Keyra's help. After it, he continued inside the Marine Corps, and soon Wraith went to talk with him to offer him a place inside the Specters. Soon he arrived to Black Tomb, and there he has stayed from then on.

SKILLS

-Specialized on many fire weapons, his favorites during missions are a Galil 556. and a Carabin M4.

-Main and static part of the infantry squad, but he goes better during infiltration missions. They are the second squad to get inside the objective, always behind the recon squad.

COMBAT

His combat style is specialized on ofenssive, not as variated as the Captain's, but it make him almost an expert on MCMAP. His first choice weapon is also a Bowie knife. He's teaching their combat style to some of the team, and he practices usually with Alexander and the Captain.

TRIVIA

-Marcus loves to learn how to play every instrument he can get his hands on. So far he knows how to play guitar, drums, flaute, tamborine, bass and piano.

-He's madly in love with Keyra. Every time he's off deployment he arrives at the house with a flower bouquet, his wife favorite dinner and some beautiful jewels. He always feels guilty for leaving her during missions, but every time she reassures him that she'll be fine and that she's proud of him.

-He has no car but Keyra does. She got a blue Chevrolet Spark, it's nothing luxurious and a bit old but she uses it almost everyday.

-Marcus doesn't have a favorite music genre, but enjoys specially the music in spanish. Noah has played jokes on him many time because of it.

-Everytime he has the opportunity to talk about his wedding, HE WILL! It amuses the team, but they are happy to hear how their friend has a happy marriage. Everyone gave him ideas for some dates, and Marcus helped Luke with everything related to his own wedding.

-His callsign was an accident, to be honest. During a call with his now deceased mother, he heard her talking about a documentary she was watching, about true crime. His mother muttered something related a random fact mentioned, and he recognized it instantly a way of how killing with poison. They started calling him Poison, and it stayed!

-He always goes to get himself checked looking for any kind of cancer. He refuses to take a risk about it.

-His favorite drink is soda, he doesn't have a determined brand, just takes anything in stock. And his favorite food is pancakes, specifically the ones with banana and chocolate sirup! Everytime they go to a dinner or a cafe, Marcus will order pancakes and if it has also powdered suger on top...he can die happy.

Song

Moodboard

#ocs #oc #call of duty #cod oc #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw2 #team charlie #cod mwii #call of duty mw2 #specters

[asparklethatisblue]

it’s truly cruel that I have to go sleep to be alert enough to go do things I’m hyper-fixated on the next day, when all I wanna do is stay awake and talk or think about these things instead…

anyway, Francis being horribly mean to James in the first years of their relationship, and then feeling guilty to the point of dizziness about it once he’s gone sober. (James is kind of 🤷🏻 about it)

#i gotta go to the city for fabric for a dumb thing tomorrow #but nooooo i want to think about cold old men and their neurotic boyfriends

[chaoss-incarnate]

lets talk about marion? i mean, yeah, she's bunny's girlfriend, and we don't know much about her. we know she can be kinda strict with bunny, and is good with kids. we know the greek class (especially francis for some reason) have beef with her.

but during the whole book, i felt bad for her, and i hope i'm not the only one.

bunny, as richard said, is sexist, and views women as the lower, weaker gender. richard even says bunny thinks of marion as a concubine. but richard also says that it could be because he's in the greek class and in ancient greek times women we're viewed as lower (this isn't an excuse at all and i hope you think the same)

and then he goes missing. and she's worried sick, and angry at him, for just disappearing and not saying anything. a friend of hers apparently sees him at the bank, but he still doesn't reach out. bill hundy starts saying he saw him get kidnapped by arabs. we know this isn't true, we know he's dead, but she doesn't. and during this, all francis does is complain about her. henry uses her, expects her to alert the police. but she's worried, of course she's worried.

then his body is found. her boyfriend is dead. imagine the pain she must have felt.

then the funeral. having to see his family, his friends. they even invite a girl bunny used to have a crush on. obviously not poor sophie dearbold's fault, but still upsetting to marion.

camilla complains of having to sleep in the same bed as her. francis just complains about her in general.

she latches on to charles. richard tells us its because he's the best-looking out of all the males in her age group. her boyfriend has just died and richard thinks she's trying to sleep with charles. most likely she latched herself onto him because she knows he's bunny's friend, was in his class. maybe henry intimidates her, and she probably knows francis doesn't like her, and that camilla was annoyed at having to sleep in the same bed as her. she doesn't know richard all that well, and he didn't know bunny for that long either. she probably didn't know how charles felt about her, he didn't push her away (he was high/drunk most of the time but who knows if she knew that) and she needed reassurance. yet richard assumes she just wants to sleep with charles.

note: richard says about how sexist bunny was, how he viewed women, but the way richard viewed women was not that different. as stated before he had made assumptions about marion, and we never got any depth about camilla either; every time she speaks, he is just talking about how beautiful she looks, how nice her voice sounds. we truly don't know what camilla was like (this kills me). i think the only woman in the story we got actual depth on is judy, because he didn't idolize her like he did camilla, and she is a more important character than marion. we see judy as i guess she really is, kind and thoughtful (she constantly reassures him when bunny dies, tells him she's there for him, etc), but also confident and sure in herself. at the start it doesn't seem that way, but i believe judy is one of the most genuine characters in the book. anyway, moving on.

then marion marries one of bunny's brothers, and has the first daughter in i don't know how many generations of corcorans. the young girl's nickname is bunny.

i don't know how much i like this ending for marion, but i suppose it is realistic. richard described bunny being very similar to his brothers, maybe she saw him in them too. she most likely spent lots of time in their company after bunny's death.

#chaotic academia #dark academia #the secret history #henry winter #richard papen #bunny corcoran #charles macaulay #francis abernathy #camilla macaulay #marion corcoran