tara!

19 fem princess

[brightbluedot]

harry makes it in time to find sally at new year's every time bc of the sheer Power of the audience hoping that he will. if people ever stop believing, he will not be fast enough. but this has never happened once in the whole expanse of time.

[edelelordi]

˙ . ꒷ 🪼 . 𖦹˙—　codependent

ミ☆ pairing: nate jacobs x gn!reader

ミ☆ wc: 1.2k

ミ☆ tags: established relationship, kissing, implied smut, not fluff but not angst either idk

ミ☆ cw: manipulation, gaslighting, lovebombing, narcissism, emotional abuse, nate highkey has bpd, stalking if you squint, toxic and unhealthy relationship, nate jacobs is not a good person

nate liked you codependent.

when he learned you didn't have your license, he got excited. it was easier to keep tabs on you knowing you needed his permission to go anywhere. he wouldn't say no, of course. at least not outright.

"can you drop me off at ethan's?"

the name was unfamiliar, but the jealousy churning in his gut wasn't. like always, he feigned nonchalance. "ethan?"

"yeah, from drama class," your explanation didn't help your case, "we're gonna go skating."

"at the rink?" he scoffed, laughing at the idea. you danced like a newborn deer; nate couldn't imagine how ridiculous you'd look trying to disco down.

you bristled at his tone, which pissed him off. nate thought the language of bodies was the easiest to understand; yours spoke up even when you didn't. he could practically see the muscles contracting underneath your skin. you didn't too much care for his game of twenty questions.

"nah, just the skate park," your eyes failed to meet his.

this wasn't the first time you spoke of it, nor the first time you went, but nate hated the skatepark all the same. he imagined some half rotting urban structure, since taken over by the parasites you hang around, stinking of weed and other men. what if you fell onto a heroin needle or something? he already convinced himself that you didn't need to go.

the boy slotted in behind you while you turned to grab your things. wrapping his arms around your waist, he pulled you closer. nate ducked his head down to place a delicate kiss along your neck.

"i wish i knew you had plans," he murmured against your skin, "thought we could do something together tonight."

"oh, i'm sorry."

that was another thing he liked about you, how you were always so quick to apologize, and how you'd do so without any real reason. less than two months since you got together and he already had you trained. finding his reflection in the mirror propped up near your bed, he took a moment to appreciate himself, lips moving downward.

the boy bit into your shoulder, "c'mon babe, ditch your friends just this once for me? i'll make it worth your while."

"okay."

nate also liked that you didn't have a job. your availability to him was probably the most important aspect of your relationship. he needed to be able to call you at five o’clock to scream in your face, then reappear by your window at two in the morning with a halfhearted apology, looking for a quick fuck. that's what you're there for, afterall. worst case scenario, you say no and he hits up an ex.

nate: sry abt earlier.

nate: yk how jealous i get

nate: can i come over?

read at 2:29 a.m.

nate: don’t be a bitch

nate: omw.

he was already sitting outside your house when he sent the last message, but the boy waited an extra five minutes to give you peace of mind. nate tried to imagine what you were doing all that time. were you putting clothes on? taking clothes off? a part of him hoped you at least cared enough to put on that orange chapstick he liked; it made you taste so good.

entering your house anytime after dark was a stealth mission pulled straight from a spy movie. your dad had alarms on both the front and back doors in addition to those on the ground windows; those routes were out of the question. he tried the doggy door once and only once. god, his ribs hurt from the memory alone.

it soon became ritual for him to approach your fenced in backyard where the privacy wall met the house’s gutter. he’d climbed the precariously stacked junk you had left there just for him until he was eye level with your window. he’d tap once, twice, thrice. if you were in a particularly prudish mood, he would give up and just start banging on the pane until you answered.

when the curtain pulled back and was replaced by the sweet image of your face, a smile graced his lips. he won. to clarify, he always did, but the feeling swelled in his chest with equal fervor. the sound of your window sliding up was all the welcome he needed. nate loved your attention, positive or negative. in fact, he preferred pissing you off. he liked the way your nose scrunched up in anger.

you snapped at him groggily, “what are you doing here?”

“i told you,” he reminded, “to apologize.”

eventually, you helped him inside. your room was small, though maybe it was just that he was big. he pretended to grow accustomed to a space he remembered quite vividly, watching as you kept your distance with crossed arms. there was a twelve step process to making you feel better but he couldn't get past step one.

“well?” you glared expectantly.

nate took three lazy, sauntering steps in your direction, pausing to stand in front of you. he looked down at your form with faux sincerity, grabbing your shoulders as if the gesture somehow made him seem more genuine.

he threaded a hand through your hair, “you know i didn't mean it, baby.”

you pulled back just barely, not committing to a full rejection. the hand at his side clenched and unclenched. nate had to resist the urge to slam your head into the wall. since when was he this fucked up?

“i can be so mean,” at least that part was true, “you know i’m just looking out for you. i don't want anything bad to happen to you.”

okay, maybe he was a little paranoid, but he had good reason to be. if anyone else thought about you the same way he did—carnally, unapologetically, angrily—nate had all the reasons in the world to be worried.

you wouldn't look at him, but the gesture was unlike the acquiescent avoidance he’d grown accustomed to. it was defiant, actually, how you'd focus on anything but him. the very short amount of patience he came here with was dwindling faster by the second. nate analyzed a week’s worth of interactions with you in one micro instant, trying to discern what he could say to fix this.

rephrase: what he could say to get in your pants.

in a very rare show of submission—not that he'd submit to anyone, again, he just wanted your body—nate slowly knelt on the ground before you. he would not beg, he would never beg, but why would he when his big brown eyes did all the begging for him?

“i’m sorry,” he finally forced out.

your attention was captured exactly as he hoped it would be. nate was nothing without his audience. you looked down at him, now. your presence wasn't domineering, nor was it empathetic. the soft twisting of your features made it seem like you pitied him for the effort he put into getting his dick wet.

you sighed, “you're forgiven, for now.”

that caveat followed every time you accepted one of his miserable apologies, he noticed. maybe you wanted to leave room to take it back later. that made sense, considering you always brought up old shit during arguments. maybe you were promising to live in the present. nate didn't know or care, not when you had finally pulled your top off.

as he explored the soft expanse of your skin, nate came to the conclusion he liked you codependent. it made you needy and whiney and so hot his dick hurt. he also realized it was getting increasingly difficult to get an erection without looking at you, but that was a problem better solved when he's watching porn at home. none of that mattered now, because sinking into the white hot heat of your insides made him forget damn near everything, including himself.

honestly, now that he's thinking about it, he loved being codependent with you.

tysm for reading

　—˙𖦹 . 🪼 ꒷ . ˙

[eliciria]

FRANKENSTEIN X READER

THE CREATURE X FEM!READER

wc : 2033 words //

warnings / tags : fem!reader, potential ooc / wrong grammar, religious imagery(?) fluff/

Just what in God’s green earth was that bloody transfiguration of life that you saw but a few hours ago?

You were wide awake, fiancée not in sight, much too busy attending to his older brother.  Both of you had come on invitation, after your rather lengthy conversation but a few days (or was it weeks? Time flew by when you lived with a disinterest in almost everything) regarding his initial discourse with you.

When your fiancee’s brother, Victor Frankenstein had first proposed his idea, his barely constructed concept of rejuvenating life through chemical means, you could barely hold in your laughter. He was arrogant, that man. Possibly infatuated with his own mind, too. Throughout the course of a few minutes, you were sure he proclaimed that he was God at one point. A particular statement of  his struck a particular chord that neared your patience. “If life can be regenerated, not as a mere simulation, but as a divine act by physical, chemical means, why whisper it?”

A snort almost immediately leaves your lips, the only sign that you have been paying attention to the tomfoolery that transpired across this dinner table. Couldn’t he have been more foolish? You keep that particular thought to yourself though. He was still ‘family’, even if his pride had clearly taken a hit from your stifled humor. “You laugh? You’re amused?” He smiled, but his jaw clearly stiffened from the strain, clearly not sharing the same sentiment. 

“I must be, yes.” 

“Are my ideas not clear?”

“You certainly expressed them loud enough.”

“Are they not worthwhile?”

“Ideas are not worthwhile by themselves, I don’t believe.”

“Enlighten me, please.”

“Take the war, for example.” 

Your father and your fiancee immediately bristled at the mention of the war, a sigh leaving the former’s lips. “William, cigar and brandy in my study? Surely you’ve heard my niece expound on the matter before. You’ll excuse us.”

As they left with a pace that bristled on briskly, Victor leaned in his seat, intrigued. “Pray, carry on. Ideas.” You could almost sense the sarcasm laced with that tongue of his. Instead of backing down, you proposed your values. 

“Well… honor, country, valor. These surely are worthwhile, elevated ideas by themselves, wouldn’t you agree?

“Mhm. “

“And nevertheless, men are dying for them. In a decidedly unelevated way, face down in the mud, choking on blood, screaming in pain. Men that were fathers, brothers or sons to someone out there. Men that were fed, cleaned and nursed and schooled into this world by their mothers, only to fall on a battlefield far away, far from those that provoke these tragedies. Those men remain at home, untouched by blood or bayonet, their skin unpierced, their blankets warm and clean. That is what happens when ideas are pursued by fools.”

“And you think me a fool?”

 Thunder continued to clap outside, rain pouring heavily. The moor was completely drenched, the house old and creaking. It felt as if the weather was mirroring your ever-growing internal conflict. They treated the creature barely like a human, so how could one constitute it as such? It was subjected to conditions worse than a slave’s, held like a lab experiment (and in which case, it was), and regarded as an abnormality.

No man created life from death, grief, and curiosity alone. So that thing in the basement was the first of its kind, probably the last. Despite the rather harsh observations, you couldn’t help but think of the creature in a…rather different light. The very same reason as to why Victor and William refuse to acknowledge it as anything more than an abomination was the very reason that had drawn you into it. 

Even when you were but a wee girl, the very aspect of life, its conforming and all adaptable nature, and how it ended, was all but a passion you wished to understand. It could feel, despite its incoherent babbles, it most definitely had a capacity for a connection. Somewhere, lodged in that rotten pumping heart of its. The being that groaned underneath these layers of mounted walls was the paradox that answered all your questions, an object of desire– no, knowledge. 

You had to cut that last thought out.   

Another strike of lightning, and only then did you sit up abruptly. Enough drawling, yondering, wondering, and pondering. You’d rather satisfy your morbid curiosity than let two blundering buffoons scold your much too stubborn will in the morning. Wind whispered through the layers of sheer organza that adorned your form, the seafoam green  fabric now dulled and muted against the night. With a stable hand, you grabbed the candle holder providing a brief sense of warm light on the nightstand, before rushing off.

The rigorous flight of stairs poured downwards, seemingly endless paintings, decorations, and whatnot. Only when you finally entered the bowels of the castle did you finally still. The area smelled like pain, medical equipment, and a hint of metallic rust. The room dripped with moldy residue, and a dark and heavy shadow crossed over the room. It appears it had spotted you, before you could spot it. When your eyes finally met the creature’s, he was sitting on one of the fragments of a memory of what a man could be, clung onto its skin.

The creature hid in the darkness, hiding behind a pillar that had it chained to the quartz torture seat. In its shaky hand was a leaf. It was crisp,  orange and brown at the tips, and lightly glazed with the water from the water system in this rather circular enclosure. Slowly but surely, you stepped closer until you were but a few feet away from it. Accepting the unconventional offering, its fingers brushed yours. With an ever-growing curiosity, you sat on the quartz seat, and moments later, it also scrambled to sit down in the unlit part of the marbled resting spot. 

It was silent for a few seconds. It didn’t want to inch any further, and you were unsure on how to treat the looming figure. When you turned to it, it simply mimicked your movements. Learning, ever watching. 

“Is this really for me? The leaf?” A smile graced upon your lips, and it nodded, watching your reaction seemingly with slight awe and observation. “Thank you. That is very sweet of you.” You said between a flit of a breathy laugh, a sonorous sound leaving your lips. When you twirled the crunched and moist foliage between your thumb and index finger, it grunted in acknowledgement. For a moment, it was silent, albeit for the occasional gust of wind that seemingly came from nowhere. Then, for a split moment of impulse, you spoke. 

“____.”  You said, and it tilted his head for the lack of context

“___. That is my name. Could you say it?” You whispered your name again, pointing to yourself, hoping that it'd at least understand the gesture. Its expression remained dormant, its windows to the soul simply gazing, oh so observing and rather squinting, daring to mimic how your mouth moved. Eyes strayed from the usual forums of men, where they held at least one ounce of desire towards you. No, it was something else entirely. Curiosity, perhaps? A dark amusement and need? That, you weren’t sure of. Its limbs crackled slightly, inching to move closer to you. There, you could finally see more of his true appearance against the candlelight.

 A visage of too many people, a portrait melded with mediums that could barely hold it together. Stitches strewn across its body, the only dignity given to this forlorn artificial life was a blanket, and a pair of trousers that cut near its thighs for wear and tear. It had hair, long and unkempt, and a figure much too tall for a normal person. In fact, its proportions were truly bizarre. Its legs were proportioned with a stretch, and the creature’s hands were big, bigger than yours. It could have killed you at any given moment, thrown you against the wall or choked you to death within the same clench of mangled palms. Yet when its cold fingertips pressed against your neck suddenly to feel how you uttered those very same intonations, you couldn’t help but feel the absolute reverence in them. The gentle tracing, barely pressing against your fragile skin lest you bleed. It–no, he, he knew exactly what he was capable of, and what your limitations were. 

Victor said he wasn’t intelligent, and God, was he so wrong, as moments later, did this creature of the night whisper your name amidst a dungeon with stilled water and rusting pillars. 

You felt blood rush to your cheeks, heart pumping. This—This was far too inappropriate, far too past the usual decorum and formalities of the world you had been accustomed to. Your curiosity had been more than just satisfied, it was quelled with knowledge you wish didn’t affect you as much as it did. You took your brass candle holder, shaking your head, eyes fluttering closed.

 “I’m going to go now.” Much more of a declaration than a statement, so perhaps your heart couldn’t bear to see his expression and to your mind that yes, it was mere curiosity, the passion of life that willed you to come to this very dungeon. Now, something else festered in you that was bound to keep you stuck here, if you dared let it. Right as you were about to stand up to leave, he held your wrist. Still gentle, but now firm, like trying to deter you. You flinched, rather in an awkward position and posture, mid-stand. He continued to remain seated, not moving, seeing your much too guarded state. Eyes searched yours; fingers tapping against your pulse point, as if trying to gather your attention.

“Victor?” His voice was hoarse, the voice box from a man far gone. 

“No– no I’m not going to Victor.”

“Why?” His English was broken, probably from the lack of understanding and comprehension, or his larynx couldn’t take the sudden use. Either way, he tried his best to convey his feelings through motions alone, and that was enough to warm your too weak heart.

“I’m sorry, deore.” That term had slipped past your mouth, god forgive your careless mouth in front of this unbaptised man, for he stared with a puzzled glance at the foreign word. “It’s just– I just….”

 What were you meant to say? That your pulse picked up its pace when he uttered your name with even more worship than your betrothed? It was a horrid thought, a sense of disgust at yourself that infected your distorted and vulnerable mind. 

He pointed to himself. “Me, then? You–”

“God, no.” You cut off his words, trying to avoid the misunderstanding. “It is I.  I leave, for I am the problem, my dear leaf.” You comforted, sitting back down. His brows (or rather, lack thereof) furrowed. He couldn’t understand your reasoning, the logic. From all that he’s seen, even a few hours earlier, he could conclude that you were kind, compared to the likes of him. Unbashed, hidden, raw, him. Your features that held the moon’s glaze. A scent reminiscent of a hidden scent of flowers and light perfume.  You were perfect. You thought he’d perhaps rip your hand off, maybe crush it. But all he does is grip gently, his lips meeting your wrist with snaggled teeth in an attempt to feel your closeness, your warmth. It was a primal instinct, truly. As is hunger, as is survival, as is procreation; For a man was a creature first, and a creature never a man. 

“Then stay.” He worded simply, letting go of your hand, but not before rubbing his cheek even further against your palm, like a cat’s. He stared, unknowing he gave you a choice that you were fully aware you couldn’t decide on. 

You were silent, again. Then, with an almost reluctant pause, you sat once more on the seat.

“Alright, I'll stay. Just for the night, though.”

If he could smile, he would’ve. Until dawn embraced this lonely castle once more, your conversations thereafter imprinted memories that were far too warm for an undead man. 

Prologue (Author's NOTES) ::

This is based of off Guillermo del Toro's adaptation of Frankenstein, with the reader paralleling (or essentially embodying) Elizabeth Harlander. Highkey, I made it short and a little bit OOC, oops. I appreciate any comments, likes, and reposts towards this work! It's been roughly a year-ish since I posted, and I love to go on Tumblr, and I tried my best to make this more romantic and poetic as I could. Thank you for reading. If you want ACT II of this, don't hesitate to tell me :D credits to aqua zero for the header!

TAGLIST. @tarafresa, @njutul , @marilynsnotbook, @vamps-away , @groovycass

[ladythedrunken]

my wives

[teletourism]

Diane, I am holding in my hands a labubu, a curious gift given to me by Audrey Horne. While I appreciate the sentiment, there is a sinsiter edge to its smile that unnerves me. I will turn him towards the wall when I sleep tonight.

[brunacarioca]

clark kent from smallville, kansas

[bongjoonhoe]

TWIN PEAKS 2.06

[dearlizzies]

say hello to the new white boy of the month

[scorpiovelaryon]

THUNDERBOLTS* | 2025

[eyelessfaces]

tbf he's gonna need it

[thoroughfare30]

[saturnkilleduranus]

[maddiedraws04]

I just know hospital staff hates to see him coming

[windwenn]

This started out as a joke but then i realised the hight difference is kind of accurate💀

[alysmond]

Your outie prefers two scoops of ice cream in a serving, but they must be the same flavor.

[i-sea-slugs]

[tarafresa]

i might have a type…

[tarafresa]

i might have a type x2