#having never met mary shelly

[carnivorous-toothache]

I definitely think there's Something (TM) to say about the portrayal of "off-human" characters in modern media adaptations as having (particularly facial) deformities and/or learning disabilities.

Robert Louis Stevenson was fully like "this is my OC, Hyde, who represents the impact of a complete apathy toward your fellow man. There is nothing extraordinary about him except that his rancid vibes make people uncomfortable which adds to the core theme of the role of morality in humanity, so its really important that he's physically normal so the audience can recognise that it's what's inside that's most important," and every film adaptation was like "mmkay. Yeah, no, I've got it. We can show that he's evil by using prosthetics and making him non/semi-verbal, which, as we all know, are the True Measures of Evil."

#non-human #jekyll and hyde #doctor jekyll #mr hyde #jekyll and hyde weekly #also frankenstein #the creature is classically beautiful and exceptionally well spoken #the horror comes from the idea of the role of humanity in an act of creation #projecting their idea of the perfect self onto a model #aha yes #this means he should be physically grotesque and have an obvious learning disability #this is where the horror comes from #having never met mary shelly #i can be 100% sure she did not shag on her mothers grave for her work to be used to promote ableism in the media #i would like to clarify that there should be more disabled actors and characters on screen #but this is not it

[cherrys-writings]

Good Friends

Warnings: 18+ explicit sexual content, PiV sex, tigh riding, cockwarming, Grayson Hawthorne bites

   Another week passes before Skye contacts the lawyers about a will reading. I’m working on my manuscript in the solarium, legs draped across Grayson’s lap while he reads, when Skye bursts in, “Who is Avery Kylie Grambs?”

   The hand caressing my knee freezes and he takes a steadying breath before answering, “I’ve never heard of them.”

   Skye marches around, so she is standing in front of us, “according to the lawyers, my father requires the presence of certain people at the reading or it will not be read at all. One of these people is some Avery Kylie Grambs. Someone that none of us has heard of.”

   Then as if she just notices me, “oh hello sweetie! Xander said you were working on a new book. Will it be a little more….lighthearted?”

   “You could call it a romanticism revival,” I say, tousling Gray’s hair.

   “I have a soft spot for love stories. Especially, your love stories,” she gives us a knowing smile, before sweeping out of the room. 

   Grayson tosses my notebook on the coffee table, “you know Mary Shelly invented the horror genre during the romanticism movement, don’t you?”

   I shift so I’m sitting across his lap, “I’m familiar with the Romanticism Movement,” still playing with his hair, “I did convince you to sign up for ages of art and literature with me junior year.”

   Grayson laughs, hands resting on my hips, “Convinced? You begged me, Davis” 

   I close the space between us, “I don’t beg, Hawthorne,” moving to get up.

   He’s quick to stop me, practically throwing me into the plush cushions. Giggling, I try to unsuccessfully slip from his grasp; trapped beneath him. Barely containing a grin, I begin a new strategy, sliding my fingers around his sides, until I find the spot that makes him jump. Gray stifles his laugh as best he can, “Flower, what do you think you’re doing?”

   Instead of answering, I concentrate on that one spot. When he can’t hold back, the most wonderful sound bursts forth. Eyes squeezed shut, head ducked forward, squirming, and I find myself laughing with him. 

   “Please,” Gray gasps, trying and failing to find a ticklish spot of mine.

   His contagious laughter is a sound I haven’t heard in a long time. Desperate for it to continue, I dodge his hands blindly grasping for my wrists. 

   “Enough,” he holds my arms above my head, last remnants of laughter shake his form, “you’re done.”

   My laughing fit ceases when I look up. Grayson, drenched in sunlight, the honey and gold of his hair illuminated by the evening sky. Eyes smokey, almost haunting, and totally–

   “Exquisite,” I breathe

   “What’s ex–” 

   Raising my head, I connect our lips.Grayson relaxes into it, pushing my hands farther into the seat and settling himself against me. The world is reduced to nothing as I lose myself in his intoxicating kiss. He leaves slow kisses on my neck, a hand squeezing along my thigh to wrap around his. I try to reach out, to tangle my  hands in his hair, cradle his face, anything. Each time I’m met with a strong, gentle push to keep my hands still. My frustrated huff is met with Gray’s breathy chuckle before his lips are back on mine, hungry. Whining as he bites at my bottom lip. Legs around his waist, I try to pull him closer, rolling my hips up in search of something to ease my now growing frustration. A groan rumbles through his chest, his own need evident. When I grind upwards again, Grayson has my hips in a vice grip holding them still against the sofa.

   “Careful, my flower,” his face deadly serious.

   I sit up, “or what?”

   Grayson blinks, brows furrowed. His hands never leave their place tracing the skin along the waist of my shorts. I press a kiss to the corner of his mouth then along his jaw, his breaths heavy. 

   “Did you hear me, little prince,” I coo, rolling my hips again.

   He sighs, hands trailing up my spine, fingers digging slightly when I nip his jaw. “Tell me what’s gonna happen, little prince,” I mumble against his neck, working to loosen his tie. 

   “I want you go–,” Gayson licks his lips, averting his eyes.

   The beginnings of that word make my heart pound, “say it.”

   He meets my gaze, “I want you, goddess.”

   He stands without warning and leads me through one of the many hidden corridors in the house. Pressing him against the wall, I leave a trail of hot kisses to the spot behind his ear that makes him shiver. Grayson tangles his hands in my hair, tugging lightly. He whines when I step back, unbuttoning his shirt.

   “Off.” 

   He responds without hesitation, harshly pulling his arms out of the long sleeved button-down. My hands slip under the plain undershirt, his stomach muscles tensing at my touch, the fabric bunching together as it slides upward, quickly followed by my own top. He pulls me flush against him for another needy kiss, before picking me up. Grayson walks slowly towards his bed, squeezing my ass as I pepper kisses along his jaw. He turns, so I’m straddling him when he sits. He pulls my hips forward, grinding me against him, my breath hitches. Desire taking over, I rock against him, breathy moans escaping.

   “Someone’s needy,” Grayson breathes against my ear, hands running along the band of my bra,  “I wanna see you, all of you. Please.”

   The sweetness in his request pulls me back to reality, heat rising in my face when I stand, shimming out of my shorts and panties. Grayson kisses up my stomach, before pulling me to straddle his thigh. He nips at my collarbones, unclasping my bra, fingertips trailing down my arms and tossing it aside. Grayson sits back appreciating my bare form grinding against his slacks, his mouth slightly agape. 

   His hands grip my hips tightly, guiding my movements, “this feel good, flower?”

   “Mmhmm,” my mind clouds with building pleasure.

   I rest my head against his, cupping his face in my hands, eyes fluttering shut with each grind. Every motion, every thought consumed by the yearning for more; more of him. I let one hand slide down to stroke him through his slacks making him buck against me. Grayson’s fingers ghost along my soft flesh and my breath hitches when he brushes my nipple. I shudder under his touch, sighing from the combined sensations. My head falls back when he takes one into his mouth, moaning as he licks the peaked bud. I rake my hands through his hair, tugging harshly, approaching bliss. My hips stutter, elastic band tightening in my abdomen, “Grayson,” I whine. 

   Grayson’s eyes snap back to mine, dark, “say it again.” 

   Hands finding my hips again, he flexes the muscles of his thigh making me cry out from the added pressure; his name falling from my lips like a prayer. My breath comes in short gasps, catching in my throat when the band finally snaps, in blinding pleasure. Grayson pulls my hips against him, drawing it out as my thighs shake until I lean heavily against his shoulder, breathless. 

   He presses a kiss to my temple, “that was exquisite.” 

   I reach between us, feeling the shape of him. Grayson bucks his hips against my hand, before forcing himself still. I lean back to look at him, taking him by the shoulders, “we can stop, little prince.”

   “I want this. It’s just….been a minute.”

    I press a kiss to his forehead, “do you have something?”

   He smirks and we break apart for a moment. Grayson discards his boxers and fumbles through the table by his bed. My fingernails dig into his shoulders as I let myself slowly sink onto his length. 

   “Oh fuck,” Grayson moans. 

   He kisses down my chest, as I move on his length. He bites my lip, silencing the moan when he brings his thumb to circle my clit. Nibbling along my jaw and pushing me against the mattress. Mesmerized watching this abs tense and relax as he pounds into me, my hands wander over the taut planes. I nearly miss the adoration in Gray’s eyes when he lifts my chin, staring at me. He leans down for a messy kiss, my legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Grayson slows, groaning, suddenly rolling his hips at an agonizingly slow rhythm, a loud whine escapes me. Blond hair sticks to his forehead when he tucks his face against my neck, chuckling darkly. I push my hips upward, trying to meet his thrusts. He growls, sitting back and lifting them in a bruising grip. The perfect angle lets him thrust deeper until he hits the spot that has me seeing stars, gasping and grabbing at his forearms.

   Pressing my head back into the pillows, moaning, “so close, Gray.”

   My nails rake down his arms when I come undone, breath catching in a silent scream. Graysons nails dig into my waist, swearing as he loses himself in bliss, eyebrows scrunched. His hips jerk with shallow thrusts before finally stilling. “Can I just stay like this for a bit? I like how you feel around me.”

   I nod, still breathless and pull him to rest against my chest.

   “You’re perfection, little prince,” I pant, carding my fingers through his hair.

   Grayson hums in reply, tracing patterns on my chest. We lay there in silence until long after dark, before sliding apart. He catches my arm as I move to get up, light eyes pleading.

   “I’m not going far Gray,” I coo.

   Hesitantly, he lets go, watching my every move as I walk into his en suite and fill the tub. I stand in front of him, taking his hands in mine, “I’ll never leave you Grayson.”

   “Promise,” he asks.

   “Promise,” I press a kiss to his hand before leading him to sit behind me in the steaming water. 

   I lean back on his shoulder, caressing his arms wrapped loosely around mine. Savoring the closeness, Grayson presses kisses to the top of my head, murmuring sweet praises. When the water starts to cool, he wraps us in fluffy towels. Grayson reaches into the cupboard before having me sit on the edge of the tub. Vanilla and brown sugar invade my senses as he gently rubs lotion up my calf, periodically kissing along my leg.

  “Grayson, why do you have my favorite lotion in your bathroom,” I look at him expectantly.

   He moves to the other leg and slowly massages each arm, “Because I can, my flower.” He moves to pick me up, I wince when his hands graze my hips. Grayson cradles my face in his hands, panicked eyes searching mine, “Did I hurt you?”

   I grab his wrists, leaning back to see his full face, “I’m not made of glass, little prince.” 

   Satisfied, he scoops me up, pulling the covers back and unceremoniously dropping me in bed. I giggle, scooting over arms outstretched to him as he tucks the blankets around me, strong arms pulling me into his chest. “Sometimes,” I yawn, “I wish other people could see this side of you.”

 “You better not let anyone know I have a heart, flower,” Grayson kisses my forehead.

   I slowly drift to sleep, in the place where I was always meant to. No longer ships in the night, no more endless questions, just Grayson and I tangled in one another. Maybe Nash was right, in a sense, we weren’t good friends, we were home.

#grayson hawthorne #grayson hawthorne x reader #graysonhawthorne x reader smut #the inheritance games #grayson hawthorne fluff #the hawthorne legacy #smut #grayson hawthorne fic #deimsexual grayson hawthorne #the final gambit #fluff #the hawthorne brothers #xander hawthorne #nash hawthorne #avery grambs #jameson hawthorne #javerson #libby grambs #hawthorne brothers #fanfiction

[dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night]

Top three songs for all of my characters:

(This is only excluding characters like Saul, who is a newborn infant. Or Kamneneri, who is a non-sentient serpent. Almost everybody else is here.)

I will explain these if you ask. I have so much reasoning. I'm bursting at the seams with it.

Our Man Flint:

Flint: God's Gonna Cut You Down by Jonny Cash - Blacksnake by Charming Disaster - Kill Me by The Pretty Reckless

August: Built to Burn by Shayfer James - From Eden by Hozier - The Devil's Rejects by Rob Zombie

Ambrose: Villainous Thing by Shayfer James - Welcome to the Family by Avenged Sevenfold - Flowers by Sarah and the Safeword

Mary: June by American Murder Song - Ribs by The Crane Wives - The Devil's Night by Johnny Hollow

Timothy: Grind My Bones by Shayfer James - A Body on the Step by American Murder Song - God's Gonna Cut You Down by Dead Posey

Eden:

Ezra: Lonely by Ralph Castelli - Spaceship by Art Sorority - Plant Life by Owl City

Christopher: Mx. Sinister by IDKHOW - Reincarnation by Roger Miller - Gun in My Hand by Dorothy

Jay: The Mystic by Adam Jensen - Runs in the Family by Amanda Palmer - Sweet Dreams by Eurythmics

Colt: Prison Sex by TOOL - Heaven's Got a Backdoor by Dead Sara - Hit Me Like a Man by The Pretty Reckless

Lucille: The Sky is a Poisonous Garden by Concrete Blonde - For Elise by Saint Motel - Killer Queen by Queen

Jane-Marie: Inkpot Gods by The Amazing Devil - Marbles by The Amazing Devil - Any Way the Wind Blows from Hadestown

Katerina: Sunlight by Hozier - Under the Willow by Shayfer James - Little Green Apples by Roger Miller

Michael: Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap by AC/DC - Ain't No Rest for the Wicked by Cage The Elephant - Cherry Bomb by The Runaways

Shelly: No Reason from Beetlejuice the Musical - Monster by Dodie - Dance, Dance by Fall Out Boy

Harry: Good Life by Shayfer James - Lost in the Supermarket by The Clash - Somebody Told Me by Måneskin

Tristan: The Room is Filled with People Who Love You by Foresite - Where Have All the Average People Gone? by Roger Miller - New River by The Oh Hellos

Rowan: Hazy Shade of Winter by Gerard Way & Ray Toro - Everything Moves by Bronze Radio Return - Dreamer in Disguise from Carrie the Musical

Isadora: Halah by Mazzy Star - It Never Rains in Southern California by Albert Hammond - When the Day Met the Night by Panic! At the Disco

Divinity:

Wren: Theseus by The Oh Hellos - Red Hot & Holy by Sarah and the Safeword - Ancient History by The Crane Wives

Vo'ki: Ashes by The Longest Johns - No One Lives Forever by Oingo Boingo - Walk on the Ocean by Toad the Wet Sprocket

Mary: Blossoms by The Amazing Devil - Tiny Gods by Shayfer James - Love Potion Number 9 by The Clovers

Humanity's Collector:

Glade: Welcome to Winterwood by Sarah and the Safeword - Quackery by Cormac - Rule #9 Child of the Stars by Fish in a Birdcage

Harlow: Turn the Lights Off by Tally Hall - Days by The Drums - Under My Skin by Jukebox the Ghost

Blood Sacrifices:

Ve'Qren: Ambrosia Wine by Madds Buckley - Disciple by IAMX - It's Tough to be a God from Road to El Dorado

Lohl: Take Me to Church by Hozier - Tombstone Road by Shayfer James - Moonchild by Iron Maiden

Tyri: Your Body, My Temple by Will Wood - The Devil You Know by I Fight Dragons - Mostly Major Chords by Shayfer James

Drehl: The Hand that Feeds by Nine Inch Nails - Blood by My Chemical Romance - Have a Seat Misery by Shayfer James

Swua: Clockwork Tiger by Sunday Driver - Misery Fell by Tally Hall - Boots Worn Through by Shayfer James

Daes: Rule #18 Lion by Fish in a Birdcage - Sea of Voices by Porter Robinson - Vow of Silence by Lemon Demon

Cataes: Eat Your Young by Hozier - Linger a While by Cosmo Sheldrake - Daffodil by Florence + The Machine

Meras: Under the Milky Way by The Church - Solar Waltz by Cosmo Sheldrake - Shifting Sands by Between the Waters

The Doll Collector:

The Collector: Vampires by Night Club - Lost Ring on Riverside by Sarah and the Safeword - Masquerade by The Himalayas

Dahlia: Bleed Magic by IDKHOW - Ms Potato Head by Melanie Martinez - Drown Me by Junie and TheHutFriends

Viola: Waiting Around to Die by The Be Good Tanyas - I Wanna Be Evil by Eartha Kitt - Funny Dame by Eartha Kitt

Zion: Absinthe by IDKHOW - Side Character by Cloudfodder - Rule #19 Amigo by Fish in a Birdcage

Jules: Fucked Up World by The Pretty Reckless - Tongues and Teeth by The Crane Wives - Flowering Vines by Unwoman

Sanctuary:

Mordecai: Only the Good Die Young by Billy Joel - Gimme That by Blue Kid - Congratulations, You're in a Cult! by Sin Shake Sin

Ishtar: Oak & Ash & Thorn by The Longest Johns - Secret Worlds by The Amazing Devil - Pray by The Amazing Devil

Rahab: Blue Monday by Dead Posey - Half God Half Devil by In This Moment - House of the Wolves by My Chemical Romance

Rosemonda: Mantra by Bring Me the Horizon - Everybody Loves Me by OneRepublic - Grace for Sale from The Devil's Carnival

You can't Follow Your Heart if there's a Stake Through It:

Jacob: Happily Ever Cadaver by Wenesday 13 - Dead as Fuck by Motionless in White - Buried Alive by Creature Feature

Rurik: Come Along by Cosmo Sheldrake - Canary in a Coal Mine by The Crane Wives - The Moss by Cosmo Sheldrake

Angelique: Candy Shop from Heathers the Musical - Bubblegum Bitch by Marina - The Dismemberment Song by Blue Kid

Karina: Shine a Light Reprise from Heathers the Musical - Sugar Pills by IDKHOW - The Hideous Exhibitions of a Dedicated Gore Whore by Rob Zombie

Clara: Never Shut Up Again from Heathers the Musical - Aim for the Head by Creature Feature - Dragula by Rob Zombie

Jericho: Boy Division by My Chemical Romance - The Kids aren't Alright by Fall Out Boy - Highway to Hell by AC/DC

Alma: Pill Pusher by Sarah and the Safeword - Devil's Kind by The Longshot - Uma Thurman by Fall Out Boy

Tales of Iyuetse:

Marcus: Carry on Wayward Son by Kansas - Children of the Damned by Iron Maiden - Blood Letting by Concrete Blonde

Jaran: If You're the Coffee by The Arcadian Wild - Dead! by My Chemical Romance - I'm Afraid I'll Go to Heaven by Moon Walker

Jahda: ...Well, Better than the Alternative by Will Wood - The Lesser of 200 Evils by The Dream Masons - Madinah Tun Nabi by Dawud Wharnsby

Dhara: The Unkillable Soldier by Sabaton - Die With Your Boots On by Iron Maiden - Enemies by Shinedown

Sabine: Invade, Destroy, Repeat by Powerman 5000 - Apex Predator by Otep - Vampire by The Orion Experience

Hesperia: If You Want Blood, You've Got It by AC/DC - Lesbian Vampyres from Outerspace by The Scary Bitches - Judas Be My Guide by Iron Maiden

Revelry: Welcome to the Black Parade by My Chemical Romance - The Hand that Feeds by The Crane Wives - Way Down Hadestown Reprise from Hadestown

Rena: Brother by Gerard Way - Whore by In This Moment - Witches Burn by The Pretty Reckless

Seasons in the Sun (Coming Soon):

Slava: Right to Die by AlicebanD - Black Wedding by In This Moment - Ignorance by Paramore

Cobalt: The Evil that Men Do by Iron Maiden - Prick Goes the Scorpion's Tale from The Devil's Carnival - Why We Build the Wall from Hadestown

Diya: Things We Lost in the Fire by Bastille - Lullaby of Birdland by Eartha Kitt - Sanctuary by Pretty Balanced

Viggo: Vampires by Godsmack - Only by Nine Inch Nails - Seventh Son of the Seventh Son by Iron Maiden

#Abraham original: Hot off the press #Our Man Flint #Eden #Divinity #Humanity's Collector #Blood Sacrifices #The Doll Collector #You can't Follow Your Heart if there's a Stake Through It #Tales of Iyuetse #Seasons in the Sun

[goopydeer]

Any Randy Marsh headcanons

Yes ,, I HAVE ALOT ACTUALLY!

- Randy is Pansexual, i feel like he would be gender blind. He wouldn’t really care what gender he’s with

- HES A CLASSIC ROCK DAD!! i feel like he would be one of those hardcore beatles fans. I also feel like he has a record collection

- randy can play the bass guitar and drums really well

- Randy is on the autism spectrum

- Randy is of Italian heritage, he can speak Italian fluently

- He has a genuine passion for the art of drag performing, he goes to drag shows dressed as “Mary Jane” to promote tegridy farms.

- Randy never was in a relationship with anyone before he met Sharon which makes Sharon his first ever girlfriend

- randy loves to travel, before shelly was born randy and Sharon would often travel to different countries and places.

- Randy is a really good cook, he used to help Sharon out around the kitchen before he stopped

- Randy lived in south park his whole life and the only friends he ever had were Gerald and Stuart until he went to college

heres all the headcanons ive made so far ^_^

#randy marsh #south park #headcanons #south park fandom #sillyposting

[imnotthemoonimnotevenastar]

TASTE OF AMMONIA 

Our eyes met.

The wind's cold embrace touched my warm body where my skin used to feel your hands. The scars on my heart started to bleed again. I felt the time stopping and going faster with every breath I missed. It hurt to look into your eyes filled with nothing more than hate.

You hate me now, ironic right? I used to be your everything, but now hate is what I can see on the outside of your silver eyes. I look a little closer and as your eyebrows flinch, I know we’re still in that little room singing stupid songs, smiling and being one another’s first love. The buildings around us move close and press on my chest with their heavy gray walls. You never liked industrial brutalism. We were romantics, we drank your mother's wine while we read Mary Shelly's books. I breathe in the heavy air with an ammonia taste. It was just like when I first kissed you, it was a torture feeling your warm lips on my cold porcelain skin.

I miss you.

Every day, hour, second.

I remember you.

Your eyes used to light up when you saw me, you talked all the time and were ready to spend your whole life loving me, I believe that was before I left you.

I betrayed your love, broke all the promises, just like the new intake of breath breaks my ribs and I want to cry like a newborn baby taking the first breath in their life. I feel the death inside of me, growing and embracing my organs with its dark feeling of guilt. I see strangers moving in your eyes and your hands tense. You started to bite your nails again, they’re a bloody mess and all I want to do right now is kiss the pain away, but the strangers in your cold eyes go by and I see only one stranger,

me.

You are cold.

And I can't offer you my jacket like I did before. I can never warm you up again, I'm the one that killed the sun inside you and stole your tears.

You are cold.

But this time it’s not the wind or the heavy ammonia taste, the buildings or the strangers, it’s you,

you’re cold from the inside.

You changed, like people tend to change. Your hair is longer than it was, I could braid it but you wouldn’t let me. Your skin is pale, just like mine was when I left. Your lips are dry without my love. You are not the same as I remember you.

I try to walk away from you again, and it should be easy as I've done it plenty of times but I feel sick of myself and the decisions I make. I even want to call your name but it's not mine to say, it used to be, I could say it whenever I wanted, I used to repeat it as a mantra falling asleep. I feel your eyes breaking away from my green, you don’t know me anymore. We’re strangers to each other.

These are my words, but you would say that we are soulmates that never meant to be.

You loved that song.

I think of you every time I hear it playing. I skip it every time though, but I couldn't delete it from my playlist.

As I walk away from you, your silver eyes, your brown curls, your cold hands, I also walk away from your pain. The fear of losing my heart again is filling my lungs with the ammonia taste. I’ve lost you once, I've lost you twice, I’ve lost my love and everything that made me human.

I lost this battle and I cried to your gods for help, but in that instant when we walked past each other pretending not to have a past

I saw the world collapsing in your eyes.

#marylily #marylene #poetry #love poem #love story #poets on tumblr #angst prompt #atyd #wolfstar #remus john lupin #marauders era

[writing-in-april]

Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde (1/?)

Part One: The introduction

Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: Reader meets a mysterious stranger at the library during a book club meeting.

Part Two, Part Three

Series Masterlist

A/N: Hey Heyyy! This is my first Dom!Spencer fic in so long!!! My last one was also funnily enough for a fic swap as is this one! I had @aperrywilliams for the fic swap organized by @imagining-in-the-margins. I had so much fun writing this one- it’s based on a prompt that I got from @andiebeaword and @spencers-dria helped me by guiding me with the book club idea- with a little twist! I am considering making this a series, if y’all are interested PLEASE let me know- I really want to because I had so much fun writing this. Thanks to all y’all for reading and requests are open!!

Warnings: 18+, Dom Spencer, Public Sex (is anyone that surprised??), Impact Play, Post Prison Spencer, Use of the nickname Doctor during sex, Spencer is a brat tamer, Spencer is morally ambiguous but doesn’t do anything explicitly immoral

Main Masterlist Word Count: 3.0k

As soon as you walked in through the large wooden doors it felt like history hit you over the head with a book. Even though it was on the small side for a library it still probably held more books than a normal public library, almost every wall was adorned with built-in shelves stacked from bottom to top with old books. They ranged in every subject you could think imaginable, from every point in history imaginable, and from every point of view that was imaginable. When you had first discovered this place it had felt like you had been transported to another world. You were surprised that more people didn’t know about this old library nestled in the corners of D.C, it was just sitting there idly watching as history passed by day by day, while it sat writing down all its secrets.

A meeting of the classics was scrawled on the standing white board you saw right when you walked into the library. A meeting of the classics from 7pm to 11:30 in reading room C were the exact words, you didn’t even really need to read them as you had been looking forward to this event for weeks.

You made your way down to the reading room that was specified, only encountering a few stragglers similar to yourself on the way down. You were somewhat new to the events that this library ran, only coming to the past four months. It was quickly becoming your favorite thing to do every month.

There was always a theme to each of the parties, ranging from different eras of history, specific novels, and including things that were open to interpretation. Tonight’s theme was as stated on the white board, a meeting of the classics, which had been described as “Pick your favorite literary icon from a classic novel and dress up as them.”

You had decided to not pick a character from a classic novel, but rather an author, Mary Shelly. You based your entire look on the iconic writer of Frankenstein (with a twist of course) because it had been your favorite novel as a child, it still was your favorite novel.

Once you had made it into the large reading room you took in the full room like you did every week. People were dressed as many outlandish characters, with some being more difficult to decipher than others. As you walked around the reading room you could feel the eyes of another on you.

You could feel his stare following you intently as you walked around mingling with the others that you had met before. The eyes belonged to a man you hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting yet, a man dressed as someone instantly recognizable, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. What other iconic character would be split down the middle, half innocent doctor and half evil alter ego.

Even behind the costume you could tell how attractive the man was. He was extremely tall and lanky, with deep brown eyes and the fluffiest brown hair you had ever seen.

“Who’s that?” You asked the married lady and gentlemen dressed up as Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy. Maybe it was shameful that you didn’t know their actual names, but you guess that’s what some people want when they come to an event like this

“That’s Dr. Spencer Reid, he hasn’t been here for a while and he sometimes misses things because of work. You didn’t hear it from me, but I heard he got in trouble with the law, that’s why he hasn’t been here for almost six months.” Her gossipy voice was drenched in fake sugar that made you gag on the inside. You still did appreciate her information as it gained you the name of the man who couldn’t stop staring at you like he was trying to figure you out.

“Must not have been that bad if he’s already out now, or maybe he’s innocent.” Ms. Bennet shrugged her shoulders at that. You may have even been naive to not heed her warning, but the idea of getting to know the mysterious fluffy haired man that had been staring at you all night was too intriguing for you to ignore.

“Who are you?” The mysterious man asked when he finally decided to approach you instead of staring at you from across the room.

Trying to maintain the same level of mystery as the man had you dodging his question with a simple redirect, “Who’s asking?”

“I thought it was quite obvious who I was.” He was right it was obvious, but why would you let him know that despite the fact that you knew what character he was you could tell the man underneath was the real mystery of it all.

“You’re the one who is not obvious.” The back and forth you had already picked up with him was thrilling, you sensed the fact that in most conversations you would have with him it would be a kind of battle that you would have to win.

“If you must know, kind sir, I am dressed as Mary Shelly, author of Frankenstein, with a bit of a modern twist.” You made sure to call him sir instead of his earned honorific this time, to see if it would poke any buttons.

“I am not a sir since my name is Dr. Spencer Reid. I can see now who you are dressed as, but I would still argue that it is not what the intentions were when they set this up.” You could tell that he was only teasing you with the way the inflections of his voice sounded, you were glad your teasing had been a moderate success.

You did also provide him your name before deciding to poke his buttons once more,“But, isn’t she a classic, Dr. Reid?”

“But, you have not made her a classic anymore by putting as you say a ‘modern twist on things’ though I must say it does look well made.” You would’ve been offended if you could not tell that it was all in jest, though you still got the sense that you still were not seeing what all this man was about.

“Thank you, Doctor I made it myself. However, you still haven’t answered my question yet, Dr. Reid.” You asked the next question hoping he would get what you were implying, “Who are you?”

“I suspect you may already know, but I am dressed half as Dr. Jekyll and half as Mr. Hyde.” At least he started to somewhat catch on to the hidden meaning in your words, though you still had not dug up the real answer you were looking for. He was too intriguing to persuade you to stop digging, you wanted to find who the doctor really was, not the partial mask he was still using.

“Yes, I suspected as much, but aren’t you breaking the rules by dressing up as technically two characters?”

“Were there rules that said I couldn’t dress up as two characters?” He fell nicely into the small trap you had set for him, retorting quickly without thinking. Which you found odd for a man that was clearly intelligent.

“No, but were there rules that said I couldn’t dress up as a classic author with my own twist?” The look on his face had let you know you had won the debate. You smirked with triumph as you glanced over the man, taking note of each of his handsome features in case you would never see him again.

You decided to pivot the conversation to another question that was on the forefront of your mind,“Do you have a dark side, Dr. Reid?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” He was deflecting, but he didn’t seem agitated by your question, simply amused by your dogged curiosity.

“I am curious though, what are you exactly underneath it all Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde?” Your coy smile was most definitely not lost on him, he could see right through your facade. He could see right through Mary Shelly to find the true you underneath. You only wished you could figure him out as well, you wondered how he got so good at being able to read people in an instant.

“I haven’t figured that out yet.” Well, at least you got the answer to what you were looking for, even if the answer wasn’t as straightforward as you may have been expecting. But, you were realizing that Dr. Spencer Reid was probably anything but straightforward.

Your heart was pumping fast, his words had a bigger effect on you than he had probably expected, your panties hidden underneath your long dress were dampening quickly. Though as you saw the smirk on his face grow as you fidgeted in your chair you realized that maybe this was intention all along.

You excused yourself for a moment with a veiled excuse of going to the bathroom. You hoped he’d follow right behind you, to see that you were going to one of the empty reading rooms. If you had read his intentions correctly the heavy doors on each of the rooms should significantly squash any noises he or you would make.

Sure enough after an appropriate amount of time had passed so as to not raise suspicion, the good doctor (that may or may not be good at all) entered the empty room.

He brought you into a dominating kiss that made you want to cower at the same time as be completely defiant. You fought with valor as he tried to consume you entirely with the kiss, not letting his tongue slip into your mouth for as long as you could hold off. In the end you still lost the fight when he lifted you up onto one of the large wooden desks in the room, causing a gasp to fall from your lips that finally gave him full access to your hot wet mouth. He suddenly pulled away to pinch your cheeks together with his hand to make you look at him which made you whimper pathetically at first, but you appreciated his next question immensely.

“Do you want this?” You nodded as vigorously as you could with his hand pinching your cheeks.

He however was not satisfied with my eager nod and prompted you to confirm once more with an even harsher tone, “Speak up when you’re talking.”

“Yes, Doctor.” You replied with his honorific instinctually and you were pleasantly surprised with the eager groan that came from his lips in response. Plus, you were slightly rewarded with being able to feel his lips on your collarbone, sending even more shivers down your spine.

“Let me know immediately if that changes.” The contrast of his sweet meaning words with his hand gripping your jaw was jarring, but you couldn’t deny that you enjoyed it. It just made you want to be as bratty as possible because even if he was harsh there was still the underlying care in everything he did, you felt safe.

“Maybe I should just call you Mister instead, since that’s clearly your dominant side.”He growled into your neck that was quickly getting covered in hickies, next thing you knew he flipped you around to face the desk closest to you with your back to his chest.

“Bend over.” He commanded, to which in response you opened your mouth to retort. Instead of letting you run your mouth as you had done before he wound his hands through your hair and pushed you down to take the position he wanted. He then pulled up your dress to uncover the panties you had soaked through. You thought maybe he was going to give me some relief of the ache in my core, but you were given a harsh slap on your ass instead.

A whimper involuntarily came out from your lips from the harshness of the slap that you assumed was revenge for not following his commands. He then spoke with deadly conviction, “I want you to say thank you, doctor after every time I spank you.”

You only agreed because you were afraid that if you did not comply now he may not give you what you wanted. So, as soon as the next stinging slap came down on the same spot as before the phrase fell from your lips, “Thank you, Doctor!”

He continued his repeated hits onto your ass and you made sure to never miss thanking him with a cry. Once he was satisfied with how much you were punished for your sassy remark he rubbed over the inflamed skin of your ass with his large, unbelieving hands. He moved your panties to the side to dip his deft fingers to run through your folds, collecting some of your wetness. You whined loudly and perhaps pathetically in response to him only lighting touching you instead of obliging the heat you felt everywhere.

“Be patient, you’ll get what you want since you decided to start listening to me.” He snapped which caused your knees to buckle again.

“I can be patient, Doctor.” He definitely appreciated the continued use of his honorific in this scandalous situation as he let out a groan almost every time you said it. Instead of answering you he started to undo the pants of his outfit, a pair of slacks that were also equally as split as the rest of his costume. You didn’t look back to see his cock because you did not want to be punished by him twice in one night. But, you certainly felt it.

You could tell just as he was running the head of his cock through your folds and pulling your panties to the side again that he would be the biggest you had ever been with. What should have worried you slightly only ended up sending a shock through your core instead. He was at least somewhat gentle when he finally started to enter you, letting you get somewhat adjusted before sinking in all the way to the hilt.

As soon as he sensed that you had adjusted he started a rough brutal pace, not that you were complaining as he hit all of your most sensitive spots as his cock dragged through your walls.

He made no effort to stifle the loud moans that were coming from your mouth, maybe he thought the thick wooden doors would stifle the noises. But, there was no way no one would be able to hear the unintelligible wails that were coming from you.

“You like bringing out this side of me don’t you?” He rasped out after he pushed your torso back down to flat on the desk once you started to lift yourself up on your elbows. When you only answered with a noise that was not understandable he prompted you to speak up with another slap on your ass and said, “I said earlier to speak up when you’re trying to talk to someone.”

“Yes, Doctor!” You finally were able to cry out with a few more slaps to your ass from him.

Each time you kept getting close to the edge he’d pull away from you slightly dashing your orgasm away from you cruelly. Each time you decided to whine out loud to voice your displeasure even if it was involuntarily he would just prolong edging you for even longer. You were babbling incoherently when he pulled you by the hair so your back was pressed into his chest and after a few more moments of hearing you beg nonsensically with tears in your eyes he finally gave you the command,

“You can cum.”

“Thank you, Doctor!” You wailed as your orgasm washed over you in devastating waves, you were sure no other man had made you finish so hard in your life. You kept repeating, “Thank you, Doctor!”over and over until you had completely come down from what was arguably the best orgasm of your life. Your own orgasm helped propel his forward, and you made sure to confirm out loud that you were ok with him cumming inside you. The warmth that filled you as he pumped into you a few more times caused one last groan to come from you that was weirdly harmonious with the groan from the doctor.

Normal aftercare wasn’t really applicable in this type of situation, you hardly knew him and the added fact that you were in an old library with a party down the hall didn’t help either. He still cleaned you up with a softness you had yet to see from him during your short encounter. Aloe probably would’ve been the best option to soothe your raw bottom, but he did massage you for a few minutes after he cleaned the rest of you. He had even made sure your clothes that were not period accurate, as he had pointed out earlier, were neat before you both left. There were no cuddles and soft loving words exchanged, but you still felt immensely cared for by a man who claims he might not be a good man. He was a strange case.

“You still never answered my question, Doctor.” You stated as you stood on the steps of the library after you two had slipped out to leave.

“That’s because I still don’t have an answer.” And, with that you parted ways into the cool air of D.C. You hoped he had the same feelings as you when you had both parted ways, you wanted to see him again. There was another meeting next month, maybe then you would get your chance again.

The thrill that ran through your veins whenever you interacted with him, whether he was fucking you or having a rousing conversation about classic literature made you want him no matter whether he was Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde. You’d take them both.

Part Two, Part Three| Series Masterlist

———

Tag list (message me if you want to be added):

All works:

@shotarosleftpinky @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar

Spencer Reid/CM:

@calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes

Dom Spencer (new tag list):

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #mgg #mgg x reader #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler smut #spencer reid fanfiction #matthew gray gubler

[noviteur]

【Ｏｃ　Ｄｅｓｉｇｎ】

Traits; Hermit & Ebullient

Height; 5”3 (160cm)

Vampire type; Ancillary Vampire (weaker then the lesser vampires)

Nationality; British

Past Occupation ; Author

Since arriving at the mansion she has never spoken unless spoken to, she does not engage in useless conversation unless necessary. She writes and then she writes only to write even more this, this is what she came back for, to drown herself into her literary work and nothing more.

She honestly thinks that everyone living in the mansion are a rowdy bunch of annoying men, though she heard through the thin cracks of her door that two new women have arrived, it was short-lived but excitement ran through her for just a moment.

*Knock knock*

It was the dreaded sound of a disturbed concentration that lead Mary to look at the newly knocked door, but before she had the chance to debate opening it or not it let out a mighty cry quickly revealing what’s on the other side…

“Bonjour je m’appelle Fae! , Ravi de vous rencontrer ! Ohh Et c’est Ada” Said the oddly dressed dark skinned woman while motioning to the woman behind her, the blond looking a little bit perturbed. From the little French that Mary knew she could tell that the overly excited woman stated their names.

“ I must apologize but I’m not the greatest at French and I would like to be left alone now “I said keeping my voice at a monotone level all the while feeling slightly irritated at the unannounced visit.

“Ada! she speaks english too! “ she mentioned looking at the blond behind her, all the while the crease between my brow deepining with slight frustration. Cant they see that they’re a bother, this time, this precious time I have been given is being wasted...

“Oh I am the one that must apologize for disturbing you like this, while you are working“ Her eyes lowered with a slight redness added to her cheeks. Well at least she is aware of her interference.

“Wow you apologizing Fae?, you never once did that for me the first day we met" the blond entering in to the conversation with a tiny frown joined with her words.

“Shhh Ada you were just throwing stones at the gease trying to scare them away when I first spoke to you... Never mind that, I have come to you for a reason, and that reason is ... wanting to borrow one of your pieces of work...uhm.“ She eyed me expectantly with a questioning gaze, thats when I realized I had forgotten to mention who I was...

“The name is Mary Shelly, you needn’t remember it“ I say grabbing a book off of the bookshelves and gently laying the book in her hands. “I never thought someone from the eighthundreds would want to read my books” I involuntarily stated my confusion out loud.

“ Well I heard you were a great writer from both William and Arthur! besides I love learning about new things of any subject, it really doesn’t matter that im from the eighthundreds .” I feel a slight blush running across my cheeks at the gentle and honest smile she gave me, my reaction unnerved me, so my overflow of embarrassment caused me too quickly push the two women out.

Most Prominent Relationships;

William: Coming back to life and then realizing that William Shakespear was alive as a vampire filled her with a kind of joy that was indescribable not because she was in love with him but because she could understand him, his pain, his continuous drive to create somthing perfect, a play unlike anything else. She was always there at every play and rehearsal...But the truth of the matter is that she pitied him, and therefore she pitied herself for thinking that way. She felt shamefull but good knowing that she wasn’t as far gone as him. William also understood her conflicting feelings which resulted in a strange type of give and take relationship .

Theo: I saw him enter the house with a painting at hand...I've never felt such a mysterious conection to somthing in my living life which probably is what caused me to stop him right in his tracks. “...hey Theodorous Van Goh ... how much” I said all the while pointing towards the painting. “Why are you asking Kaktusblüte? ” He said looking skepticlal, which is understandable since I never start a conversation on my own, I anwser his question albeit being slighty forced... “It..just spoke to me I guess ... but if its not for sale nevermind ” the dog loving syrup lover then proceeds to just stare at me, feeling annoyed I tried to escape... Only for him to grab a hold of my wrist, therefore halting me in my tracks. "Here, this must be an amazing piece of work for you to be captured by it, I believe this was meant for you" he says with a rare boyish-grin on his face as he grabbs a hold of my hand and wrapped it around the paintings frame... "ill take care of it" I say as I feel a tug at the corner of my lips.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen vampire headcanon #ikemen vampire oc #my oc art #ikevamp theo #ikevamp william

[hallobride]

so, let’s talk about shelly’s childhood and parent situation. it was... rough, to say the least.

trigger warnings: religion / religious trauma, ( under age ) drinking and smoking mentions, depression mention, and potentially more

to start: shelly grew up poor in a smaller city called brighton ( which had a population of around 5,600 people in 1990 ) about an hour away from detroit. her parents, jonathon and nancy webster, both worked full time to make sure the bills were paid and that there was a roof over their heads. but on top of that, they were devoted catholics -- as everyone on jonathon’s side of the family was. they’d make sure to take time off for mass, had shelly baptized as an infant and had her confirmation when she was 13, participated in lent and advent every year, always giving donations to the church despite not having much themselves, and so much more. they were heavily involved with their church.

before she could take care of herself, she was looked after by her maternal grandmother, mary, or by a babysitter. for years, their neighbors and everyone else in town thought they were the perfect family. shelly was even called ‘ little miss perfect ’ and ‘ perfect webster ‘ by her classmates... however, that was far from the truth. her parents were cold and emotionally distant with her, telling her that she was sinful if she misbehaved or did bad in school. they were strict, controlling, and expected her to be the ‘ perfect catholic girl ‘ -- straight A’s in school, for her to dress the way they wanted her to, to abide by their wishes and never talk back against them, to get herself involved with the church, to go to the college of their choosing, to marry into another catholic family and have children. she was isolated, forced to focus on the church and on school, and just... miserable. she went along with the act for a number of years out of fear of disappointing her parents and out of a desperate need for their love and approval, but she never liked the plans they had laid out for her and started rebelling against it as a teen.

as she started to grow a love for horror, gothic literature, and things that go bump in the night, it started to add to growing hostility between her and her parents. she was introduced to the gothic subculture through literature from her 7th grade english class first, then through mutual friends of her best friend, shandra. and oh, was it love at first sight. she loved the clothing style, the music, the shows and movies, and especially the goths she met and befriended. they welcomed her, validated her, and loved her in the ways her parents did not. she was able to hide her gothic possessions and interests for a little while, but not forever.

shelly started used partying and drinking with her friends as a coping mechanism since 1978, when she was about 13. being around them and getting drunk helped her ignore her current ongoing identity crisis ( because even then, she wanted to express her true self, but still wanted to make her parents happy and love her ), the growing issues with her parents’ life plan for her and the resentment she was starting to feel, and a feeling of entrapment that never really seemed to leave her. and that’s where her parents discovered her one night when she didn’t come home; at a party at a friend’s place, drunk, smelling of cigarette smoke, and dressed head to toe in black.

they took her home and screamed at her that she was going to hell for this, found the books and articles of clothing she had hid in her room and torched them, condemned her and her friends, and tried time and time again to force her back into that role of their perfect, quiet, obedient catholic girl. and that was all it took for her to be bold and actively work against their plans. the four years of high school were some of the worst years of her life, especially as the animosity and hostility between her and her parents grew. ‘ little miss perfect ‘ started growing a reputation in their community of being a partier and a rebel. she’d change clothes in the bathroom at school, sneak out to party, endured her parents’ wrath time and time again after every attempt to just be herself.

she was doing all she could to not go home because she knew what was waiting for her there: her parents, ready to tear her apart verbally and tell her she was sinking further and further into hell’s grasp, to destroy what few pieces of her identity she held precious. she practically lived at shandra’s house during her high school years ( her parents embraced her as a daughter and she’s grateful for them, even now. she still calls them her mom and dad ). and eventually, she severed ties with her own parents and snuck out once more: for good, this time. she confronted her parents and gave them a choice: their daughter, or the religion that they desperately clung to and used as a weapon against her. when they didn’t give her an answer and even tried to defend their actions, she knew their decision was made. the day after her graduation in 1983, she packed up what little belongings and cash she had, and ran. and it wasn’t long after that when shandra convinced her to start her life anew in detroit and moved in with her.

even though she was out of that environment for 10 years before her death, she struggled with the effects her childhood had on her mental health. her battle with depression was a big one. it was a struggle for her to get out of bed some days because she just felt... worthless, wrong. it was difficult for her to get close to people for a while and she didn’t always release her emotions in the healthiest of ways. it came out in intense sadness, rage, in distancing herself from others out of fear that they’d try to condemn her and shame her like her parents did. she got drunk and did lots reckless shit just to feel alive, all while working and going to college.

it’s when she’s 22-23 that she finally started focusing on herself and starts healing. she wasn’t perfect by any means, but more of her personality started to shine. she’s always been kind. she’s been piss drunk at a bar with her friends, but the moment she saw someone uncomfortable and looking down / like they’re not having any fun? she’d stop what she’s doing and reach out to them, seeing what’s going on and if she could help. she was trying to keep younger kids from making her mistakes as she was making them. she hurt people then and harbors so much regret and guilt from doing so.

her kindness, compassionate, empathy, wit, creativity, and bluntness were always been there. they were just subdued for many years

#🌹▫╰ 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨 / i am mistress of my own actions. #LONG POST / #RELIGION / #RELIGIOUS TRAUMA / #DRINKING MENTION / #SMOKING MENTION / #DEPRESSION MENTION / #ASK TO TAG / #i am so sorry in advance for this #i've been working on this for a long time now #but now that i've got this done i can finally explore some other parts of her life #because there's... quite a bit connected to this

[xercesfm]

spotted ! dylan rosemary, on the steps of the met. who’d have seen that coming? what with being a student and all, i’m surprised they’ve found the time. they’ve always been quite standoffish and blunt, so i’m sure trouble will follow in their wake. then again, i’ve been told they can be pragmatic and confident. either way, i’ll be watching. - xoxo, gossip girl. ( tabi, 18, ES, they )

hey hi! i’m tabi (main is linked on dylan's account), the mastermind behind dylan mwhahaha. let me preface this by saying i’m a tumblr rp newbie, so if i screw something up do not be worried about telling me about it! anyway, on to miss rosemary. she’s a relatively new muse. i thought of her while listening to deftones and i imagined a very distant, aloof girl. only to people who don’t see the method of her madness. she’s defo shady because she’s so secretive as well as quiet. she’s the brooding type for sure. if you want to plot with her just message me, but again i’m very new to this format so yeah… anyways, i'm super excited for this plus everyone's characters look amazing.

FULL NAME. dylan rosemary

TITLES. student. ruptured genius.

OCCUPATION. a full time neuroscience student at columbia university.

DATE OF BIRTH. september 7th.

GENDER & PRONOUNS. cis female. she/her.

ORIENTATION. bisexual.

SPOKEN LANGUAGES. english. rusty french, it was an old hobby.

HEIGHT. 5'6"

EYE COLOR. green.

HAIR. raven black blunt bob with blunt bangs. sometime she grows it out.

TATTOOS. a crescent moon in front of her right shoulder.

SCARS. none.

RELIGION. agnostic.

ZODIAC. virgo sun. pisces moon. aquarius rising.

ALIGNMENT. chaotic neutral.

HOGWARTS HOUSES. ravenclaw. slytherin.

BIOGRAPHY. wip. most likely going to be about how she was a strange, outcasted child. just one big explanation on why she is the way she is which is… wtf ok go emo girl ig…

TRIVIA.

- she feels like mary shelly when she wrote frankenstien because she mashed her parents professions together with full intent to divulge the weirdest academic journals out of her studies.

- her apartment is trashed. not in a “moldy pizza on the table” way, but in a books askew, the textbooks have taken over, smells a lot like coffee in here way. every once in a while she gets it clean, but she feels better being consumed by her major.

- she moved to new york when she was a teenager, the lifestyle was something she never grew accustomed too. toronto was quieter in her mind, the snow as a silencing blanekt. the drama, the extravagance of socialite life was certainly facinanting, but she never found her place in it. the fact that her parents talked to such people amazed her, they were always nerds in her mind.

RELATIONSHIPS.

she’s open for anything, down to an arch enemy. don’t be shy, i live for rambling about muses with someone and talking about how they would interact.

#intros. #dylan r.

[a-mythical-lady]

Books and me.

14 years ago

(Age: 7)

It was bedtime and maa had just made my bed when I heard the front door open. Papa was home from work and I could hear bhai running to see papa and tell him random stuff. I bet papa listened to everything, despite being tired. After that, he came to my room, "Look what I got you" he said, and extended a book to me. I was confused as he had never brought me a book before. It was a book called Panchatantra. A story of an old rishi who gives life lessons to his five shishyas at the gurukul through stories about nature and animals. I was excited about getting my first book and begrudgingly, maa let me stay up later than usual. That night, sprawled on my bed, I was entranced and fascinated by all the different stories and scenes and talking animals. The next morning, I woke up by myself and finished the entire book by noon.

The next thing I know, I'm collecting comics and storybooks and getting addicted to them. Piling up tinkle comics, Archie's and Amar Chitra Katha was my only goal. Every train journey to my native place involved dragging papa to the railway station bookstore and getting myself a comic book for the train ride. I begged my parents to subscribe to storybooks along with the daily morning newspaper, and they relented after a lot of coaxing. Then, every Monday morning I'd wait eagerly for the newspaper boy to deliver my weekly dose of happiness with books of chacha Choudary, chandamama, and champak. Soon, this became an obsession that even my parents started noticing. Maa began hiding my copies of storybooks during the exams and giving them back only after all my exams were done. I began pestering papa to get me more and more books every day. Sometimes he would get me a double digest edition of tinkle and I'd be ecstatic and over the moon. It's amazing how something so small and silly used to make me so happy. I'd re-read the same books once I'd gone through my entire stash of new books. Out of desperation, I'd read anything I could lay my hands on. In school, we used to get all our term textbooks a month before the reopening of a new academic year and my English textbooks fell prey to this obsession of mine. I'd know all the lessons and stories by heart before the school year started. I think that was one of the reasons for the nerd label I got in school. I even started reading stories from the Bible, borrowing storybooks from another girl in my neighborhood. Little did I know that this was only the beginning.

10 years ago

(Age: 11)

One fine summer afternoon, bhai was busy watching tv in the living room and maa and papa were at work. We had free rein on the tv as it was the summer holidays and I had free rein on my books. I was lazing around in my room and started searching the entire house for something new to read. And finally, I found a book among bhai's things. It was probably a gift. It wasn't a comic book or a usual storybook. This one was an actual book. A novel. And it had no pictures. I was skeptical but boredom got the best of me and I decided to read a few pages to pass the time. It was a hardy boys book, written by Franklin W Dixon. After reading a few pages, my 11-year-old brain almost exploded with fascination. The style of writing, the mystery, the suspense of the entire book drew me in completely and I knew then, this was a turning point in my life where books are concerned. I felt almost grown-up. And so I read the 200 page novel with wide eyes and a bursting heart in 3 hours, without even getting up to pee. I went and told bhai about the new book I read. He laughed it off. I told maa and papa when they came back from work. "That's good beta", they said. I was disappointed that they didn't feel the same exhilaration that I did. Papa still got my books whenever I asked him. For the second time, I found myself collecting and piling up books. All of the hardy boys and Nancy drew collections. Once again, I was entranced, trapped yet alive like never before in a whole new world.

After that, a multitude of options lay before me. I dived headfirst into reading mystery and moved onto classics written by Charles Dickens, The Bronté sisters, Mary Shelly, and even a dash of Shakespeare. I fell in love with David Copperfield, Oliver twist, treasure island, Jane Eyre and Frankenstein.

But eventually, buying books so often became a chore and at the pace I was reading, with one book hardly lasting a day, we couldn't afford to buy as many books. So, then one day, maa and I set out on a goose chase all over the city looking for libraries where I could borrow books from. At last, we found an old government library inside an even older building that looked almost haunted. And as we bravely stepped into the barely holding up building, we only found old uncles reading newspapers and gossiping. Thankfully, there was a rack of English fiction. Just one single rack. Although mildly disappointed, I was determined to make do with that. I got myself a membership plan and my reading palette had its first taste of Indian authors. That one rack had a fair collection of young adult books, standalone contemporary novels which sated my hunger for quite some time. While other people gushed over my habit of reading books, my parents were a little concerned. But as I started writing my own speeches in school, improved in my speaking skills, I'm sure they were convinced and over time, I think they accepted this obsession of mine. Or at the very least, were forced to.

6 years ago.

(Age: 15)

My love for reading only grew and now I had a book beside me during breakfast, lunch, and dinner which my parents barely tolerated. I even started planting a book in every corner of my house for easy access, under the coffee table, by my bed, on my study table. While kids my age sneaked mobile phones under their pillows, I sneaked in books to read.

After a few years, I finally met a kindred spirit with a shared love for reading. He was older than me and introduced me to books by Dan Brown. I listened with rapt attention to the plot of the book and I immediately knew that my days of reading hardy boys and young adult books were over. It's crazy how transitioning between genres and different types of books made me feel older and mature over the years. Few pages into the Da Vinci code and I fell, hook, line, and sinker. I finished the entire 500-page book in a day. Back then, I was pretty adamant about having my own copies of books and collecting them, which I guess stemmed from my childhood obsession with collecting comics. Soon, I'd exhausted the books at the old library and had no other option but to trade in my precious books for second-hand books at a wholesale book store very far away from home. Because they were at a secondhand rate, I could now afford more books and although the pages were worn out and yellowed, I was happy. The already folded pages, notes in the corners of some pages jotted down by the previous owner made me feel oddly connected and attached.

Present-day

(Age: 21)

As I grew up and left my teenage years behind, life and boards got in my way and there were gaps when I couldn't read no matter how hard I tried. But once I found my way back to books. I knew what I was missing and knew that I would never stop reading again. I still read books by Dan Brown, Sydney Sheldon, and Nora Roberts. I found quite a few talented Indian authors. Books by Durjoy Dutta and Ravinder Singh made me fall in love with contemporary romance and light humor. I've moved on to reading books on my phone now. I miss turning pages of an actual book, but on the bright side, I get to read countless books anytime and anywhere I want. I've explored many genres over the years, murder and crime thrillers, romance, contemporary, dark fiction, and comedy, and read them accordingly when the mood strikes.

If there's one thing that has been a constant through my childhood, it has been books. Reading is a huge part of my life and very close to my heart. Words and writing mean so much to me. Books have been my solace, my safe place, my companions as I grew up, my fantasy land, and my hiding place all rolled into one. I've cried, loved, smiled, and laughed with books and I can't describe how utterly grateful I am to maa and papa for getting me my first book when I was just 7 and letting me explore my love for reading.

Although, there's one thing I'd like to admit. There's this one genre that I've never read - non-fiction and strangely, I'm still very skeptical about it. But you never know, over time I might come to like that as well!

MAJ

#excerpt from a story i'll never write #short story #my story #journal #journey #writers block #tumblr writers #writers on tumblr #poetryportal #female writers #writings #booksbooksbooks #comics #storybook #novels #book lovers #reading #love for books #draft dump #true story #original story #creative writing #my writing

[ego-driven-one-wing-angel]

1.3 DEMURE | Sephiroth

A/N: I am LIVING for the support this story has gotten. I thought for sure not many people would be wanting this, but GUESS AGAIN. Thanks a lot ya’ll! I hope you enjoy this chapter!

WARNING: THIS BOOK IS RATED 18+, READER DISCRETION ADVISED. THERE WILL BE SEXUALLY EXPLICIT SCENES, SWEARING, ADULT THEMES SUCH AS PAST ABUSE, ALCOHOL, AND AGAIN SEXUAL SCENES. 

TAKE CAUTION.

Chapter 1 can be found here

1.3 - Chapter 3

The Simple Touch

“Beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful.” - Mary Shelly

[TRACK: Legend (Tangerine Dream) - Intro ]

Kalista hadn’t even a moment to react as Sephiroth’s leather fingers ran diligently across her cheek. Soft, calculating, shivers escaping her body as he traced near her jawline with the back of his hand with uttermost confidence. He knew exactly what he was doing, and she stepped back far from his reach before his voice echoed in her ears again. This time much more forceful, intimidating, and she tried not to let her hormones get the better of her.

“You never answered my questions.”

She tried not to smile, escaping to her vanity before he could take a second to touch her again. If he really wanted the answers, it wouldn’t be too hard to pull them from her. The right movement, the right words, she’d be spilling out her whole life story if he so wanted her to. But she wouldn’t, not to a man she had just met, and certainly one who worked in SOLDIER. She heard stories, and some of them were too brash and cunning to release private information.

“Those answers aren’t free.” She said, “but for entertainment purposes, I’ll let you ask one. The others require payment money can’t buy.” One finger rose before she pulled the remainder of her pins out, letting the curls fall past her shoulders as it did the night before.

Kalista tried not to let Sephiroth’s eyes bother her, so intent on watching her do the simplest task, eyes tracing her hands as they ran through her hair, pulling stray knots. Letting the waves flow through her fingers like water, soft and silky.

“Well?” She asked, her honey voice returned, so simple yet hidden with a hint of mischief. “You have one question, ask whatever you wish.”

Sephiroth turned away, scanning the other paintings and tapestries in the room, “how long have you been with Daring?”

A smile spread on Kalista’s face. Slowly taking a hair brush and running through the waves as she spoke. Quiet, eerie, almost as if she was still hiding something between her words, “Eight years. A girl that had worked here found me wandering the streets alone. She brought me to her home in the slums, mind you this was before Daring had an idea to buy an inn. He’s been watching over us ever since.”

Sephiroth stayed quiet, and Kal continued. “Does that answer your question?”

“No.”

“What a shame.”

The pounding steps of Sephiroth stopped behind her, and she subtly turned as she set the brush down. She could smell the leather, mixed with the still infused honey and vanilla from downstairs. Like a smokey haze, burning her nostrils the moment he had returned by her side. 

His hand found it’s way near her neck, propping it just underneath her jaw, forcing her to look at herself in the mirror. Sephiroth’s thumb gently jingled the earrings hanging off her ear, hot breath warming her skin, and his voice running rhythms throughout her body.

“What a shame,” He mocked, and Kal felt a pressing feeling in her chest, her body wanting to give in to his words, her eyes shut as he forced her to gaze at him. Everything trembled, her legs, her fingers, her lips, and she let out a breath as he let the leather rub against her neck, stopping near her ear before he continued. “Where’s the wound, Kalista?”

His warmth left her body as she swallowed a lump in her throat. Trying to regain her composure with a small smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” She wrapped the silk rope tighter around her, as if the small barrier of clothing would stop his seducing touches.

“Why don’t you tell me where it’s gone to?”

“I said one question. I don’t give freebies.”

Sephiroth’s form filled the void behind her yet again, and she stared at him through the mirror, waiting for him to touch her again. She wasn’t much of playing rough, but how his leather warmed her skin, the tightness of her jaw held by him, she had shivers upon shivers quaking through her body just imagining what those fingers could do. 

“Aren’t I paying you already?” He asked, bending down back to Kalista’s eye level, watching her through the reflection. The smallest of smirks left his mouth, and she tried not to melt.

Kalista swallowed again, “in a way.” She finally took the chance to face him, silver hair cascading down near the floor, sharp eyes covered in thick lashes dark compared to the snow of his hair. Beautiful in a very strange way. “That’s for services, or company. Whatever you wish. Information however,” Kal kept her focus on him. Trained to imagine they were the only two people in the world, and at the moment, she felt as if it was. “That’s personal, I want something out of it.”

“Hmm,” he said, and she almost thought he was going to leave, but no. Merrily standing above her again, focusing only on her as she faced her reflection, his fingers tracing up her arm, pulling at the silk as he continued his trail near her exposed shoulders. 

She tried not to move. How good it felt to have her skin caressed. 

“What do you want, Kalista?”

With the words stuck in her throat, Sephiroth became close again, his lips and warmth close to her ear. “What do you want?” He repeated, and Kal felt her legs start to shake. Sephiroth was dripping with good looks, sex appeal, and everything he was doing had been on purpose, wanting her to shiver in his touch, to melt in his fingers and give him what he asked for.

“I-” What did she want? Was that all she was meant for? To be the sex object of a man every night? Is that actually all she desired when asked? It was hard to take the question seriously when her body was ready to jump in head first. “I want fun.” She finally let out. Stepping up, again, rushing out of his reach. “Anything. Everything.”

Sephiroth’s brow furrowed just slightly, and that smirk reached his lips. 

She couldn’t help but twirl her hair around her finger, running her eyes from his feet to his toes. She liked the SOLDIER getup, suited him quite well in her opinion. Even the touch of skin across his chest caused her to get dizzy just imagining the clothes removed. She could only dream what his skin felt like across hers.

“Do you think you’re up for the task?” She finally said, “give me a little fun and you get what you want?”

A flash of curiosity flickered in his eyes, and Kalista took her time walking back to him. Steps slow, quiet, the beating of her heart enveloping her ears as she became close enough to get a whiff of his soap and Daring’s honey candles. So sweet.

Kalista, even on the tips of her toes, barely reached Sephiroth’s collar bone, but the regrowing confidence lifting in the pit of her stomach, and the hunger running through her veins, didn't let the height difference phase her. Instead, she placed her fingers around the crook of his belt, pulling him just a little closer.

“Are the SOLDIER as brave as they say?” She coaxed. “Fight battles they may not win?”

Her other hand trailed near his hand, the pads of her fingers running across the leather of his gloves. She could barely sense his pulse, but the strange tension building kept her going. Her finger curling around the edge, pulling at it just so.

Kalista finally slipped one of his gloves off, testing the waters and allowing it to fall to the floor near her feet. She couldn’t keep herself from running her fingers up his bare hands. Touching his soft palm, following his pronounced veins up until she could barely grip his wrist, a smile creeping on her face in the candlelit room. She could only focus on Sephiroth’s crisp blue eyes now, the one’s unlike any she’s ever seen, so intimidating, so beautiful, like ice. Even more so when being glazed over with subtle curiosity. Kalista now moved ever so closer, inhaling the soap still left on his skin, nearly intoxicating her.

“Physical touch isn’t necessarily required but,” she placed his hand on her thigh, guiding him along until it rode up her robe, grazing the lace of her underwear, “there are other ways you can get me to talk.”

Sephiroth paused as Kalista removed her fingers from his, wrapping them around his neck until she pulled him into a tender kiss. His lips like sweet velvet. Better than she could have imagined. Just as sweet as honey, and soft as silk, even the subtle taste of champagne was left. No doubt Daring had conned him into a few drinks.

Kalista’s hands wrapped in his hair, bringing him even closer. Lungs burning, lips becoming swollen, she couldn’t stop now that she started.

Her heart beat faster, her fingers tingling as her adrenaline started to pump through her veins. Another second and she was able to feel his callouses continue to ride up on his own. Wrapping around her waist until he pulled her closer into the kiss. Ravenous and greedy, as if he hadn’t been touched in his lifetime. 

Kalista tried to keep a smirk from playing on her lips, but Sephiroth had experience. From the way he slid his hands underneath the strap of her lingerie, the way he challenged her, the simplest kisses driving her a bit wild. 

Kal left the warmth of his arms as she pulled her robe off, letting it fall past her ankles as she pushed him into the bed behind them.  Crawling on top, straddling his legs as she continued a rough kiss.

Her hair whipped past her shoulders, one more touch of their lips and Kal asked, “so how much do you want to know?”

It seemed the tables had turned, Sephiroth’s words stuck in his throat as Kal worked her magic. Leaving the softest kisses across his cheeks, her tongue tracing his jaw with light flicks, watching the vein in his neck, the hitched breathing in his chest, it seemed even Sephiroth had a limit. How divine.

But she hadn’t even caused a shiver before his fingers curled back into her hair, pulling her head back.

She let out a small laughter, “rough play? Should have guessed.”

[nerdforestgirl]

Mary and Amy

Amy didn’t want to go to Texas. She did when they arranged this trip, but things had changed since then. Exciting news had turned into heartbreak, and Amy wasn’t up to being around people for Thanksgiving. Not even family.

“We promised Mom we would go,” Sheldon told her when she asked if he could get them out of it. She didn’t think he would, but she wanted to ask. The only person he couldn’t break a promise to was his mother.

“Okay.” Amy agreed. “Can we at least not tell them about the baby?” Amy didn’t want people asking her about it, so she didn’t want to even mention the baby or the miscarriage. This was going to be bad enough without all that. She was still struggling to make it through the day without crying.

“Of course,” Sheldon said. He kissed her on her cheek. He didn’t think he much wanted to talk about it either. He was glad that Amy insisted on waiting to tell everyone. Only their close friends knew right now. They planned to tell everyone else at Thanksgiving. It was part of the reason they were going.

On the other side of the plane ride, Amy was met by the arms of her mother-in-law. Amy returned the hug.

“Oh, you two look awfully tired. Let’s get y’all back home and in bed,” Mary said. She didn’t expect to see them looking so run down. After they won that fancy award, they had been busy, sure, but they also seemed happier than she had ever seen them. Maybe that all had caught up with them. They sure needed to have some time to rest and relax and some good home cooking. Luckily, she was exactly the person to provide it for them.

Mary took them home and put them right to bed. Then she started on a nice big dinner for them. She hadn’t planned on doing anything big before Thanksgiving because that took up enough time and energy. Still, she made all of Shelly’s favorites for them.

“Need a hand?” Amy asked when she came out of the bedroom. She tried to sleep for a half hour, but gave up. She didn’t sleep much anymore.

“I’ve got it. Want some coffee?” Mary asked. Then she remembered that Shelly said they had some news. She had a feeling that she knew what it was. “Or tea, if you can’t have any coffee.”

Tears started down Amy’s cheeks. She had a feeling that Mary knew what their news was supposed to be. The news they wouldn’t be sharing now.

“Goodness. Are you okay?” Mary asked Amy. She abandoned the chicken on the stove. She didn’t care if it burned. She walked over and wrapped Amy in a hug.

“No. I’m not okay,” Amy confessed. Considering she was the one who insisted that they not tell anyone, she didn’t want to lie.

Mary pulled away from the hug to inspect Amy. All of the pieces came together without another word from Amy.

“When did you lose it?” Mary asked. She wiped the tears from Amy’s cheeks with her fingers.

“The chicken,” Amy pointed to the now smoking stove. Mary walked over and turned off the stove. Then she turned back to Amy. “Sheldon was right about your emotional intelligence,” Amy added.

Mary smiled a sad smile, and waited for an answer or a declaration that Amy didn’t want to talk about it. Instead, Amy just stayed quiet.

“I don’t think Shelly knows this, but I got pregnant again when the twins were about ten. It seemed like a bad time for a baby. George was working at the high school after he lost his job about a year and a half before. Sheldon was, well, Sheldon. He had just started high school. It seemed like the other two weren’t getting enough attention as it was. But I loved that little baby growing in me. I wanted it so bad. Then one day not long after I first learned of its existence, it was gone. I still have a little hole in my heart for that baby.”

“It never got better?” Amy asked. She didn’t know anyone who had gone through this. Bernadette and Penny both had healthy babies. Other than Bernie going on bed rest for a while, they had even been pretty smoothly.

“I didn’t say that. Like any other grief, it fades. It gets easier. I also never forgot it. You won’t either. But what you will do, is keep living your life. Maybe get pregnant again. You’ll laugh and smile again. Maybe one day you’ll share your story with a lovely young woman who needs to hear it.”

“Thanks, Mary. Are you sure you don’t want some help with that food?” Amy asked. She felt a little better after talking to Mary.

“Of course not,” Mary said. She threw away the ruined chicken and started over again.

When Sheldon emerged from his nap a while later, he was pleased to see Amy smiling as she sat talking to his mother. He missed her smile. This one. The real one.

#NFG fan fiction

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Deep and Rapid River, a Creature (Frankenstein) x F!Reader smutfic [18+]

Chapter 2 -> 

Summary: When you slip and fall in the river, an 8-foot tall monster unexpectedly rushes out the woods to rescue you. 

(AU based on the novel, diverging from canon in Chapter 16. Yes, the reader-insert is the descriptionless girl from Chapter 16)

2,300 words

“I continued to wind among the paths of the wood, until I came to its boundary, which was skirted by a deep and rapid river, into which many of the trees bent their branches, now budding with the fresh spring. Here I paused, not exactly knowing what path to pursue, when I heard the sound of voices, that induced me to conceal myself under the shade of a cypress. I was scarcely hid when a young girl came running towards the spot where I was concealed, laughing, as if she ran from someone in sport. She continued her course along the precipitous sides of the river, when suddenly her foot slipped, and she fell into the rapid stream. I rushed from my hiding-place and with extreme labour, from the force of the current, saved her and dragged her to shore. She was senseless, and I endeavoured by every means in my power to restore animation, when I was suddenly interrupted by the approach of a rustic, who was probably the person from whom she had playfully fled. On seeing me, he darted towards me, and tearing the girl from my arms, hastened towards the deeper parts of the wood. I followed speedily, I hardly knew why; but when the man saw me draw near, he aimed a gun, which he carried, at my body and fired. I sank to the ground, and my injurer, with increased swiftness, escaped into the wood.”

- Frankenstein, by Mary Shelly

After hours of wandering blindly through the dark forest, you see the glow of a campfire. Your breath catches in your throat. This is it. This must be him.

Gathering your courage, you enter the clearing where a hunched creature with sallow, scarred skin, yellow eyes, and a tangled mane of black hair, dressed in a ragged cloak, sits by the fire. He jumps up, snarling like a wild beast, and you wonder if you’ve made a terrible mistake. The size of his body is greater than any creature you’ve ever seen—taller than the draft horse that works your fields. But the sudden action makes him wince and double over, clutching his shoulder in pain, and he seems as pitiable and human as you first suspected when his strong arms pulled you from the icy rapids. 

“I’m so glad I found you,” you start, forcing a chipper tone. “I worried you might have been long gone by now. I mean, you can’t be from around here, and given your reception, you mustn’t be planning to stay, and—oh, I’m rambling!”

“You are the girl from the river,” he says, voice hoarse and unsteady from lack of use.

“Yes!”

“Why have you come?”

“I wanted to thank you for rescuing me. The river is deadly in the spring with all the snow melt off the mountains. And to apologize for the man who shot you. He’s a fool.”

“Are you not afraid? None who have looked upon this cursed visage have not turned away in scorn. Perhaps you are the fool, to have wandered alone into the woods in search of a wretched demon—have you no fear that I that I might kill you?”

“Well…” you tug nervously at the hem of your dress. “I admit it was a shock to see you coming out of the woods this morning. Actually,” you take a few steps toward him, squinting at the jagged lines crossing his face and hollow eyes; taking in the surreal enormity of his form, which makes you feel like a child standing before him. “Actually, I’m still a bit freaked out. But you’re not a demon. I mean… you saved my life even knowing it wouldn’t be appreciated. Why would you kill me after that? You’re obviously a good person.”

His tensed shoulders fall. Then his entire body sinks to his knees at your feet.

“How—how can you speak such kind words?” he whispers feverishly. “Why now, when the last cinder of my hope was extinguished? Dare you fan it back to life, when finally I was ready to steel myself against the cruelty of this world—to resolve my thoughts to hatred and vengeance? How can this stranger show mercy to an abomination, untouched by kindness, abandoned by its creator and scorned by all? THIS CANNOT BE.”

“Hey… it’s OK.” You try to comfort the raging, sobbing creature with a hand on his shoulder (which, even as he kneels, comes nearly to your chest). He flinches at the touch, gasping. Wet eyes meet yours in surprise. “Has no one ever been nice to you before? Surely you have a friend; a parent, at least?”

“None. My father abandoned me the moment I received life, and not one has ever shown mercy—none who has seen this abhorred face.”

Your heart aches for your monstrous rescuer. “Well, I see you,” you say, brushing his long hair aside to cup his cheek.

He meets your gaze, tilting his head incredulously. Your face heats, and you become acutely aware of the intimate placement of your hand on the face of a strange man.

“Here, I brought bandages and healing tinctures, for your wound.” You take off your pack, and gather the supplies while he follows everything you do with quiet curiosity. “May I see it?”

He pulls off his tattered cloak to reveal the bullet wound, exposing more scarred—almost mismatched—skin, taut over sinewy muscle. You try not to look horrified when there is much less blood than you would expect from a bullet wound, and the blood is dark. Unnatural. Instead, you speak gently to him as you clean the area, smoothing on an oily, antiseptic-smelling cream.

At first, every time you dip into the jar to apply more ointment, he instinctively recoils from your hand—his skin twitching beneath it as you rub small circles. By the time you begin wrapping the bandage, he is leaning forward with anticipation, letting out small, contented moans at your touch.

When you are finished, he reaches tentatively for your arm, his long, graceful fingers curling around it. Your wrist is dwarfed by the size of his massive hand, but he is gentle. He looks into your eyes bashfully, asking for permission—is this OK? He doesn’t want to stop touching. Neither do you. Something about this mysterious stranger excites you in a way you’ve never felt before, sending sparks prickling beneath your skin. You scoot closer and trace your fingers down his arm until you are holding his hand. He mimics this, taking your other hand in his. You pull him into an embrace, resting your head on his broad, muscular chest. He smells like hay and oak leaves.

“What shall become of you now?” he mutters. His grip tightens around you. “How am I to return to my life of solitude? Despair will consume me once you have gone.”

“You’re crushing me—” You try to pull away but are unable to move.

“No. Now that I know what it is to bathe in the radiance of human affection, I cannot let it go. You cannot be allowed to leave me.”

“You’re hurting me, stop!”

He releases you at once and as a grateful breath fills your lungs, you catch the blur of motion of a huge, dark form flying away from the firelight. 

A trembling voice emerges from the shadows: “I am sorry. You must go now. It was enough to be shown pity, even once; the memory shall sustain me through the days to come. Now you must go, before I grow more fond and cannot bear to part with you…”

You follow the voice, and find him cowering away from you. He looks so pathetic hunkered on the ground, though even with his head buried in his knees, he’s nearly as tall as you are standing. He is a contradiction: gentle, but full of violent emotion. Needy, desperately lonely, but pushing you away. Horrifying, yet beautiful. He is like no one you have met before in your dull little farm village, and the pounding of your heart fills your ears, chanting: he is the change you’ve been longing for; don’t let him go. 

Grabbing his arm, you turn him toward you, and press your lips hard against his. His entire body freezes.

“Stop acting this way,” you scold as your lips part his. “Look, I get that you don’t have much experience in how people behave with each other, but you can’t just squeeze someone to death to make them stay. But if you can manage not to do that… you don’t have to run away, either. You don’t have to worry about me leaving you, because I don’t want to. I’ll stay. Take me with you?”

“What?” Shock and wonder reflect in his glowing yellow eyes. “N-no, I could not possibly condemn you to this life. To tie your fate to mine would be—”

“My decision. You know what? My life was boring until today. Everyone is always making decisions for me, dictating my entire future, and I don’t want it. I never fit into the boxes they chose for me. But this choice is mine. You can be my escape. I’ll run away with you—let me make my own choices, and you’ll never be alone… deal?”

“Yes.”

You kiss him again. This time, his strong arms pull you against him as he kisses you back, long, passionate, and full of need. You agreed to stay with him. It is all he ever wanted and never thought he could possibly have—someone to be his. He has never been touched by someone who didn’t mean to hurt him, and he is desperate for more of your soft, delicate warmth. Your taste. You open your mouth, and his tongue explores you hungrily. He trails consuming kisses down your neck, sucking and licking at the skin of your collarbone. Each kiss draws a soft moan from your lips.

Tangling your fingers in his hair, you open your legs and rub against the growing hardness straining the front of his tattered clothes. 

“What… what is this feeling?” he pants into your ear.

“Oh right, you’ve never… Let me show you.”

You undo his pants, freeing his swollen erection. It’s large—longer and thicker than you have ever seen (not that you had much experience), and dark like his blood. A raised scar runs the length of the underside of his throbbing shaft, but the old wound does not seem to hinder it. 

Kneeling, you take him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the head. He lets out a helpless whimper and his cock twitches against your tongue. It is heavy and forces your jaw open wide, but with effort, you are able to take him deeper, inch by inch. Your fingers grip the base and stroke it, though they are unable to curl around his full girth. To fit all of him, you have to open your throat, fighting your gag reflex. 

With anyone else, you don’t think you could manage, eyes watering as he nudges deep, untouched reaches of your throat. But a glance up at his shy eyes watching you in tender astonishment, black lips parted in a breathy moan, and your throat molds around him. You slide down the full length, and begin steadily bobbing. As his noises of pleasure grow, he places his hands on the back of your head, encouraging you to take more and more of him until you choke and sputter.

He lets go, face creased with worry. “Are you alright? I’m sorry if I… was that wrong?”

“You’re doing fine. Just be gentle.” Taking a grateful breath, you resume working him. 

He lets you take your time now, afraid to move his hips or guide your head. You bob on him at your own languid pace, savoring the texture of his rough scars and velvety smooth skin. Soon his panting grows fevered and erratic, and you taste his saltiness on your tongue.

Before he can climax in your mouth, you pull away.

“Why did you stop?” he whines, not bothering to disguise his desperation. 

“Let me show you something better.”

You lie back on the warm earth next to the fire and hike up your skirts, instructing him how to position himself on top of you. Taking his wet hardness in your hand, you guide him to your entrance. He rubs it against the opening, slick and dripping with your arousal, but doesn’t seem sure what to do next. You slowly buck your hips upward until he slides inside. He trembles and moans with unbelievable pleasure. You gasp out, wincing as he stretches you wide open.

“Is this alright?” he asks.

“Yes. It’s big, but it feels good.” 

“For me, as well.”

You grab his thighs and lower him down, whining and gasping at the dull burn until he is fully sheathed in your heat. He lets out a long, stuttering sigh that is almost a sob. 

Then you start to grind against him with tiny movements that make warmth surge between your thighs and spread in waves through your body, building pressure until you can no longer stand it.

“Now, go in and out,” you instruct. “Good, just like that.”

His thrusting is slow and uncertain at first, but instinct soon takes over, and he finds a rhythm, striking deeper and harder. He bends above you to plant hot, desperate kisses on your face, down your neck.

“Faster,” you beg, and he obliges. 

His thrusting becomes wild. His chest beads with sweat, and soft moans turn into frenzied grunts turn into animalistic cries that echo through the woods. Then with one last powerful thrust, he breaks, his hot release spilling inside you with desperate convulsions that push him deeper, filling you completely until you come around him, burying a scream in his chest, and he collapses.

For a little while, all is silent, except for his gradually slowing breaths, and the crackle of the campfire. At length, he lifts his head and stares, lips trembling. Tenderly, he strokes your face.

“I need you.”

You clasp his hand in yours, and turn your lips to press a kiss against his palm. “And I you.” There is something about him you can’t explain, but you know he is going to change your destiny. 

“I had never dreamed it possible that I would find an end to my loneliness, or experience such pleasurable sensations. Yet, I must apologize for being overcome by passion and forgetting all decency.”

You let out a soft laugh. “I was overcome, too. You don’t regret it, do you?”

“No,” he says gravely, “but I fear you may. I have ruined you. I am a hideous creature, and you, a benevolent angel on a mission of kindness. In your dedication to balming my wounds, you allowed yourself to be taken advantage of to heal my loneliness. Soon you shall awaken to your senses and take flight, feeling only disgust for what we have done… for what I have done to you. If you knew the truth of my loathsome origin, you would be sickened; I cannot bear the thought of causing you pain…”

You tangle your hand in his dark hair once again, and kiss his gnarled forehead.

“You are a beautiful, sweet, melancholy little soul. I’m going to protect you from now on.”

#frankenstein #frankenstein fanfiction #the creature x reader #monster x reader #the creature #smutfic #intensely melodramatic creature #s/o has so much to teach him #gif is from the 2004 Hallmark movie with Luke Goss #my writing

[leehanji]

The Right Partner

In light of recent events, I’ve decided to post a little preview of a new stucky fic I started working on literally the second I posted the last one! This is an unbeta’d wip so sorry for any errors!!! Also it’s probably going to be long and this is literally all I’ve written so far so it’ll be a long while before the whole thing is done, but I hope you enjoy anyway!!!

It’s an Assassins/Mr. and Mrs. Smith-esque AU where modern Steve and Bucky work for SHIELD and HYDRA respectively and don’t know the other is their rival agent... Check it out! (But also check the tags first!!! :D )

———

Steve brushed a finger down the spine of a blue hardcover surrounded by a dozen of its identical twins. He pulled it out and examined the cover.

La Combinazione Perfetta, it read. The Perfect Match.

Steve put it back. Romance wasn’t exactly his favorite genre. Not in English and definitely not in Italian. He glanced out the bookshop window at the café across the piazza. A middle aged woman sat in the afternoon sunlight with a small cappuccino in one hand and her phone in the other. Steve had never seen the allure of fancy coffee; probably because his enhanced metabolism negated any effects the caffeine would have on him.

He turned back to the bookshelf and perused a little more, occasionally pulling a book out and flipping a few pages before putting it back and glancing out the window again. The woman was still sipping at her coffee. Steve estimated she’d continue sipping for another 12-18 minutes before returning to the Embassy at the far end of the piazza. Why Martina Giudici had chosen to ignore the death threats sent her way, Steve didn’t know, but apparently, she was essential in finalizing SHIELD’s authorization to eradicate HYDRA in Italy and Fury insisted on her making it to the meeting that afternoon alive. Giudici was a politician so perhaps she thought the threats were good publicity and that being seen out in public with no bodyguards would make her seem tough. Maybe she was secretly trained in advanced martial arts and could totally take whatever assassins HYDRA threw at her. Maybe she was just an idiot. Either way, Steve and his team were forced to keep a distance, protecting her in secret from the HYDRA agents aiming to slit her throat as the meeting ticked closer.

“Report,” Steve whispered, keeping an eye on the woman at the register and the hearing aids he could see under whips of long white hair.

“East corner, clear,” Gabe said.

“North corner, clear,” Dernier reported.

“South corner, clear,” Jim whispered.

“West corner,” Dugan grunted and Steve heard the sound of someone getting kicked in the stomach, “clear.”

Steve checked his watch, wiping a small smear of blood off it with his thumb. The HYDRA gunmen on the roof had gone down a little messily.

“Keep an eye out,” he muttered, glancing out the window again, “Jobs almost over.”

“Copy.”

Giudici was still sipping her coffee. Eleven minutes to finish. Two minutes to pay. One to gather her things. Four to walk across the square. Two to get through security and then it would be over. It would be a piece of cake from here on out anyway. He and the Commando’s taken out nearly three dozen guys in the past twenty minutes, proving that their perimeter was impenetrable, as always. Steve knew HYDRA’s tactics well and he wasn’t worried.

He switched the com in his ear to radio, monitoring the chatter around Giudici as she casually returned her cup to its saucer. Steve pulled out another book when the bell above the door to the little shop rang out and a man stepped in.

A quick once over revealed to Steve that he appeared to be a civilian. He was wearing jeans, a red henley, and a light olive jacket. American, Steve assumed due to the soft, poorly articulated “Ciao" he greeted the owner with, but not a tourist, judging by the lack of backpack, sweat, and sunscreen. Bright blue eyes met his and a small smile twitched on the mans lips. Steve had never known himself to be into guys with long hair but he quickly found himself making an exception. The man was attractive, that was undeniable. He had a square jaw, wavy brown hair that hung half above his shoulders and half pulled up into a little ponytail, and kind eyes that crinkled in the corners. Steve found himself watching as the man approached the small English section of the store along the far wall. He was built, his broad shoulders accentuated by a narrow waist and defined pecs.

Steve blinked and glanced out the window again. Guidici was typing something on her phone. Ten minutes.

“Mi scusi.” The man approached Steve with a small paperback in one hand and a shy smile on his lips.

“Hey,” Steve replied smiling back.

The relief on the man’s face was instantaneous.

“Oh, hey, thank god,” he sighed, laughing at himself a little, “my Italian is okay but boy does make my anxiety go through the roof.”

“I hear you,” Steve agreed easily, glancing over the man’s shoulder at the café. Guidici lay her phone down and picked up her half empty cup again, “what’s up?”

“I was wondering if you happened to know a good place to get a cup of joe around here,” the man said with a wry smile, “American style.”

Steve suddenly wished he knew more about coffee. He immediately tried to remember whatever it was Gabe and Jim had been complaining about that morning.

“You mean something that doesn’t taste like a shot of bitter non-alcoholic ass?”

The man threw his head back and laughed. Steve watched his smile light up his whole face, making his blue eyes sparkle in the early afternoon sunlight. God, he was a vision.

“Yeah, exactly,” the man laughed, “I need sugar man, with a shot of vanilla and whipped cream on the top.”

“I think I saw a Caffe Nero a few blocks over,” Steve suggested, trying not to get too carried away, “It’s technically a British company but they might have something you’d like.”

Steve glanced out the window again. Guidici was still there. Eight minutes.

“Oh, perfect,” the man grinned, his eyes flicking down Steve’s chest and across his shoulders before finding their way back up to his face.

Steve felt his face start to flush involuntarily. He blamed his penchant to blush at the slightest hit of flirting on the fact that up until he was 23 he was a 90 pound asthmatic with scoliosis who came up to around 5’4 on a good day and even now any reference to his appearance made him unfathomably shy. It was his biggest weak point, one that his teammates teased him about relentlessly.

“I’m Bucky, by the way,” the man—Bucky— said, holding out his hand.

“Steve.”

Bucky’s hand was warm and firm. Solid and gentle.

“Well, Steve,” Steve’s name rolled through Bucky’s mouth like he was savoring the taste, “I should get going.”

Steve nodded with a small smile, stepping out of the way so Bucky could head to the register.

“Maybe I’ll see you around,” Bucky added as he handed a handful of bills to the lady working the counter, who seemed to be resolutely apathetic toward the pair of them. He was buying an old second hand copy of  Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein. It might last him trip down to Naples, Steve thought, maybe Florence if he took his time.

“Yeah,” Steve found himself agreeing as Bucky tucked the book under his arm.

It was harmless to flirt, Steve told himself, after all, he’d be on a plane home in less than an hour. The odds of him seeing Bucky again were slim to none.

“I’ll buy you a Frappuccino,” Steve grinned, “heavy on the whipped cream.”

The man laughed again, low and resonant. It made Steve’s skin tingle.

“Throw in a chocolate croissant and you’ve got yourself a date.”

Steve felt his blush return as Bucky tossed him a wink before pulling the door open and stepping back out into the sunny piazza. Steve watched him cross the square and disappear down a small side street before reluctantly turning his attention back to the task at hand.

Guidici was pulling coins out of her wallet. Steve flipped his com back to the Commando’s channel.

“Update?”

“Since you asked three minutes ago?” Falsworth replied, “I’ve got nothing.”

“I saw a dog steal a bread roll from the bakery in the east corner,” Dernier said.

“I saw Cap blushing at some long haired dude in the bookshop,” Jim contributed gleefully.

“Oh! Was he hot?” Dernier demanded.

“He looked pretty ripped from here,” Jim replied, clearly holding back his laughter, “What do you say, Cap? An 8? A 9, tops?”

“I didn’t know you were into long hair, Cap,” Dugan chimed in with a low chuckle, “Always figured you were more of a clean cut kinda guy.”

“Well, who doesn’t love a rebel?” Gabe added, “an Italian rebel, no less.”

“Can we focus, please?” Steve muttered, glaring out the window toward the rooftop he knew Jim was perched on and rolling his eyes, “6 minutes.”

Guidici stood and stepped out into the piazza. Steve left the bookshop empty handed and kept to the opposite side of the square, pretending to examine the pastries in the bakery window and the ornate stone sculpture of various gods pouring water into the wide fountain in the piazza’s center as he discreetly watched Guidici cross the cobblestones until she reached the steps of the embassy.

Steve breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped under the archway, officially relieving the Commando’s from duty—

Guidici hit the ground with one foot over the threshold. By the time Gabe was at her side half of her body’s blood content was dripping down the steps of the embassy from the severed artery in her neck.

“Package down, mission failed,” Gabe reported grimly.

Steve was already hunting for the shooter amidst the chaos of the panicked crowd. There had been no audible gunshot, the angle must have been high, a sniper most likely. He examined the buildings but the only viable vantage point he could find was currently occupied by a stunned looking Jim.

Clean, precise, efficient, and deadly. Too good for HYDRA’s usual MO.

Whoever the shooter was, they were something else entirely.

~TBC~

#stucky #steve x bucky #assassins #meet cute #blood #death #assassination #shooting #canon typical violence #the howling commandos #dum dum dugan #gabe jones #jaques dernier #james falsworth #jim morita

[theodorechaussard]

Character Development Post

GENERAL:

Name: Théodore Chaussard

Nickname: Théo

Birthday: May 25th

Age: 33

Gender: Male

Place of Birth: Paris, France

Current Residence: Just outside London, United Kingdom

Nationality: French

FAMILY:

Grandparents: Arthur and Victoire Chaussard, Hugo and Ella Legrand

Aunts/Uncles: Louis Legrand (Uncle)

Parents: Jean Chaussard (father) and Emma Chaussard (mother) 

Siblings: None

Relationship With Family: His uncle refuses to talk to him on account of his work, so his sole other living relative is his father, who’s serving a life sentence for murder.

Happiest Memory: His father brought over his old friend, Nicholas St. Clair, to the estate one day. Théo, then twelve years old, met the man for the first time, not knowing he would one day become not only a boss, but a loved and respected mentor. Théo’s happiest memory is Nicholas St. Clair promoting Théo to Commandant, shaking his hand and whispering in his ear, “You’ve made your father proud, Théodore.” 

Childhood Trauma: Watching the police slam his father down on the tile kitchen floor, wrenching his arms behind his back to cuff him, and dragging him from the estate, his mother sobbing as it all happened. 

Adult Trauma: Too many to list? Launceton, in general. The attack on the hotel, and pretty much all of his time spent in London.

MOB:

Occupation: Independent Business man, Entrepreneur 

Affiliation(s): The St. Clair Organizations

Loyalty Level: High

Mob History: Started young, rose his way through the ranks working the streets of Launceton as a dealer, under the careful guidance and instruction of the St. Clair family. He obtained the rank of Commandant, was transferred to Porto Vehlo, and then to London as the Commandant of Westminster.

Notoriety: Somewhat high I suppose?

Deviance(s)?: None.

Possible Ulterior Affiliation(s): None. 

Rivals or Enemies?: Johnathan Parsons. The man will die.

Strengths: Excellent shot, smooth tongue and a phenomenal cook.

Weaknesses: His conscience, his heart

Weapon of Choice: Walther PPK/S, chambered in .380 auto/9mm kurz

Money or Murder: Money. Or Murder for money?

PHYSICAL:

Height: 6ft 5in (196 cm)

Weight: 210 lbs (95 kg)

Build: Athletic/fit.

Hair Color: Dirty Blonde

Usual Hair Style: Well kept, combed

Eye Color: Blue.

Glasses? Contacts?: None

Style of Dress/Typical Outfit(s): Business casual - suit and tie, on a warm day slacks and a button up.

Typical Style of Shoes: Dress shoes. Even with jeans.

Jewelry? Tattoos? Piercings?: Fleur-De-Lis on his right shoulder

Scars: Many. Three bullet scars in his upper back, a knife wound in his right side.

Unique Mannerisms/Physical Habits:  Théo’s foot bounces when he sits, which is mostly noticeable because he often rests his right ankle on his opposite knee.

Athleticism: Théo does his best to keep in shape, making trips to the boxing ring several times a week, actively swimming, and lifting weights in the basement of his home.

Health Problems/Illnesses: Currently? Sever Retrograde Amnesia from the injuries he sustained during the fight.

INTELLECT:

Level of Education: A Bachelor’s degree in Business Administration, at the encouragement and expense of Nicholas St. Clair. (Debt repaid in full).

Languages Spoken: Fluent in French and English. Basic swear words in both italian and russian.

Level of Self-Esteem: Overall pretty good.

Gifts/Talents: Shooting. Been shooting from a young age, and he’s and expert shot with both hands.

Mathematical?: Financially, yes. Construction wise? He can get by if needed.

Makes Decisions Based Mostly On Emotions, or On Logic?: Mostly logic, unless it comes to the idea of love. His mother, when passing, made it her last wish that he’d find love.

Life Philosophy: Take before you’re taken from. Carpe Diem.

Religious Stance: Slowly becoming a more devout Catholic.

Cautious or Daring?: Daring, unless exigent circumstances.

Most Sensitive About/Vulnerable To: His father. He keeps telling himself that his father taking the fall was noble, that it was the right thing to do for a commandant.  Anyone suggesting otherwise is treading on thin ice.

Optimist or Pessimist?: Pessimist, mostly. Tries his best to be optimistic. 

Extrovert or Introvert?: Introverted, but the ability to appear extroverted for work (like most introverts).

RELATIONSHIPS:

Current Relationship Status: Engaged.

Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual.

Past Relationships: Flings here and there, a long term fling with Jessica.

Primary Reason For Being Broken Up With: He normally does the breaking up, though Jessica ended it for her sanity after the escapade at the PV Hotel.

Primary Reasons For Breaking Up With People: Commitment Issues

Ever Cheated?: Absolutely not.

Been Cheated On: Not that he knows of, besides Jessica being married for the last year of their fling...

Level of Sexual Experience: Somewhat-experienced

Story of Loss of Virginity:  He met Jessica at school, and, well....

A Social Person?: When necessary. He drinks too much if he isn’t.

Most Comfortable Around: Probably Maya. He knows she won’t judge him. Too much.

Oldest Friend: Aurélie Parra (neé St. Clair)

SECRETS:

Life Goals: To follow in his father’s footsteps. If he becomes half the Commandant his father was, he’ll be doing well for himself. 

Dreams: Somehow having both a family, and being a successful commandant.

Greatest Fears: Failing his father. He wants his father to know he made it, even if his father couldn’t have been there to help.

Most Ashamed Of: The whole affair with Jessica becoming public, and how it affected his friendship with Aur.

Secret Hobbies: He’s actually sketched here and there. Never seriously, but enjoys attempting to draw portraits. 

Emotional State: Confused.

DETAILS/QUIRKS:

Night Owl or Early Bird?: Night Owl for sure. Screw mornings.

Light or Heavy Sleeper?: Light. He’s too concerned about being ready if someone were to break in.

Favorite Animal: Wolves. 

Favorite Food: Super Burritos man. It’s dangerous.

Least Favorite Food: Not a fan of Indian Food.

Favorite Book: Frankenstein by Mary Shelly

Least Favorite Book: Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë

Favorite Movie: Gladiator

Least Favorite Movie: He’s never been a fan of the Mission Impossible movies. American’s attempt at being suave like Bond.

Favorite Song: Underground by David Bowie.

Favorite Sport: He enjoys football. The real football, not that American trash.

Coffee or Tea?: Coffee.

Crunchy or Smooth Peanut Butter?: Smooth. He’s not a psycho

Type of Car He Drives: Aston Martin DBS.

Lefty or Righty?: Right-handed.

Favorite Color: Navy

Cusser?: When it’s called for. Not normally.

Smoker? Drinker? Drug User?: He enjoys a good scotch just a tad too much.

Biggest Regret: Aurélie. That whole thing.

Pets: None. 

#character development

[ninjagoat]

Note on Supergirl 4x02

This week, on the Metaphor For Xenophobia And Racism For White People:

- We return to the themes of episode 3x05, specifically how unfair it is when very, very powerful people have to face consequences for their actions.

- Seriously, it is so TOTALLY unfair how Olivia Marsdin has to resign just because she *checks notes* committed a massive criminal conspiracy to illegally win a presidential election.

- ON TOP OF THIS, it's also a mindshatteringly bad take on the Obama birther conspiracy. The birther story was not racist because it was "unfair" that people from Kenya couldn't be President. The birther story was racist because it assumed that President Obama's election HAD to be the result of a massive criminal conspiracy and not a genuine win MERELY BECAUSE HE WAS BLACK.

- Kara thinks Olivia can say something to get out of this; becasue Kara, being a seasoned journalist that now mentors other journalists, has no idea how laws work. Olivia schools her, which is noble; but it's still skating around the fact that she INTENTIONALLY BROKE THE LAW.

- All of that being said, I've always liked Ms. Carter's performance as Olivia. She's folksy, but tough. If she'd been an alien that had been born on Earth, I'd be fighting for her to stay as well.

- "Ugly is as ugly does; that makes you the ugly one!" This protest scene was written by fucking MILHOUSE.

- And then a fight break out. Because as we all know, security and crowd control are pretty lax on *checks notes* PENNYSYLVANIA AVENUE.

- The DEO interview process is clearly lacking something, because Agent White Dude has some serious prejudices that aren't suitable for the job; and the dude he's arguing with has Kara's level of understanding of the Constitution. Where's Pam when you need her?

- James - having spent the last two years publishing his onw love-letters to a local superhero, who is also himself - suddenly has a big stick up his arse about objectivity in news reporting.

- I maintain that the guy playing Otis is doing Ned Beatty but *serious*, and for that, he has my gratitude.

- I'm sorry? The DEO poisoned the atmosphere with lead? THE DEO? Not Lena Luthor, executing a plan from Lillian Luthor, using an original design by Lex Luthor; in the full knowledge it would likely murder her very recently betrothed and probably really upset her best friend? THAT'S WHAT WE'RE GOING WITH? (I realise this is just exposition, but it's pretty bad) At least Otis recognises the inherent viciousness of the plan, becuase no-one else has ever mentioned it.

- I would like to note that this is probably the most credit Winn has ever gotten from someone from his own time.

- Apparently, you can just... *buy* black-market Kryptonite? Arguably, the most powerful substances on Earth? The one that's so rare the show tied itself in knots justifying Lena's personally developed synthesis cache of it? ...kay.

- Lena's been working through meal-times. This is usually your five epsiode warning to evacuate the city.

- "Sales for the image inducers have been skyrocketing since the revelation that the President is an alien." This does not actually explain anything, because: a) it's not like Lena builds them herself; that'll be outsourced to China, at a location with safety netting around the roof to stop the workers killing themselves; and b) IT WAS YESTERDAY. WE KNOW WHAT YOU WERE DOING YESTERDAY. IT WAS THE PREVIOUS EPISODE.

- I get the sense that I'm going to spend time this season complaining about time-scales.

- At least they're keeping Lena's libetarianism consistent. Let's credit them with that. And of course, she's not immediately concerned with the potential collapse of democracy because MONEY.

- I will never cease to be confounded about the complete lack of coffee in the Catco building. I work for a relatively small company, and we have a Starbucks in our canteen.

- Weirder still is how increasingly hard it is to find. We've gone from Noonan's, to a little cart, and now to a *pizza place*. How hard is to find an *actual* coffee place?

- And now it's another Lena Sob Story; because this episode isn't just about the ideological battle between hope and fear, it's also a Lena vs. The World story - not so much an actual story, as a plot mechanism that will result in Lena stating where her character's at right now. It's completely incongruent with the rest of the episode, but never mind.

- Anyway, Mercy was like a big sister to her, but then Mercy and Lex broke up, and Lena never called her. Lena blames Lex for the break-up, but Mercy for the abandonment. So far, typical Lena. Oh, and they agree on some really fucked-up shit.

- "Why can't humans be as powerful as aliens?" Lena is, I'm guessing from this, planning to make metahumans on purpose. I'm certain Lena has read Mary Shelly; but, like many nerds, has completely missed the point.

- Why is Brainy on the L-Corp image inducer network? He built it himself, and did it two episodes before Lena even met him. Did he give her the design? Why is it networked anyway? Why is the hack affecting Brainy first? What is this plan?

- It doesn't fucking matter; this whole thing is so Brainy can be victim to a hate crime as part of the Metaphor For Xenophobia And Racism For White People, and then Nia can step in to help Solve Racism.

- I'm not going to claim to be an expert on women, but I'm pretty sure encouraging total strangers to investigate their personal information is... rare.

- "I'm putting a lockdown on the cloud so no-one can access the system through a computer." This is not how cloud computing works.

- It's at this point we stop the narrative so Nia can explain to one of the most powerful and influential black men that's ever lived that he does, in fact, have a lot of power and influence to make social change. She's Solving Racism!

- "You have another chance to fight for justice now," she says. Back when I was posting on the AV Club forums during season 2, the fact that James DIDN'T KNOW HE COULD DO THIS IN HIS JOB was one of the reasons we were so fucking tired of him already. He's not improved since then.

- We are back on the 'mirror' analogy that first appeared in 3x15, and it's actually quite good. I am, however, reminded of the image of Lena looking at herself in fractured glass at the start of 3x17. Lena's image of who she is has been broken, and cannot simply be repaired.

- I digress. James is worried if he does an editorial, he will seem biased. *sigh* Okay, this is gonna get ranty. Deep breaths, everyone...

- YOU ARE JIMMY OLSEN, SUPERMAN'S PAL. AN ALIEN SAVED YOUR LIFE. AN ALIEN MADE YOUR ENTIRE CAREER. AN ALIEN GAVE YOU A SIGNAL WATCH SO HE COULD SAVE YOUR LIFE SEVERAL MORE TIMES. YOU BECAME SUCH GOOD FRIENDS WITH AN ALIEN YOUR GIRLFRIEND JOKED HE WAS YOUR BOYFRIEND. YOU DEVOTED SO MUCH TIME TO ALIENS YOUR GIRLFRIEND BROKE UP WITH YOU. *TWICE*. MANY OF YOUR CURRENT FRIENDS ARE ALIENS. YOUR BEST HUMAN FRIEND - who is 'currently' busy cleaning up the mess made by one of your alien friends, helping another one of your alien friends - BRIEFLY FELL IN LOVE WITH AN ALIEN, WHO YOU HUNG OUT WITH. YOU GO TO AN ALIEN BAR SO MUCH YOU'VE FUCKING GENTRIFIED IT.    THE SHIP HAS SAILED ON YOU BEING PRO-ALIEN, JIMMY. STOP BEING A MASSIVE WANKER.

- Apparently, the only way to access the Image Inducer network is through the L-Corp mainframe, which is: a) definitely not how cloud-computing works; and b) contradicted by the fact the image inducers are STILL WORKING.

- Mercy designed all of L-Corp's security. Even though they only moved to National City two years ago. Right.

- "This is more innovative and imaginative than even I expected." IT'S AN OFFICE BUILDING WITH BUILT-IN SKYPE. Real imagination would have been REPLACING THE FUCKING SECURITY SYSTEM.

- Why does EVERYTHING have to turn into the Glorification of Lena Luthor?

- Miss Teschmacher getting the doors to close through quick thinking has easily made her the most likeable character on the whole damn show.

- "Reporter's Honour." Okay, Kara; firstly, it's called 'off the record', and the fact that Lena doesn't really feel worried about getting that status from you is pretty much why being such close friends with her is *completely unprofessional*.

- Lena built the Lexosuit. Huh.

- ...

- What?

- She built a suit... described as an "exquisite intrument of death"... with the potential for fighting Superman... as a hobby project? Is that what happened? Or are we just going to gloss over it, like- oh, okay, we are doing that.

- "It's about doing good for the world and clearing the Luthor name." You can't clear the Luthor name, sweetie. They actually did those things. And as far as doing good for the world: that's not a plan; that a GOAL. You really need to give details. Maybe a real journalist can ask you sometime.

- "He told me they were cute and I should make them in pink." One line of dialogue, and the potentially interesting Lena/Lex dynamic has been reduced to the most boring thing imaginable. FFS.

- "I know I'm the best." Oligarch, *please*. I guess it helps that Winn's in another century.

- "You've chosen a side. I'd never do that." WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN MEAN? Please, someone explain.

- No one tell Mercy about that time Lena purposefully overdosed her oldest friend with Kryptonite.

- "The Luthor name doesn't deserve Lena." Why the fuck not, Supergirl? Kryptonite, Lexosuit, thinks you're full of shit; what exactly is the big thing here that separates her from them?

- Also, have you just... *forgotten* about the Kryptonite thing, or...?

- The sheer petty-minded simplicity of the wood-chips in the cup is lending weight to my 'written by Milhouse' theory.

- Huzzah! James has decided to stop being a massive wanker for a bit!

- "It is our duty as journalists to expose the truth." For long-time readers of these posts, THIS SHOW IS TROLLING ME.

- Brainy and Alex get a nice scene as part of the Metaphor For Xenophobia And Racism For White People, but I'm just left wishing we could have had more scenes like this between her and Winn. Where was *nice* Big Sister Alex when he was here?

- Supergirl's speech is lovingly earnest, and *totally unengaged* with any actual issue beyond being nice to each other, and certainly not the one where Olivia INTENTIONALLY BROKE THE LAW. This was a total failure of our institutions, not least of which, THE PRESS, for not vetting her thoroughly enough. The potential for whataboutery is high.

- Okay, for some reason, I thought they'd cast Brent Spiner in this role, not Bruce Boxleitner. Anyway, this casting is a nice bit of nerd symmetry; and makes it almost certain that President Baker is going to be revealed as a wrong'un.

- I've not talked about J'onn much, mainly because he's spent most of the episode walking around aimlessly before he can show up at the Sons of Liberty meeting.

- Agent Liberty has been described in press releases as being almost supernaturally persuasive. The actual execution of this idea is... he's actually engaged with the issue. That's it. The government *was* taken over by aliens. National City *was* attacked by aliens. The press - and I know I did a big rant in favour of this above - *is* pro-alien; and these people know it, regardless of how unbiased James was hoping to appear. It's messy, and Supergirl talking about hope is not going to cut it. It's not going to get these people jobs. It's not going to stop their nightmares.    I've seen people compare how he speaks with Trump. This - this scene, at least -  is not Trump. Trump isn't engaged with the issues. Trump is the end result of forty years of this shit, long after the tribal boundaries have been set in place. It's never even really mattered what Trump says. They like Trump, because Trump is *their* guy. The definitions of 'Us' and 'Them' have been around since at least the 90s, if not earlier; and Trump just made himself more 'Us' than anyone else did.    And Agent Liberty is not doing that. There's an attempt, but the mask keeps him separate from his audience. Mostly, he's just recirculating the fears that they already have - that they have a *right* to have - and then pushing them towards his terrible conclusions.      This isn't magic. This is basic oratory. This is the big challenge our heroes face.

- Our heroes are *so screwed*.

#notes #superglue