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littlelovelyra · 1 day

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I'm with you - Astarion FanFic

Fem tav x Astarion

Tav is a bard

Summary: Unbeknownst to you, Astarion has realised that perhaps his plan is falling apart, you have felt him distancing himself for a few days. You now arrive at last light inn where one night Alfira asks you to perform one of your latest songs. Which leads to you and Astarion alone in your quarters later.

Notes: Ive written this based around a song by vance joy, there will be the use of the lyrics from the song (maybe a few changed lyrics) for the plot of this story, so you will be reading the song lyrics - if you wish to listen to how its meant to be sung, the song is called “Im with you” - I suck at fanfic writing but I day dream a lot and since hearing this song I have had this “encounter” in my head so I like to get it out.

Warnings: Fluff, Oral, PiV, fingering

MINORS DNI

He’s been distant, and you don't know why. You spend your time lost in thought, replaying moments in your mind, searching for what you might have done to push him away. He hasn't sought you out for his daily feeds either, which surely means he must be growing weak. The last time you were alone together was two days after obliterating the Githyanki Creche. You wonder if he's still mad about the blast from that weapon you triggered. But you'd asked him multiple times if he had forgiven you, and he had reassured you that it was in the past. He had even warned you that next time he would be the one to wield the powerful weapon, as if he were more responsible than you.

You arrived at Last Light Inn in what you believe to be the early hours of the morning, though time feels different here. Your companions insisted you take the single room available, with its own bed and privacy. Perhaps they don’t know that Astarion hasn’t visited you for the past three nights…

Three nights ago, you had quietly slipped into his tent for him to feed on you. You remember how gently he laid you down, cradling your head with his arm as he carefully kissed your neck before sinking his teeth in. You can still feel his other hand cupping your cheek, his thumb tracing loving circles around your jaw. His soft moans as he drank you in echoed in your mind. After he had his fill, he placed another tender kiss on your wounds and slowly pulled you into a long, slow kiss that felt earth-shatteringly intimate, something you had never felt from him before. Remembering the feel of his cold hands exploring your body with such tenderness and purpose sends a shiver through you, as if you can still feel his touch. The breathlessness you both shared while tangled together in a night of passion, only to wake up the next morning with him already gone. You wondered if you had imagined the love radiating from him.

But now, there is nothing but silence. Eye contact avoided. Your chest feels as if it has caved in. You don’t know how to repair this, so you do what you know best. You pick up your lute and begin to compose. After what seems like an eternity of trying to collect your thoughts, you compose something that perfectly captures how you feel in this moment. Yet, the heaviness still weighs deeply within you. Sighing to yourself, you set down the paper and your lute and decide to purchase a drink at the bar.

“It’s you!” A familiar voice calls out from across the room. You lift your head to see the friendly face of Alfira, a fellow bard. You meet her smile with one just as wide and pull her into a warm embrace.

“I’m so glad you made it here, Alfira! I hope you’ve been keeping yourself out of trouble!” you say, holding her at arm’s length, taking her in. She seems healthy and safe.

“Well, it’s all thanks to you, Tav! I’ve been keeping out of trouble, just working on my music. In fact, I’ve been providing entertainment here for a while. I thought this place needed some nightly music to lift everyone’s spirits… OH! YES! I have the BEST idea!”

You know where this is going, and you don’t like it.

“You need to play here tonight, Tav! Please!” Her eyes are practically sparkling with excitement.

“Look, Alfira, I’m sure nobody wants to hear my stuff. Yours is probably way more interesting.”

“Nonsense.” She looks around the bar and loudly announces, “Who wants to hear Tav tonight instead of me?”

Gale, being Gale, yells in agreement, and the rest of the bar follows suit. You shoot daggers at him, who holds his hands up in surrender, offering an apologetic smile.

“I suppose I can, but one song only, Alfira.” You offer her a small smile. One song—you can handle it. It will be fine.

“Amazing! I heard some music coming from your room before, which is why I came inside. I’d like to hear that one, please! OH, I can’t wait. This is going to be AMAZING!”

Before you can protest the song choice, she gives you a quick hug and exits the building, spreading the news of your performance.

__________________________________

You spent the rest of the day polishing the lyrics of the song, and the time has finally come to head out and wait for Alfira to bring you up on the makeshift stage set in the corner of the room.

“We have an exceptional surprise for you all tonight! Our very own Tav will be performing one of her latest compositions! Please help me in welcoming her up!” Alfira extends her hand out and you sheepishly take it to hop up on the platform. Casting a look around the room you take a moment to compose yourself, this is what you did for a living before all hell broke loose. You can do this… and that’s when you see him lingering in the back, swirling his drink in his hand, his gaze completely fixed on you. You inhale deeply and you begin to play your new song, your stare never leaving his as you sing…

“I saw you standing there, the curls in your hair, the way it came tumbling down, just like a waterfall. And if you need a light I’ll be the match to your candle My Darling I’m ready, to burst into flames for you.”

Holding his stare you see something flicker in those ruby eyes but you continue without faltering.

“I was just coasting till we met. You remind me just how good it can get..

Well I’ve been on fire dreaming of you Tell me you don’t, it feels like you do Looking like that you’ll open some wounds… How does is start and when does it end? I’ve only been here for a moment but I know I want you But is it too soon? To know that I’m with you? There’s nothing I can do”

“There's nothing I won't do to see you shine I'll swing for the fences I'll run to the line And it's high time that you love me 'Cause you do it so well Oh darling, I'm with you There's nothing I won't do…”

You concluded the song, and the entire Last Light Inn erupted in cheers and hollers of approval. It had been a long time since you had experienced such genuine appreciation for your music, and your heart swelled with gratitude. You offered a small bow from the waist and made your way off the platform, shaking a few hands along the way. Alfira had returned to the stage, and the entertainment resumed.

_______________________________________

After a brief conversation with some of your companions, you excuse yourself and head to your room. Placing your lute gently on the table, you begin to prepare for bed, starting to undress. As you stand in your underclothes, a sudden chill envelops you from behind, causing your body to tense. You inhale a familiar scent - bergamot, rosemary, and a hint of aged brandy - and realize that you are not alone.

"Hello, darling," he breathes into your ear as he places a hand on your bare waist, sending a cold shiver down your spine. You slowly turn to face him, lifting your gaze to meet his. A thousand questions scream in your eyes, and you can tell he clearly sees them.. Before you can even form a sentence his mouth is on yours, with heated desperation his hands moving across the fullness of your body, taking you in, holding you as if he would never hold you again. Your questions vanish and nothing but desire flows through you down to your precious core that is aching with need for him. In an instant he’s guided you to the bed in the corner, placing you down, his kisses never missing a beat as he undresses you. The peaks of your breasts swell with anticipation as he scatters kisses down your neck, across your collarbone and eventually sucks in one of the tender peaks. A moan escapes your lips as you feel his hand moving toward your core.

He finds the bundle of nerves that eagerly await his touch and he begins rubbing slow circles around your clit.

“Astarion.’ You breathe out in a soft moan that sends him trailing kisses down your body until his head is at your very centre. You arch your back in anticipation, your body begging his mouth to find its home.

He lets out a soft growl as he buries his head in you, his tongue expertly delivering long calculated strokes, flicks and swirls. As he feels your body nearing its end he curls two fingers inside you and pumps them in and out while completely devouring you. You feel yourself becoming light headed and your body shaking as the wave comes crashing down. You let out a loud moan as you completely shatter around his face.

Astarion comes back up to you slowly cleaning his fingers off with his mouth while never breaking his stare. He slowly brings his face to yours kissing you deeply and you feel his hardness through his clothes pressing against you. A soft gasp escapes your lips as he undoes his trousers, springing free you feel his hardened flesh on yours.

While never breaking his kiss he slowly eases himself into you, the two of you exhaling the moment he fills and stretches you. He moves in and out in a slow rhythm, one almost matching the composition you had performed earlier. You can feel the passion and heat with every kiss and every pump that fills you.

“Astarion…” you whisper between his kisses, his pace quickens as if a torch had been lit under him, he drives into you harder, faster more desperate and you can feel him reaching his end. You are not even aware that you are doing it, its as if its become instinct, you turn your head exposing your neck, an invitation for him to have complete satisfaction. Without hesitation he sinks in groaning so loud you swore you felt the bed shake. You can feel his body starting to twitch and buckle as he comes undone, you find yourself exploding in ecstasy with him.

The two of you lay there, breathing heavy. All is silent for a moment until his gaze meets yours.

“Why?” You manage to choke out, your throat tightening. You wish you could demand answers, explain your hurt, anything but this pathetic whimpering mess. Your eyes are stinging while you hold back tears, screaming to yourself in your mind that you will NOT cry.

Astarion’s ruby eyes slowly scan your face, understanding flickering through them and his face softens; you think you see a hint of shame there.

“I was afraid,” he whispered softly. “I… I’m not good for you, Tav.”

You look at him and place a hand on his face. “Let me decide what is good for me. Please. It's okay to be afraid… I thought I had done something wrong. I thought… I thought you grew tired of me.”

Pain flickers across his features that vanishes all too quickly and is replaced with a quiet chuckle. “You do everything right, Tav… I cannot fault you on anything. As for growing tired of you? I don’t think I would ever be capable of doing that… ever… and perhaps that’s what scares me the most.”

You understand now. For an immortal, growing close to someone must be a frightening thing. Maybe, just maybe, the two of you could find a way for you to be with him forever.

You keep your thoughts to yourself and softly place a kiss on his lips.

He smiles and whispers, “For the record, Love, I’m with you too.”

#astarion #bg3 tav #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 #tav #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #baldur's gate iii #baldur's gate 3 #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fanfiction #astarion x female tav #astarion smut #astarion fic #astarion x you

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cluescorner · 16 days

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I cannot imagine being a Damian stan right now. You've got both Zdarsky's bullshit (where he clearly doesn't give a shit about your boy) and The Boy Wonder (where Juni Ba clearly gives so many shits about your boy) coming out on the same day. The whiplash must be insane. I hope y'all get some nice warm soup for your efforts jfc

#damian wayne #damian al ghul #damian al ghul wayne #batman #batfamily #for all of the issues that come with having Steph as your fave having too much wild shit happening at once is never one of them #btw I quite like The Boy Wonder Issue 1. wow shocker an artist and writer who I have liked everything they've ever done #has once again written something that I am enjoying with art that makes me want to be part of its world.#it's almost like Juni Ba is really freaking talented or something #like I have some problems with it but it seems like many of those are part of the point. Damian is learning that his siblings are more #three-dimensional than he realized and that is part of this 'coming of age' story merged with fairytale #so I can't be mad at the oversimplistic defining of Dick and Jason and Tim until the conclusion of the series. that might be the point.#I hope that the series will address Steph as a Robin but if not then frankly it's not an issue unique to this series.#I'll be annoyed and disappointed but ultimately roll with it like I am with Babsgirl being here. There's too much good stuff here to get #hung up on shit that seems to be almost an editorial mandate at this point. at least that's where I'm at.#I am also very sorry that Chip Zdarsky is massacring your boy. he has 'X (Tim for him) is the best Robin so everyone else must suck' diseas #where a writer really likes one specific Robin and in trying to uplift them demeans all of the other Robins. instead of like...just writing #for that one character only or alternatively not demeaning the other characters in order to make his blorbo look good #it's wild because I actually think his writing for Tim is pretty solid. but he's not writing a Tim series. he's writing a Batman series.#and if you are going to write a Batman series and include other Batfamily members you need to actually write them well.#instead of assigning them like 2 personality traits while Tim gets to be a whole character #I accept that behavior in fanfic where I have lesser standards because it's fucking free. not a comic run that wants me to pay #tens of dollars in order to understand what the fuck is going on. he's been going for a while now it's gotta be a lot of money.#I can buy Steelworks with that money. I can see John Henry and Natasha Irons in a trade. Fuck you Chip.#it's why it takes such a special person to write a good ensemble story/a good Batfamily story. you have to be good at writing a LOT #of different characters. which I don't think most people are. I sure as hell am not. I can write maybe 3 at a time confidently well.#and you also have to give all of them at least SOME love or else people will be upset that you aren't focusing on their fave #and also the writing as a whole will suffer. Chip Zdarsky is a pretty good Tim writer. I'd maybe read a Tim solo written by him.#I would not read a story focusing on multiple characters that I like written by Chip Zdarsky. because every character who isn't Tim #is at least a bit weak/inconsistent/out of character INCLUDING FUCKING BATMAN. THE NO. 1 GUY MOST ARE HERE FOR

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vargaslovinghours · 11 months

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Fandom: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac (But really Vargas lol) Rating: Teen and up Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

What, exactly, did Scriabin take from Edgar when they separated?

My first multichapter fic for Vargas! :D Yay!

(Pls read Ch. 1 first - Ch. 2 is also recommended, but as long as you're caught up on the first, you're good to go!)

-----

Side B

What the fuck.

"It's, it's possible that if, maybe whatever happened earlier, whatever caused all that blood and for us to be knocked unconscious-"

What the fuck.

"-and if I suffered a head injury, then maybe-"

No. That's enough.

Scriabin pushed away from the closet door he'd defensively pressed himself up against and put his hands on Edgar's shoulders, which quieted him. He looked at him expectantly, with eyes that Scriabin somehow only just now realized were casually guarded, curious, uncertain in a way that denoted inexperience. That was so messed up, that was completely wrong. Edgar should've been on guard, absolutely, but only because he knew exactly what Scriabin was capable of. He really didn't want to look at him right now if this was what he was going to be seeing instead.

He spun him quickly and pushed him out the door before he could protest. He got one last look at those wide, confused eyes before he slammed the door behind him, bracing it shut with both hands for good measure.

What. The fuck. His head came forward, making a dull thud as his forehead connected with the door. He doesn't remember me? His fingers curled on the door. What does he mean he doesn't remember me?! How could he not know me?! One hand pushed through his hair; his scalp tingled and that was so weird, he felt it and it was so weird- We literally just- He literally just-! As if pulling him screaming into life wasn't bad enough, now he had decided to play some sick prank!

This can't be true. It's just like him to try and make jokes at the worst possible time, he has no tact.

There was a timid knock on the other side of the door. Scriabin jumped as it resonated through his skull, his elbow, pressed to the door with his hand buried in his hair, set his jaw. Then silence.

If he was really trying to get back in, clear things up, say he was only kidding, he'd actually try.

Nothing.

Scriabin's blood was ice as he went over it again. The way he'd said his name. The vacant look in his eyes as he said it, like his mouth knew its shape but none of the meaning. No fear, no realization, nothing that really felt like Edgar, just sound, just noise.

Maybe he really had-

Oh god. His knees gave out, and his arms had no practice at holding him upright, not yet. His hand slid down the door, his other hand guarding his head as his hair fluffed against the grain.

How could he do this

This is all his fault

Stupid, idiotic

He can't do this to me

I can't believe him

I can't believe this

How dare he leave me alone like this

Thoughts spiralling, and all he could do was hold himself down, press his fingers into the back of his neck, force his chest to his knees and maybe he wouldn't immolate under it all. He was shaking, from tension or fear he couldn't tell, his mind too hazardous and loud to cut through it all. He was shaking, dizzy, and if he moved, letting go would surely kill him.

He can't do this to me.

He breathed. And breathed. And swallowed. Eyes closed, heart pounding, sure. Confusion and dismay, whatever. Pain. Fine. So be it.

This isn't like me. A hand untethered from his vice grip in his hair, and he stayed attached to the floor. It connected with the carpet below him and became a new lifeline. He pushed up and away into a limp sit, arms already burning slightly from holding himself up after all that. He shook his head mildly. This isn't who I'm going to be in life. His body, this fear response be damned, he was in control now.

Regroup. Let's- a mental pause, barely a quarter of a second long as he turned the word in his head. Let's pretend it's all true- what does that mean?

He flopped over, leaned upright with his back against the door, heels of his fists pushed down into the carpet to scootch closer. Moving was so awkward still, very unfitting.

He was acting normal. Well, Edgar's baseline for "normal" had changed considerably, so maybe put an asterisk on that. Not that he was ever normal to begin with, but normal-for-Edgar, -ish. That means he has to have some memory.

Scriabin held out a hand, arm slung over his knee, one finger held out. He had recognized his glasses. One. The apartment. Two. Which key to use. Three. He had said Todd's name. Four.

His stuff can be discounted, he's had all that for a while. Back down to one. The kid is a new fixture. Which means he remembers the last couple months at least. He shook his head and brought his hand up to comb through his hair. Well...it's fuzzy for me, so it probably is for him, too. Scriabin remembered everything in as much clarity as the last couple months allowed, there was no way Edgar would know more even if he had all his memories.

Speaking of which, Scriabin could remember everything. He flipped through; the last two months and bringing Todd in, Edgar's parting words to Johnny, his and Devi's conversation - he grit his teeth - and further back, everything along the way, all the way back. False dreams, shared childhoods, everything that was once Edgar's alone, he still remembered it. Nothing was out of place which made it all the more strange!

This is so fucking weird, if I remember everything, then why would he-

He stopped short. His purported purpose had been to replace Edgar. Take him over completely. If he bought into the conceit for a moment, just to play in the space... He was alive now. That was not as intended; it shouldn't even have been possible.

Did he...give me his memories? Like, all the way? Not just to borrow, to shape him, give him legitimacy - he was alive now. His own person. Separate, embodied, and whole. Was this the price of life?

That's stupid. But possible, he couldn't discount. If this - he brought his hands up and looked down at them, watched himself touch his own chest and felt it beneath his coat, shirt, the nerves firing as his slid his fingers up himself - if this was possible, then...

He continued for a moment, curious and reverant, all of him new and privately exciting, to exist and to touch, to feel, smell, see, all of it clear and fresh and penetrated deeply into his mind, as if a layer of film had been lifted from his senses. The moment passed as the memories, unbidden but important, cluttered in around him again.

There were still a lot of questions, and most of them couldn't be answered without Edgar, ugh. If getting anything out of him before had been like pulling teeth, he was very sobered to think about how it might be now. Depending on how much Edgar remembered, maybe he could start piecing things together.

Did he do it on purpose? Did he know this would happen? There's no way he would have been willing to if he had- But he couldn't ask him things like that. Even if he did remember, admitting something like that...

He was just spinning his wheels at this point. Better to gather what he could from the man himself. He looked up, preparing to stand.

Ah-

The room was still in something of a state.

Edgar would be annoying, or at least distracted by trying to pick up the clothes and uncarefully unpacked items strewn about the floor from Scriabin's very successful excavation of his old glasses. The clutter would have to go if he wanted his full attention.

He grumbled as he pushed off the door to pick up the first few things. First day of life and I'm already his maid. Figures. He's always needed me to clean up after him.

Silence.

Somehow it only just hit him. Thinking alone in the late hours, planning things behind Edgar's back, it was nothing new. But a barb unsunk into his mental flesh was left out in the wide emptiness, poised to stab whoever happened upon it next, and he was the only one here.

He felt very small all of a sudden, and he didn't like it at all.

His eyes blankly scanned the room, looking for nothing, until they settled on the toy at Edgar's bedside. His toy.

He dropped the items he'd bundled into his arms and made his way over. He picked up the small simulacrum, turned it over in his hands once, and stared at it.

He wouldn't know this. Not really. He brushed a thumb up and over the little mouth, the contours of its small face. Retroactively, I've never been this at all.

I'm no one to him.

Does this mean we can start over? The thought struck him like lightning, freezing his heart in his chest. He was fixed solid, staring down at the small figure in his hands.

Before he could even think, he'd already thrown it through the open closet door, landing noisily in the box he'd dug through with a clatter. He grabbed up the fallen clothes and items and stuffed them back in the box, burying the toy in mundane detritus, then closed the cardboard flaps and slammed the door of the closet for good measure.

His breath was laboured and he glared, like wishing it gone would make the closet itself disappear.

Answers. He needed answers, more than anything.

He ripped the door open, and there was Edgar who looked up, staring dumbly back at him and carrying the clothes he'd shed earlier over his arm. Something in his mind clicked over, and he didn't think about it.

"Alright," he caught his breath for half a second, "what do you remember?"

Edgar just kept on staring, mouth open, eyes unconfident behind weak glasses. Scriabin huffed irritably, I don't have time for this, and moved towards him, arm outstretched.

"Come on." Edgar gave a small startled sound behind him as he grabbed his collar and dragged him through the doorway. He threw him across the room, not bothering to watch his arc as he closed the door behind him. The bed was that way, he'd be fine.

When he turned back, Edgar had managed to catch himself, though already halfway on the bed. Scriabin stood with his back to the door, feet planted and he crossed his arms. No more speculating around impossibilities, tangible and present as they might be, it was time for a proper interrogation. It was at least preferable to-

Edgar made a face at him and scooted back, offering a seat next to him on the bed. Equal footing briefly flashed through his mind and while he wouldn't consider it ideal, nothing today was really going his way. He sighed, then made his way over and sat across from Edgar, who was eyeing him with a certain degree of caution. At least the feeling was mutual.

"Spill." He re-crossed his arms and leaned towards Edgar. "What do you know?"

Edgar hesitated, apparently thinking, his hands laced and fingers agitatedly if quietly rubbing the backs of his hands.

"I want to verify some things first."

Scriabin snorted dismissively. Where had Edgar's overly-trusting nature gone? A serial killer, well he's an honoured guest, but Scriabin? He didn't even distrust him for the right reasons.

He gestured with an open hand, Go ahead, then tucked his arm back in.

"Todd's last name?"

Pfsh. At least it was proof enough that anything Edgar knew, Scriabin did as well. As expected.

"Casil. His stupid bear's called Shmee in case you forgot that too." Edgar shook his head. No he hadn't? If only he could just check!

"Do you know our phone number?" Obviously he did, so he rattled it off quickly, Edgar nodding in turn. He flipped his hair in time with the last digit, careful to keep his eyes covered. It was a bit of a timid attempt, being the first in this body, which was a minor blessing he supposed.

Edgar mulled over what he'd given him for a moment, then a moment longer, then a moment even longer. His eyes searched absently, gazing down into his own hand, his other on his chin, lightly thumbing his goatee. He was focused on names and numbers, but those were child's play compared to everything, everything Scriabin still wanted to know. It was frustrating on a visceral level, watching him struggle with such simple innocuous nothings while the most important person in his life was sitting right in front of him.

He was supposed to be the most important.

It was frustrating.

"You really don't remember anything, do you?" He didn't hide the sneer as it shaped his voice - odd the way his body just did that now, did things without him actively thinking them into being. Even things like the little waver that made its way in that he pushed back down and under. He was frustrated, angry, tired - any emotionality could be attributed to those, nothing else.

Edgar didn't answer, just kept his gaze locked to his face. That was almost worse. Watching him fumble through things, it wasn't fun, but at least he wasn't trying to pry. He could see him try to look past his bangs, and the fact that he didn't know better...

Scriabin looked away for a moment, then thought better of it. Best defense is a good offense.

He reached for Edgar's face, for those damn scars, ever-present reminders. Edgar shied away, not wanting to be touched suddenly by someone he didn't know. As if Scriabin had ever cared about that.

Well, things were different now. Maybe he didn't really want to touch him anyway. Not yet.

"Do you remember these...?" Instead he framed his face with his hands less than an inch from his skin, and even there he could feel the heat coming off him. Edgar reached for his face, looking away from Scriabin as he touched the angry red marks. He winced minutely, then glanced back at Scriabin, searching him, his expression guarded again. Scriabin could hear his own pulse in his ears.

"...Johnny?"

"Fuck." Fuck! "Of course you'd remember him but not me." God damn it! It wasn't right, it wasn't fair, just because Johnny came first by a hair's breadth, just because he wasn't in Edgar's head, with Edgar's fucked up little obsession with the murderous stick figure- It limited what he could get away with too, if he remembered that far back. Absolutely nothing was going in his favour.

"I'm sorry..." He sounded genuinely remorseful, and it stuck in his throat. Disgusting. "So you know Johnny, too."

"Unfortunately." Scriabin tucked his chin to his chest, arms crossed again in close proximity. This sucks. Edgar just kept rambling, unaware as ever. His excuses held this time at least, one point in his favour, no points for bringing his annoying habits with him despite everything.

"I don't think I've seen him for a couple months now? Everything's awfully..." He gave a vague gesture and Scriabin uncurled slightly. He was giving him room to contribute. He shook his head.

"You haven't."

"Have you?"

He returned to his tight coil of sulking. Not like he was keen to meet up and chat, but he couldn't explain why he hadn't had the opportunity to either.

"I remember he called, too."

"Ugh," barely above breath. Enough about Johnny! Again, Edgar continued obliviously.

"Although I don't really recall what we talked about, not for a while..."

Of course not. I took over for half of those.

He perked a bit, and Edgar focused more on him, patiently setting his hands in his lap.

"You know."

He could play this to his advantage. Give Johnny some well-deserved karmic justice for fucking him over so many times. It was almost better that Edgar didn't know - Scriabin had been trying to get him away from Johnny all this time, and if he really had forgotten everything, not just the moments when Scriabin took over but every moment they had shared, then that meant it coincided almost perfectly with his first meeting with Johnny. Blank spot after blank spot after blank spot, all lined up immediately after getting his face slashed.

He could work with that.

"It's probably trauma." Edgar startled and his hand shot to his temple, lightly touching his hair.

"Like, head trauma?" Scriabing almost laughed. Yeah, probably that too. But that wouldn't help his case.

"No." He leaned in, taking a more intimate, secretive tone. "Think about it. When did things start getting fuzzy?" If he was right on this - which of course he was, but not being able to verify, not being able to see that he was right, it was disconcerting - but if he was, Edgar's memories of Scriabin should start with that first fateful encounter, give or take. A bit of reframing here, a touch of implication there... It probably wasn't even an outright lie; if Edgar's memory were perfect after experiencing everything Johnny had put them through, that would be some kind of twisted miracle.

His only real concern was their "childhood" - how much had Scriabin pulled with him? Would that throw off his story? But that was so far back, there was no way Scriabin or Johnny could be implicated in that. As long as Edgar didn't bring it up before he thought his way around it...

Edgar stayed quiet for a long while. His eyes raced behind closed eyelids, searching, scanning, retracing - Scriabin could almost see the moments where he hesitated, stopped and went back, then starting recollecting again. He wished he could see it for real, watch him unfold himself, touch those memories again, hold up his own in contrast. Even just hear Edgar's thoughts as they went by, feel the emotions he felt. But he couldn't, so he just stared as unblinkingly as this new body would allow, just watched as Edgar went over everything on his own.

He finally opened his eyes, staring back into Scriabin's though he was sure they were still hidden. He felt naked and awkward and Edgar still hadn't said anything. If he could just see like he was supposed to, or if Edgar would just tell him, he wouldn't have to ask. I have to do everything around here.

"It was after you met him, wasn't it?"

"You think it's...mental trauma?" An unspoken 'yes.' Relief flooded him, and he pushed ahead.

"Edgar. He stabbed you." Edgar gripped his shoulder, his eyes closing again and he looked to be in pain. That was a very effective reminder at least. "Do you even know why?" He shook his head and spoke throught half-grit teeth.

"I must have made him mad, but I don't remember-" Of course not, I did that.

"Your mind is trying to protect you." Not. But one of us has to with your inexhaustable deathwish. Scriabin reached out to touch him properly, but Edgar pulled away. He didn't follow, still not yet. Play up the pity. "He messed you up so bad," with a curl in his tone, an I told you so that barely made it to words even privately; how long had he been holding that in? "Surely you must've felt like you wanted, you needed to get away from him, that he wasn't good for you, that you-" He'd told him so many times, some it must have stuck, some of it had to have-

"Then-!" Edgar's eyes shot open, wide and desperate with an edge of disbelief. A strangled gasp escaped him, half-choking him as he tried to speak. "Then why can't I remember you?!"

He almost began rolling off the cuff, but really, he still didn't know for sure. And it definitely wasn't like he could tell the truth even if he wanted to; who, who hadn't lived it, would believe him? Edgar certainly wouldn't, not with his lack of imagination. He had to dress this up, weave a narrative that was plausible, had the perfect mix of truth and falsehood to stand up to scrutiny.

Huh. Ironic.

"I..." No. Some of this was Edgar's fault too. "We...argued."

"Argued?"

"I... Mng." He wanted to aim for some kind of levity, but his throat had tightened on him. He just wanted to tell this stupid inside joke and not have it affect him, not have it mean anything, and here he was getting emotional? He'd say it and fucking mean it. "It's not like I'm in your head, so-" spat out in a rush, there, he'd said it. Haha, isn't that so funny. He swallowed harshly, pushing down everything he felt into his stomach acid. He was in control. He was fine. This didn't shake him. "I can't know for sure," another humourless laugh inside, "but I was against your relationship with Johnny. Maybe you shut me out so you could keep seeing him with no pushback."

It certainly wasn't outside the realm of possibilities of what Edgar would do to avoid taking Scriabin's extremely basic advice about fraternizing with serial killers. How many times had he been ignored up to this point, only to culminate in the ultimate 'I don't know what you're talking about.' Pfeh. I bet he wishes he'd thought of this sooner. It did nothing for his painfully stuttered pulse.

"You know, I've been trying to convince you to stop going back to him for a while, but, well..." He waved his hand at Edgar's hand still death gripped into his shoulder, and Edgar averted his eyes guiltily. At least he showed some remorse. Better than his nigh constant apologia.

He stayed quiet a moment longer, and just before Scriabin made to fill the silence again, Edgar struck him with an intense look.

"What are you to me?" Ugh. Of course. There was not a single good answer for that. Even if he told him everything- no, especially if he told him everything, there was no way Edgar would believe him. But coming up with a convincing lie on the spot, when they were so clearly something to each other - even he needed time to come up with something workable. How could he have ever prepared for a situation like this? It was never meant to happen, so many things were never meant to happen!

He continued at Scriabin's silence. "You know Nny," Ugh! Even his awful nickname. "And Todd. And...me." He couldn't refute it, so he nodded tightly. "Do you live here?"

Technically he had, and technically he hadn't. Still, going forward, it would be easier to let Edgar assume that he did. It wasn't like he had anywhere else to go at the moment anyway.

"Yes."

"Are we..." He searched him, looked him over as much as he could and he wasn't subtle about it. If only Scriabin had his proper glasses, he'd let him look as much he wanted, behold his spectacle! As it was, he just felt self-conscious and it was very unbefitting. "...family?"

The baggage on that. He did not feel like opening that particular can of worms in either of their current states. He turned his head and flipped through any number of halfway decent ways to phrase it until he hit on something Edgar would remember. Better not to contradict for now.

"You told Johnny you have no family when you met."

"That's true..." Edgar blinked, processing. "Wait, did I tell you that?" Scriabin startled. Even after he'd accounted for his memory! Of course he had to pick his story apart now, he never knew when to leave well enough alone.

"When you-" No, he had to be involved. "When we bandaged your face."

Edgar mulled on that for a few seconds, taking on a thoughtful pose. "I only remember being alone."

"You don't remember me at all. What do you want from me?" He huffed.

"No, sorry, you're right."

"Thank you." He was right!

Where had Edgar expected him to be? There was something weird about how he'd said it. He filed the thought away for later.

"So, if you've been living here, where..." Edgar looked around the room, then back to Scriabin. "Where have you been sleeping? Todd's already on the couch..."

Scriabin couldn't help as a smile sprung to his face. If he was going to present him with such a perfect opportunity, well, he'd better take it. He even had the decency to look nervous in response! This was too good.

"Would you believe me if I said right here, in bed?" He again tucked his chin, playfully this time, his hair falling further in his eyes. Even through the dark tangles he could make out Edgar's face immediately bristling with heat.

Ooh. That's such a fetching shade on you, my dear.

"But-! I, I haven't been sleeping on the floor!" He was visibly sweating!

"Correct." His smile grew. This was too easy, and he needed an easy win right about now.

"W-" He leaned forward on his legs, though refused to get any closer. When he spoke it was a harsh whisper. "Why...?"

Scriabin shrugged easily, not bothering to reign in his smile in the least. "I mean, where else, right?" He leaned in since Edgar refused to, and oh. He was blushing all the way up to his scalp. Hilarious. "You certainly didn't seem to mind." He couldn't hold back the slightly musical tone or his eyebrows inclination to move on their own. His body knew what he was getting at, and he could see it only increased Edgar's fluster. All the better.

"Well I do now!" Edgar darted up and away, stumbling in his hasty retreat. "If you'll excuse me!" though he was already practically in the hallway by the time he said it. What a display, and Scriabin's laugh was loud and natural.

Finally, something positive. He'd managed to fumble his way through, not his best work in lying or manipulation, but he'd set some important groundwork. He'd gotten some answers, and he could start to shape some more believable stories around them.

The biggest hurdles were Johnny and Devi. As long as Edgar didn't meet with them too soon - or well, at all would be preferable, but he doubted he could just keep him locked up, as much as the idea appealed to him. There were so many things that were possible now, things that he had the ability to do, given the right circumstances... All of that in due time. For now he had a yarn to spin.

He listened as Edgar fumbled in the hall, the sheer sound of cloth being pulled and folded over an arm barely perceptable. Was he really going to try to sleep on what little was left over? Maybe he'd give up once he realized the pickings were thin and beg Scriabin to let him sleep with him. Hah.

While he was out, Scriabin made his way over to the pajamas drawer. They were all old and soft, even just to his hand. They'd do for now, until he could get his own. It wasn't like he hadn't worn all this before anyway.

By the time he'd finished dressing, his clothes discarded on the opposite side of the bed to where Edgar had set up his little nest, Edgar had finally gotten himself a set of pajamas. He wondered for a moment if he'd dress with Scriabin in the room again, though maybe his intense stare drove him off. Who could say. He patted the bed with a wide grin when he returned and was dutifully ignored. He settled down to the side, and Scriabin laid on his arms to look down at him.

"Ugh, lame."

"I don't-"

"Yeah, whatever." He'd heard it all before. At least he could literally look down on him like this. He folded his hands and leaned just a bit further, looking him over. A desire he hadn't realized he had surfaced in the dark and quiet. "Give me your hand."

"Sorry?" Scriabin held out his hand expectantly.

"I used to hear your heart beat every day." Edgar looked at him incredulously, but Scriabin was unperturbed. "Let me hear it again."

He hesitated but eventually slowly offered his arm. "...Okay."

He pulled his arm up and placed his thumb against his wrist. He felt a strange mismatch - where he'd been expecting one heartbeat, there were two. He covered his surprise, near shock at the realization that of course he had his own body now, by pulling harder on Edgar's arm, directing him up to his ear.

"Wh-"

"Shh." Quietly. He had wanted this, wanted this body, this separation, this freedom for so long, and now... He spoke quietly, his voice betraying nothing. "I'm listening."

Edgar's pulse was erratic, but he hardly paid attention to it. His own fingers on Edgar's skin, warm and pliant, and Edgar's fingers twitching in his hair, he could feel it, he was trying not to touch him- This hesitation was killing him, every jerky movement away not from fear of what Scriabin could do to him, just uncertainty, like he was still a stranger- He pressed him harder to his head, and he could feel goosebumps under his fingers. He wanted to just hold him there until all the memories they'd shared poured back through him, into his blood, into his breath.

Where are you?

But he replied in that same uncertain, guarded tone that indicated he didn't know, not really.

"C...can I have my arm back now?"

He pushed him away. "Fine." Edgar curled his hand protectively against his chest, and he noticed he rubbed it slightly, he probably hadn't even realized.

He mumbled out a harried "Good night," and it was almost enough to make Scriabin smile. Almost. He could still affect him but this wasn't enough, it wasn't right.

He laid his head on the pillow, not bothering to pull his arm up over the side of the bed. If he twitched in the night and touched Edgar, well, that could mean anything. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he did it on purpose. Plausible deniability was one of his greatest assets.

As it was, he was just tired. Maybe he didn't pull it back because he hated the thought of sleeping alone, pushed out and forgotten, and hated it more that he was even thinking something like that. How pathetic. He didn't need anyone, especially not Edgar.

But he was tired. Not in his right mind.

Does this mean we can start over...?

The thought echoed and died, and he slept.

#💟#Fanfiction #Blank Slate AU #Edgar #Scriabin #Todd #Shmee #He's technically in there but once again no speaking lines :P Yet anyway lol #It's fanfic time again! I fell into yet another writing fugue and finished Chapters 1 and 2 in like four days lol #If you'll notice tho ♪ Neither of those chapters are featured under the cut :3c Pls do read Ch. 1 at least to get caught up before diving in #This one took a bit longer but that'd be because it's Almost as big as both previous chapters combined lol #I'll update it to the chapter list in a few days! Y'all get a preview here :D It'll be the same there with slightly different formatting #Decided to try something new since tumblr doesn't normally allow underlines but it's very important to Scriabin's syntax #I promise they're all just links to the first chapter lol - you're welcome to check but I promise I didn't put a sneaky link anywhere lol #My one gripe is that it doesn't look as good on-blog :/ Fine on the dash! But I'm not willing to sacrifice the dark colouration on the links #Italics were chosen as the only light feature for a reason ♪#I mean at least it's not Bolded lol I'll take it #These were a lot of fun to write so far ahhh <3 I've been wanting to dig a little deeper for a long while now!#I mentioned this idea offhandedly in the tags of Incoming Outgoing but ahhh it's very rewarding to put to words :D #Fun Fun Fun

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jessamine-rose · 7 months

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/obey me! vent/

#jessamine rambles #before i start. pls keep in mind that this is fully subjective and could just be a 'me' problem. i just want to get this off my chest #ngl i've been contemplating on whether i want to stop playing obey me. both the og game and nightbringer #idk i've been playing the game since its first month and while it's given me a lot of joy + memories + chances to befriend other ppl. i'm #pretty burned out. not to mention TIRED of my consistent disappointment with the game #the main story.....where do i start?? i actually enjoyed s1-s3 despite my qualms with the fillers and pacing but s4 disappointed me. i was #rlly looking forward to simeon's storyline and the new characters but ultimately. the devs tried to squeeze too many things into one season #not to mention that there is a notable difference in how the characters are written. i.e. beel's hunger and asmo's beauty #being watered down to running gags instead of the complexities explored in the old dg stories and chara songs #gameplay-wise. i was there when the devs raised the rewards price of the event urs and removed the demon ssrs completely #but nightbringer was the last straw for me. the amount of time it takes to grind for two games. knowing that the og app has essentially bee #abandoned by the devs?? not to mention that while the plot is interesting. i haven't touched the main story ever since the coma arc #i will give credit to the devs for improving the event stories by choosing to focus on 1-2 demons. but it has always felt like a quantity >#quality situation. esp if i were to compare it to my other fandoms #it also doesn't help that i'm currently at a point of my life where i'm questioning if i could use my time on obm for better things #seeing how the game is giving me less reasons to believe it is worth my time #idk this may also be a short-term phase since i DID get back into twst after a long hiatus and i recently got into whb #which btw has felt like a breath of fresh air despite my frustrations with the bugs and current gacha #but yeahhhh........as much as i love the obm characters and fanfics. i'm just tired #at this point i feel like the only reason why i still play the game is due to the nostalgia and so i don't waste the years of grinding #aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh #this is what i get for being the type of player who only plays a few games so they can rlly dedicate their time and passion to it #that's all

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light-lanterne · 10 months

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what the heck have i just read,,,

guys, there are a lot of similarities between all the members of the party. they all are outcasts of some kind, they all share some general traits (hence why they became friends in the first place), and they're all going through similar experiences as a result of their involvement with the upside down and all that.

but they're all unique individuals who all have their own struggles and character arcs and none of them exist purely to give depth to the other -_- parallels exist to add layers to certain aspects of the character's stories and the overall narrative, not to reduce an entire character's journey to those similarities and then proceed to ignore everything else about them. that is such a shallow way to consume the source material we all enjoy :|

it's okei to like certain characters more, and it's okei to point out all the little hints the duffs have left woven throughout the entire show to hint towards what's going to happen next with certain individuals and plot lines,,,

just don't reduce the entirety of one main character's existence to some very specific moments and traits in order to justify or enrich someone else's arc >:\

#✒️#💡#🧸#this is about some random post claiming max “was created” to add onto will's arc btw. which is... yeah...#while somewhat similar in the way they both got targetted by vecna. they each have their own experiences in that regard :\#(the same applies w mike btw. there are some strong madwheeler parallels in s4 but that doesn't mean mike is getting a copy of her arc e.e)#(also. pet peeve of mine (tw // suicide): the post claimed max's s4 arc is confirmation that will is suicidal... /but he isn't/ :|#just like mike isn't suicidal just because he chose to jump off the quarry that one time to save dustin. will telling everyone to close the #gate in s2 was not him being suicidal per se. it was him trying to save his family and friends even if it came at the expense of his life.#yes this ties in to his low self-worth. yes by definition mike and will were technically killing themselves in both these incidents.#and yes both mike and will show signs of them being depressed in different levels and ways. but self-sacrificial tendencies don't #immediately translate to an active pursuit of death. particularly when they only did their thing in moments /when their loved ones were in #peril/ x.x) alas. i digress. just please stop throwing words around and fanfic-icating everything. and please stop taking max's arc #and making it everyone's but hers :\ it was a great representation of survivor's guilt and the conflicting relationship an abusee has with #their abuser and that 3-season-long plot line only works with her -_-#anyway. just be careful of your wording when discussing parallels :\

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everythingsinred · 3 months

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I just read you have alternate au endings in mind and I’m VERY curious!! Do you have any posts abt them??

Hi !!!!

No, I probably don't... I can't say for sure but I doubt I have any specific posts about it. I talk a bit about some ideas here and I rant in general about the ending so much that there's a subsection in my table of contents (pinned post) about what I don't like.

Under the cut is a mishmash rambling of ideas lol...

So I guess I'll give you a brief run-down on what should change for me to be more on board with the ending. I hate Mikan having the stealing alice with a passion. I know that shows up pretty early, but I hate it and I usually forget about it because of how much I hate it so if I ever wrote a canon-verse fic (which I'm nervous about because of this very thing), she probably wouldn't have it, which would require me to shift a lot of other elements in the story. I just think it kills the importance of her nullification alice. She had a "useless", understated, subtle alice that could easily be taken for granted but that was actually super cool and useful in its own way, and the stealing alice is... not helping that issue. The stealing alice is immediately and clearly useful and showy and impressive, if a bit taboo. But that taboo element is rarely touched on with Mikan because she doesn't even know she has it for a while and she's immediately pretty okay with it when she does find out about it because it never really does wrong... Meanwhile, Yuka's story with the stealing alice is so much more meaningful because we get a deeper look into being outcast for her alice and how much of a burden it can be. Mikan doesn't have that relationship with the stealing alice, but its arrival undercuts her nullification alice and as a result her arc suffers.

I also think Persona took up way too much time. I don't really care if he has a redemption or not but the "We have to forgive everyone so we can all move and be happy now" message is so aggravating to me and not a lesson you should be giving a young audience so, I would get rid of that, or at least undercut it. (My issue with Persona's redemption is more about Mikan than him, actually.)

AND I HATE HOTARU SAVING NATSUME. I hate it so much. It's my least favorite part of the story, no contest. I'd delete that right away. Additionally, Mikan losing her memories has potential but none of it is used and then all of her relationships in the last chapter are minimized to elevate Hotaru, to the detriment of every other character on that beach, which pisses me off so much...

So I usually like an ending that looks like this: Mikan only has the nullification alice (and thus Yuka wouldnt have died, but would maybe have been put in a different bad situation, like maybe Mikan is still in the labyrinth as collateral over Yuka... that could be cool), and Natsume still dies (I love him dying) but Mikan saves him, and a huge help is Ruka. Maybe Mikan still loses her alice, and still loses her memories. In that case, the amnesia thing should be stretched out and actually used, instead of lasting a chapter because then it's just stupid and feels pointless. In this case, Hotaru should play a more subtle role (which is what she does best) and be the main one to chase after Mikan. That way the manga can still have the bookends of the best friends chasing each other, only this time it feels more equal. OR maybe Mikan doesn't lose her memories but since Yuka is still alive, she leaves the academy with her mom and they start some new life together for a reunion with friends later on.

OR she keeps her memories and doesn't lose her alice and instead everyone is happy at the Academy, particularly because Shiki is now in charge without the interference of the ESP so there's much-needed structural change that makes life at school a lot better and less prisonlike. TBH, I genuinely can't stomach the idea that the Academy doesn't undergo structural change because 1. That's such a cop-out and 2. It makes Shiki look bad and 3. It makes the whole story seem a lot more like child abuse apologism... which it isn't doing on purpose but OOF it is not a good look.

I also hate what was done with Goshima at the end there, so I would completely discard that.

Anyway, I actually do have plans on writing ONE idea of an alternative end at some point, but it'll require some thought and care so that fic will need some time to be written. If you have AU endings, please share because I hate the end we got and I don't think a lot of us actually like it, in the end.

#answered #technobro #gakuen alice #ga #sigh... the end makes me so mad genuinely my blood boils at just the thought of it #oh well!!!! i just pretend like it doesnt exist. genuinely the only time ive read it in recent history was for my essays.#otherwise i flat out dont even touch it. ive read those three chapters maybe 4 times ever?#and the last arc i also dont rly read #with mikan shaping up to leave and all that. its fine in theory but the ending sours it for me #i dont expect everyone to feel the way i do about the stealing alice ofc #i just... have never liked it and i have to remind myself sometimes that she has multiple alices #the only time i liked it was in a fanfic with a different take on alices... so not in canon at all #anyway if u have any ideas id be happy to hear!

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quietwingsinthesky · 1 year

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You really have no idea how long it takes to make a podfic until you do it yourself

#this isn’t like a jab or anything it’s an observation.#the same way someone might look at a finished painting and not know the hours of work behind it #unless you’ve done that yourself you know?#I stand by podfics being an important transformative work in fandom. for accessibility and for just the joy of making them.#and highly recommend giving it a try to really understand how much work goes into giving you fanfic audiobooks lmao #but actually okay you don’t need to try I have some numbers right here if you’d prefer #so uh the one I’m working on now. it’s a fic about 1.7k words long.#which was about ~22 minutes of recording. the recording is the easiest shortest and. usually the most fun part. because saying words is fun #but anyway that 22 minutes got edited down to around the final runtime of 13 minutes.#(this is before I go through it again to see if I should re-record a line or two.)#(usually only do that if something got Monumentally messed up because it’s sometimes hard to make two different recording sessions sync up #and sound similar enough to not throw the listener off. for me anyway. I’m not the greatest editor rip.)#anyway so. 13 minutes of podfic.#so want to guess how long the first round of editing took?#about an hour. give or take.#this stuff is time consuming! worth it! but time consuming.#so what im saying is if you see podfics that are multiple hours long. salute your troops.

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theloveinc · 1 year

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#not to start sh*t (tho i always do)#tho i really do understand the frustration surrounding like... ppl only reading x part of whatever fic #at the same time... the policing of how ppl read is so irritating #nobody has a right to comment on how ppl interact with writing + work #like i personally don't care but ... wanting interaction and comments makes more sense than telling ppl they can't read ur work #if they only read the sm*t/the dialogue/the whatever #like.... why are u writing if ur gonna take the enjoyment away from ppl... even if they're not getting the whole thing... thats on them #sometimes the enjoyment itself comes from interacting with the parts that make it understandable / touch upon someones interests #plus... like .. writing can be good but writing can also be way too flowery. there should be balance.#PLUS... if the only way to get the story is thru the dialogue? thats a WRITER problem #and also.. as someone with chronic brain fog and tons of sh*t i need to get done and also mental illness and such...#not everyone has the time or energy to invest in hours or even minutes of reading #ppl have different abilities not to mention reading speeds #and if skimming is the only way they can/how they participate in reading fanfic... literally leave them be #u can still enjoy stuff that way and appreciate a writer's talents even if ur only looking surface level... it just shouldn't matter #and it just makes me sad readers are being targeted and told theyre a bad audience for stuff like this... WHEN I GET IT #i can't control anyone obvs but i wish it would stop #i think it really makes this community less welcoming which is the uh. last thing we need.#but anyway no hate i guess even tho this is a bad take #i have opinions that would get me sniped truly #okay thats it bye #caitie blabs

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gothamstreetcat · 1 year

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Putting under the cut what ended up being such a long sad/angry rant about Wesley and how he was treated on the show. I just want to say how I feel. A lot of this is personal and I apologize.

I’ve been thinking a lot over the past few days about how it really boils my blood that I feel there was so much pressure for Wesley to be in love with Fred. If he was not "in love" (I really don't even want to say that) with her he had to be a creep and if not that he had to be obsessed (based off of how the show was really portraying him at points). It’s almost as if he had no value unless he was in love with her or his entire being didn’t revolve around her. Like, if he wasn’t the bumbling fool for everyone to make fun off he just had to be so obsessed to the points it made him look bad. Almost as though the writers took his little "crush" from one fucking episode and decided to run a train without the tracks.

It's such a shame because this idea of Wesley being infatuated with Fred came across as though it had to be his whole personality as though Wesley himself couldn't be loved for anything else (like being smart or funny). And the entirety surrounding Fred was also used as a foil for his relationship with Lilah, which in my opinion is so stupid, because this crush with Fred was -again- so fleeting and ended so badly, yet at the same time it consumes Wesley's being.

And I know I’ve said this in the past, but Wesley during Billy was not him; and I really believe it has everything to do with his father and how he was raised and someone he was scared to become. Wesley does not come off to me as the kind of person to feel that was towards women or have monstrous/evil thoughts. Even for "dark" Wesley that's really pushing it. He's just the kind of guy "that makes the tough decisions even if he's making them alone." Not only that but Wesley constantly has moments where you know he's been abused, and for me, I see that as he's not going to be an abuser because he's already the abused, even as an adult. Even when his not-dad showed up he fell back into his old self and was suddenly never good enough. So, going back Billy it just seems hard for me to imagine Wesley ever trying again after the traumatic events that ensued for him - that also had him struggling with himself as a person. Having him be so infatuated with Fred after this - to me - is just so disrespectful to his character, especially if only to hurt him in the end and further isolate him. Wesley is not a perfect person, I know that but some of the shit he went though on the show just seemed over the top.

I don't actually know or personally understand why people even want Wesley and Fred to be together but let me say how I've been feeling that Fred is just a more loved version of Wesley - another thing that really makes me upset/uncomfortable. They were both smart but somehow Fred was smarter (during that episode when those demons came and wanted her brain instead of Wesley's) yet, at the same time everyone needed Wesley's help when he wasn't part of the team anymore. Which, of course there are different ways to smart and should be recognized but at the same time Fred was just seen as so cute and quirky for everything she did while other times Wesley was not appreciated. Anytime Fred became upset or triggered over what happened to her she was comforted and emphasized with. When she was rescued from Pylea she was given space and everyone worked with her and tried to help her. Anytime Wesley talked about his dad he was looked at as strange or talked to in such a casual manor (because the characters were so bluntly blind to his abuse (i.e when he killed his not-dad in season five). Even when he was clearly feeling a certain way after the events in “Lineage” Angel and Spike treated it as if it was no big deal and I get the assumption that when Wesley killed his not-dad it was more about protecting Fred rather then freeing himself (which is what it should have fucking been about. This man literally stood in front of him and said “don’t make me shoot you,” and I wonder how many threats were made on Wesley’s life for him to not be stunned by that.)

I will however say that when Wesley got shot he was well loved and cared for. This was, of course pre-Fred and pre-Conner but was looked after during this time (by this two best friends I might add who ended up fucking losing completely to the mess that is season 3).

Another thing I've gathered from the grapevine is that it appears losing Fred was somehow a breaking point for Wesley (but also everyone else too) and I would really like to fucking understand why. Fred is beloved, I get that but at the same time they also lost Cordelia who was very loved and had some so far as a person - and as for Wesley that man has been through some fucking shit, but why is losing Winifred some make or break for him?? Wesley literally lost his entire family because of what happened, he had his throat cut and was literally fucking dying as some homeless man dragged him into the bushes before stealing his money. He was so cut off from everyone and pretty much had the metaphorical door slammed in his face - unless of course he was needed - and I know I talk about the park scene a lot, and I know fans get mad over what Wesley did they're entitled to feel that way, of course, but at the same time - no one is going to be more mad at Wesley then the self-loathing man himself. He knows he screewed up.

On top of that, Angel, everyone's literal champion, went to the hospital and tried to fucking kill him. And a lot of people point out how Wesley never apologized for what he did, but when Angel apologized for what he did it was literally only because he needed something. And everyone was so wrapped around Angel's dick and what he wanted so nothing could be mended, mind you, this was also the man that signed them off to work for the literal Devil without their consent. Now, I get he was doing it for his son and that's admirable- he's just a tired dad trying to do his very best - but you literally didn't have to drag everyone else with you (especially since the only reason Wesley was there in the first place was to give Lilah peace he believed she deserved for her suffering. Show me a greater act of true love and I'll shut the fuck up.)

Wesley lost his best friend to the higher powers (his friendship with Gunn was so long gone at this point) and the love of his life (because the only time Wesley wasn't so wrapped up in Fred was when he was grieving Lilah) but somehow Fred had to be the be all end all. Even in his death he couldn't escape it and it still had to be about Fred and being lied to and being with her. I see a lot of fans talk about how he was in love with the idea of Fred and being a hero and getting the girl and finally being loved but in reality all those things Wesley thinks heroes get in the end are a fantasy. He's not going to be loved, Angel is not going to get over Conner and his dad is never going to love and respect him as a human being. In fact, I feel like the only thing Wesley had to resemble being a hero was the fact that he died in the end. I mean, of course he was a good person and did his best and he did help people and save them - but at the same time he went through so much shit just to die in the very end and he couldn't even have that to himself.

The Writers liked to put on this face of Wesley being happy when he sees Fred doing her little speech, and it could have easily been about missing his friends and missing people he was close to but we know that's not the case. Not only that, but Wesley went through something so traumatic and you can't always some back from that. He was literally so changed from what happened to him and he was never the same (he literally reminds me of Bruce Wayne in so many ways with the trauma and the turtlenecks and the stone facial expressions; they literally are the same person only Bruce hates guns). Even when he came back into the group or went to work for W&H and everything was erased. Yet somehow Fred just has to be what keeps him connected to something more human... and I really can't understand why when The Writers (I mean, obviously to hurt Wesley because they don't value him) would even want Wesley to be with someone who is so nasty to him.

Fred was understanding when her and Gunn were ransacking Wesley's apartment (which they didn't even clean up by the way) yet, to his face she told him never to come back and also didn't even look at him when she talked about the prophecy being false and everything being a waste of time. Telling Wesley how wrong he was but literally everyone makes mistakes (Angel literally said Conner had been smelling like food and fucking told no one until he had a meltdown). Wesley during that time was just mentally going through it and he didn't think he could tell anyone and did everything he thought he could do - and then for Fred to be upset with him for fucking being with Lilah when he was literally so alone and she was the only one to give him a crumb of human decency. She really only bothered him about the job once and every time they talked you could tell how much they really bounced off one another.

Fred was also the only one who was so mean to him after Lilah's death when he was being vulnerable and trying to open up to her. Now again, this is partly The Writers who think it's okay to compare Wesley's consensual relationship with Lilah to Not-Cordelia sleeping with Conner (which was basically Conner being raped by his unborn woman child using his mother's body), which is disgusting, but also for Fred to fucking roll her eyes and try to gaslight Wesley and his emotions when he's being vulnerable. Again, something I bitch about a lot but it's only because I know what it's like to be that person being vulnerable to their friends, only to have said friends literally roll their eyes and dismiss my feelings - it's disgusting. Wesley had literally just lost Lilah and had no one to talk to about it but he tried *twice* with two people who used to be his closest friends. But I guess that is just more of a way to affirm how Lilah is for Wesley (despite the fact that she is literally perfect for him but I don't know if I want to get into that now).

I feel like Angel never got over Conner (it being mentioned in season five) and that is what it is - I get it, but at the same time I'm also so bothered by the fact that Wesley is always going to have this big terrible thing hung over him. Gunn also made a huge mistake but that was what is was, a mistake and okay because "Gunn is a good person" (and I'm okay with that, I'm in no way trying to shit on Gunn but I am aware there was controversy surround this back when the show was on). However, I have an issue with Wesley having to be so punished for his mistake when others are empathized with. And I know what happened with Holtz was about Angelus and that Angel has a soul and he is good - but this is also the vampire with a soul who tried to fucking suffocate Wesley to death. It doesn't feel fair to entirely blame Angel for Angelus's actions against Holtz's family's, However, that's still a huge part of his past, and not everyone is going to have empathy and compassion for you just because you have a soul. I'm not trying to say that as a way to excuse Wesley's mistake but I feel that so much is always put on Wesley and him alone.

I'm sorry this post is so long and messy. I was going to spend a little bit of time talking about his relationship with Lilah, however, I want this to be more about Wesley as an individual - so I'll shut up here and save that conversation for the tags.

This was four pages long in google docs, why can't I write my fanfiction like that?

#me rambling messily and angry #not sure if I should post this or not #but here we are #i just want to say how i feel. can't seem to do anything else unless i sit with this\#also. off topic but i read this fanfic recently (honestly one of my favs)#and it was written so well character wise as well as writing wise and it was written during season three #i'm going going to go into detail bc it's awful but basically something really terrible happened to wes and in another version of events in #the fic anther wesley had the same terrible thing happen but with different results and in the end he went crazy and had to be reverted to #a child-like state and it was so awful because the wesley in the main universe was treated well but there were times when the characters #were happy to have him because he wasn't crazy and was useful to them. in my opinion (and i could be very wrong) it felt like they only #loved him because this terrible thing happened to him and there were other times everyone was so overbearing it bothered me #again. nothing to do with the writer or the story because they were both written so Perfectly but just in general it was sad to me #wesley should not have to be useful to be loved #but that is me taking this train off the tracks #angel the series #wesley wyndam pryce

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blorbosexterminator · 2 years

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I believe a lot of fanfic writers would be massively disappointed if they were to try and publish their fanfics (having changed the most identifying characteristics to present it as original work). bc one of the reasons why we never say anything when someone's writing is full of spelling mistakes or bad grammar or, imo the most serious flaws - plots, characters, the low quality of the story itself, the themes, the subtext, the deeper meaning, etc - the reason, besides the whole participating in fandom communities and the fact it's free, is that we easily overlook some of those things because we get to read more about the characters we already love. I know my ff standards are fairly low. and who hasn't found themselves in a situation where they've read through everything they initially wanted to read and then started reading even the fics they first disregarded bc they can't get enough of their otp. do you know how many times I've scrolled past some especially cringy parts of fanfics, but I still love them. when you publish it, you immediately lose that aspect and most reviewers and readers won't be particularly generous. I just think publishing ff has a very high chance of being a mistake, and if publishing houses are approaching ff writers, I don't think they're looking for high quality and I wonder how much they'd invest in serious editing. IMO those who write ff and want to be published should consider working on an original piece of work, or at least reworking their ff significantly. thanks for reading through my message.

Again, I can't say I disagree at all. Fanfiction doesn't hold a grasp in all of those aspects you mentioned against actual published books [and of course nothing at all against the few of those books we would actually dare to call literature] and we allow it and are fine with it, not just because it's free and about the community and about the basic delight in sharing more of the characters we care about, but because none of those things are the primarily function of fanfiction. You don't judge Ikea and an apartment you're going to rent in the same mannar. Ikea isn't a house. At least to me, fanfiction is only about the source material. If there is a fic that has a well-thought out plot and decent prose, but the characters are mischaracterized and/or the dynamics are inherently misunderstood, then it still fails at being a good fic to me. Because, simply, if what I'm looking for is a good plot and decent prose, then I'll just pick any, even a mediocre, book [and it'll be better than said fic]. So not only does fanfiction fail by large at competing in those elements, in the average ratio of good to bad fics, it's also the fact that even a good fic that does all of those things decently still won't hold a chance against an actual good book.

It's the same from a writing's perspective too. It's not exactly about effort but what sort of effort it is. If I feel like it, I can just post a fic because I want it out without spending millenia editing it. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. But the point is, with fanfic I have the choice and it won't matter. And it's not just about the editing, the grammar, etc.

Anyway, yeah. They aren't looking for quality. It's still a capitalisic endeavor. Bad books, unfortunately, do sell. Fifty Shades of Grey made millions to an average fanfic writer. Doesn't make it a good book [and I doubt even a good fic before that]. And it's understandable with this current twitter and tiktok book market; honestly the things twitter authors write and tiktokers promote aren't at all that much better than fanfics. They are well aware of what makes them money, and if they're pursuing ao3 writers then they know the money they'll put in editing, they will get back tenfold. But if anyone thinks that's a win for fanfiction, they are mistaken. It's just an insane downgrade in published literature. And dare I say [while risking sounding like a Harold Bloom-like boomer] it's an insane downgrade in the generation/public's reading taste.

#people can do whatever they like though lol #and I'm not sure whether 'blaming' Twitter Tiktok and the only-fanfic reading public swarming out at all once for this shitshow is the righ #move #I'm sure the reasons and explanations are much more complex and those might only be the apparent symptoms but not what lies underneath #but they sure are making things much worse #least of what's truly insipid about this is that it's making people mostly teenagers really really comfortable with complete #anti-intellectualism and selling to them that is this is the good thing actually you're doing so great. go burn those terrible books your #hc teachers made you read #and no you're not #there is a world of difference between grappling with difficult texts because you understand that the grappling is worthwhile and between #manipulating yourself into thinking they aren't worth anything just because it would be easier for you to believe though #but anyway obviously there are exceptions #nothing is without exception #and I do believe a lot of fanfic writers [at least in my own experience my favorite ones] are more than capable of writing publishable work #but the point is fanfiction loses the one thing that makes it actually standout by getting published. and then it'll be put in a horrible #comparison with other works and get torn down #like writing a fanfiction most of the time you take a readymade situation [whether canon or a specific au] and what you do is put different #characters in #and you don't really have to do anything other than that. the twist and spin IS the characters #but publish that and those are just regular characters inna regular situation to readers and critics #and since we're talking about most fanfic s not the rarities; there won't be much to the book that excuses its lack of originality in plot #it's a pretty complex topic anyway #this is in no way a disregard of fanfics though #I love both writing and reading it #as its own thing #not as a replacement of or as literature #this is the bottomline

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allisonreader · 4 months

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The frustration of not being able to find a fic that suits the vibe and desire of what you want to read, while also not wanting to write anything yourself that would fill in that niche that you're looking for.

#this is about reading fanfics of the selection and just not being able to find ones that satisfy what I'm looking for #is it so much to ask for a few good fics of Maxon and Aspen becoming friends after everything?#or an AU where the only difference is that Celeste lives and becomes an important alie to America and friend #there are so many fics that I've started and then dumped a couple chapters in because they just don't fit the vibe or don't stick close #enough to canon for me to enjoy them or the writing is... I'm going to call it immature or focuses too much on the wrong things for my taste #and I don't want to read people's takes on writing different selections of their own that's not what I want currently but that's what people #like to write. just like people like to write their own version of one of the hunger games #whereas I'm not looking for new characters I'm more looking for slice of life stories that fill out times unmentioned in the books #I've already read everything that officially published in the series #but I'm still looking for more #anything that I have found that fits into the niche or vibes that I want isn't finished and or is short

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dcxdpdabbles · 5 months

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DCxDP fanfic idea: Big Fish in Gotham Pond

Based off of @saphushia art found here. . I just loved the idea of Tucker not knowing his skill level because he grew up in the boonies

Tucker gets scouted by Wayne Enterprises after he fixes a kid's computer game while in Gotham visiting Danny.

See, Tucker always known he is passable at tech- one has to be when a technology theme ghost is consistently harassing one's best friend- but to be good at something in a small town like Amity Park didn't mean much .

It's a big fish in a small pound sort of deal. That's why he's never put much thought into it. If Tucker were ever to rank himself in terms of school grades, he would say his computer skills were about a C-.

B+ if it was just coding.

His parents also don't think much of his obsession with his PDA or phones. They thought he waste too many hours on them like the rest of his generation.

It didn't matter that Tucker's technology was about five or more years behind his classmates.

The Foley were hard-working people who barely scraped enough for bills. They were never below the property line, but they danced on it often enough that Tucker knew never to ask for unnecessary purchases.

For as long as he could remember, his parents have always worked long and hard hours. He never blamed them for missing so much of his childhood, in fact he was grateful that they worked so hard to keep the roof over his head, but he did miss them.

That's why Danny's house became a haven for him. He was always at the Fenton's place because the loud, wacky family was much better company than the home silence.

Tucker knew that his family's financial situation didn't change how Danny or Sam viewed him. They had his back through tick and thin just as he did for them, but as they got closer to graduation the difference between them became jarring.

Sam had easy picking of what she wanted to do and where she wanted to go. Her parents were so overjoyed that she wanted to go to a university that they didn't even argue about her wishing to major in botanical biochemistry.

She had started house hunting in Star City midway through senior year. Her parents would gift it to her as a graduation present. Sam would live there for the next eight years to finish her degree.

Danny's parents, while somewhat eccentric, were also certified geniuses. Between the two of them, they had five PHDs and were often freelancing for companies when not doing ghost research. They too could send their two kids to college States away with housing not being a issue.

Jazz went to Metropolis to study Physiology. She lived in a small apartment but was doing well off her scholarships and parent's funding. Last he heard, she had a part-time job at the Daily Planet as a research assistant to gain some independence.

Danny wanted to go to Gotham for their engineering program. He, too, had an apartment of his own, with scholarships and equal funding from his parents. He also worked at Wayne Enterprises, but he was a receptionist. He hoped that once he graduated, he could apply for their engineering program

Not Tucker. His family could only help him get into Community College near Amity. He also couldn't afford to move out so he stayed with them, picking up a part time job to help out when he could.

Tucker is a first-generation college student so even though it wasn't much, he loved to see how his parents glowed when telling others their boy was futhering his education. He wanted to do something that paid well- and after years of patching up Danny- he figured nursing would do the trick.

Tucker would do all his basics in the community College, take a break to save up some money and then move on to the bigger schools.

The day of the graduation felt bittersweet. Team Phantom was finally adults, finally starting out in the real world, but while Danny and Sam moved on to bigger and better things, Tucker knew he would be left behind in little no-where Amity Park.

He never brought it up, but he felt a small dosage of envy the last day of summer before his friends finished packing and left.

Despite both being gone, Tucker had little to no social life even though they called, texted, and emailed often. His days blurred between class, work, and home. Even then, classes were long and tedious, work often ending with one or more customers screaming in his face to try and get free food.

His parents quickly started to nag that he should find a wife as they had married young. They couldn't figure out why he didn't want the same, even though he had no social life again.

Life became dull.

Tucker's only sparks of joy were playing online with Danny and Sam - when they found the time to log in or re-coding his old tech to try and salvage it whenever it broke down.

Soon, it became apparent that Tucker was slowly lacking motivation when he started skipping classes to sleep in and started feeling anxious when he needed to clock in for shifts.

It leads to him barely getting out of bed.

He felt horrible about it, thinking his parents sacrificed so much for him only to have him throw away the opportunities they gave him, and the cycle of not being able to get out of bed would start all over again.

It was Danny who caught on, and all but begged Tucker to come to Gotham for a weekend. He even sent money over for the plane ticket.

Tucker couldn't have gotten on that plane fast enough. He arrived early on Friday since the tickets were cheaper- and Uber over to WE headquarters to pick up Danny's keys as they agreed.

That way, Tucker could sleep and rest in the apartment while Danny worked.

Danny would finish his shift and have the weekend plus Monday and Tuesday off to spend with Tucker. When he arrived, Danny was helping a school check in for a field trip, so Tucker sat down to wait.

Next to him, a kid was growling at his laptop, frankly typing and moving his fingers over the computer's touch mouse. Tucker accidentally glimpsed his screen when the kid started swearing in a different language.

It looked like a shooting game but his lag was bad. By the time the boy pressed the buttons to have his little drone move the other flying things he was chasing were flipping though the air and out of his shooting rage.

It sucked when that happened, and since he was using WE free wifi for guests, it was probably the game. The graphics were badass, though. Seemed almost real.

"Hey try updating the system" He tells the kid after seeing the boy once again lag so bad he missed his shot.

Green eyes swing to him drenched in rage. Which yeah, Tucker knows how frustrating that could be.

"Did I ask for your help!?" The boy snaps, his words lined with an upper-class accent. Made sense since he was wearing a Gotham Academy uniform like the rest of the large school group. "Why are you even looking this way, peasant?"

"No, sorry. I just noticed the lag." Tucker raised his hand, slightly amused at the peasant insult. "I thought I could fix it for you."

The boy's face spams, "You believe you have the ability?"

"Ugh sure? I can try?"

"Here. Be quick. The fate of this city's air defenses depend on it" the boy turns his lap top to him and Tucker blinks.

Okay. So fix the game. He can do that.

And he does, quickly opening the code, analyzing the control and commands , he gets it running properly in less then twenty minutes. The boy seems utterly shock but he quickly takes control of the game and shoots down all the escaping ninjas from the sky.

"Thank you." The boy says with no more tense in his shoulders. Then he closes his laptop and dissappears with the crowd of students.

Tucker thought the kid was a cute.

Danny hands him the keys not long after and he leaves.

Never was he aware of the Boy being Damian Wayne and that the game was not a game but a actual defensive drone system that was fighting off the League of Assassins.

He only finds out how important those two facts are when Danny gets a call from Tim Drake asking if he could pass along Tucker's information because the CEO wanted him on staff as soon as possible..

Both nineteen-year-olds lost their minds after getting the call, screaming at each other in ghost shrieks of glee. They called Sam to let her know- and have her lawyers look over the contact Tim Drake sent just to make sure it wasn't a big-time company trying to screw him over.

He went to an interview three days later. He faced Tim Drake, the current seventeen-year-old CEO, Leo Noir, the current head of HR, and Jessica War, the current head of computer services. They asked him many questions about himself- some of which he felt he had answered terribly- then had him take a computer test.

Tucker thought it was busy work, so he quickly breezed through it. He fixed the problem in many of the coding for various programs, adding his flare to the final product, and after thanking them for their time, went out into the lobby.

He hadn't even reached the door before Jesssica ran after him, offering him the job. Apparently, the first two problems they had him do was the busy work. Tucker had thought they were the ones to let him get comfortable with the coding program.

Like a tutorial in video games.

The other seven were actual issues; many of their latest cellphone products failed. Tucker had solved them in an hour, which had taken the actual team of coders about a month.

"Nitey one dollar and thirty-five cents an hour," Tim tells him tapping the hiring contact. "It would be eighty hours every paycheck. You can work here or at home. Full Benefits. What do you say?"

Tucker's jaw drops. "When do I start!?"

He calls his parents to tell them he will be staying in Gotham with Danny. He tries to explain what had happened but it was all so fast that he can only babble about certain parts.

They tell him not to worry about explaining because they understand how much this means to him.

His parents help pack everything for him and when he flies back for it they, offer him hugs and support. Tucker is so glad they aren't mad.

"I sort of knew it was coming," His dad laughs. "You and that Fenton boy have always been inseparable."

"I did the same thing, you know," His mom says, wiping tears from her eyes but smiling all the same. "I moved with your father states away with little to no plan when I turned twenty too. Drove your grandfather mad."

He loves them both so much. He promises to send money- disregarding their denials- and flies back to Gotham, where Danny has opened his apartment until he gets enough for his own place.

He plans on renting a house with three bedrooms, one for him, one for his office, and another for Danny, as soon as he can. He wants to pay his friend back for everything he did and Danny deserves a bigger living space.

And for once, he'll not have to worry about money!

For once, life is looking up!

(What Tucker is unaware of, is that his parents think he moved to the big city to be with his childhood best friend turned recent lover. They don't know that the money he is sending home is from his own payroll and not Danny's. They think he's a stay-at-home husband.

Tucker is also unaware that the Bats are closely watching him in case he goes rogue. They have been slowly "causally" running into him in the city and breaking into his place to check for supervillain activity.)

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #Big Fish in Gotham Pond au #Tucker is unaware of his skills #The Bat's are keeping a eye on him #His parents think he dropped out to be gay in Gotham'#Danny is happy for his best friend #Sam is laughing silly in Star City #Tucker in his main character era #Is Danny in love with him? Who knows

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ncroissant · 2 months

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switch! doppelgänger francis mosses x dom! gn! reader x sub! francis mosses

summary: double-teaming the real francis with doppel! francis

wc: 1.4k

content warning: nsfw, cock can be viewed as a strap, nipple play (personal fave), throat-fucking, blow jobs, hand jobs, dirty talk, doppel francis is referred to as doppel, wrist burns, tied up francis

author’s note: hellooooo my lovelies !! here is the long awaited fanfic that will hopefully satiate everyone’s preferences from the francis mosses poll yesterday (so i'm a pathalogical liar bc the way this was just sub! francis...) i plan to write many, many more sub! francis content because i cannot imagine him any other way. hope you guys enjoy this :) not proofread, minors please dni !!

“hhGHK-”

“can’t hear you that well down there, francie. speak up f’me?” you smile devlishly, tilting your head to look down at your crotch. francis knelt there with brusied knees, sucking your cock, stroking what he couldn’t fit with two hands.

another francis emerged from behind you, chuckling at his dupilcate’s pitiful state. “is that what the francis of this world is really like? a milk delivery man during the day, then a pathetic little whore who chokes on cocks back at home?” he scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“c’mon, use me too. i would never whine like this while suckin’ on that…” his fingers trailed down your v-line to the base of your cock. “i’m different from this loser…” he pouted, placing his chin on your shoulder, giving you a pleading look.

“m-mmnMPFH, g-GHK!” francis moaned, the vibrations shooting through your cock. he was whiny, but that’s what turned you on the most about your desperate little boyfriend.

you chuckled, gripping at his hair to make him look up at you. “don’t forget to look at me while i fuck your throat, francy,” you instructed as he nodded as best as he could with tears pricking his eyes. the look he gave you was so priceless, his mouth stuff full with your fat cock and drool dripping down his chin.

“yeah, but my dirty boy takes my cock the best,” you praised, making doppel frown. you thrusted your cock deep into francis’ throat, hitting the back of his throat every time you made even the slightest movement.

his eyes rolled back at the thickness and length of your cock, as he exhaled through his nose heavily. he felt his hands drifting down to his bulge, humping the carpet underneath.

you noticed, finally knowing what to do with doppel. “actually, i need you to take care of my needy little boy down there…” you shot francis a glare, shaking your head in disappointment. he whimpered at the action, his eyes widening with tears immediately streaming down his cheeks.

you pulled him off your cock, his saliva connecting to the tip. “haagnh…” he mewled out, his tongue still stuck out, waiting for a sweet treat. “c-cum on my tongue, please…” he begged, placing the tip of your cock on his tongue.

“such a needy boy. always wanting more than what you’re given, huh?” you tutted, grabbing your middle of your cock to tap it roughly on his tongue. he could only moan, feeling his hips shake in anticipating.

“that’s why i have him. to help me discipline you,” you pulled at doppel’s bow to tug him closer, untying it in the process. “c’mere francie. up on my lap,” you patted your lap, holding a hand out for him to get up.

he followed suit, stumbling over his feet a bit, but ultimately sitting on your lap with his back pressed against your chest. his cock was aching in his stupidly tight pants, begging to be let free. his face flushed at the sight of a very different, yet similar version of himself in front of him.

“doppel, c’mere sit on francie’s thigh,” you motioned him over, straightface. you, on the otherhand, begun to tie francis’ wrists above his head with the tie you had previously acquired. doppel obediently followed your instructions, sitting on one of francis’ spread thighs.

“w-what’re we doing?” francis stuttered, feeling exposed despite being fully clothed.

your arms looped around his body, rubbing his nipples through the fabric of his shirt. he jolted. “just punishing you,” you smiled, giving doppel a look. he quickly caught on, unzipping francis’ pants, palming him through his underwear.

your pointer finger tickled at his sensitive nub, while the other hand pinched at his already hardened nipple. francis’ weak spot was his nipples. the way he reacted when you even grazed his nipples made you want to bend him over a bucket and squeeze them until milk came out.

“o-oooH! hnnghh…w-why through my s-shirt?” he whimpered, jutting out his wet lower lip.

you gave him no response, flicking at his buds with your nails, making his arch his back. “gHK! y-you’re too, mnGHHK, rough!” he exclaimed, his brows furrowing. you loved to twist and tug at his nipples.

it was his fault for wearing such a tight uniform shirt. he was just asking to have you toy with his neglected buds that always poked out from the slightly nudge from the shirt fabric. your hands grope his chest, fingers rubbing over them quickly.

doppel wasn’t neglecting francis’ cock either. he was playing lazily with the wet spot on francis’ underwear that leaked pre-cum. it stuck to his pointer finger when he dragged it away, making doppel chuckle at his copy’s sensitivity.

“feel good, francie? squirmin’ so much, hm?” you placed your chin on his shoulder, watching the way his lips shaped into an “o”, mewling at the way you played with his perky nipples. you’d tug on one, flicking the other one quickly.

“g-good, HNGH, o-oghhh...s-so gnhh…” he could barely get a word out, lewd noises just falling out of his lips. you stopped teasing his nipples before slowly unbuttoning his uniform shirt.

doppel wasn’t taking francis seriously, stroking at a pace he thought was slow, but inhumanely too quick for francis. “human dicks are so small. you pleasing anyone with this tiny little guy, huh?” he teased, making eye contact with francis. “oh look, more pre-cum spilled out!”

francis felt how wet his cock was getting, covered in dopel’s spit and his own pre-cum. when he thought he only had to focus on doppel, your hands came back to grope at his chest. you could now visibly see the pink plushness of his nipples.

“looks like something might come out if i squeeze hard enough, right francie?” you whispered in his ear, rolling your fingers around the bud.

“same thing on my end,” doppel chimed in, rubbing his thumb over francis’ slit.

francis shivered at the thought, feeling his high come at lightning speed. the way the tips of your fingers would flick at his nipples combined with doppel’s inhumane strokes made the poor boy explode.

“ooonghhh, ‘m c-cumming soon, mmngh! HGK! c-cumming!” he bursted into doppel’s palm, collapsing into your arms. your movement slowed slightly, but you continued to flick at the tips of his nipples.

doppel took note of this, playing with the slit of his dick, playing with the foreskin. “human stamina is so pathetic. surely you’re not done now?” doppel leaned down, lapping francis’ cum with his monstrous cum.

“UGHK? i-i jus’, hic, came…hnnn…” he cried, tears streaming down his cheeks, feeling his aching tip burn. regardless of his pleads, he still rutting his cock into doppel’s mouth for additional friction.

“show me what your pretty chest looks like now, francie,” you ordered, as he puffed out his chest for you to see properly over his chest. you hummed deciding to untie him so he could give you a real show.

his wrists were red from shaking against the restraints so you pressed chaste kisses against the burns. “that’s not how you show me, is it?” he shook his head, shaking from the way doppel was sucking his dick.

francis’ fingers stretched the skin around his nipples, properly showing you the puffiness of his teased buds. he looked up at you with his fingers strewn across his chest with a teary-eyed expression.

“such a perfect boy f’me,” you praised, ruffling his locks. “so good that you can take another hour of teasing before taking my cock, right?” you grinned, your hands finding their rightful spot on his chest.

‘e-EUGH! yesyesyes…i can take it, hngh!” he nodded furiously, his hips shaking like a dog in heat.

“good boy,” you nodded, sticking your fingers into his already open mouth. you and doppel had a long night ahead of you.

taglist: @lordragamuffin

#francis mosses #francis mosses x reader #sub francis mosses #x reader #that's not my neighbour #ncrescent

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