#words covered in moss

[apileofwizardbooks]

wizard's duel? no, you heard me wrong, i said wizard's gruel. i'm houngry

[sapphicscholarlyscribe]

hey it's a-pair-of-sapphic-socks, or i used to be :|

my account got zapped with no prior warning a couple of days ago so i made this one, i'll be explaining what happened under the cut if you want to more details, i'm honestly mostly doing it so i can remember it later

i happened to take a screencap a few days before my account was terminated, i think this was December thirteenth?

on thursday fifteenth of december sometime around seven AM (GMT+2) my account was terminated, i took this screencap at the time:

i know it had to be around seven AM because i was browsing tumblr earlier, say around six, and it was perfectly functional

also, a few days before this, my DMs were disabled. at the time, i chalked it up to a classic tumblr goof and didn't pay it too much mind. now i think it's relevant

i immediately contacted support but given their track record with one of my mutuals who also had their account deactivated for a time, i'd wager they won't respond for at least another week, sigh

[hyperiridescence]

just found out that jake's pesterchum handle is golgotha's terror and not golgot has terror

[elodieunderglass]

I really like the idea that one of the weird lurkers of your blog (like me) just hangs around looking for inspiration to write papers about. Like I realize that's not how it probably actually went down, but 2017 to 2022 seems like a pretty reasonable lead time from reading your post to conducting the research to writing and publishing the paper.

In reference to this:

It’s amusing that the original post only got 22 notes (likes), but when I looked at it again it had 19, which I’m choosing to interpret as the authors sheepishly withdrawing their likes in order to preserve their anonymity.

I think they probably just googled the phrase “friends to lovers pathway” before using it as the title of their paper and pulled up my post, or the other alternative being that the post popped onto their timeline when they were in the early stages of manuscript prep, and it was a moment of academic serendipity. I definitely don’t think I inspired the work in any way - just the quote and title. But it’s funny to imagine being studied.

I should say that I don’t necessarily expect permission to be asked if people intend to prosper or advance their careers from my words or art. However, I do appreciate the courtesy of being told that it’s happened. So far I’ve been quoted in a published book, quoted to name an academic paper, a person is actively selling plushies and other merchandise based on a post of mine while claiming that it’s their intellectual property actually, and screenshots of my work are regularly considered hilarious enough to steal but not pay me for. (the cricket post in particular was screencapped, went viral on Twitter some years ago without reference to me, was shared around BBC journalist twitter, and hundreds of people in the media industry said things like ‘lol we should pay this person to write’ …. in the apparent ignorance of the fact that if they had asked I would probably be open to…. Being paid to write……… and all the other times my posts have broken containment to go viral on other platforms for other people, with comments about how I should be commissioned to write a book; obviously that’s a normal part of online journalism and media, and I’m not naive about it, but it’s a bit much to for these people to be enriching their platforms with screencapped content, without the OP’s knowledge let alone consent, and joking about how they should pay for it or would read a whole book about it, when they’re the only people who could actually do something about it in the nightmare media landscape.) And nobody told me about any of these examples, I always find out by trying to retrieve links to my own stuff, or by friends telling me that someone else has gone so viral with my recognisable work that it got around to them.

Anyway if you do use my stuff in your own stuff, do let me know! I’m not here to prosper, but I am here to connect, and I’m quite willing to link your paper (and write a lay summary for free), buy your book or art, make your acquaintance, promote your work, or just add it to my portfolio - because if I ever DID want to prosper from my work here, which I wouldn’t usually consider except that it is evidently peer-reviewed good-enough-for-others-to-prosper-from, all of that would be valuable and helpful for me to know.

[whimpity-whumpity]

The Baron's code

The Baron, as terrifying as he is, never really learned how to read. He knows enough to spell his name, and to sound out others, but it takes him a while. But he needs to keep track of deals so no debtors get away.

Therefore, when he started doing the whole Baron thing, he made his own alphabet. It's based off the shapes mouths make when speaking.

They're sideways unfortunately but! They're here!

"P" is just a star because it's just a sharp puff of air, and the stars signify that a sound is sharp because stars are sharp!

One of the punctuation marks is "suspicious/review" because he's not the best at picking up on implications so he puts that when he's pretty sure there's something there but he's not sure what.

@emmettworld

[synthshenanigans]

CJ's voice gives me so much gender envy

[mossolantern]

i have a really dumb song stuck in my head right now

[idislikethissite]

An Interpretation and Review of Chonny’s Charming Chaos Compendium: an album of Tally Hall Cover/Remix/Mashups

Going by the name of Chonny Jash on youtube, he creates a stylistically unique form of “cover” (in addition to original songs, not included in this album) in which the original is covered, remixed and mashed up with tunes from other songs as well as adding entirely original lines; this allows for commenting on songs such as “Banana Man” and “Welcome to Tally Hall” within themselves, reframing ones like “Spring and a Storm�� while maintaining the original tone, and expressing an epic psychospiritual story of self discovery, queerness and neurodivergence over the course of 18 songs. Content warning: suicide mention under the cut.

The album is split into three sections: Calamity, Cacophony, & Concord. Concord includes songs themed around tally hall itself or with a theme independent of the rest of the album, including Welcome to Tally Hall and Banana Man. Calamity acts to set the stage, with the lines in Time Machine which encourage the listener to loop the album and turn it over in their head to consider many interpretations.

So look, god look at what you’ve done now to me; locked into eternity, I’ll be back here one day, so they say.

Rumors have that I will write a different song, trying to get it right all afternoon.

Dream is the only other song in Calamity, setting the opening tune to Cacophony with an appropriate cacophony in itself.

Cacophony

Cacophony is the above-mentioned saga of self-exploration, and in contrast to the eventual gravity it begins with a remix of Mucka Blucka, which was originally entirely composed of chicken noises; the lyrics draw from both other Tally Hall songs and original lyrics (replete with chicken puns in , referencing themes to come: the division of the self into heart, mind & soul with conflict and unity between each (a theme rooted in Christian philosophy as far back as Augustine), the cyclicality of Cacophony, stagnation & change, and freedom & imprisonment.

Through Cacophony, there are three central character, each with distinctive voices. Named Heart, Mind and Soul with a directness to match a medieval morality play, they each snap and prod each other as conflicts flare. Ruler of Everything is a case where Heart and Mind can be seen; Heart takes the role of Juno in the original song, while Mind acts as what had been a personification of time; throughout Cacophony Mind also exhibits traits of a vindictive figure who lashes out with a position of carceral authority. This aspect of Mind is established here, with new lines following "Juno was mad/he knew he'd been had/so he shot at the sun with a gun/shot at his wily one, only friend":

Listen to this he shot and he missed. So Juno got what he deserved imprisonment was all that he earned. So let's stop on in and see if he learned a god damn thing.

The Tally Hall song "The Mind Electric" serves as the base for three new forms: The Heart Acoustic is the first, expressing the character of Heart—a spirited being prone to swooping experiences of vicissitudinous emotion, disparaging Mind while illustrating what Heart strives for:

Choose to sit safely out of the sun away from rays so blinding to the eye. Singing songs someone's already sung averting gaze from beautiful light. But as complacency settles, anxieties will rise and part this soul as Jekyll parted Hyde. Now I'm one half of a hollow man's lies the love, the hate, the emotional side.

While the heart strives to reach for the "light", the source of its inspiration, the full self lies in stagnation; wanting to act, but not doing it. This expresses very clearly the sensation of executive dysfunction as I've experienced it myself, being aware of potential, of oneself not acting toward it, and the infuriating awareness of not knowing why.

"I know that I'm weak. I know that I'm vile. But sometimes that's what's needed to survive." That's what I'll say to rationalize. "I'm needed if we're to stay alive." And yet, here I lie with black sunken eyes. My Mind's consigned our sighs to a leaden void. The Soul remains tempered. I remain plied. Condemned 'til we are both all but destroyed.

The Heart here recognizes the coping mechanisms of self-preservation as an attempt to justify its own presence in the self. But at the same time it is aware of the continued inaction of the self, and recognizes that its presence is not enough to pull the self from that inaction as well as that while passive, the total self is condemned by the Mind.

But I know that one plus one can't equal two if happiness is both our truths. Our total sum must equal one if we're to find that golden hue. So spiraling down entropically, I beg of thee have mercy on me. I am just a boy, you see. I plead of thee, have sympathy for me. See how it hurts when the sound begins to ring. And you feel it start to rot and you beg for it to stop But you've already dug your lot in the ground.

The Heart sees itself and the Mind, recognizing the conflict between them and the hostility and believing them to be inevitable; overcome with fatalism and sliding into a role of victimization, it blames Mind for the situation and sees death as an inevitable conclusion.

See how the Mind tricks the Soul into being something sickly, dead and cold. as you feel it start to tire and fester so, so slowly. Up until the point where it will finally die, just in time to see what could have been. Do what you want, you automaton freak. No I can no longer bring myself to care. This hollowed out vessel's beginning to creak so take control, let's see how you fare.

Heart's fatalism has bled into apathy, and control is handed off to Mind with a dare to do what Heart believes impossible: to find, or create, a reason not to kill the self.

The song following The Heart Acoustic is Spring and a Storm, establishing the views of Mind.

One time I tried to sing about... I don't know, but it was nothing fucking new. Yet another platitude. Yet another platitude. "Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, bla-blah blah" is all they heard. Oh, you thought they were listening? No, don't be absurd.

The Mind defines itself beginning with a deep awareness of its unoriginality; everything to say, in the self for Mind or out of it for the self as a whole, has already been said. Nobody cares, and so it's both ridiculous and pointless to try to say anything at all.

I'm sure you really sang your Heart out or I'm sure that's how it seemed. But you and I both know so well now that looks can be deceiving. 'Cos "Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, bla-blah blah" is so overdone. For a man cloaked in daylight, you sure hate the sun. When the tears stream down one day, obfuscated by the rain can you truly say with a straight face that you tried your best?

Heart is seen by Mind as pointless; spouting meaningless words while hiding in self pity, the inaction of the self as "not trying". This calls again to executive dysfunction and the ease with which someone blames themselves in the simultaneous desire to do something and awareness of their inaction.

As Mind pauses, Heart (denoted in parentheses) takes the opportunity to snap pointedly at him:

(Mr. Mind?) Yeah? (What do you see behind those dead, leaden eyes?)

Instead of returning the insult, Mind expresses his view of the self:

A Soul, so deep, and dark, and eternally cold. And an oath, formed from us both, that it would stay whole. But I think if I left it to you you'd fall under its weight and kill it too. But I won't let you ruin what we could still be. We have so much left to sing such a plain and simple thing. Yet your silence lines this pit in which we have lain. All this rage, despair, and shame that's been caged, ensnared and flamed form this atom bomb of songs refused to be played. So if you insist on crying while our host is slowly dying then I'll cut you loose and spare this noose the dead weight.

The self, as seen by Mind, is ultimately a thing of potential; potential restrained by the indecisive, self-pitying presence of Heart. Recognizing that Heart is part of the self, Mind still is expressly willing to try to separate the two of them to spare the self from wasting its potential—even if this is still by killing the self, at least it isn't wasted passively. But Mind still remembers a mutual oath between itself and heart, to continue living. Mind, ironically, is defined by this contradiction: pushing the self to keep living while threatening an end to it in death.

From here, The Mind Electric begins with an extended roast of Heart by Mind.

I could go on, but let's leave it there. Resident Heart is feeble and frail. A scourge to purge; due diligence is all Silent, sad outbursts, inaudible wails dictate he never does as he's told. Fathers of fathers, brothers of sons, deterred from being what they know what they can. All because heart refuses to run. This creature hardly resembles a man. My logic is the absolute. His pity parties simply harm these chances at an apt repute: esteemed regard in place of mockery.

Mind leans into Heart's coping mechanism of self-pity, using it as a means to infantilize and dehumanize Heart. Heart is blamed for the way those external to the self see them, for their inaction, and for not taking decisive action to end it all. Mind also reinforces itself as an authority through judicial wording. The relations of father and son also echo the root of the heart/mind dichotomy as being based in Christian philosophy, where it's used to reflect and define the trinity with the individual psyche.

I can't claim that I enjoy this, covering for a tortured boy that's slowly tired of all his toys. His wiles and woes ring like white noise. And I know that it's hard to see my rhyme behind the entropy, but if he'd just once humor me, he'd see we need to live life logically. See how the Heart plays profound (See how he lies) But the depth is insincere a pathetic, thin veneer.

Mind continues condemning Heart, blaming it for the self's state of inaction and arguing for Mind's own necessity as a part of the self.

The Mind Electric is punctured with a new tone though, and the Soul Eclectic begins—establishing Soul, a third figure, claiming authority over both Heart and Mind. Heart is represented in parentheses here, and Mind in brackets.

Yo. Call me the Soul or call me my name. Oh, label me whatever you would like. Call me your host or call me insane if that will help you stay in line. (He's a damn madman) [He's a depressed fool] (Is that the one you truly want to be?) [Abandon him and we could be free.] Warring all night, abhorrent and trite. You seem to forget you answer to me. Fathers of fathers, I know that I'm vile. Let's see how long it takes to murder me. Neither is wrong, yet neither is right. Condemn him to the infirmary. You must be so arrogant to think that either of you can control the Soul so wholly, when to be the whole you can't hold solely.

Soul is frenetic, unleashed—exactly what should fit what both Heart and Mind have seemed to idealize. But seeing him, they recoil; Soul is ravenous for power, for action, for control, for freedom all at once and is exactly what Heart & Mind see as an obstacle to each of their aims. Soul, for his part, holds just as much disdain for them: he dares them to kill him, high on the sensation of his freedom and believing it unstoppable. Soul's challenge is the direct opposite of Heart's earlier challenge to Mind.

Scattering sparks of thought energy deliver me and carry me away. Here in my kingdom I am your lord I order you to cower and præy. 'Cos I'm not nearly kind enough to leave you parasites inside me Stumbling loosely down this path in hopes the other's struck by lightning.

Soul continues to establish his authority, legitimizing the claim to power by trying to set the self as his kingdom. There could be a potential double meaning here in lightning; Mind and Heart could be just as eager for each other to be struck with inspiration as they would be for them to be struck from existence.

([I. Am. Me.]) See how the serfs work the ground. ([See how they fall]) And they give it all they've got. And they give it all they've got. And they give it all they've got 'til they're down. ([HA HA HA HA HA HA])

For a moment, united against Soul, Heart & Mind are united; the source of that unity distracts them from noticing it at the same time though, and they soon split again:

(See how he laughs at you) [Seethe as he snarls at you] (He will never understand) [Watch him struggle just to stand] (A cold and bitter stance) [The weaker half of man] (What a calculated, degradated hand) [Watch him beg and bargain, time and time again.] See how they fight all day. The other half just won't hear what's had to say. It's just the game they play here in this labyrinth maze. Screams with no sense for why. One more day and one more night One more black and one more white One more chance is all you've left to turn the tides. Tridential regicide I won't hesitate to kill my Heart and Mind. I will abdicate these deviants sat inside. I'll take you down in tandem when this rope is tied.

Split again, Heart and Mind squabble by attributing traits of Soul to each other while Soul makes an ultimatum: One more day and One more night to live and find or create a reason to, or Soul in his decisive fashion will follow through on what Mind could only threaten with.

What follows is The Bidding; Mind's lines in brackets [], Heart's in parentheses (), and Soul in curly brackets {}. After Heart and Mind continue arguing while Soul's deadline approaches, a shift comes with Heart & Mind overlapping:

[You claim to relish entropy but I see] (Stuck, deteriorating helplessly, endlessly) [The order which you beg to hold you down to the ground] (The 'Ruler' of our Soul, left never crowned, forever bound.) ([Your [silence] (violence) deafens more than any sound]) {Oh my god. Holy shit. We were there, that was it. Did you see, harmony, if only temporarily? The halves I reviled An attempt to concile. One more time, go again. No, this can't be the end. It was mean. It was vile. Like a freak. Like a child. But for once, Heart and Mind had finally combined. I believe. I concede. You can finally enweave. If not for you or for him then please do it for me. 'Cos I don't know how much more I can take. This creeping, seeping, sickly, sweeping, heinous [heartache] (headache.) So please, won't you just attempt to be free. 'Cos I think I can finally be me.

Heart & Mind's moment of unity against Soul, and awareness of it, come with the realization that the structure of authority needs to be overturned to exist in unity; the Soul can't act without reason and emotion, and neither of them can exist while subjugated by Soul.

Two Wuv follows, solidifying the unity of the self:

Brothers, friends and family, I hope you understand that the person you see is a dark, divided man, but the fact is that is just who I am, and I can't keep selling this facade when I know that it's a scam. Father, Saint and Mary, I hope you understand, but your sermons are fucked, and it's time to take a stand 'cos I'm sick of hearing fears and demands. Can you tell me the point in preaching if I'm already damned?

The self has reconciled the parts, and accepted the unity; telling friends and family members about it, and about the euphoria found in that truth.

That unity isn't tolerated by the spiritual authority, and a part of the realization of the self is to recognize that that unity and continued existence stands despite the wrongful preaching of those spiritual authorities. The self has heard their sermons plenty, but has overcome them through realization of their own psychospiritual unity; their existence itself disproves the claims made in the preaching, and the only thing these spiritual authorities could want is to kill the united self either through forcing the appearance of conformity, or making them kill themselves literally and directly.

To anyone who knows me, I'm sure I sound absurd, but I'm an egoistic queer under any definition of the word, but I think, for the first time in my life that these oddities that bonded me aren't worth the fucking strife. So call me sick or crazy if that's what you'd prefer, but that rotten melody is one I've already heard and you can stick that shit where it can't be harmonized. I refuse to be the person that my parents eulogize.

The self is triumphant: existence continues, with a new sense of pride in unity, their own identity found and forged in defiance of the external disparagement.

Altogether, Chonny has threaded these songs into something entirely new: a saga of self in multitude, the currents of neurodivergence, queerness and spirituality coming together in a surging portrait of internal & external dialogue. The songs not mentioned all have just as many layers to look into, and these have only been chosen for being particularly relevant to the narrative of Cacophony.

[sergioguymanproust]

Visiting old shrines and temples in Ise shima located in Mie prefecture was an unforgettable experience.Hiking the many trails ,of this island ,the home of the goddess Amaterasu and the many faces of Buddhism connected deeply with the origins of Japanese culture was indeed special. The moss covered miniature shelters housed the stone carved avatars and protector of travelers and children .It was raining so it made more slippery going up the forest trail. The pine trees came alive with their moss covered trunks Words and pics by Sergio Guyman.

[apileofwizardbooks]

good fucking lord juno. what the fuck.

[hyperiridescence]

was thinking about the queen's death a few days ago and it suddenly struck me that calliope would be all "oh it is sUch a tragedy, the esteemed qUeen of england has passed away, i fear i miss her already -n-" while caliborn would be "*crab rave* *crab rave* *crab rave* *megamind meme* *crab rave*"

[eternityofend]

SAVE THE COW

MILK THE MILKMAN.

Pairing: F!Reader x Francis Mosses. (18+)

[ TW ] MINORS DNI 18+

NSFW, Overstimulation, Whimpering, Slight praise kink, Unprotected sex, Riding, Submissive Francis, Dominant Reader, Porn with no Plot, Blowjob, Biting, Kissing/Making out, Aftercare.

A/N: This is my first time writing smut, I apologize if it isn't that good.

"Mmm..."

You coo, caressing Francis's face as you kissed him on the nose. How adorable he was for a man who didn't care much for others, merely focusing on his work instead of interacting with others.

You felt special, considering you were the only one he opened up to, the only one he'd talk to without shying away.

But it was only right.

You let out a ghost of a smile as you continue caressing Francis's cheeks with your hands, kissing his neck lightly as you felt him tremble by your touch. Every touch of your lips on his skin sent him vocally expressing just how truly sensitive he was, gripping onto the fabric of your clothes as Francis threw his head back, face redder than scarlet milk.

Francis breathes out heavily, his hand going behind your head to grip onto your hair as you continue to litter kisses on his neck without end.

"[Name]-"

Poor Francis, barely even able to speak out more than one word before suddenly releasing a high pitched moan, gripping tighter on your hair as he was caught by surprise by the bite you left on his neck.

Francis's entire body trembles, but he doesn't tell you to stop.

You lick your lips, leaning your head up as you took Francis's chin in your hand and made him face towards you.

He looks like a puppy because of his teary expression and red cheeks. You sigh, how adorable can this man get?

You take his lips into yours, slipping your arm behind his waist as you hum in content, kissing him with vigorous passion that you knew would make him struggle to get air after.

Francis whines, trying to kiss you back with the same passion you were giving him but the best he could do was open his mouth and let you take control, leaning back on the bed he was on.

"Francis.." You mutter his name, breaking the kiss as he panted, his lungs fighting to get air after making out with you for a minute straight.

Your fingers cup his cheek and he leans into your touch, staring at you in the eyes while panting quietly. You smile, pushing him on the chest, forcing him to lay down on the bed as you crawl on top of him.

"I'll take good care of you." You whisper into his ear, your hand already unbuckling his belt and zipping down his pants.

"[Name].. please-" Francis mutters something with a rasp tone in his voice, gazing at you with such doe eyes that activates a bottomless pit of hunger, of lust, in you.

You pull down the last barrier that covered his dick, your eyes swirling in lust as it leaked pre-cum, the tip flushing a light flustered pink, sensitive to your touch.

"Relax, I'll make you feel good tonight, okay?" You whisper in a gentle tone, already rubbing his dick up and down with your hand, eager to make him orgasm within 5 minutes.

You wanted to break him, hear him scream out your name when he cums.

He was simply just so adorable.

Your pace increases, and you feel the slightest twitch of Francis's dick in your hand as he suddenly whimpers, moaning out words for you to slow down.

"Wait- Wait- Mmmm.. [Name] please- go slow!-" Francis chokes on his words as you did the complete opposite of what he wanted, throwing his head back, his hips thrusted up to match your pace. His eyes rolling back, as the only thing that came out of his mouth were broken moans.

"Haa.. Ha-" Francis grips onto the sheets, letting out a chorus of "Ah, Ah, Haa~" completely letting you know he felt good.

You exhaled, trying to control yourself as you felt yourself get even more aroused just by listening to how lewd his sounds were.

"Shit, fuck.. you drive me crazy." You groan, nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck, biting on his skin; pumping even faster.

Faster.

More.

You needed to hear more of him.

"Fuck- Cum for me, Francis." You utter, feeling his dick twitch and convulse at your words. Just a second after, you immediately felt warm and sticky cum dropping on your hand as Francis let out a loud moan of your name.

Your eyes blurred with arousal, wanting to break him more.

"[Name].." Francis whispers out, but you shush him before he could say anything else.

You smile, getting on top of him as you pull down your pants. Rubbing your pussy on the tip of his dick as you used his cum to lubricate your insides.

Francis just stares at you, panting. His hand on your back, but he was mostly curious on what you were doing.

"I can help you.. if you wan-" Francis's eyes widen, letting out a sudden moan that cut off his sentence as he felt his dick enter your warm and wet pussy. He gripped hard on your hips, whining in pleasure as he felt your walls tighten even more around his cock.

Francis wasn't even fully in yet but he already felt like cumming again.

"[Name]. [Name]. [Name]. Fuck- fuck.. you feel so good, sugar.." Francis whines, thrusting his whole length inside of you. Moaning in the process of doing so, almost cumming when he felt your pussy clench so hard on his dick.

You pant, wrapping your hands around Francis's neck. Letting yourself rest for a while before raising your hips and dropping down on his dick.

"I'm gonna milk you dry.. Mr. Milkman."

Francis groans at the name, his dick twitching as he imagined you taking every single drop of his seed, he imagined filling you up to the brim.

You ride on Francis's dick at a fast pace, wet slapping echoing throughout the room as skin met skin.

Francis moans, changing his hold to grip onto your ass, his head burying into your neck while you bounced on his cock.

"Sugar.. you're taking me so well." Francis mutters softly, completely in bliss by how good your pussy felt.

You moan, your pussy clenching at his words. Despite him being the bottom this time, he still had a way of making you feel like you were the one being submissive.

A frustrating feeling grows in your stomach, wanting to show Francis that you were supposed to be the dominant one.

You clenched tighter on his dick, increasing your pace as you made sure he completely felt every inch of his dick get swallowed by your pussy.

Francis mutters something under his breath, completely lost in pleasure as he moaned in ecstasy, cumming in you for the second time.

You pant, continuing to ride Francis even if he already orgasmed, you wanted to show him that you were more than capable enough of giving both you and him pleasure.

"Sugar, wait- agh- haa~ slow down.." Francis tapped on your hip, grunting and moaning as he felt your tightness.

You moaned, leaning backwards as you rode Francis as if he was a mechanical bull for you to conquer.

Just a few seconds after, you feel Francis cum another time, whining and whimpering, begging you to stop.

"A little more.." You say, panting. Ignoring the feeling building up in your stomach as you tried to at least make Francis reach another orgasm before you finish.

"Sugar- God, if you don't stop- Ngh~" Francis's voice crumbles, his tone deep but filled with cracks as it was raspy and tired.

"More.."

You feel yourself almost cumming, and you moan. Throwing your head into Francis's neck as you slammed yourself down on him and bit down on his neck.

Francis pulls on your hair, gasping in surprise as he felt your body shake above him, his cock does the same, twitching and pulsing because of how intense you were clenching down on him.

"You're going to kill me one day, Sugar." Francis mumbles, running his hands through your hair as he grabbed a strand and kissed it.

You whine, still not getting off his cock, your body too tired to even move.

"I just missed you.. you've been gone for so long because of work, and you look like you haven't even gotten enough sleep." You complain, caressing his face as you leaned on his shoulder.

The tips of Francis's lips turn upwards, a soft yet baffled chuckle escaping from his mouth.

"Mmmm.. I didn't realize you missed me that much, you should've told me, Sugar.. I would've come home immediately." Francis places a kiss on your forehead, lifting you off his cock as cum dripped from your pussy to his thighs.

Francis puts two fingers inside your pussy, scooping a load of your cum before putting it in his mouth.

A satisfied expression appears on his face as he swallows, pecking you on the lips before saying something that makes you mumble in embarrassment.

"Much better than milk." Francis laughs out, kissing you on the lips with complete gentleness.

"Now let's get you cleaned up.."

You hum, gripping onto him tightly as he lifted you up and carried you to the bathroom.

Let's just say, you both did much more than just clean yourselves up in the bathroom.

[whimpity-whumpity]

Children are sacred.

They are both mine and yours.

This is why the parents of our children trust that I will keep them safe, and allow them to return home. A horde is a good home for dragons only, children need soft things and softer words which I cannot provide.

Those outsiders of my village are stranger than I could have imagined. All they see is a young dragon stealing children while their parents labor away to provide for them. They swear they will see to the children's safe return from the evil beast, and refuse to listen to what the people truly need from them. We tried to tell them the truth, but no, I must have put the parents under a spell. I must have a spy among the people! That is how Alden Jenkins was murdered.

We no longer try to correct adventurers' delusions of me. The children do a much better job of that anyway. The children sow the seeds of doubt so I may make them grow much larger than they ever would without my help. They wither, of course, once the adventurers leave us be. But the seeds are impossible to dig up, or so I tell them.

They ask me "Clover, how do you grow the seeds the children plant in these strangers?"

I only give them a nudge here, a push there. Just enough for them to doubt their convictions, or enough to drive them mad if I so choose. I do not tell my children this, however. I do not tell their children, or their children's children. I have raised many generations, and will continue to raise more while my co-parents work to provide. I cannot provide food, only shelter and entertainment.

When they have no one else, my hoard becomes their home.

I ensure every adventurer to set foot in my children's lands will suffer for their muleheaded behavior.

I ensure they are safe.

I ensure none live alone.

[notmyneighbor]

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

Chapter 3

Word Count ~ 2.5k

Rating ~ Explicit

CW ~ blood and gore, body horror, character death, minor violence, dubious consent, sexual content

Also available on AO3

Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok

You sit on the side of the bed that had once belonged to Francis Mosses.

The comforter and top sheet have already been pulled down. You lean over to slide out of your low heeled pumps, tucking the pair of navy leather shoes neatly under the bed.

There’s a bible on the nightstand. A worn looking copy. Beside it a glass with a shallow amount of water resting in the bottom, the remnant of a late night attempt to quench thirst, perhaps.

The doppelgänger watches your movements. How methodical each action is. Slow and deliberate. You’re stalling.

He settles beside you and the mattress creaks as the springs are compressed. That odd sort of shimmer you’d noticed earlier outside the security booth outlines his frame for a brief moment. A surge of light and color as the skin ripples before settling. They still weren’t completely able to disguise what they were. All hope was not lost.

Your own fate, however, seems sealed. You lie down slowly, carefully. You feel as if you are laying yourself to rest in your own coffin. Turning your face ever so slightly to see if there is any trace of the man that had once slept here, some lingering scent or an indent from his face. Nothing but the fragrance of clean linen. The imposter moves as if to join you but you halt him, your fingers closing over his forearm. Your first time touching him and not the other way around. “Take your shoes off.”

The creature snickers, glancing down at the scuffed oxfords he’s wearing. Overdue for a shine. “What possible difference does that make?”

“It’s respectful. You never put your shoes where someone sleeps.”

“He won’t be sleeping here ever again.”

You inhale sharply, wincing. “Please just do it.” You can’t say why you’re so hung up on this. Only that it seems the right thing to do. A small thing in a sea of wrongs that you’re clinging to like a life preserver.

“Fine.” He acquiesces, bending to unlace them. There is no care in his actions. Just brisk, impatient pulls to undo the knotted ties. Then he is lying beside you. Your heads sharing the same pillow. Francis only used a single one, apparently. Preferring to slumber lying with his head and neck rather flat. You always used two fluffy pillows, minimum.

You can hear the sound of music starting to play, emanating from the resident’s apartment next door.

Mia Stone, perhaps. The blonde teacher who was Dr. Afton’s fiancée. You instantly recognize the musical artist crooning through the walls: Billie Holiday.

I say I'll move the mountains

And I'll move the mountains

If he wants them out of the way

You would have loved to play this record for Francis. You envision trying to dance in the cramped space of the living room, twirling around in his arms. “Did he really like my fragrance?” You know the creature could lie, of course. He’d say anything to manipulate you and get what he wanted. But you have to ask. Your heart won’t let you avoid the query.

The dark eyes of the pretender regard you. You detect no malice or dishonesty there. “Yes,” he says simply.

You close your eyes, sighing. “What else did he like about me?”

“Your smile, gifted once you were certain it was really him. The way you covered your mouth when you laugh, making some little relieved joke when you passed his identification and entry request back to him each day. The strands of hair that came loose around your face as the day wore on into late afternoon when he returned from his route. The—”

“—Stop. Please.” Tears well in your eyes. They didn’t sound like the kind of details the deceiver would create on his own. There was a note of truth to them. Genuine recollections. He truly was all that remained of Francis Mosses. A man that had been fond of you. You could have been with him, if only you’d been a little braver.

“You asked me to tell you.”

“I know. It’s just overwhelming.”

Like the wind that shakes the bough

He moves me with a smile

“Your kind is so fond of music. Your milkman was always humming. I don’t see the use for it.”

The your wrenches your heart. He wasn’t yours. Never would be. “It’s a way to expression emotions. When words alone aren’t enough.”

“Hmmm.” He reaches out and you flinch. “Why are you fighting this so hard? This is what you wanted.”

“I didn’t want Francis to die.” You pause, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “Why do you want this?”

”Curiosity. An experiment of sorts. There has never been a union between our kind. Not of this nature. A desire to know what it feels like. To see what might result.”

You shudder. An experiment. Using you like some kind of animal for breeding. A mere whim.

He reaches again and this time you force yourself to hold steady, your chin lifting with a short jerk of defiance. Your hair is his goal. Tucking it back behind one ear. Maybe something the milkman had wanted to do. There’s a sudden softness in the doppelgänger’s eyes. As if the human he’d once been was peeking through at you. You find yourself melting again, your defenses coming down.

I say I'll care forever

And I mean forever

He moves closer to you. Inching over across the white fitted sheet. A thumb strokes away one of the tears that has escaped its prison. He captures the other from the opposite cheek, bringing it to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste the droplet. “Salt,” he says, recognizing the mineral.

He kisses you.

You’re not sure if it’s better to think of the man you had loved or not. Was it dishonoring his memory or was it a way to keep him present in some vague capacity? There’s no clumsiness this time. He knows the feel of your mouth. The way to shift against you. Tongue mapping past smooth cheeks and dragging along the carpet of muscle at the base of that maw. Maybe it was better to pretend this was Francis after all. You cup the back of his neck, fingers teasing the edges of his milk chocolate tresses. Curling slightly on the ends. It would be time for a trim soon. Would have been. The illusion you’ve created is crumbling again. Your lips falter, your hand dropping away.

Crazy he calls me

Sure, I'm crazy

Crazy in love am I

“Sweetheart,” the invader murmurs, tasting along your jaw, your neck. “I like the way you smell.” Speaking for himself, not Francis. You hear the sharp intake of air. The hand that had been casually laid across your shoulder slides down until it reaches your breast, gently kneading that globe through the layers of your bra and blouse. “Does this feel good?” His voice is octaves lower than you’d ever heard from the milkman. Slightly raspy and sultry, not unlike the singing voice that permeates through the wood and plaster behind the bed. You don’t dare answer, merely whimpering a little and he seems to take this as an affirmative response.

His hand leaves your breast and finds the top button of your shirt. Always sensible, pure white, part of the uniform standard the company requires. Another threaded plastic disc is pushed through the hole. He works his way down until all those that are exposed have surrendered, the remainder still tucked within your skirt. His fingers part the edges of the fabric encasing your torso, peeling them back to reveal the white satin brassiere beneath. He caresses you briefly through this slick material before tucking inside the cup until he brushes across your areola. Your nipple peaks beneath his ministrations as his lips move back to yours. He is surprisingly gentle, lightly pinching and rolling the aroused tissue. Your body betrays you, responding to the creature’s touch. You should be ashamed, disgusted. Instead you find yourself wanting more.

“Off,” he murmurs impatiently, plucking at your bra before his hand departs your chest. You struggle to sit up and he allows it, watching you pull your blouse free from your skirt and unfastening the cuffs before sliding it off your arms. With a swift gesture borne of long practice you easily pinch and release the hook and eye closures resting along the center of your spine, the cups immediately folding down over the underwire, the straps drooping over your shoulders.

The doppelgänger assists you now, sliding the brassiere off the rest of the way, exposing your chest to him. Your cheeks are pink, flushed like the nipples he’s toying with again, his head bending to suckle at one and a lick of flame sears your core. This is part of the invasive species’ learning process, you think. Taste as important as touch. His mouth moving not with the sole purpose of your pleasure in mind, but as a means to explore flavors and textures. Cataloguing. More of humanity’s secrets unveiled.

There is a song you don’t recognize playing next door now. Muffled voices. You’d had no idea the walls were so thin. Francis had never complained.

You’re shoved back down onto the pillow. His mouth wanders, back up to sample a collar bone, the hollow at the base of your throat, then dips in between your breasts and tastes the skin of your abdomen. You wonder if he can detect the floral soap you’d bathed with that morning, the traces of lotion you’d applied during your hygiene routine.

“I like this,” he says, his breath warm on your body. “You’re so soft. Smooth. Not like…I’ve never taken…” It had often been debated if there were sexes in their species. How they propagated. There was still so much unknown. Was there a reason he’d only chosen men to replicate? Was it simply because he was male himself? You could not explain how you knew it, but there was something distinctly masculine about him. Authoritative. Blunter than a woman would be. A lifetime of being raised to respect decorum had been firmly ingrained in you. Society valuing a woman who knows her place. Taught to be demure, deferring to the wisdom and guidance of their male counterparts. Serving and obeying, like you’re doing now.

The imposter returns his attention to your face. Licking your mouth back open. He likes this, you think. All of what you’d shared thus far, but perhaps the kissing best of all.

The background melody silences and you think you detect the front door opening and closing. You wonder if the couple will be going out to an early dinner. Curious when they find there is no one guarding the building. But not alarmed. Not yet.

Your skirt is being lifted, polyester dragged upward after the copycat’s hasty reach downward to gather the hem. Immediately sliding back down, stroking over your exposed thighs that are clad in nylons that stop midway across each of your upper legs. Nothing fancy, just utilitarian features in a shade of nude slightly more tanned than your own complexion. He nudges against the seal you’ve created by pressing your legs close together. “Let me in, sweet girl.” An echo of what he’d said earlier in an attempt to gain access to the building, now seeking entry into you. You feel your limbs parting for him nearly as promptly as you’d opened the door.

The pretender works his way back up to the fork of your body, teasing along the crotch of the white panties. You gasp and he smiles against your lips. His palm drags over the fabric until his fingers find the elastic waistband and he dips beneath it, running overly the neatly trimmed hair on your pubic mound, following the curve of that padded flesh until your sex is palpated.

Another gasp and a moan escapes you. “So wet,” he remarks, fondling the pink lips, parting the petals with his middle finger to slide through the slick arousal your body is creating, working the lubricant up and down, passing over the hooded nub and then delving back towards your entrance, where more fluid escapes.

It feels good and yet it doesn’t, his fingers too rough and just shy of where you need him. You squirm and wince at the harsh handling of your clitoris and he pauses, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Show me. Show me how you like to be touched.”

You reach down cautiously, guiding his fingers to one side of your sensitive bud, lightly pressing and rolling a fingertip so that your clit is ground slightly against the bone beneath. Alternating now, reaching back down to gather more of your slick before spreading it over that hooded button, a few direct strokes applied before beginning the process again. He replicates your actions and your body responds immediately, a hum of pleasure heating you. You close your eyes and you think of the milkman, the real one, with his kind smile and his tired eyes.

“Francis.” The name escapes your lips and you freeze, the rocking motion of your hips against the imposter’s hand abruptly ceasing. You hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Alarmed by how easily you’d allowed yourself to give in to the desire, accommodating this make believe passion.

“It’s alright, love. It’s me. I’m here.” His tongue laps at your ear, at the sensitive patch of skin behind it. You shiver and resume grinding against his fingers, letting yourself be deluded once more, your hand curling over his forearm.

“Francis,” you say again, hoping he can forgive you, in whatever form he now occupies, if he is saved as his faith professes he would be, finding redemption and peace, somewhere far from your sinning body that writhes in pleasure from his murderer’s touch.

You push against his hand and he allows it, applying force against the hollow cavity that leads to your womb. “Let me in,” he breathes, and you feel a finger invading your body, shoving through the narrow confines of that muscular tunnel. Withdrawing and spearing again, the digit saturated with your arousal. You moan and lift your pelvis to meet him. Curling inside, massaging that dip of spongy tissue. Crooking each time he enters as if he is leading you forward, beckoning, his thumb drawing circles over your clit. You feel as if you’re on the edge of a chasm, teetering on the rim, about to drop forward into heat and darkness. Keening now. Thighs tremoring violently. Your face turns and your teeth sink into the pillow. “There you go, love. Give it to me. Give in to me.”

The coiling pressure within you snaps and you find release at last, the fabric clenched in your teeth doing little to muffle the sound of your orgasm. You’re drenched in sweat, the aftershocks of your appeased nerves still sizzling through you. The doppelgänger cradles you through all of it, holding you as you ride the waves that exhaust your limbs, making you feel boneless and limp.

“Francis.” It’s a yearning plea, a futile prayer, answered by the thing that is not him, but masquerades as such, crooning to you, whispering false promises, draping you in synthetic affection, a lie you want so desperately to believe.

[reikoknshii]

🩸 scarlet..milk? 🥛

Doppelganger Francis Mosses (Milkman) x Reader

500+ words

Requested by; @FoxxyyThePirateFox in wattpad

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚

You're a newly Hired Doorman for a Apartment thats owned by D.D.D. It'll be fine, well thats what the D.D.D. operators said to you before you get started.

You opened the list of residents thats supposed to arrive.

' Angus Ciprianni '

' Nacha Mikaelys '

' Izaack Gauss '

' Arnold Schmicht '

'I can do this...i think?' You said to yourself as you breathed in and out before opening the metal door.

First thing to arrive shocked you, Its those twin models whom you saw in the magazine.Except...they only had a Giant Razor teeth on their face.

You didn't spend a minute to check their Documents as their appearance already proved they're not the real ones. You immediately click the emergency button and called the D.D.D. cleaning services.

"Does that mean ill...have to face more of those?" You asked to yourself as this job surely need intense observation, you don't want to let one in and let it kill the innocent lives of the apartment residents.

═════════•°•⚠️•°•═════════

You've seen... 4 doppelgangers that look horrifying, except for one, The Peach guy seem abit scary but they only said peach and nothing more.

You checked the list and hoped the one's you let in are the actual resident, you don't want to die just yet by your stupid decisions and weak observation.

You slump to your seat and groaned on the files you're holding. "Almost time, just a few more guest and ill close the entrance" you reassured yourself as you composed a brave and determined look.

"Mm...hello"

A voice said as you look up from the files and almost dropped it. "JESUS- WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?-"

you questioned the milkman who stayed silent for abit before answering. "I seem to have covered myself with scarlet milk..mm.."

You dart your eyes on his ID and Entry request, as he stared intensely at you through the protected glass window.

"I...never heard of it" you said nervously about the 'Scarlet milk'.

"I assure you...its a better version of the milk we had" he said creepily as he showed a jug of a red substance labeled as 'Milk'. He smiled in an eerie way as you shivered in fear , getting goosebumps from his behavior.

"I seriously dont think thats milk-"

Your eyes went wide as he opens the jug of scarlet 'milk' and drinks it in front of you. The substance dripped from his mouth to his neck , he pulled the jug away and smiled widely through the protected glass window. The so called milk staining more of his milkman uniform as he slammed his fist on the window.

"L̸̖̽̌͂ẹ̿͋̒̕t̲̂̓ͩ̑ ḿ̬̏ͤͅẹ̿͋̒̕ ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍.."

You shrieked in fear as you slammed the emergency button from his creepy behavior, you were sure thats not the real Francis Mosses. The metal cover shut in front of him as he repeatedly bang his fist on the covers.

"Ỵ̛̖͋͢/ṇ̤͛̒̍...l̙͖̑̾ͣẹ̿͋̒̕t̲̂̓ͩ̑ ḿ̬̏ͤͅẹ̿͋̒̕ ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍, l̙͖̑̾ͣẹ̿͋̒̕t̲̂̓ͩ̑ ḿ̬̏ͤͅẹ̿͋̒̕ ỉ͔͖̜͌ṇ̤͛̒̍...L̸̖̽̌͂Ḛͭ̉̇͟T̨͈͗̌ͥ M͉̅ͮ͒ͤḚͭ̉̇͟ I̍̅̀̎̊N̺̻̔̆ͅ" said the doppelganger as you called the D.D.D. cleaning Services immediately out of fear.

═════════•°•⚠️•°•═════════

You were shaken by the current occurrences, your eyes darting everywhere from the window as your hour of  work shift ends. You closed the metal cover and got out of the office you're in, on the entrance window you see the blood covered jug on the floor and a small note...

"I'm watching you...."