#long hair Victor Frankenstein and Creature rights NOW

[frmulcahy]

If they emailed out other classic lit books in pieces a la Dracula Daily and they did Frankenstein would that finally get people to under that Frankenstein takes place in the 1700s, a whole ass century before other gothic horror novels like Dracula and Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde

#it bugs me So Much when people set Frankenstein in like 1870s-edwardian era #IT DIDNT EXIST YET #IT WAS WRITTEN IN THE REGENCY ERA AND TAKES PLACE IN THE GEORGIAN ERA #FRANKENSTEIN WEARS STOCKINGS AND LIL HEALS AND BREECHES #ELIZABETH SHOULD ROCK THE HEDGEHOG HAIR STYLE #AND ​ROBE A LANGLAISES #long hair Victor Frankenstein and Creature rights NOW #dracula daily #Frankenstein #mary shelley #gothic literature

[rayne-storm]

Inkpot Gods, Electric Pyre

AUgust 4 - Ancient Curse

Fandom: Frankenstein

Summary:

Elizabeth Frankenstein is ready to throw hands at her murderous brother-husband.

She invokes some old powers, and initiates an ancient Curse that should, if all goes well, assure that she takes her rightful place and Victor goes down.

This is rapidly spiraling into a multiple-part epic, so here is the first chapter

--

Elizabeth Frankenstein stared down at her lap in abject horror. Her husband, previously the love of her life (or the closest thing she could claim to one) was the creature butchering their friends and family.

She had known him since they were children, and she had always known he had a darker, coldly analytic side to him. But she had never believed even for a moment he was capable of this. Never could have dreamed even in her worst nightmares that he was the threat she was so terrified of.

And on their wedding night.

He was soundly asleep, and she felt violated beyond any comprehension. His touch, which had been so loving and warm, so gentle and devoted, now turned her stomach and she ran out of the room to heave into a bucket.

She recalled, distantly, telling sweet Henry that she felt she had already been spoken for, that Victor surely had designs on marrying her. She had noticed the conviction and sadness in his eyes when she said so, and something felt off. She couldn't place it then, but now recognized that as sadness, nearly guilt.

And now Henry was gone, with all the others tainted by her husband's mad quest to control life and death.

It hadn't worked, not one of his experiments, on mice or toads or rabbits. But she had never once thought it more than idle fancy, something that the genius Victor Frankenstein was playing with, as much as he had with other theories. Now she knew better, that he had been attempting to stitch together corpses to renew their life.

She supposed she should have guessed it earlier, but she had been so relieved that he was alive, that he was coming home, that he loved her as she loved him, and they would never need part. She should have guessed that it was no mere robber, nor monstrous creature that had killed the young boy she loved as another little brother. Victor couldn't access fresh dead out here at the manor, so he would have to create his own.

No more.

He had said in the diary she'd snooped through minutes before, "I will deny death from piercing the veil any longer. My Elizabeth and I will be eternal creatures, the progenitors of a new, mighty race that will inherit the earth."

It turned her stomach even more. To think that he had this planned for them, that some day she might wake to find him over her, hands on her neck, ending her life in order to begin it again anew, some dark baptism.

"My Elizabeth," he had written, an endearment that she had once adored, now growing cold with possessive desire.

She packed her things, stuffed as much money into her bag as she could, and stopped.

Where would she go, with no plans? Money was one thing, but she would be a young woman, alone, in a dark world. At least here she could scheme in secret, with the devil she knew (now even better than she had believed), until she had something real to cling to, playing the doting, loving wife and he none the wiser as she schemed.

Where to start?

If his science was failing him, perhaps she should try something older. Something ancient. Something dark.

There had always been tales, as long as she could remember, of those who could not rest as they had been betrayed and cursed in life. Vengeful spirits, as it were, who would be unable to reach Heaven's warmth until their justice was done. Surely, if such a curse existed, she knew some for whom it could be called upon.

"Elizabeth?"

She forced herself to remain calm as she turned to head back to the bedroom. "Out here, Victor," she answered, honey-sweet and unassuming.

She entered the room, steeling herself.

Victor was sitting up, hair mussed, half-awake. He would have been painfully beautiful if she hadn't made her discovery.

"I was just about to fetch us some water," she lied sweetly, "I know you get thirsty in the night."

"Oh… thank you Elizabeth, my Elizabeth. You are a treasure," he breathed, standing, still naked from their earlier escapades, and crossed over to pull her into his arms, burying his face in her neck. "Would you like me to get it? You must be sore."

She couldn't help the redness staining her cheeks at that, at the quiet consideration and innuendo.

"I don't mind, darling. Whichever you would prefer," she demured, and he smiled so sweetly at her, eyes crinkling and bright, so genuinely devoted to her that she felt herself shattering just a little.

He loved her. Victor Frankenstein, the man and the monster, truly loved her. And she was planning his ruin.

"I will get two glasses, maybe a pitcher as well, so we don't need to get out of bed early in the morning," he said softly, pressing his forehead to hers, before his lips took its place.

"Get back in bed, sweet Elizabeth. I won't be long," he assured her, and walked out to get their water.

As soon as he was gone she nearly broke down again. Had this been a cruel trick?

Perhaps he was writing a sick fantasy, based on the tragedies that had befallen them so recently. Perhaps she had simply been reading a manuscript, not a confession.

She crawled into bed, curling up and unsure of what to do with herself.

#rayne writes #my writing #AUgust 2022 #au-gust 22 #frankenstein #elizabeth frankenstein #fanfiction

[kindaeccentric]

When I was writing my university bachelor's degree thesis (that I'm still to defend) about Penny Dreadful as a modern adaptation of Frankenstein I noticed how the original novel's homoeroticism is realized by the series in an interesting way.

In the way he is presented, it seems to me that Victor secretly desires men, but thinks that only through creating a perfect one by himself he's allowed to touch other man's skin. His endeavour to pierce the veil between life and death is an excuse, since Victor from the series grew up lonely after the death of his mother and he searches for companionship, for someone who would love him unconditionally, like his mother used to. He believes he can find such love only in a person he creates himself, brings from the dead, and who would see him as his only friend, calm and obedient. Yet his first instinct is to make a man, not a woman, and a handsome man at that.

I can imagine both Rory Kinnear and Alex Price are not everybody's cup of tea (I do find them attractive, they are quite charismatic), but the way the original Creature and Proteus are shown makes them attractive. Proteus we see through Victor's eyes, when he is tending to his body before its even reanimated, when he sketches him (a sure sign of affection) and when he teaches him how to eat in a way that becomes seductive, because of how the camera lingers on his lips and then, in a closeup, on his fingers running down his long throat, immediately bringing to mind erotic imagery. Some may argue that Victor tries to emulate the relationship between his mother and himself taking the parental role and projecting onto Proteus the role of his childhood self, and as much as it is partially true, their relationship bears these marks of hidden desire on Victor's part from the start. The image at the end of the first episode when Proteus is born shows Victor trembling, teary-eyed, looking at the body, a torn and stitched back together, but human body, of a naked man. He's afraid, but not necessarily of the man, but of finally getting what he wanted, it's a fear resulting from excitement. Then the man is touching his face tenderly and Victor, still trembling, cannot stop himself from a little smile. Their faces are softly illuminated by the orange light of the gas lamp, creating an intimate atmosphere of a warm bedroom. Victor practically gasps hearing his own name smoken by Proteus. I doubt all of it was intentional in the way I read it, but it doesn't change the fact that the final scene can be easily interpreted this way.

Then the original Creature, with the violence surrounding his return, presents him as highly masculine, smart, powerful, a direct opposite to the delicate, clueless Proteus Victor could easily form into whatever he wanted. The Creature throughout the entire series is perceived as ugly by some and easily tolerated by others, making his ugliness purely subjective, since, despite his small deformities he remains strangely alluring with his gothic qualities (black long hair, black lips, white skin, yellow eyes, proportional features) of a dark brooding gentleman. With blood on his face he becomes vampire-like (vampires always a symbol of hidden desires and 'depraved' sexuality, the Creature and Victor becoming a mirror image of Vanessa and vampire Mina, both Creature's and Mina's monstrosity an indirect result of Victor's and Vanessa's desire towards having a same-sex companion). The Creature touches Victor's face, a callback to Proteus doing it, but the Creature is not gentle, he smears blood all over Victor's face (blood in vampire narratives was always a symbol for other bodily fluids, that's why it seems so sexy, it also gained another meaning in the 80s, due to the HIV epidemic, which no filmmaker can shake off if they tried, I could discuss it more with The Lost Boys, but no time for that right now).

The dynamic between Victor and the Creature is a reversal of Victor's budding relationship with Proteus, experience winning over innocence. Victor is under another man's rule, and it terrifies him, because it would force him into a position of having to admit his attraction, whereas as the one in control he could have still easily deny it. The Creature, with all his attributes, symbolizes carnal love, he's all 'body', where Proteus was virginal, pious love (to an extent). In one of the scenes where we see Proteus he looks up into the skylight at Victor's apartment and appears angelic, as if in a halo of white light.

It's revealed Victor never had a woman, and the series wants the viewer to believe it's because of his awkwardness and passion for science that consumed him, but his dedication to creating himself male companions instead of searching for a living female one is exactly what makes him seem more queer coded.

It's clear that the lack of paternal figure results in Victor quickly becoming close with older men he encounters (Sir Malcolm, Van Helsing), but it also puts him into a position where he's constantly surrounded by men, with whom he feels more at ease, and is intimidated by women. The rivalry between him and Ethan is that of siblings, until the moment when Ethan teaches him how to shoot a gun. It might be a stretch (it is a bit of a stretch, I admit), but a gun often, especially in horror, alongside a knife, represents manhood and masculine power. Victor allows Ethan to touch him and encourages him to show off with the gun, which is a scene all too familiar from many other movies where the role of Victor is reserved for a woman and the interaction is flirtatious (can't pull examples out of thin air, but if you saw over 1400 movies like me you know I'm not lying). All this adds to the general image of Victor.

The Creature and Victor, when they are on a walk, have a very revealing conversation in which the Creature points out how quick Victor was to grow attached to his more perfect man, and Victor doesn't deny it, he admits that he did in fact feel affection towards Proteus, although the meaning of it as the scorned past partner expressing jealousy over the love he didn't get while someone else did is largely subtext. When the Creature says that he's lonely, Victor answers 'I cannot love you' (paraphrase, because I can't find the exact quote right now) and the Creature, disillusioned, mocks him, 'I do not want what you cannot give' suggesting that Victor, by making himself a meek obedient man, is selfish, cruel, manipulating, and a coward, therefore could not have loved Proteus truly. Then again, Victor cannot bring himself to love his original Creature, because he's not the ideal man he envisioned and by then the Creature being too aware of his flaws of character. The Creature/Caliban/John Clare knows that Victor is 'monstrous', not just because he's someone who desecrates dead bodies, plays God and abandons his creation, but because of his queer desire. It's important that in the case of Penny Dreadful 'monstrosity' signifies many different things, literal (being a vampire werewolf, witch, and so on), metaphorical (bad deeds, like letting your son die a horrible death, cheating, killing etc.) and wholy subjective, merely condemned by ignorant society (Sembene's blackness, Brona's sex work, Lily's want to be equal or greater than men, Vanessa's want for sexual freedom, the Creature's ugliness, Angelique being transgender and other cases), so it's NOT that much of a stretch this time.

We also have the whole problem with Lily. Victor is so attached to Lily (who takes up both Elizabeth's and creature's bride parts in the novel) because he believes that only by possessing a good woman he'll be redeemed for his 'sinful' desires, but he's foolish to think that. This belief reduces a woman to a semi-maternal, semi-virginal angelic ideal with no sexual urges or agency, like virgin Mary. Lily is a true replacement for Victor's mother, and his imagined redemption. As long as she's similar to Proteus, in that she's not sexual, and pure like an angel. Yet Lily is not a woman in that sense. She is another of Victor's creatures, so she partially also takes over the role of the original Creature from the novel, a male. She's not an ideal of a Victorian obedient wife, she has power, or tries to have it, but power in the context of patriarchal society is masculine by nature. The moment she drops her pretenses of a weak delicate wife-like girl Victor does not want her like this. He doesn't want a woman that is sexually liberated, because he doesn't like women in this way, and yet, by being similar to the first Creature (from Victor's perspective, from hers John Clare is similar to Victor-a man, I could delve into Brona's sexuality, but later, this thing is already way longer than I intended) she's 'the man' he wanted.

There is also Henry. Henry Jekyll takes the role of his namesake in the novel, Henry Clerval, Victor's closest friend, and a character most often cited to have homoerotic tension with Victor. It's true that some of the eroticism might be accidental, stemming from the prevalence of homosocial interactions in 'Frankenstein' which in turn is a result of misogynistic nature of 19th century Genevian society and in-novel universe reflecting it, but like I mentioned before, it still feeds into the queer reading of the text and translates beautifully into Jekyll and Victor being both extremely misogynistic towards Lily and their mutual homoerotic tension. In the scenes where Henry purposes his plan to Victor he practically seductively purrs it into his ear, Lily becomes merely a female buffer that allows for that interaction, a female presence which is an excuse for male closeness (here I have a couple of examples actually: Dead Ringers, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, Scream (in a roundabout way, through murder) and a couple others, but that deserves its own article). I won't even mention more references to the novel, because that's a lot already.

Penny Dreadful, although I believe largely unintentionally, expands on what is already there through the changes it introduces in relation to the novel's plot. I have nothing else smart to say, I just think it's worth considering.

*I use the word 'queer', because that's the umbrella term we use in academic writing for years now and even our lgbt+ group at university is called 'queer', so don't come at me with stupid takes

#Penny Dreadful #queer readings #Frankenstein #Victor Frankenstein #lily frankenstein

[the-gay-prometheus]

Frankenstein AU Segment - “The Reunion”

Oh hey- it’s been a minute since I last posted one of these, huh? 

As I’ve kinda been alluding to, this isn’t the segment that I’ve been needing to write, but it’s the one I felt like writing over the past few days. So it just so happens that for once in my life, I’ve actually written something chronologically relevant to the last segment I posted! As in... this literally takes place almost directly after “Willful Disobedience.” 

I’ll admit I kinda rushed the ending of this one a bit, and I think it shows, but it does what it needs to do so I’m just gonna keep it as is for now.

I can’t think of any serious warnings necessary for this one, but feel free to ask me to add warnings/warning tags if you see anything that you think should be warned about!

As always, likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind are appreciated and encouraged!

It was a nightmare that awoke him that dreary, stormy night. Though he knew logically that there was nothing to fear, now that the thing he had created had been missing for at least four months, still he couldn’t help but feel those same eyes watching him from the shadows. Shuddering at the thought of that disturbing dark-lipped grin and the strange garbled sounds that had roused him from his slumber on the fateful night of its creation, he lay awake in bed and stared up at the ceiling. “You have nothing to fear,” he muttered aloud, repeating the phrase in his mind hoping that maybe if he said it enough times, it would be true. Yet a sudden bolt of lightning and crash of thunder caused him to yelp and hide under the covers, trembling in a cold sweat. Only one thought eased his troubled mind, and though he resented the idea of once again bothering Henry so late at night, he felt he might go mad if he stayed in his room alone for any longer.

When he silently opened the door to Henry’s room, he fully expected to find him asleep - instead, Henry was sitting upright with his journal and quill in hand. He had been staring out into the storm, but as Victor opened his door his attention snapped away. Though at first he appeared surprised, the expression of shock faded into one of concern. “Another nightmare?” he asked quietly, shutting his journal and setting it along with his quill aside. Victor didn’t answer, simply nodding silently while standing shakily in the doorway. Henry moved over on the bed, and gently pat the place beside him, gesturing for his dear friend to come sit with him. Victor unsteadily strode over, sitting in the place beside Henry but turning his face away. “Do you… want to talk about it?” Victor shook his head, clinging to himself and holding back tears. “Is there anything I can do other than just… be here?” There was no reply from Victor except a sniffle and a shrug of his shoulders. The pouring rain pounded at the glass of the window like some unwanted stranger begging to be let in, a deafening sound in a moment of silence between the two of them. “Would it… help to be held?” Victor gripped at himself tighter and clenched his eyes shut, shuddering as he nodded. When he felt the warm embrace of Henry’s freckled arms wrapping gently around him, something inside him shattered and he burst into a fit of sobs. Henry gripped him tighter, hushing him softly as he wept. Another roar of thunder caused Victor to jump and grab hold of Henry, clinging to him as though his life depended on it. They stayed tangled in each other's arms until Victor’s sobs turned to quiet sniffles, and the rain turned from violent downpour to a gentle, steady fall. When Henry released him, he sat back and reached out, carefully wiping the tears from Victor’s pale cheeks. “Better?” he asked with a kind smile and compassionate gaze. Victor nodded, sheepishly smiling himself, though his smile quickly faded and he shuddered at the thought of once again being alone with his thoughts.

“Better for now, yes, but... would you mind if I stayed the night?” he asked, his voice still hoarse from crying.

“Not at all! Bring a blanket and make yourself at home-” He paused, his eyes suddenly filled with concern. “Are you ok going back and grabbing one on your own or…”

“I’ll be fine,” Victor answered, waving his hand dismissively and hopping down from the bed.

What happened then was a blur, a faded memory with only fragments remaining. He ran after exiting Henry’s room, back to his own to quickly grab his favorite wool blanket and nearly panicked at the sound of a tree branch tapping and scraping at his window, Somehow from there he ended up back in Henry’s room, making a cozy nest for himself on the floor where he decided he would sleep for the night - complete with extra pillows that Henry provided him with, and it was there with his blanket wrapped tightly around himself that his eyes began to close. When they opened, however, he was no longer on the floor but instead lying in bed next to Henry, who slept soundly with his face turned away. Victor’s eyes opened wide at the sudden realization that somehow, in his sleep, he must have climbed up into the bed. As he tried to remember why or how it happened, his memory flashed with tiny glimpses at some other horrifying nightmare, and he realized all at once that in his fright he must have come to Henry for comfort, only to find him sleeping. He stirred, slowly trying to move toward the edge of the bed, but as he shifted, Henry turned in his sleep, now facing him, and he froze. Unwilling to wake his host, Victor lay perfectly still, moving only to shift back to laying with his eyes to the ceiling. He stared upward, but he felt no fear there lying next to Henry. His breathing was slow, his heart calm, and his mind at peace. Yet still, he found himself entirely unable to sleep. Henry shifted and murmured something beside him that sounded like it might have been a name - his name. Victor turned his face toward him, partially curious to see if Henry had awoken or was beginning to wake, and soon turned his entire body on his side to face him as he realized his eyes were still closed and his expression was that of someone peacefully sound asleep.

Something about that moment took Victor’s breath away. He had long known that what he felt when he was with his dear friend was something far deeper than a general platonic affection, but the pieces of his affections suddenly seemed to click together as they lay together in simple silence. His brown eyes began to well with tears once again. “I have searched so long for greatness and power, hoping that it might fill some final void within me,” he whispered, though he knew Henry couldn’t hear him, “yet all this time, all I needed to feel whole was this - just to be here, just to be with you.” He turned himself onto his back again, staring upward as tears slowly streamed down his face. “Why can we not just stay like this? Why can we not just be this - be us?” His gaze fell back onto Henry, and he felt a dull pain from deep within him that throbbed with every beat of his heart. “Would you even want that? Or is this wrong? Am I wrong?” Henry shifted in his sleep, and it seemed for a moment that his eyes might dare to blink open, which frightened Victor into silence at the thought that he may have just bore his entire soul to his most trusted friend. He didn’t wake, though, instead simply heaving a soft sigh in his slumber as he went entirely still once again. The sky outside began to lighten as the first rays of sun peeked over the horizon and filtered through the window, some soon resting upon the fiery waves of Henry’s hair and revealing the dormant ember-like brightness that had been concealed by the darkness of night. As dawn passed, Victor stayed staring at his dearest friend’s fair face, and as he stared he reached out, tracing the air over a cluster of freckles with a smile. “Andromeda,” he breathed, recognizing the latest in a series of constellations he had discovered over the years. He wanted so badly just to reach a little further and touch him, as though he were afraid that maybe it was all some illusion, some cruel trick that he could be so close and yet so far from where he wanted to be - from who he wanted to be. Instead he retracted his hand with a gentle sigh and lay there in silent wonder, letting his mind wander with visions of what could be, or what could have been. Henry stirred beside him once again, his eyelids twitching. Victor felt himself freeze again. What would he say? What would he do? Would he be angry? Would he pull him closer? Would he do nothing at all? From the corner of his eye he caught sight of a tall shadow on the wall beyond, looming ominously. He felt his stomach churn and his heart race with both fury and fear, until suddenly everything stopped. Everything was still - too still. “This isn’t right,” he whispered to himself. “He wasn’t there.” Just as Henry’s eyes slowly opened, he blinked.

Tiny shafts of sunlight filtered through miniscule cracks in the wooden log walls, illuminating particles of dust that floated through the air. Victor squinted as his eyes opened. For a moment, he smiled, half expecting Henry’s hazel eyes to be gazing back at him, but instead there was the bare wood of the cabin walls and the small stream of light that aligned directly with his sight and blinded him despite its meager size. He pulled his wool blanket over his face with a groan to block out the light, and though he tried to close his eyes and go back to sleep, there was an aching in his chest that kept him awake. Though he knew it was impossible, he kept hoping and wishing that somehow, some way, he could simply will Henry into existence there with him. Finally growing exhausted of his pining, he slipped out of bed, pinning his blanket around himself as a cape, and stepped out of his room. The creature lay sleeping soundly on the floor in front of the fireplace, that being the only place he ever slept despite having a room of his own. Victor paused, staring down at him for a moment, suddenly envying him. After having been calmed from another night terror, the creature seemed so peaceful and at rest in his sleep, while Victor seemed to be cursed only to dream of memories that pained him and made him feel all the more lonely and lost, twisted and changed by fears he so desperately tried to suppress. Cautiously stepping over his creation’s outstretched leg, he made his way to the door and stepped outside into the light of dawn. At first he shielded his eyes from the light, but as they adjusted, he strode toward the edge of the ledge and paused just before the rock dropped off into a steep cliff, just so most of his feet were still on solid ground though his toes hung over the edge. It was a dangerous place to stand, especially with the strong breeze that pushed its way through, but the danger of it was the last thing on his mind as he stared ahead, his hands clasped behind his back.

A feeling of homesickness flooded through him, though he couldn’t quite discern what it was for. Was it for Geneva, for the lake and the forests and the view of the mountains from below? Was it for the home and family he left behind so many years ago? Or was it just for Henry himself- He shook the thought from his head. "That's silly," he muttered aloud. "You can't feel homesick for a person." Yet when he thought about his soothing voice as he read some ancient poem or story, or the way he held him when he was scared or sad; when he thought about the way he could paint a picture with words or tell a story through sketches, that feeling of homesickness only grew more prevalent. In his heartache, he hadn’t heard the sound of footsteps approaching from behind, nor had he heard when they stopped, followed by the clattering of a walking stick and pack being dropped to the ground. Instead, it was a voice that broke him from his thoughts, sending both a wave of heat and an icy chill through his veins.

“Victor?” He turned his head, and swore he was hallucinating. Standing there bathed in the golden light of the morning sun was the exact person who had been consuming his every waking thought. In a moment of something between blind panic and overwhelming joy, Victor thoughtlessly fully turned to face him while stumbling backward - except there was nothing to stumble back on. One foot slipped from the edge of the cliff, and he flailed his arms, trying to push his balance onto the one foot that still remained on land despite that one beginning to slip as well. Just as he was about to fall back to what would most certainly have been an inevitable death, a hand grabbed one of his flailing arms by the wrist and stopped his fall. He glanced back as fragments of stone tumbled off the cliff, falling through the air until they could no longer be seen. His breath caught in his throat at the thought that he could have just perished due to his own carelessness, but when he looked back up he felt his heart flutter. Henry was staring down at him with a look of both terror and relief in his eyes, wisps of his orange hair that had escaped being tied back drifting over his face and catching the sunlight like thin streams of fire, gleaming and shifting in vibrant shades of auburn with each waving motion of the breeze. 

“H-hi Henry,” Victor managed to stutter breathlessly as he gazed upward with wide eyes. The grip on his wrist tightened and he felt himself blush, so he turned his head away as Henry hoisted him back up onto solid ground, only to blush harder as his friend suddenly pulled him into so tight of an embrace he thought his frail ribs might crack. Though it was slightly painful, the sudden rush of euphoria from being once again wrapped in Henry’s arms overrode any pain he felt. He couldn’t tell if he wanted to laugh, or cry, or maybe both at once, but whatever the case, he clung to Henry tightly in return, silently hoping that this was in fact reality and not just some waking dream. Henry pulled back, placing his hands on Victor’s shoulders as Victor reluctantly released him.

“My dear Frankenstein,” Henry murmured. The words shot straight through Victor, words he had been longing to hear for the months he had been away, words that only Henry ever spoke, and he felt as though he might faint at the mere sound of them.

“It’s… it’s been far too long,” Victor managed to whisper, leaning his head to one side and resting it on Henry’s hand. Henry returned the gesture with a comforting smile.

“It has,” he concurred, seemingly searching Victor’s face for answers to some unspoken question. Victor looked back up at him, his own eyes wandering for want of answers, and as he stared, his gaze turned to a sudden look of confusion and concern as reason and logic began to overtake his senses.

“How did you find me?” He paused, then stepped back and pulled fully away from Henry’s touch. “Why aren’t you still at Ingolstadt?” Henry shrugged his shoulders.

“I’m taking time off,” he answered simply. “After you left I was so worried - about you and your family, I guess - I just… couldn’t keep my focus on my studies, so I decided it might be best to come home and take a break.” Victor was about to reply, but went silent as Henry suddenly went rummaging through one of his pockets and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “As for how I found you,” he began, waving it in the air, “I got your letter!” Victor gave him an odd look.

“...Letter?” Henry unfolded it and looked it over.

“You don’t remember sending this?” Victor thought long and hard, trying to consider all of the possibilities - maybe he had sent something and forgotten? Or maybe he had written and sent something in some daze of confusion and lost all memory of it? Neither made much sense, but they were the only answers that seemed to come to mind.

“Not to my knowledge, no.” He reached out. “Do you mind if I take a look?” Henry laughed as he shook his head.

“Of course not! You’re the one that wrote it, after all,” he replied as he placed the letter into Victor’s hand. Victor read it over, growing more confused and concerned with himself. Henry was right - it looked exactly like his handwriting and the tone of voice in the letter seemed to match the tone he so often used in his typical letters to Henry from his time in Ingolstadt before that same fateful day that he arrived there. “Whatever the case, whether you wrote it or not,” Henry began, smiling and resting one hand back on Victor’s shoulder. “You have no idea how delighted I am to see you again.” Victor hid his blushing behind the paper as he inspected it closer.

“More like you have no idea how delighted I am to see you again,” he mumbled. The letter certainly seemed flawlessly his own creation, but no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t recall when, or frankly how, he would have sent it. “When did you say you received this?”

“I… hadn’t said, but it was yesterday evening.” Victor’s expression became even more contorted with confusion, and Henry himself began to worry. “Is there something wrong?”

“Henry… I never wrote you a letter.” Henry stared.

“I’m not sure if I should be more offended or concerned by that sentence, but I think the answer lies somewhere in the middle.” The thought that he might have offended him sent a twinge of guilt through Victor, and he glanced up with a sigh.

“That’s not to say I didn’t want to write to you. It’s just… I can’t leave this place. It’s a long story.”

“You did mention that in the letter, something about how you were unable to leave. That’s part of why I left as soon as I received it - I figured you might be in trouble, but you look perfectly well, other than perhaps a bit thinner than usual.” 

“That’s just it-” Victor began, looking back down at the letter. “If I’m stuck here, then how would I have gotten this letter to you?” Henry thought for a moment.

“Well, it was delivered by someone who wished to remain anonymous if that makes any difference. Perhaps there was someone who had come here that you forgot and had asked to deliver the letter?” Victor shook his head.

“Impossible. I would have known if someone else had come. There’s no one here except me and-” He paused, his eyes catching on to something strange, a pattern in the way each character was written. He knew his own handwriting - it was sloppy at best, yet typically at least legible, and he never wrote one letter the same way twice. That was the problem, though - the handwriting looked nearly identical, yes, but it was too perfect. Each letter, though sloppily written, was written in nearly the exact same style, as though it had been copied. It was such a small detail, something he himself with his ever observant eyes barely caught on to, but it was enough to alert him that he was right - he never wrote a letter. “It was forged,” he said out loud suddenly. Henry took the letter from his hands and gave it a closer look. “You know my handwriting, Henry. It’s imperfect. I’ve always complained about how imperfect and inconsistent it is. But this? It’s…”

“Perfectly imperfect,” Henry muttered, finishing his sentence for him. “Now that you mention it, I see what you mean. How fascinating… whoever wrote this put a lot of time and care and effort into trying to make it look and sound like you, and certainly nearly managed to achieve it.” He folded the letter back up and returned it to his pocket, but as he did, he repeated Victor’s own words in his head. “Did you say there was someone else here?” Victor didn’t answer. He barely heard him, as he became lost in his own thoughts, trying to decipher who had written it and how it could have been delivered, and how the author would have known his whereabouts.

Perfectly imperfect, he thought to himself. Perfectly imperfect… His eyes went wide and he felt as though his blood was draining to his feet as he went pale and his stomach seemed to twist itself in knots. “Perfectly imperfect,” he repeated aloud, as though in a trance. Henry gave him a concerned look, and reached out, taking his hand gently.

“Victor? Is there something wrong?” Victor trembled, then suddenly tore his hand away and made his way over to the belongings Henry had dropped, gathering them up and placing them back into Henry’s hands.

“You need to leave,” he demanded, his tone hoarse yet dark. Henry blinked.

“I’m… are you sure?”

“Yes I am sure.” He wasn’t sure - but all he knew was he suddenly felt a surge of fear and fury rising through himself. Henry stared, seemingly analyzing him, then gently placed his things onto the ground again.

“No you’re not-”

“Yes I am,” Victor interrupted. His breathing quickened as his heart began to race. Taking a deep breath in an attempt to appear as calm as possible, he rested a hand on Henry’s shoulder. “You need to leave, Henry. You’re not safe here.” Henry’s hand dropped to the rapier he kept sheathed at his side.

“Victor, I can protect myself - you know that. Whatever it is, rest assured, I will be fine.” He reached up, placing his hand over Victor’s hand. “What I’m more concerned about is you and your safety.” Victor looked away, refusing to meet his gaze. “Why are you really here?”

“I told you, it’s a long story,” he uttered, his voice almost like a low growl as he suddenly pushed Henry back. “One that I don’t have the time to tell. Go, Henry. Leave, and don’t come back - for your own sake.” Henry stumbled back as Victor pushed him, and though he desperately wanted to refuse, he sighed and began retrieving his things.

“If that’s really what you want, then I’ll go,” he answered quietly, trying to hide the sorrow in his voice. His tone sent Victor’s mind reeling and a sudden shock of pain in his heart, but he strengthened his resolve and continued to hurry Henry along. Exhausted from his journey and now pained by rejection, Henry trudged along, until out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of something that made him stop and raise his head. It was the cabin he saw, quaint and carefully constructed of logs likely found from the mountain forest. “Oh!” he exclaimed, causing Victor to pause as well. “Did you build that?” he asked, glancing back toward his friend.

“No- well- I- It’s not important. Time to go,” Victor grumbled, pushing at him again. Henry stepped away from him, nearly causing him to fall forward, and walked toward the little dwelling with curiosity.

“It’s… nice, actually,” he complimented, looking it over and glancing at his surroundings. “Must be pretty wonderful to be living in such a beautiful place with such an incredible view.”

“No, it’s a living hell of my own creation. Come on, Henry,” Victor pleaded, grabbing hold of his arm and trying to pull him away. Just then, the door to the cabin creaked as it opened, and Victor froze. He dared not to look, and a million scenarios raced through his mind. Had that demon lured Henry here to hurt him? Would Henry attack it out of fear of its hideousness? Would it attack him back? Panic began to course through him, but as the door closed, it wasn’t chaos that ensued, but instead Henry’s kind voice and cheerful disposition that rose over the mess of disastrous thoughts that tumbled around in his head.

“Oh, hello there! And who might you be?”

#*casually drinking my loving henry clerval juice* #...it's coffee. loving henry clerval juice is coffee. #victor frankenstein would agree with me i think. #(or really it's whatever you want it to be uwu) #also yes Henry carries his rapier with him everywhere because he thinks it makes him look cool- #oh and also for protection but mostly because he feels very important and heroic when he has it #and Victor is a disaster gay but we all already knew that. #anyways- #on to the usual tags #frankenstein au #clervalstein #(technically it's more of- clervenstein pining hours but- still) #head empty clervenstein thoughts #clervenstein my beloved

[the-hilda-librarians-wife]

Halloween Coutdown - A Bump in the Night

Summary: Victoria Van Gale is a serious scientist even after her laboratory and workplace is destroyed, she remains the sort of person to look for the reasons behind everything. She likes being in control, she makes stern analyses and important experiments, and she… goes trick or treating with a bunch of kids?

Notes: 3 days until Halloween, you guys!!! This is the irst time i actually try to make something I write feel like an episode, I hope you enjoy it! I thought it would be hard to write something with no sketchbook (and no librarian either!!) but it was actually so fun! Love this little unhinged scientist

Read it on ao3

Spooky song rec: HYPNOTIZED by AViVA

Victoria Van Gale did not like things she could not control.

She took her coffee black, she liked to read biographies, she was an early riser and she didn’t like things she couldn’t control. It was just one more part of her personality like any other, and she’d never really seen a reason to fight it. Granted, she supposed that it had been partially to blame for the fact that her observatory was now destructed, and she had to work a dull nine to five job to pay for the apartment she’d managed to rent. But she hadn’t been the only one involved in that mess. The responsibility could hardly be given to her, she’d been perfectly fine  before those kids and their talking bird arrived. Or at least she told herself.

But the fact was that, out of her distaste for things she couldn’t understand and command, was born a revulsion against that one night of the year.

Halloween. What a bunch of nonsense.

She did her best to forget the night every year. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in ghosts, witches and monsters. She’d seen enough to know there was much in this world that she couldn’t understand. It just made her uncomfortable to have to face a whole celebration dedicated to the incomprehensible. Why should they revel in it when they could analyze it? If humans had superior intellect, only their silly superstitions stopped them from being the absolute rulers of the world.

It seemed that, in her efforts, Victoria did manage to forget about Halloween, because she gasped as soon as she stepped outside and was faced with a crowd of children dressed in colourful costumes, running around and knocking on people's doors. A group of kids nearby noticed her leaving the building in which her apartment was, and ran towards her.

“Trick or treat!” They exclaimed, raising their pumpkin shaped buckets at her. Victoria tried not to feel too guilty as she gently told them he had nothing to give them and watched them walk away crestfallen.

Her plan had been to go to the nearest convenience store, pick something to snack on since she felt like it, and return home just as quickly. With all the tumult the celebrations caused, however, she was just considering giving up on her task to head back home when she felt something bump against her leg. Looking down, she saw a white figure, much smaller than a child. As it realized it had bumped on her in its haste, it looked at her and Victoria could see the glimmer of the lamp post light on its dark eyes. It ran away, and she took off after it.

By the way the creature ran, with white linen trailing behind it, Victoria could only come to one conclusion: she’d found a ghost. And if she managed to catch it, the amount of information she could get was unimaginable! How did ghosts come back to the earth? Was it true that there were more ghosts around on Halloween? What was the afterlife like? How did a ghost even work? The excitement at the prospect of asking those questions, combined with the running which she didn’t do often left her breathless.

As she dodged them, her chase attracted the odd stares of many children, and even their complaints when she accidently hit one in the shoulder, but she didn’t care, all that mattered was getting to the ghost and taking it to somewhere where she could study it. Nevermind that this would probably be her apartment.

She came to a halt, however, when a large group of children who were crossing the street together blocked her path. She tried to squeeze her way past it, but when she had finally crossed the crowd, the ghost was nowhere in sight. 

“Oh, no” She whispered, looking around frantically. She jogged forward, coming to the end of the street, and looked into the two other streets that the one she was in led into, seeing nothing but more children. There was a fifty per cent chance she’d pick the right road, and she was about to try her luck on the path to her right when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

“Victoria… what are you doing?”

Startled, Victoria looked behind her shoulder to see the same blue haired girl who had set her weather spirit free. Her face had been painted green with black drawings that mimicked stitches, and the hair bow she was wearing had screws in its ends to make it look like they were coming out of her skull. She was accompanied by the boy Victoria also remembered, who wore dark clothes and fake fangs, and a girl Victoria hadn’t met yet, a witch hat on top of her head and wearing a black dress.

She didn’t exactly still have hard feelings towards Hilda, though she wasn’t over the fact that her interference in private matters had left her homeless and jobless. For her part, however, Hilda looked like she didn’t trust Victoria in the least.

“Oh! Hilda! You won’t believe this, I just saw a <em>ghost</em>. I’m, uh, happy to see you’re fine, by the way. With the nasty fall you took from the bureau and all.”

“Are you really?” David muttered, making Hilda elbow him softly so as to tell him not to pick on her.

Hilda asked her what the ghost she saw was like, while Frida whispered to her friends questioning who this woman was. Though she couldn’t hear what he was saying, Victoria noticed David answering in her ear.

“It was very small.” She informed, placing her hands apart from each other in order to show her esteemed measurement of it. The girl that was dressed as a witch looked at her with suspicion as her friend talked to her, but she tried to ignore the two of them and focus on Hilda. “And it really did wear a white cloth like the tales say. Pretty quick, too.”

Frida was about to refute something she said when Hilda lifted her hand, asking her not to.

“A ghost!” Hilda exclaimed, the hint of a smile on her lips. “That’s interesting. But why were you running after it?”

Victoria fidgeted, rubbing her thumb and index finger in circles. “Well, I… I’d never seen a ghost before, is all. I just wanted to try and take a look! See what they’re made of!”

Looking disappointed with the answer, Hilda sighed and shook her head negatively. “Still trying to control everything, Victoria? Haven’t you learned already?”

“That’s… that’s not it…” Victoria tried to defend herself, looking down at her feet.

“You know what?” Hilda said suddenly, her tone changing abruptly to a more joyful one. “You are not going to find anything in this crowd by yourself. Not only that, but all three of us have actual experiences with ghosts. We’ll help you with it.”

“Really?” Both Victoria and the two other children gasped.

“Really, under one condition.” She put a finger up, looking serious. “This is my first Halloween in Trolberg, and I don’t want to miss out on it. You’ll come with us and after we’re done trick or treating, we’ll help.”

“Huh?” Victoria frowned, thinking that perhaps the girl had hit her head hard after that explosion in the bureau. If she ran, she still might catch up with her ghost, but if she spent the night trick or treating, she was certain to never see it again.

“Hilda, I don’t have time-” She tried to argue, but the girl cut her off.

“Don’t you know the lore of Halloween? These ghosts will be walking around town the whole night. In fact, if you come with us, there is an even greater chance of you finding a ghost, even if not the one you just saw. But it’s all the same to science, right?”

“Yes…” Victoria rubbed her chin. “I suppose you’re right.”

“But Hilda.” David whispered to his friend, probably thinking he was being a lot more discreet than he was in reality. “She’s an adult. Adults can’t go trick or treating.”

The look Hilda gave her scared Victoria more than any child should be able to.

“They can if they’re part of our costume.”

_#_#_#_

Victoria all but dragged herself behind them, attempting not to feel like a fool.

“Is this really necessary?” she groaned, being met with Hilda’s fierce affirmation that yes, it was necessary. After they’d struck their agreement, the trio had made her take them to her apartment, where they found her lab gloves and coat and made her wear it. They hadn’t even stopped there, finding her black rain boots and asking her to put them on too.

When they began going to the first houses, she’d felt awkward standing near the children as they asked for candy. Most people ignored her, until one woman, with bright red curly hair and a sweet face chuckled at her.

“Who would you be?” She asked, not mockingly but with curiosity after dropping a large amount of sweets into the children's pumpkins.

Hilda was fast to answer. “She’s Victor Frankenstein!”

“Oh, what a lovely pair you two make!” The woman said, her eyes going back and forth between Hilda and Victoria. “You must be such a dedicated auntie. Here, have some candie as well, you deserve it.”

After putting candies in Victoria’s shelled hands, she wished them a good Halloween and closed her door. The children climbed down from her porch, but Victoria remained where she was, looking awestruck as she stared at her hands.

“Are you okay?” Frida asked, the first to realize Victoria hadn’t moved.

“Yeah, I’m alright. It’s just been a lot of time since I received candy from anyone.”

David tilted his head to the side. “You haven’t eaten candy in a long time?”

“What? No!” Victoria assured him. “I eat more candy than I should, honestly. But it’s different when you get it from someone. Everything is more special when it’s a gift, I suppose.”

“Hey, why don’t we stop and eat some of what we got tonight?” Hilda suggested, and the rest of them agreed eagerly. There was a bench nearby, and they all sat on it. As the kids dug into their pumpkin buckets, making their choice of which sweet to eat first, Victoria unwrapped a sour candy.

“Did you know that sour candies are sour because of the citric acid?” She asked, drawing the kids’ attention. “Like all acids, it has hydrogen ions which activate our tongue’s sour taste receptors! Isn’t this interesting? Of course, this is the same acid we have in some fruits, but to use it in candy you need to make it by fermenting sugar with microorganisms! Not as simple as it seems at first, I’m certain.”

“I thought you were a meteorologist.” David said after a beat.

“I am! But that doesn’t stop me from liking the other sciences as well.”

“That’s so cool, miss Van Gale!” Frida gasped, and Hilda nodded in agreement. “I hope this is not rude to ask… but there are so many things about the science books I read that I don’t understand, and our teacher can never really answer all of them. I was wondering if one day you’d be willing to help me with that?”

“Of course!” Excited at the prospect of having someone to discuss science with, Victoria nodded, happy when the girl looked joyful with her acceptance. “It's always good to revisit topics one hasn’t studied for long. Keeps the brain sharp.”

There was a pen in her labcoat’s pocket, and the woman used it to write her landline’s number on the candy wrap and give it to Frida, so she could call her for them to arrange a day.

“I think we should go.” Hilda sighed, tired because of the late hour but very happy about how her first Halloween in the city was going. “We still have many houses to visit, and I have an idea that might get us even more candy.”

_#_#_#_

“It’s moving…” Victoria uttered in the moment when Hilda, lying down in front of the house’s door, began lifting her hand. The couple that lived in the house watched them with curiosity and wonderment at their makeshift theatre. “It’s alive! It’s moving, it’s alive! In the name of God, now I know what it is like to be God! IT’S ALIVE!”

Abruptly, Hilda lifted her whole torso up, groaning as monstrously as she could. Her two friends giggled, already having received their candy, and the couple clapped at them.

“How frightening!” the woman said, dropping candy into Hilda’s pumpkin. “Happy Halloween and keep up the good work!”

The group left, laughing about how good their acting had been. They’d done it for all the past houses, and everyone who had seen it had loved it, even fellow trick or treaters. Now knowing that they were her favourite, Hilda always gave the sour candies she received to Victoria, and as she separated them from the others David complimented how genuine Victoria had sounded.

“Thank you, David. I have a talent for the dramatic arts, don’t you think?” She boasted mockingly, swiping her hand across her shoulder to push her wild hair back. The boy giggled, the apprehension he’d had of her in the beginning of the night all but gone. Without them even noticing, the resentment each of them had towards the other seemed to have melted away with the time they spent together.

“I just think ‘mad scientist’ comes to you naturally, Victoria.” He retorted, and she brought her hand to her heart in fake outrage, making them all laugh.

“It’s getting really late.” Frida said unwillingly. “I think I’ve got to go home.”

They all looked at the wrist clock Frida was wearing, and Victoria was surprised to find herself sad that her time with the children had come to an end. It made her even more surprised, when she remembered the ghost, that her first thought had been about the children and not about what they’d promised her.

After that, David also sighed and mumbled that he had to go, otherwise his parents might get worried. Hilda didn’t say anything, nor did she look at Victoria.

“I still…” Victoria began. She didn’t want to force kids to stay out past the time they should just to help her, but it seemed like they had forgotten. “I still need to look for the ghost.”

Hilda sighed, the same sigh from hours ago, when they’d found her running around like mad, and she finally looked at Victoria. The woman didn’t like the resignation in her eyes.

Unlike Hilda, when the two other kids looked at her, she could see that the ghost really had slipped from their minds, and that they even felt guilty about it.

“You two go home. I’ll help Victoria find her ‘ghost’.”

They nodded and said good night to both Hilda and Victoria, beginning their walk on the direction they had come from. Something about the way Hilda had said the word “ghost” didn’t sit right with her. If she was being honest, the fact that she’d apparently taken the girl from her happy mood to this silent one didn’t either. She told herself it didn’t matter, they had struck a deal and it wasn’t like she was the girl’s “auntie” like some of the people they saw seemed to think. But even though it didn’t matter, it still made her feel a pang in her chest when the most energetic, positive person she’d seen in years sat down on the concrete edge of the sidewalk.

“I thought you’d let this go.” She muttered, looking at a point in the distance. “I thought that maybe you’d have fun and realize that there’s so much beauty around, especially in te things you can’t control. But I suppose it would be asking for too much, to change a person in a night.”

She whistled suddenly, and Victoria heard the tip-tap of something small coming their way.

“Come here boy!” Hilda exclaimed, and when Victoria looked at the spot Hilda was watching, she saw the same creature she’d seen hours before running her way, and gasped when it happily came into Hilda’s arms.

After picking it up, Hilda turned to her, her face serious. “Is this your ghost?”“It is!” Victoria nodded, her mouth wide in surprise. The biggest surprise, however, came when Hilda lifted the veil from the creature, revealing a white, fluffy looking deerfox.

“Frida wanted to tell you in the beginning of the night. What I said was true, we have had experiences with ghosts, and we know that ghosts don’t wear veils like in the tales. I had dressed Twig up to come with me tonight, but I gave him the command to follow us from afar when I saw you. He must have bumped into you when he was bringing back the stick I threw him. Though he didn’t give me anything, so he mustn’t have been able to find it.” “What?” She gasped, watching Hilda shake her head and get up. “I don’t understand.”

“I know I’m young, Victoria, and I’m still getting used to the whole living in society thing. But there’s one thing I do know that you need to understand. If you keep believing life is a battle, you’ll never stop seeing enemies all around.”

After saying that, she walked away down the same road Frida and David had too. Disappointed, confused and guilty all at the same time, Victoria let herself fall down to the ground, sitting on the edge of the sidewalk.

Though it was the most dangerous night of the year, she was beginning to think she was the only monster around.

#wife's halloween countdown #hilda the series #victoria van gale #victoria van gale fanfic #hilda (hilda) fanfic #my fic

[love-the-purple-cat]

Oh don't you dare look back, just keep your eyes on me - Chapter 1 Part 8

The following morning he is woken up by knocking on his bedroom door.

“Come in?” It comes out as more of a question than an order. His father never knocks, Yuzu knocks thrice softly, and Karin just yells.

His answer appears in the form of one... Cherī. He seriously didn’t know her surname? How?

“Mornin',” She says, padding into his room. “Scoot over.”

“Why?” He asks, already doing what she said.

“’Cuz,” She plops onto his mattress, trying hard not to let her face touch his pillowcase. “Ah woke up early ta' get ‘ere.”

“Why?” He covers the lower portion of her body with his blanket, making sure that not a centimetre of skin could be seen.

“Get ready an' Ah'll tell ya.” She stretches like a cat, eyes already closed for a short nap.

He huffs but leaves for the bathroom, stopping to tell his father that a friend was in his room. He didn’t want her getting hurt just because of his norm.

Twenty minutes later, Ichigo returns to find that Cherī had covered her entire body and was sleeping with her head angled so that his sheets wouldn’t get dirtied by her makeup. She was also wearing a beanie, stuffed full with her hair. He almost feels bad waking her up.

Almost.

“Wake up, Cherī.” He shakes her shoulder and she groans, swatting and kicking.

“’n‘min’t.” She mumbles.

“We have school, and this is my bed.”

She cracks one eye open. She wasn’t wearing her contacts today. They were a blue so light it reminded him of ice.

 “Our bed.” She says in a tone meant to be a correction.

Ichigo blinks. “No.” He tugs the blanket free from her grasp. “Come one, Yuzu made an extra plate of breakfast for you.”

“Ugh, fiiiine.” She finally stumbles out of bed.

The two make their way downstairs, bookbags in hand and hats on heads. His dad is overdramatic as always and starts bawling at his mother's poster. Cherī shoots Isshin curious and nervous looks. Yuzu and Karin are polite in their own way.

 ——————————

They're two blocks away from his home when Cherī says, “Hey, Ichi. Look.” When he gives her his undivided attention, she takes off the beanie. His jaw drops as she runs her finger through her dyed hair. “Sweet, right? It's Love Letter.” Her eyes are sparkling in the morning light, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

Ichigo says nothing, just blinks. It takes a few moments longer for his mouth to start working and ask, “Why?”

She shrugs, “Ah’ve told ya, haven't Ah? Ah've been thinkin’ of dyein' ma' hair fer a while now. Now seems like a good time.” She aims to bump their shoulders but given the fact she's 5’1” with heels and he's 5’9”, she ends up bumping his shoulder with her head and shoulder checking his arm. “It just happens for me ta' dye ma' hair da same day we dyed yers. An' Ah'm sad ta’ say that any attention ya get at school, yer gonna havta share.” She says this in a mockingly sympathetic tone.

He snorts, eyes still not leaving her hair. He reaches out a hand and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. She has a small black heart earring.

“We'll be making quite the impression when we get there.” He says, taking off his own hat and running his fingers through the blue locks.

“Damn rite we will.” She growls. “An' we're gonna own it.”

Ichigo laughs at that.

 ——————————

They certainty made heads turn when they pass the gate. He pays them little mind, too busy listening to Cherī explain how there was no way Jonathan Harker wasn’t at least a little interested in Dracula. She also went on to explain that Henry Jekyll definitely had a crush on his friend Gabriel John Utterson, and that crush was transferred to Mr. Hyde. She then praised the amazing pun of, "If he be Mr. Hyde, I shall be Mr. Seek." Which is an amazing pun.

Before he knows it, they have reached his classroom. He sits on his chair and Cherī sits on his desk, bending and laying her right leg on the surface, not at all bothered by her skirt.

“Ichigo!” Keigo loudly greets, throwing himself at the teen.

Ichigo allows himself to be tackled. That is enough for the brunette to jump back in surprise. His eyes then fall on Cherī who is looking at them curiously.

“Ichigo,” Tatsuki says, eyeing his hair. “You’ve changed your hair.”

He shrugs, a touch amused by their surprise. “Decided that it was time for me to change it. She,” He juts a thumb at the girl sitting on his desk, “Helped.”

The ravenette eyes Cherī, suspicion clear in her eyes. “Arisawa Tatsuki.”

“Akao Cherī.” She chirps back. So that’s her surname.

“So, what brings you here, Cherī?” Tatsuki asks.

“Please call me Akao.” The girl retorts. “I’m explaining to Ichigo the homoerotic undertones in Frankenstein, and how Victor was the reason his whole life burned down. Not because of the creature he created, but because he was too scared to own up to it. The moment it was given life, Victor fled his laboratory, naïvely thinking that it would leave him be, and afterwards started blaming it for the misfortune that struck his life when he himself was to blame.”

There she goes speaking understandably. But she did make a good argument on Frankenstein.

Tatsuki blinks, turning to face him with a questioning gaze.

Ichigo straightens and says, “But how was he to know what was going to happen? Victor didn’t expect for the creature to murder.”

“Yes, but he never actually does anything about it. He only moans and whines about the misfortune. When Justine is accused of murder, instead of making up a believable lie about how he had unintentionally made an enemy who had sworn to kill his family or something like that to save Justine, he just says she's innocence and fucks off. He never takes responsibly for his actions, preferring to blame the creature he had created out of the desire to show that breathing life into a corpse was possible.”

He nods, “True.”

“Well, time for me ta' go.” She jumps off his desk, bypassing his friends and desks for the door. “See ya at lunch, Ichi.” She calls, waving goodbye.

“See you later.” He calls back.

The moment she is out of sight, Keigo turns to him with a wail. “Ichigo! How could you!? You've been keeping a babe like her to yourself only!”

Ichigo glares, “Don’t you dare talk about Cherī like that!” He growls, more venom in his voice than intended. Keigo immediately stops at that, looking a touch scared. Ichigo sighs, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh.”

“You’re awfully protective of her.” Tatsuki states.

“Well, yeah.” Because how could he not be?

“How long have you known her? I haven’t seen her around before.”

The now bluenette leans back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling in thought. “Nearly two months.”

“Two months? And we're only learning about her now?” Her brows are nearly touching her hairline.

He shrugs, “She’s in a different class.”

Tatsuki purses her lips but doesn’t say anything.

#bleach #bleach au #kurosaki ichigo #akao cherī #cherī akao #ichigo kurosaki #The Past is Never Dead AU #Protector and Cherry AU

[charlemange1]

Ask of the Lesser (Frankenstein/Lovecraft Works): 6 Gods and Monsters

Darkness enveloped my little cell as I waited for my last sunrise. A cruel ending it was, to be hung in the square and have the name Frankenstein permanently branded with unhallowed deeds. The shadow of Victor’s legacy would trap me till the end, and I had only myself to blame. My selfish desires to revive my family had blinded me to Curwen’s dark work. A mistake I realized had likely cost many lives, judging from the number of crates I had delivered over the past few months. Human blood! Oh, if only I had known! How could I hate Victor when in my own obsession I had enabled such atrocities? What right had I to judge him when I was enslaved to the same master?

My head thumped against the wall in defeat. Victor. My mind drifted back to our final conversation in the villa, when we were all that remained of our family and a trembling husk was all that remained of him.

“That daemon has struck down everyone but you, and he is coming, Ernest! I have failed to stop him, and he shall claim you too, if you stand idle!”

“Calm yourself, Victor. You are unwell,” I soothed, watching him pace the floor. “Elizabeth’s death has shaken you.”

“Murder. She was murdered by him, Ernest! You must believe me!” Victor clutched my shoulders with boney fingers. He shoved his journal against my chest, and I saw his nails were gnawed to bloodied stubs. “Here is my journal, dated years ago! Could madness be so precise? So detail-oriented?”

Grief had settled into every line of his exhausted face. His manic eyes pleaded with me through the strands of unkempt hair that floated rather than fell around his head. I ignored the lice crawling in the knotted curls and gently shut the journal.

“Victor, you know I stumble with such fancy words. These are scribbles to me.” I patted his trembling hand. “How about we get some sleep, huh? The servants are pouring some Laudanum to calm your nerves.”

“I do not need calm, we must act,” Victor’s voice rose to the rafters in desperation. My hand discreetly waved forward the servants positioned in the hall. “I have wrought terrible mayhem upon our house, but I will not let my curse consume you too! You are all I have left, Ernest. I beg of you to believe me! Not these mad claims, but me. As my brother, you must heed this threat!”

“Yes, yes, Victor,” I smiled gently and fought back tears. Elizabeth and Papas’ deaths had broken him. My poor, hysteric brother! He had always been the strong one. The one with all the talent pushing my miserable frame to be better. Where had that trailblazer gone? My brother may have been clutching me, but he had abandoned me in spirit. The Victor I had known was gone. The servants filed in to take his imposter away.

“Do not let them do this, Ernest,” Victor fought the hands that restrained him, though he had lost the strength to fight long ago. “Please, believe me! I cannot lose you too!”

“You are mad with grief, Victor,” I soothed. “Rest will restore you.”

You are the strong one! How can you fall apart and leave me alone?

Victor opened his mouth, but my mind was set. Something like defeat settled in his eyes. Victor’s body went limp as the servants’ drug him to his room. His eyes never left me, two watery pits silently pleading to be heard.

Wanting to save a thick-skulled wretch like me.

My hands pressed against my eyes and I wept for words left unspoken. He had cared! Victor had done wrong by turning from God, but I had turned my back on my own brother who so desperately wanted to keep me safe.

Was that why his creature had spared me? Not because I was to insignificant for my death to hurt Victor, but because me living and reducing his suffering to the rambles of a madman was the ultimate punishment? Victor could find strength in those murdered by destroying his monster and avenging them. The misery I had to live with in their absence would not end by Victor putting a bullet through the creature’s heart. My murdered family’s thoughts were at peace, but my ongoing misery was Victor’s shame to carry to the grave knowing he was responsible. His fond letter crinkled in my pocket, and I knew I could not hate him. I knew then too, that the unhallowed work that had withered his spirit and decimated our family could not continue, no matter the intent.  

The prison door swung open and a streak of light cut back the shadows. I covered my eyes from the haggard silhouette outlined against the intense brightness.

“Ernest, what in heavens name are you doing here?”

“Walton?” Blinking rapidly, I focused on the captain’s battered frame. “Have you come to take me to the gallows?”

Silence settled between us.

“I want to know why?”

“Why an invalid like me would play with a fire that scorched my brother?” I laughed bitterly. “I thought I could resurrect my family and we could be happy again, but not if their life comes from the death of others. I have seen death, Walton, and felt the void created in its wake. I would never subject anyone to that grief, even if it meant restoring my only source of happiness. I know what such work did to Victor and saw how it tore our family apart. I was a fool to think any good could come of its continuation.” I turned from the captain. “So write your sequel. Tell the world what a fool I am!”

“You are a fool,” Walton nodded. He bent beside me and rested his hand across mine. “But you are not a bad man. You clearly did not know the contents of your wicked cargo. It seems your destiny to be caught up in the madness of others, a lonely ship tossed about in a storm it could never hope to understand. You know better now, though.” Walton’s voice cracked. “Tell me who tricked you? What are they planning with Victor’s work?”

My repressed misgivings of Curwen resonated with Walton’s trembling voice. I had been too focused on my family to consider how Curwen would utilize the spark of life after they were brought back. What had he meant about merging raised souls with new flesh to be unstoppable?

“I do not know the details, but if the end justifies the mean, and that mean is human blood, it is a wicked thing,” I frowned. “Is this an interrogation?”

“A rescue,” Walton corrected, stepping aside to give me a clear path to the door. Seeing the confusion on my face, he pulled out an empty sack and smiled. “Your father was a magistrate. You should know how a few gold coins can sway a verdict. Yet not everyone has deep pockets, if you want the night on our side, we must quit this place and put an end to whatever is brewing on the edges of Ingolstadt.”

Gripping the wall, I pulled myself to a standing position, longing for my cane left by the river. “I will do whatever I can to stop Mr. Curwen from following in my brother’s steps.”

“We will stop,” Walton placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Captain, this is my sin to mend,” I said. “You must not jeopardize your life to let mine be at peace.”

“I fear all life will be in jeopardy if I stand idle,” Walton frowned. “I am more than just the historian of great men’s exploits, and you are not your brother. You do not have to do this alone.”

A roach darted in and out of the shaft of floor light. What chance had I of talking down Curwen alone? Walton knew the thrill of discovery, he could speak a language to Curwen that I had never known and Victor knew all too well. And, despite the pain Walton’s biography had caused me, I realized that Victor’s legacy overshadowed us both, but while I was tied to Victor by blood, Walton merely happened upon him by chance and was unknowingly thrust into this world of gods and monsters. I was shunned for the deeds of my brother, but as I looked at the frail captain, I knew he had suffered too. My hostility was unwarranted, and I extended my hand to relate as much to Walton.

“Shall we destroy that feind, then?” Walton asked, eagerly returning the handshake.

I thought of the morning after the servants had drug Victor away. I had stood in his empty room torn apart by a hasty deserter rushing to an Arctic death.

I shook my head beside Walton. I had ignored Victor for the last time.

“Walton, my brother held this man to the highest regard. I will not underplay the depravity of Mr. Curwen’s work, but perhaps his delusions of grandeur have incapacitated his ability to reason, a crime which I cannot judge, nor you, Arctic explorer. When we enter the university, let me speak with him before any rash action is taken.”

“And if speech fails?”

“You know what Mr. Curwen will do, and that cannot be.”

Walton looked reluctant, but having nearly died in his own quest for glory, he could not protest.

Outside, we were met by a horrid wind that sent overturned barrels bouncing across the streets. Walton found me a broom to replace my cane as we hurried past window shutters slamming open and shut. It seemed nature itself was sick of this wicked business.

“Does this Curwen character work with human flesh?” Walton shouted above the wind as we cleared the courtyard.

“Initially, though his process for reanimation differs greatly from Victors. He boils the body down to salt and relies on black magic for completion.”

Walton nodded with a frown. “By any chance, did you ever inspect Victor’s casket after I delivered him to you?”

“There was no reason to after I saw his face,” I said, confused by this question. A chorus of barks and howls rose up throughout the city. Were they following us?

“I see,” Walton said, eyes darting around in search of bloodhounds. “Given your former disbelief of Victor’s accomplishment, I refrained from sharing certain requests he relayed to me. Requests I felt best to omit from my biography.”

“Do tell?” I said as a man leaned out his window to wrangle the collar of his howling dog in a vain attempt to silence it.

“Victor said he did not wish to be brought back and asked for me to dismember and discard him after death,” Walton admitted, side stepping a bouncing barrel. “An odd request, considering he alone knew the secret of reanimation. Or so I thought.”

“Right,” I said absently. The unnamable smell from Curwen’s lab hung heavy in the air. “Did you do it?”

“I could only bring myself to throw his left hand overboard, I am no butcherer!” Walton shivered from more than the wind. “I did not know if that means anything to you now?”

“It appears straightforward enough,” I breathed as the gates of Ingolstadt University came into view. “Victor cannot be revived.”

#ernest frankenstein #frankenstein #victor frankenstein #mary shelly's frankenstein #frankenstein fanfiction #HP Lovecraft #lovecraft fanfiction #ask of the lesser #The Case of Charles Dexter Ward #classic literature #gothic literature #gothic fanfiction

[malethirsty]

A Hard Day’s Night: Ethan Chandler

Summary: After working on both finding Mina & managing your telepathic ability, you accompany Ethan to the Grand Guignol, which causes a flood of things to be revealed.

Warnings: M/M smut (21+), Bareback (Wrap Before You Tap)

Inspired by: https://twitter.com/malethirst/status/1196862910745571328?s=21

Working with Malcolm Murray was an experience of a lifetime, but was not without problems. Ever since he & Vanessa Ives recruited your telepathic abilities to help locate Malcolm’s missing daughter Mina, you’d been working non stop. You’d had moments alone with Sembene during break, but he was more of a silent soldier, you needed someone to talk to. You could have talked with Mr. Lyle, but despite you both being closeted, you couldn’t bring yourself to, mainly cause you thought he might sell you out.

So you whiled away, all until one fateful day. The day Ethan Chandler walked into your circle, you were smitten by the American however couldn’t fully read him, it was the same with Vanessa, and you couldn’t work out why. However it wasn’t as important as striking a connection up with him. Ethan responded well, the two of you discussing things like the Demimonde, American history & his potential settling. Over time, you fell in love, but pushed the thoughts away, he was rough and tough, and would probably turn you away, you didn’t want the relationship to end. It couldn’t mean that you could avoid looking at the beautiful rugged man, his amazing long hair, his drawl, how amazing he probably looked naked.

“Y/N, are you hearing me?” Ethan clicked his fingers in front of your face, breaking your thought “Wha?” You muttered confused, Ethan grinning “I asked you if you wanted to come to the Grand Guignol tonight, Miss Ives is already going & I think she could use the company.” “So like you’d escort me like one would a lady?” The words escaped your mouth before you could stop yourself, your inward curse stopped by Ethan responding “Yeah, like that.” You breathed heavily “I guess so, 8PM sharp the production begins right?” “Yes, make sure you look your best Y/N, I’m gonna take my best man for a night on the town.” “I’ll make sure of it Ethan.” Ethan grinned at you as he walked away, you moving up the stairs, ready to pick out an outfit to wear.

As 7PM rolled around, you told Malcolm you would be out but would keep an eye out for Mina. He nodded his head in agreement, more concerned about his acquisition Victor Frankenstein, than anything else around him. You met both Ethan & Vanessa outside “Well Mr. Y/N, you look nice this evening” “Thank you Vanessa, I can say the same of you.” She smiled, which was always important to get from her as what you were able to see from her thoughts, she hadn’t lived a pleasant life, so any chance to make her smile, you’d take. “How’s the anchoring going? And how are you going to adapt it to find Mina?” Vanessa’s questions were important as going into the hustling & bustling public with telepathic abilities was like walking through a busy road packed full of noise, recently you’d learnt anchoring from her & had been locking it onto Ethan so things would be more bearable, but now you’d have to let it down a bit. “I’m sure it will go fine, it did the other night. I know Malcolm used you for most of the work, but I was able to keep it controlled when I had to attempt to seek Mina out.” “Good work Y/N, but we really must head out or they won’t let us in.” At Ethan’s prompt, you all set out to the Grand Guiginol.

The production ‘The Transformed Beast’ was quite a spectacle, thrilling the audience but you knowing of the horrors of the supernatural were not as horrified as the other viewers. You took the opportunity in less important parts to gaze at Ethan, seeing his reaction to what was unfolding on stage. Then the main actor said it, the words that would change everything “There cannot be a happy end, for claw will slash and tooth will rend!” At this your anchoring slipped. Flashes occurred, so quick you couldn’t focus back on Ethan. You saw the lead actor, leading some sort of creature backstage, you saw vampires nestled in the rafters, you saw Mina on a beach with Vanessa, Mina being bitten by some out of focus figure, then you saw people being mauled by a different figure, one that looked wolfish. Claw slashed, tooth rended & finally you saw the creature rest in the dock, time elapse as it morphed into Ethan as he awoke & started right at you, with eyes filled with pain and heartache.

“Y/N, Y/N!” Ethan was shaking you and you pulled yourself out of it “What Ethan?” You said, trying to not act like you’d seen something connected to him kill a lot of people. “It’s Intermission, you want to go out and ask Vanessa what she thought?” “Uhm, I, um” you said, trying to find your bearings, however as a dark look fell over Ethan, you knew he knew what you’d seen “You know don’t you?” He said softly, you nodded. Ethan got up & made his way quickly towards the exit “Ethan don’t!” You called out but he had gone “Ah shit” you murmured under your breath as you tore out to find him.

He was right outside the theater, which made your pursuit seem over dramatic to say the least “Ethan?” you cautioned, not knowing what would happen “Have you ever wanted to be someone else?” This was not the American you knew, this was a man who’d been through so much, close to shattering, it broke your heart to see Ethan so sad. You walked up to him & put a hand on his shoulder “I used to, but I grew used to what I had.” “And you think this is some type of gift?” Ethan asked, his voice raising “Well I don’t fucking know, I don’t even know what it is!” You responded back harshly. Ethan drew deep breaths, attempting to calm down “Mariner’s Inn, that’s where I’m staying. Let’s head back there so I can explain.” Ethan started to walk, you following behind him.

You eventually crossed the threshold and made you way to his room. Locking the door behind you, you turned to face Ethan. “So what is happening with you?” Ethan sighed “Y/N, I’m a werewolf. I turn every full moon into a ravenous creature destined to feed on flesh & blood, not caring who it is, as long as it’s carnal need for flesh and blood is fed” you nodded your head “Alright” you responded, Ethan looked surprised “Alright? Y/N, all those people” “Should not have been slain yes, but I can assume this was something you were cursed with, correct?” “Yes it was, I don’t remember seeking it out.” “So the issue should be with the one who cursed you, not yourself. Ethan, every single person at Malcolm’s house has had to step in blood, you aren’t the first and you won’t be the last. You’ve been here for me, so now I return the favor and be there for you.” “How could you be? I could rip you apart, it’s practically suicide! Why would you stand by my side through all of this suffering and pain?” “Because I love you Ethan Chandler!” The words had fallen out again, but this time you were beyond caring “I was pulled in the second I saw you at the show with that makeshift mustache, when I saw how that girl at the show had been fucked by you, I wished I could have been in her place, but as I got to know you more I started to love your personality, your kindness with Ms. Ives and myself, how you made me comfortable with my telepathy. So that’s why Ethan. Even if you can’t stand me, I cannot bare to see the one I care about distraught and upset, taking his anger out on himself for another’s curse!” You stopped, catching breath. Ethan looked shocked at all you had said.

You took the cue from Ethan’s face “I should go” “No” you turned back to see Ethan making his way toward you “I didn’t mean to take it out on you, I can see you really care despite everything, probably the only person who ever could. You really mean it?” You started up at Ethan “Every word” Ethan kissed you very deep to where a few moments passed before you split apart. You were in shock, however you were both incapable of speaking, everything already being left on the floor. Soon both of your clothes covered said floor as you fell onto Ethan’s bed, “Ride me” Ethan whisper groaned, and you obeyed. Positioning yourself above him, you lowered yourself down onto his cock, moaning out for him. Once sheathed inside your ass, you leant in for another kiss as he began to thrust forwards, him leading you in rhythm and pace, the air filling with moans from the two of you “Oh fuck Y/N, you look so beautiful. You don’t deserve to be fucked like the girl from the show, you deserve to be made love to.” Your eyes filled with tears, though more of love and some kind of happiness that you couldn’t name, Ethan looking at you understood, like he had a telepathic link & leaned up to kiss them away.

You stayed like this for a while, loving how good Ethan was fucking you. He suddenly slammed you down, taking charge of the pace, you continued to moan “Ethan keep going, I love this so much!” He grinned, picking his pace up “You’re taking me so good baby boy, clench down right there. Fuck yes” he began to grab the railing as he neared the end, you also getting close “Y/N, I’m going to cum soon, do you want me to pull out & shoot?” At this you moaned out, shooting your own load as you leaned up to kiss him “N-No, shoot in me Ethan, you’re a damn marksman, make it count.” He laughed “God Y/N, you really are something amazing. Here it comes, FUCK YES!” Ethan groaned out as he shot his load into your ass. He kissed you again, you wrapping your hands around him. Ethan for everything good & bad, was where you were most calm, and here was where you wanted to stay.

#Ethan Chandler #Male Reader #Ethan Chandler x Male Reader #Ethan Chandler Smut #Penny Dreadful #Pemny Dreadful Smut

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Deep and Rapid River, Ch. 3 [18+]

<-Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 ->

Summary: The creature feels guilty about having sex with you before explaining that he’s... um... made of dead people. Before things get too steamy again, he needs to reveal the truth. But how will you handle the news?

After you finish re-wrapping his bandages, attending to the healing of his bullet wound, you realize your stomach is gurgling with hunger. He generously offers all the roots and nuts stored in his pockets. You take them gratefully, but wonder if he has anything more substantial, like oats or meat. He does not.

“This is hardly enough for my breakfast, much less split between us.”

“You may have all of it for yourself,” he offers. “I can subsist on less.”

You pointedly refuse. “You need energy to heal; I can’t eat all your food. Besides which, if this is all you have, then I’ll be starving again by lunchtime.”

“I would spend every waking hour gathering every edible leaf and berry from the forest so you may feast as royalty, except this blasted arm. Even with your tender nursing, it is a constant throb of pain. I am unfit for protracted exertion.”

“Then I see no other recourse,” you say, popping a stale acorn into your mouth, “than to return home, or I won’t survive out here with you.” You’re honestly amazed that he can survive on such meager rations, as big as he is.

His shoulders fall, and he takes on an expression of mourning. “Then, you shall leave me after all.”

“Not at all! Come home with me, and I shall see we are both well fed.” You explain that your parents’ farm has a barn and hayloft at the far end of a wide field of grains, at the edge of the forest. It is isolated enough for him to hide within during the day, since you are the most frequent user of the space, as you go about your chores alone. It would be easy to visit him there to continue tending his wound, and they could quickly vanish into the forest.

He is greatly relieved to hear of your plan not to abandon him, though he adds, “I am not keen on hiding in a village full of people again. The last time did not end well.”

“The last time you didn’t have me looking after you,” you smile.

Before returning home, you and your companion roast your small stockpile of vegetables on the embers. He sits close to you the entire time they cook, holding your hand, hating every instant you’re not in contact with him. But he still looks away from you whenever he catches you looking at him too long, and lets his wild black hair fall in front of his face.

You climb into his lap, straddling him, and begin combing through the snarls in his locks with your fingers. He gasps. Though he keeps shifting his face to keep you from seeing all of it, he braces his hands against your back to help you balance as you work, his chest moving up and down more and more rapidly beneath yours. Through his pants, you feel his bulge begin to harden against your thigh.

“Ah—the parsnips are burning!” he cries out, standing suddenly and dumping you off his lap.

After eating, you decide to delay your return a little longer. You strip your clothing off, undergarments and all, and hang them from a tree branch in the direct sunlight.

Your tall companion blushes a deep purple, and begins stammering. “W-what are you—um—”

“The sun is now fully risen, and casts a strong, dry heat, perfect for drying my clothes, which are still unpleasantly damp with the night’s dew. Come, you should remove yours as well: it helps them to dry faster.”

“I… um…”

You interrupt his fussing, pushing him playfully back against the trunk of an old, colossal tree. He gives in without argument, falling against the trunk as if you were the stronger, and leans down to you as you stand on tip-toe to kiss him. He growls hungrily against your lips, rough hands tracing down your body, exploring every inch of your skin.

“You are the most beautiful being in the world,” he pants, voice low and raspy. “An ethereal creature of light who has graced my lowly existence from on high—You are an angel.”

“I appreciate the flattery,” you laugh. “But I’m actually pretty average.”

“You are anything but common! Your heart is the most beautiful and generous I have ever known, to give succor to such a detestable wretch as myself. None has ever been so magnanimous in the history of your species. No human has ever seen past this horrible face.”

“There is nothing horrible in your face,” you purr, pressing your body against his. He whines softly, helplessly, leaning down to nip and kiss your neck, leaving red marks on your skin. You grind your hips against his—or his thigh, rather, as his hips are as high as your chest when he stands. He grows again, impossibly large, straining against the closure of his pants. You slip a hand under the fabric and feel the velvety, hot organ throbbing at your fingertips. You ache with desire imagining him inside you.

“Stop, please!” he cries, taking your shoulders and pushing you out to arm’s length. Sweat beads on his brow, and he pants. “I cannot allow this to continue.”

“What’s the matter? Did I do something wrong?”

He shakes his head emphatically, “No. I want you more than anything, but it is I who am unworthy.”

“Oh, not again,” you whine. “I told you, I don’t care what you look like. Please, you don’t need to beat yourself up all the time. I want you, too.”

He shakes his head in defeat. “You only believe you do because I have withheld the full truth from you. You believe my deformity to be a natural misfortune of my birth, or sustained in a disfiguring accident, do you not? I am sorry to have deceived you, even by omission—I know you will flee in disgust when I tell you the true cause of my fatal defect, and I would do anything to keep you by my side. Yet guilt weighs heavy upon me. I must cast off this burden, and let you choose, fully illuminated, whether to remain companion to me, or to curse and despise me, as any rational being would.”

“You have to tell me… right now?” you ask, fully naked.

“It cannot wait.”

He produces papers from the pocket of his clothing. With trembling hands, he gives them to you, then hastens to the far side of the tree to hide, awaiting your reaction.

The pages are full of grotesque images: anatomical sketches of dissections, human remains taken from robbed graves stitched together with parts taken fresh from tortured animals. The illustrations were not cold and detached, as a typical medical text, but somehow lurid, as if its author were etching his twisted passions onto the page. At first, you don’t understand why your friend showed you this—the notes are all rambling and etched in a shaky hand, difficult to comprehend. When you discern the author’s intentions to build a living man, all of the pieces come together. Your stomach turns. It takes a few moments for you to gather your feelings and return to the huddled form, making himself small clutching his knees to his chest, on the other side of the tree.

“What I read… it's horrible,” you say, voice shaking with emotion.

“I know,” he whispers without looking up.

“This Victor Frankenstein was a monster! The things he did to those poor, innocent animals—not to mention defiling the dead. He has no conscience, and yet he writes as though he believes himself divine! What a pompous, arrogant, self-absorbed egomaniac!” you stomp, crumpling one of the pages in your fist. “Did you see this passage here, he writes: ‘A new species would bless me as its creator and source; many happy and excellent natures would owe their being to me. No father could claim the gratitude of his child so completely as I should deserve theirs.’ Ha! And yet he abandoned you, leaving you at the mercy of an unfeeling world. How dare he?!”

The creation looks up, blinking his wet eyes in astonishment. “But, are you not alarmed? The truth of my nature is too horrid to be borne by the human mind, too fantastical to be believed—surely you are shocked to learn it?”

“To be honest, I knew all along there was something unnatural about you,” you shrug. “I wouldn’t have guessed this, but, you did go on about being an abomination so I could hardly be surprised.”

“But, does it not disgust you? You revile my creator for his profane work, yet I am the result—all of his evils he poured into me, keeping the virtues of beauty and humanity for himself. Any execration you profess against him, you must feel for me a thousand fold!”

“No.” You kneel beside him, hug him and hold him tight, letting the papers scatter to the floor. “No. You share none of the blame for his actions. It is he who darkened his soul with his misdeeds; yours is innocent. You have done nothing wrong.” You caress him, planting tender kisses along his arms, trying to revive his spirits. He unwraps his arms from his knees, unfurling them from his chest, and scoops you into the opened space, burying his face in your neck.

“These are a corpse's arms that hold you,” He sobs, breath hot and ragged. “The skin of a dead man wrapped around charnel-house bones. I am not a person, I am a macabre assemblage. You must be sickened. You must hate me.”

“I care for you; all of my feelings toward you are those of affection and love. You are a person, no matter what your limbs are composed of. A wonderful, generous, selfless person, who did not deserve to be abandoned and alone. Who did not deserve to be scorned for wearing this face. This body is not who you are. You have a soul, which this Frankenstein could not have had any part in bestowing you, for it is far brighter than his own. And besides which, is my own body any less revolting when described in such explicit detail as laid out in these papers?”

He looks you up and down, bare in his arms, your vivid flesh in sharp contrast with his ashen pallor. The corner of his thin lips slowly creeps upward. “I would spare myself no detail on the subject of your body, my dearest.”

Your cheeks flush bright red. “Damn you—I knew the moment I said it!” you playfully clap his chest.

“My apologies,” he laughs softly, trying to repress the salacious grin spreading across his tear-streaked face. “If I spoke too familiarly, I—”

You press your lips to his, silencing him. Timidly at first, his fingers run through your hair, then, encouraged by your moan, he pulls you harder into a deepening kiss, parting your mouth with his tongue, twining with yours. His hands find your waist, guiding you as you slide down into his lap, wrapping your legs around him.

“Do… do you want to…?” he breathes. You nod, grinding your hips against him for emphasis. He smiles, and shifts his weight as if to get up, but then slumps back down against the tree, cringing painfully. “Yet I may not have the strength. My injury fatigues me, and I have exerted myself too much already.”

“Is it alright with me being in your lap like this? I don’t want to hurt your recovery, of course, but you look so crestfallen—if you want, we can do it just like this.”

“Oh?” his eyes brighten.

“Mm,” you purr affirmatively, trailing your fingertips down his chest. “Let me do all the work.”

You undo his pants and free his eager length. Lowering yourself onto him, you ease down slowly, feeling him stretch you as you work, little by little, to take in his massive size. A flurry of shallow gasps issue from his lips with each inch of progress you take, and his eyes flutter closed in rapture. With a deep moan, you sit on his lap, fully sheathing him. He arches and goes rigid beneath you. You lean forward to kiss his eyelids, then begin riding him, arms twined around his neck for leverage, rocking together in a steady rhythm.

Helpless, desperate noises escape his lips with each thrust, and each noise makes you wetter. You love hearing how much he loves it. You take it as a challenge to get him to cry out louder.

“May I touch you?” he asks.

“Please.”

His hands explore your body, seeking out areas that get a reaction from you, teasing your nipples, between your thighs, caressing your lips—quickly finding which buttons to press that will make you moan. He loves that you can find pleasure in him.

As he gets close to the edge, he begins thrusting up into you more vigorously, bucking and writhing, forgetting his need to take it easy. He grabs your hips and moves you at a faster and faster tempo, but he still wants more.

"I want to... To be on top again. Is that OK?"

"God yes."

He flips you back onto the ground, lifts your leg up over his shoulder, and begins thrusting hard, deeper, until he screams out, shuddering as he spills his seed inside you. Then he collapses to the ground, limp, luckily having the presence of mind to roll to the side to avoid crushing you.

“I should not have done that,” he groans, damp with sweat, clutching his bandaged shoulder. “Owwww.”

You caress his chest, smiling contentedly. “Do you need me to re-do your wound dressing?”

“No, no. Thank you, my angel. I just need… to rest…”

And with that last, weary remark, he drops promptly to sleep and begins snoring. By the time he wakes up, your clothes are dry.

#frankenstein #monster x human #monster x reader #smutfic #x reader #the creature #my writing #smut #lemon #citrus

[melodiouswhite]

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde rewritten - Ch. 49

49. Her Ladyship's strange and remarkable Friends (tw: bad French and mention of violence and gore)

Just a few days later, Lady Summers informed them, that her old friends would be happy to meet them on Sunday. But they would have to come to them, as they had no housekeeper and couldn't leave their house alone.

Lanyon had major issues with permitting the Lady to travel across London in her state. It had been only three weeks since the incident and she was still very fragile.

But it was quite impossible to talk her out of this, so he gave up. He did however ask the coachman to drive as carefully as possible.

“Don' worry, Doc”, the Irishman replied gruffly, “My drivin' won't be the problem 'ere.”

This didn't make Lanyon feel better in the slightest, but he said nothing more.

And so it came that on Sunday, Lady Summers and the male quartet were on their merry way to Soho of all places and apparently not far away from where Hyde lived.

Of course Lanyon's greatest worry was that his Lady was fine. But deep down … he had to admit that he was curious.

He really wanted to meet those childhood friends she had been talking about so much lately.

After a while, the coach stopped and they got off.

Lanyon was surprised to see that they were standing in front of a corner bookshop, that seemed to share the building with a surgery. The house was in good shape and looked a bit out of place among all the other buildings that were anything but.

He read the sign above the door.

Flamel & Wife – Bookshop and Library, est. 1865

Antiquary books, textbooks and school utensils

And right next to it:

Dr. Faust, surgery

“Huh. I do know that house”, Hyde stated, “I bought a few books here. The bookseller was a Frenchman and he was really-”

“He's one of the friends I'm going to introduce you to”, Lady Summers told him.

Then she slowly stepped up to the door, but hesitated to ring.

“I seriously hope that they remembered”, she muttered, “Last time they thought I was someone else and the reception was … explosive.”

Lanyon swallowed and tried to ignore his sense of foreboding.

Now the Lady finally rang the bell.

Something moved inside and a chubby woman with auburn hair and brown eyes opened the door.

She recognised the Lady, gasped in delight and called something over her shoulder further into the house.

“Careful, careful”, Lady Summers told her, when she wanted to hug her, “I'm having a sick phase.”

The auburn-haired woman frowned. “Oh mon dieu! Je suis désolée¹!”

Lanyon's attention was up. That had to be the French proprietress.

Lady Summers stepped to the side, so the other woman could see her company.

“Perenelle, these gentlemen are-”

“Tell us all at once”, the other responded. “Entrez! Les autres vous attendent²!”

“Perenelle, speak English”, the Prussian reminded her. “Only two of my companions are fluent in French.”

Sheepishly, the Frenchwoman apologised and let them in.

About time, Lanyon thought. It's pretty rude to wait that long to invite people in.

“Cut them some slack”, Lady Summers responded telepathically, “They don't have guests that often and are quite apprehensive.”

The four men were lead into the parlour, which was a bit cluttered, but otherwise cosy enough.

A gaunt, platinum blond man with silvery eyes and a pince-nez fetched a few extra chairs. “Do sit down”, he invited them. That had to be the bookseller Hyde had mentioned.

And sure enough, they recognised each other.

“Monsieur Flamel”, Hyde spoke. “Quel plaisir de vous revoir³.”

“Mister 'yde”, the man returned. “Fancy seeing you again.”

Their tone was cool and they didn't look as pleased, as they claimed. Then again, no one was pleased to meet Hyde and the brunette naturally reflected the antipathy he was met with.

Then the man named Mr. Flamel turned to them. “Welcome, gentlemen. I'm Nicolas Flamel, the landlord and owner of the bookshop in the front and the small library upstairs. This-” He pointed at the auburn-haired woman, “-is ma merveilleuse épouse⁴, Perenelle.”

Lanyon tried to recall, where he had heard those names before, but then Jekyll solved the riddle for him.

“Nicolas Flamel?”, he cried, “The Nicolas Flamel? The man who is said to have found the philosophers' stone?!”

Oh. Now Lanyon remembered, but-

What the hell?! That man lived 500 years ago!

The Frenchman chuckled. “I'm surprised you know me. People aren't that interested in alchemy these days.”

Jekyll blushed a little. “I am”, he admitted quietly.

The other man, who was tending to the fire, paused. “Really? How nice! I'm an alchemist myself. Everyone in this house is, actually.”

The man was stocky and thin, had unkempt, ginger hair, a crooked nose and sharp blue-grey eyes with slight bags and frowning wrinkles. He gave Lady Summers a warm smile and said something in German to her.

She laughed: “Good to see you too, Johann. Gentlemen, this is Prof. Dr. Johann Georg Faust. Yes, that Dr. Faust”, she added, when she saw their incredulous faces.

They just had time to introduce themselves, before Hyde suddenly barked: “You! I remember you! You're the doctor I was forced to pay, when-”

“You trampled a little girl”, Dr. Faust finished icily. “Well, if it isn't Mr. Hyde! It's not a pleasure to see you again.”

“Likewise!”, Hyde hissed, “You wanted to kill me!”

The ginger-haired doctor looked at him scornfully. “I didn't try to. Besides, what kind of reaction would you expect after walking over a little girl like she's a dirty rug!”

“Well, what was that brat doing out there in the middle of the night to begin with?!”

“Running from a creep her parents had sold her to! I know that, because-”

“I don't bloody care-”

“Don't lie to me! I have the same ability as Luise and some more. And if I didn't know what happened to you since then, I would-”

“What would you do?”, the brunette snarled. “Turn me into an animal?”

“Why not, I bet you'd make a beautiful cat-”

“Please!”, Jekyll cried, startling them, “This is not the moment to argue about this!”

“He's right. Pull yourselves together, girls! You're both pretty!”, Lady Summers agreed firmly.

The two squabblers stared at her. “GIRLS???”

“And please don't turn him into a cat, Johann. You know I'm allergic to them. Außerdem hat er viel gelernt in den letzten Monaten⁵.”

Lanyon stared at Dr. Faust in horror. “So what Marlowe and Goethe wrote about you is true?!”

Dr. Faust shook his head. “It's not. Don't wreck your brain, Dr. Lanyon.” A mischievous smirk. “I don't need a demon to do the fantastic! Do you want to see-”

“No, I do not want to see it! I've seen enough witchcraft in one year! This is too much!”, Lanyon spat angrily. Then awareness of his tone set in and he apologised: “I'm sorry. How rude of me.”

Dr. Faust shook his head. “It's fine. I'm accustomed to worse.”

Then he smiled lopsidedly. “I'm stoked to meet you. Not to sound offensive, but … you three went to school and finished it. So far I've been the only one!”

The Flamels coughed in the background.

“Oh shut up, you two have been home-schooled!”

Jekyll frowned. “Not to sound offended, but what is that supposed to mean?”

Two more men entered the room.

Dr. Faust sighed and pointed at one of them. “This is what.”

The one he pointed at was a peaked boy with long hair, glasses and amber eyes. He looked young, but his black hair was greying and tied up in a messy pony tail.

The other was huge (not smaller than 8ft), had yellowish, nigh transparent skin, creepy yellowish eyes, a black mane of hair and looked more like a huge rag doll than a living man.

“Oh, they're here! Hello, everyone”, the boy said, “It's a pleasure to meet you. Luise told us so much about you-”

“Did you clean up the mess?”, Dr. Faust asked.

“Yes, Doctor. I did.”

“Next time think twice, before you make a mess in my lab, do you understand me?”

“Yes, I do”, the boy said duly, but looked a bit agitated at being talked to like a child.

But Mr. Flamel jumped to his aid: “I don't see 'ow you're one to admonish 'im about making a mess, Jean. Do you remember that one time you almost blew up my bookshop in Paris?”

“That was 200 years ago and an accident! You can't still be angry about that!”

The Frenchman's silvery eyes narrowed.

“… I guess you can.”

Meanwhile the boy turned to Jekyll: “I'm Victor Frankenstein.”

Jekyll gasped: “What a surprise! I read the novel by Mary Shelley, but I didn't think that I would ever meet you! Charmed!”

Oh! The novel 'Frankenstein or the modern Prometheus' by Mrs. Shelley! Henry loves that one!

Victor blushed awkwardly. “Likewise. You must be Dr. Lanyon?”

“No, that's me”, Lanyon spoke up sourly.

Frankenstein blushed. “Oh! Oh Heavens, I'm so sorry! I didn't think-”

Dr. Faust facepalmed and groaned: “Of course you'd assume that Luise would love the man you would find most handsome in that group!” (Jekyll blushed) “Stop stuttering and introduce to them what you made!”

“Right, sure. This-” He pointed at the giant, “-is my creature.”

“His homunculus”, Dr. Faust corrected cuttingly, “And he has a name.”

Lady Summers stood up slowly and introduced the creature. “That's Adam. Johann named and adopted him – sort of – because Victor doesn't want to deal with him.”

It was Hyde, who first stepped forward, looking up at the giant in wonder. The creature named Adam stared back. Then he knelt down and Hyde placed one of his small, bony hands onto one huge knee. He looked even tinier and more fragile next to the black-haired giant.

Lanyon could tell in their eyes, that they were recognising each other, seeing the fellow artificial creation in each other, the suffering companion. There was something heart-rending and intimate about it and the bespectacled doctor had to hold back tears, when the two hugged each other (awkwardly, as Hyde wasn't used to giving affection, while the other seemed unused to getting it).

From the corner of his eye, he could see Mrs. Flamel wipe her eyes with a handkerchief.

Dr. Faust looked mollified at their interaction, seemed like he really cared about the giant.

After a while Jekyll joined his other half and held out his hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir”, the blond said kindly. “I'm Dr. Jekyll. I'm his creator.”

Jekyll placed the other hand on Hyde's shoulder and rubbed it gently.

The giant blinked. Then carefully took the offered hand and replied: “The pleasure is mine.”

Lanyon and Utterson exchanged a glance, before following suit and introducing themselves.

“So, we 'eard about what 'appened at the royal gala”, Mr. Flamel brought up later.

Hyde and Adam were sitting in the library, while the rest of the group was still in the parlour, having tea and cakes.

“Such a barbaric thing to do to a lady. Seeing you in such a state around this time of the year, when you're normally fine … 'ow bad was it three weeks ago, right after it 'appened?”

“It was awful”, Lanyon told him, before the Lady could answer. “We needed to give her two transfusions, because she was suffering from severe anaemia …” He felt a lump in his throat and had to turn away to regain his composure. “I'm sorry”, he apologised.

Lady Summers grabbed his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

But Mr. Flamel shook his head. “Why apologise for love and care? It's the most wonderful thing in the world. And we don't just feel this way because we're French.”

Mrs. Flamel took her husband's hand and gazed at him lovingly. “We've been married for 518 years”, she told them.

“That's wonderful”, Jekyll replied, “I wish I had such a wonderful relationship.”

“You will”, Dr. Faust suddenly spoke up, “But you need to learn an important lesson.”

The blond doctor frowned at him. “And that would be?”

“To be careful with how you speak to and about the ones you love and, most importantly, consider the feelings of others!”, the ginger told him bluntly.

Lanyon could tell that Jekyll was offended and about to make a snappy retort. But a gentle look from Utterson silenced and pacified the angry scientist.

They all knew that Dr. Faust was right, but it was wiser not to say that out loud.

Still though, how the hell does that man know?

The eerie alchemist answered aloud: “I already told you, I have the same ability as Luise and some more. I can also predict the future and perform necromancy, but I don't use that to earn my livelihood these days. I'm tired of people insulting or trying to kill me.”

“Necromancy?”, Lanyon repeated, “You raise the dead?!”

Dr. Faust frowned. “No. No spell in the world can really bring back the dead, even though Victor here would love to tell you otherwise. I can only conjure their spirits and question them. And that alone is something that shouldn't be done.”

“Have people ever asked you to do it?”, Utterson asked curiously.

“Of course!”, the alchemist groaned, “In fact, it happens quite a lot lately. It's always the same kind of people. They can't get closure over the death of a loved one and want to get them back. This is so boring and tiring, that I just send them away. If they have an actually good reason and can pay accordingly, only then I consider it, maybe!”

“Uhm …”

Everyone startled, when Victor Frankenstein spoke up.

Right. That lad was still there too. He was looking at Jekyll in fascination. “So … you're in love?”

The blond Doctor blinked. But then he nodded and smiled. “Yes. I certainly am.”

Frankenstein tilted his head. “But you're not married. I see no ring on your finger.”

Jekyll shrugged.

Of course he could have replied something the likes of: “I would, if I could.” or “It's illegal”. But then he would have given away that he was loving another man (or two, because Lanyon was quite sure, that Jekyll loved Hyde as well) and that was more than dangerous these days.

Both Lanyon and Utterson knew that and that's why they weren't offended by his apparent nonchalance.

The Flamels and Dr. Faust seemed to get the hint as well, because they made no remark either.

But Frankenstein began to pry: “Who is it? The black-haired lawyer sitting-?”

Dr. Faust promptly elbowed him. “Shut up, Victor. It's none of our business, who he loves and it doesn't matter anyway.”

“But I want to know how their-”

“It's none of our business!”, the alchemist growled, “And even if it was, you wouldn't understand the emotional depth of it.”

The black-haired boy glared back at him. “How are you one to talk? In the 400 years of your life, you've never once been in love!”

“Neither have you”, the ginger-haired man retorted. “You claim that you were in love with Elisabeth, but you never confided in her, never were there for her, when she would have needed it and on top of that, you left her alone on your wedding night. Everyone in this room can tell you, that this has nothing to do with love and it's not how you treat someone you care about.”

The others nodded affirmatively.

But Faust wasn't finished yet – in fact, he seemed to be just getting started.

“And don't even get me started on how you treated your creature. You animated him and ran away, because you didn't like his eyes. And you still insult him and call him a monster, ugly and other charming things like that. I would have preferred dying over treating my little Gretchen like that, when she was alive.”

That caught Lanyon's attention. “So your alleged mistress was actually your daughter?”

“Mhm. My little sunshine she was!”

“'E was a good father too”, Mr. Flamel spoke up, “'E took good care of 'er.”

Dr. Faust smiled warmly. “She really was the best person in the world. But then she fell in love, married and decided to grow old and live a normal life with her family. Of course it broke my heart, when she died and I still really miss her sometimes. But she was happy and that's all I could ask for as a father.”

He pointed at an oil painting at the wall. “That's her. Nicolas painted that.”

It was the full body portrait of a beautiful, blond woman with grey eyes and rosy cheeks.

“She doesn't look anything like you”, Utterson pointed out.

“Oh, that's because I only adopted her. I met her shortly, after I had faked my death in 1541, when I was moving around with the Flamels (we were already a group back then) and she was sitting at the side of a road, begging for alms. She just looked so pathetic, I had to do something. That's how I got myself a daughter.”

“When did you become immortal?”, Jekyll asked curiously.

The German alchemist shrugged. “When I was 38 years old. Then I met the Flamels on a trip to Heidelberg and after some persuasion, they agreed to teach me how to make a Philosophers' Stone. For a while I could conceal that I wasn't ageing. There was no registry back then and as a wandering Doctor, I was always on the move. However … I was very famous in a lot of territories of the Holy Roman Empire, so it was only a matter of time, before someone would question my age. So I created a puppet, that looked like me and caused an explosion. It worked perfectly, they thought the Devil had claimed me.” He shook his head. “Of course I had to go into hiding after that. But I still nearly got killed countless times. Got accused of some vile stuff I don't even want to take into my mouth.”

“To their defence, Johann”, Lady Summers remarked. “You're rather unheimlich⁶.”

She had a point there.

Dr. Faust was obviously brilliant and charming in a gruff way, but he also seemed paranoid, difficult and – to put it politely – borderline creepy. Something was just off about him. Not as extreme as with Hyde, but it was unsettling.

Like Jekyll's science.

Yes, that was it. The aura of alchemy and dark magic was just oozing off him.

Totally someone people would pin to have a deal with the devil.

Suddenly Lanyon remembered, how Lady Summers had said that the two would get along famously. And he realised that she might be right.

“I can't decide, if I should be flattered or offended”, Faust drily responded to his inner musings.

The hoary doctor blushed at being caught red-handed.

The ginger-haired man turned back to Jekyll. “Are you interested in becoming immortal?”

That caught the Flamels' and Frankenstein's attention and they looked at the blond expectantly.

Jekyll considered the question.

But then he exchanged a look with both Lanyon and Utterson.

He smiled and shook his head. “No. I don't think I could handle watching my loved ones die, while I live for centuries. I don't want that. I'm fine with living a normal life, as long as the people I care about are in it.”

Lanyon grinned; he wouldn't have expected any other answer from their mad scientist.

Utterson smiled fondly, a rare thing to see in public.

Lanyon didn't need his Lady's telepathic abilities to know that the two men's feet were touching under the table.

These two silly lovebirds.

“That's coming from you?”, Dr. Faust's voice suddenly sounded in his head, nearly making him jump, “You call Luise your 'radiant angel' and you're her 'dear doctor'! So shush!”

Said Lady glared at her old friend. “Johann, stop that! The only one who's allowed to invade his mind is me!”

He laughed and stood to make a bow. “Of course. Do forgive me, oh Marchioness of Brandenburg, Princess of Hanover and Countess of Calenberg and Cornwall. Will I be granted mercy?”

“One last time, you lowly commoner”, she responded playfully.

The Flamels and Frankenstein chuckled.

Now Utterson spoke up again: “If you don't mind, ladies and gentlemen: how did you meet?”

The alchemist group and the mad scientist frowned.

It was Frankenstein, who answered: “Well, somehow that evil organisation found out about us and kidnapped us; that is, me and the Flamels. We were experimented on for weeks, they took quite a lot of our blood – to experiment on the samples, probably. One day they carried a half-dead ten-year-old girl into our cell. And that was Luise. That's how we met her. Dr. Faust and the Wre-” (he corrected himself, when Dr. Faust glowered at him) “-Adam came to free us. The Doctor blew up whole parts of the building and was totally shocked, when he saw the ill little girl with us.”

The ginger-haired man nodded. “Yes. But she wasn't too ill to get enthusiastic, when she looked into my mind and knew who I was. Seriously, I've never seen a little girl so happy to meet me.”

Lady Summers blushed and laughed awkwardly. “I'd never heard about the Flamels until I met them, but I had already read Goethe's Faust and Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, so I was ecstatic to meet the men themselves – that's just how children are.”

Lanyon almost laughed at the Flamels' wry smiles and Dr. Faust's cocky grin.

He hadn't expected their visit to Lady Summers' old friends to be so strange, long or entertaining.

All the time their hosts had been nothing but friendly and well-mannered and Dr. Faust had quickly warmed up, when he had concluded that none of them meant harm to their mind-reading friend.

He even became friendlier to Hyde, after seeing how harmoniously the brunette and Adam interacted.

In fact, when the group came to pick the gremlin up, they found him dozing in the giant's lap.

Adam put a hand to his mouth as a sign to be quiet.

Jekyll broke into a huge smile, crossed the room silently and brought a gentle hand to Hyde's pale cheek.

“Hyde?”, he spoke, just barely above a whisper, “Hyde. Wake up.”

Lanyon saw those bilious green eyes slowly open and blink.

“Huh? Already time to go?”, he mumbled sleepily.

“I'm afraid so”, Jekyll replied and turned to Adam: “Sir, give him back to me, please. We have to go home.”

The giant was obviously extremely unwilling to let go of his “brother”, but Jekyll looked so friendly, asked so nicely and seemed to be so fond of Hyde (and he was, Lanyon knew that), that he finally gave in.

With a chuckle, the blond helped his alter ego up and helped him put on his coat.

“Let's go home, my dear other half”, he said fondly.

Hyde appeared too drowsy to really register it and just leaned into him.

They all said their goodbyes and left.

Of course not before Dr. Faust had threatened to blow Lanyon to bits, should he ever break Lady Summers' heart.

“I have nothing to fear, then”, the hoary man had calmly retorted, before saying goodbye and seeing himself out.

Jekyll and Hyde had been the first to get off the coach, when Mr. O'Connor had dropped them off one by one.

Something had concerned Lanyon though.

“Have you noticed something about Hyde?”, he asked the other two.

Utterson nodded. “Yes. He was so quiet, ever since he first saw Mr. Adam. And just now he was so clingy towards Jekyll. That's so unlike him. Something is making him upset and I wish I could do something about it. You have seen it, right, Milady? You know the answer, you have seen it inside his head!”

“Of course I have. But I'm not going to tell.”

Both men were frustrated.

But they knew: her silence meant that this was a matter between Jekyll and Hyde.

---

1) French: Oh my god! I’m sorry!

2) French: Come in! The others are waiting for you!

3) French: What a pleasure to see you again.

4) French: my marvellous wife

5) German: Besides, he’s learned a lot in the last months.

6) German: the feeling that something is off, without being unable to pitpoint it; uncanny valley; strange at best, a subtle kind of creepy/eerie at worst (sorry, I couldn’t contain myself XD)

Edit: I corrected the French grammar mistakes, in case it wasn’t clear. One of my followers was so nice as to point them out to me.

#The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde #Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde #Dr. Jekyll #henry jekyll #Mr. Hyde #edward hyde #Mr Utterson #Gabriel John Utterson #utterson #Hastie Lanyon #dr lanyon #oc #jekyllxutterson #uttersonxhyde #jekyllxhyde #lanyonxoc #frankenstein #victor frankenstein #frankensteins creature #dr faustus #johann georg faust #nicolas flamel #perenelle flamel #i actually wrote a crossover chapter #and my story initially wasn't supposed to be a crossover #it won't happen much from here i promise

[urfaustus]

@ghoostiing​ asked:  ' are we considered monsters? like the monster frankenstein built? '

The sun shines on Elijah, but in such an unflattering way. When it came to anybody else that the sun seemed to catch, it was always a compliment from nature in the genius’s perspective. Hey, look at this human being, but also look at this beautiful person in the most gorgeous moment you could imagine! Yet, when the sun fell on the engineer, he would argue the flaming ball had different intentions for him. It never caught him in the perfect light, it was never a scenario, where--oops! The sun is in my eyes, but look how sexy I am despite that! -- Elijah blinks his eyes shut, offering a bitter frown in response to the source of natural light before he forces his attention elsewhere. 

Gray-blue eyes fall to the floor beneath him as he ponders to himself, though they’re quickly pulled away from where he’s looking once he hears the nearby shuffling of one of the giant house’s residents behind him. Pursed lips as his head tilts back, catching view of the person who has walked in and recognizing them instantly. 

“Ah, good afternoon Spec!” Elijah greets warmly, before using his index finger to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose to their rightful position. His lips cast just as warm of a smile to the firewall-turned-android, his brilliant mind already beginning to forget what he’d previously been so upset about. “What can I do for you, my friend?” His question is followed up by a gentle gesture to the empty chair that was next to the engineer’s and he welcomes them to fully enter the room and relax with him.

Their curious question is certainly something that Kamski is surprised by, many android models were capable of discussing philosophy and the programmer would be lying if he tried to say he and his Chloes never took the time to discuss many of life’s difficult and un-answerable questions. His amazement is purely due to the fact that Spectr was not a product of Elijah’s -- at least not directly -- and the truth is he just isn’t fully aware of what this android is capable of. Cyberlife has turned into its own entity separate from Elijah Kamski and he is no longer privy to many of the projects the corporation has manufactured during their time apart. 

“I see you’ve discovered a few of my personal effects.” Eli responds, addressing their specification of Frankenstein’s Monster in a playful manner while he begins to gather his thoughts in order to best answer their question. It was no secret that the human was a fan of Mary Shelley’s classic story, though perhaps it was a secret that the engineer often found himself relating to Victor Frankenstein’s role from that tale. 

Very much unlike Frankenstein, it would be difficult to deny that Elijah is attached to and proud of the form of life he has created, but the two men definitely share a similar heaviness on their shoulders, a guilt felt towards the effort of what each man was responsible for creating, or more specifically for Eli, founding.

Idly brushing his thumb against his chin hairs, Elijah considers his words one last time before finally speaking, answering Spec’s question. “That depends on one’s interpretation of the book and one’s understanding of what the definition of monster is, I assert. Victor Frankenstein is an extremely smart man whose obsession results in the birth of the supposed monster. Frankenstein’s monster is essentially shaped and molded by his treatment of those that occupy his life and the environment that surrounds him.” 

“There is a duality between the creature and the Frankenstein family’s nanny and one of Victor’s adopted sisters, Justine, who is also someone that is rejected by those who she was born with. Her mother has little care for her, but the Frankenstein family--and Victor in particular--more than make up for her abandonment by providing her with love that she desperately requires. The creature, of course, receives none of this from neither Victor nor those he attempts to befriend and throughout the book grows resentful and violent; finding himself eventually capable of framing Justine for the murder of Victor’s younger brother, whom the creature himself had killed.”

“Frankenstein’s creature is an interesting example of a monster in design, but perhaps he might be one of the most human characters throughout the execution of his story. He begins his life with an intense desire to be loved and accepted, particularly after being instantly rejected by Frankenstein and soon after being chased away by the family of a blind man he befriended, regardless of the fact that he discreetly assisted them by collecting firewood. Like all things that are alive, the creature desires a partner to love and be loved by and eventually demands of Victor to create him a bride of his own, because of his unshakable belief that he deserves happiness like everyone else. When Victor destroys her out of his many rapid fears of the project, the fury and desire for revenge brings the creature to murder Victor’s wife on the night of their wedding.”

“Frankenstein himself, while he begins the story human, finishes it resembling a monster perhaps more than the creature itself. Growing up in a very functioning, loving family of three sons and two adopted daughters, the brilliant Victor even regards his best friend as more capable than himself. What makes Frankenstein relatable begins with how he deals with the death of his mother which is to bury himself in his work and force himself to continue his studies while he is still grieving. This coping mechanism is extremely weak and later on in the book it proves itself to be detrimental to the man’s mental health as the creature continues to terrorize him and rob him his loved ones’ lives. The further that the creature pushes for respect from man or happiness, the sicker Victor appears to become. The levels that the two are willing to send one another to are endless.  For example the creature’s cunning capability of incriminating other people for the crimes that he himself has committed not once, but twice! As well as the way that Frankenstein becomes so caught up with this creature that he neglects his brand new wife on the night of their wedding because of the pure fear of the creature that has been instilled into the scientist. It’s only when he discovers her lifeless body that he finally finds it within himself to do something about this mess.”

“Up until this point, the man has failed absolutely every person he holds dear due to his fear of his creation, his shame of the creature’s unnatural state and the unhealthy obsession he bears with death and reanimation, his inability to act on their behalves in the wakes of their deaths and how he has been incapable of facing the reality of what he’s made and admit to those that supposedly matter in his life the secret he had been hiding. Now he chooses to put an end to the source of pain that has haunted both him and his creature for so long but only now that is too late, now that neither could possibly prosper in any form.”

“Throughout the text, both the supposed man and supposed monster seem to dance between both roles, both characters have it in them to be wonderful people and both prove themselves capable of committing acts that are so vile, shocking and sickening. They compliment one another quite well in this nightmare, despite the glaring differences that are established between the two; the line between each becomes so blurry by the end of it that it’s truly up to personal interpretation for one to distinguish which one is Frankenstein and which one is Frankenstein’s monster. Both are capable of being quite monstrous, but both of them have very human behaviors and hearts: the fear of facing responsibility and not holding oneself accountable in response, or crafting a comfortable coping mechanism from grief and being incapable of fixing a situation for your loved ones because of it, or having the desire to be desired, to need a friend, only to grow angrier and full of resentment the more you are rejected, or to find yourself so obsessed with the concept of revenge or getting back at someone that when you finally achieve it, you’re incapable of knowing what peace is.”

The engineer draws his eyes to the android, slightly turning his body in his seat to better face them. Fingernails combing through his own hair, which has been lazily pulled back into a sloppy ponytail after having spent the day doing laps in the pool. 

“...To actually answer your question, Spectr, I do not consider you monsters in the same vein as Frankenstein’s monster. I’ve spent a very large portion of my life with many individuals who have proven to me that they could be capable of allowing themselves to turn into such horrific things if they wanted to, but they instead resist and find healthier, smarter, and safer ways to earn respect, maintain their dignity, to teach us while being viewed as an equal and loved like a living person and I very much maintain the belief that people like Markus and Connor and -- even you -- will continue to show us that you guys are the furthest you possibly could be from being defined as the monster from that story.”

“You could borrow the book if you’d like. In my experience, these things are better to be interpreted in one’s own way -- you don’t need to be told how to view those characters or yourself.” 

#long post #[𝚒𝚏 (ask = 𝟷); { 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚖.𝚘𝚞𝚝.𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚗(“𝙸𝚗𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜”);] #frankenstein spoilers #ghoostiing #i've been working on this analysis since saturday

[thenightling]

Gothic Horror pet peeve

I am tired of people insisting that if you are okay with romantic versions of Dracula that we forfeit the right to complain about simple minded and zeitgeist influenced Frankenstein Monsters.  This has happened to me one time too many as a horror fan.

Let me explain the difference.

The Romantic Dracula is still (despite it being relatively common since the 70s) not the norm.   There were plenty of Universal Monster movies, Hammer films, and low budget schlock where Dracula is an evil SOB with no redeeming qualities.  I can name several.  Horror of Dracula, Dracula: Prince of Darkness, Dracula has risen from the Graven, Taste the Blood of Dracula, Scars of Dracula, Satanic Rites of Dracula, The Seven Golden Vampires, Monster Squad...  Sure, they don’t follow the novel very well but Dracula is well established and known as an evil SOB.   Currently there are as many Dracula adaptations as there are Sherlock Holmes adaptations.  These characters have had more films than any other pubic domain literary characters.   So there is plenty of room for pure evil (Christopher Lee) or sympathetic yet predatory (Frank Langella), or even out right cuddly (Hotel Transylvania).

Honestly, I’m more annoyed about the lack of films where he can walk by day.  Those are hard to come by.   

 Now for the Frankenstein Monster.   How many films do you think are out there were The Creature does NOT have a flat or bald head, does not have neck bolts / electrodes,  DOES have long black hair and yellow eyes and is well spoken and articulate with a love of reading?  I can name maybe three and one is from a TV show.   The Hallmark mini-series of Frankenstein, Terror of Frankenstein, and Penny Dreadful.

There are dozens of Dracula films where he is evil so comparing being okay with sympathetic Dracula to being tired of the Hollywood Trope Frankenstein Monster is very imbalanced.   

Yesterday some idiot on Facebook took offense when I said I don’t like the Victor Frankenstein movie because the director said the novel was as “dull as dish water.” He went on a tangent claiming Francis Ford Coppola clearly hates Dracula.   No, he loves Dracula.  He just also loves Gothic Romance and is very obviously a fan of The Dracula Tape by Fred Saberhagen (Retelling of Dracula from Dracula’s point of view).  Yes, it’s true Mina’s relationship with Dracula in the novel isn’t romantic, or a seduction.   It’s, in fact, a rape metaphor.  But that’s not what it is here and I can accept that because there are plenty of versions where Dracula is still an unsympathetic asshole.   Bram Stoker’s Dracula doesn’t justify rape because very simply the rape metaphor doesn’t exist in this film.

  So yeah, this is my pet peeve. When idiots come along and say that if I’m okay with Romantic Dracula that means I don’t actually like Dracula and if I’m okay with Romantic Dracula I should be okay with simple minded Frankenstein Monster.

Films where Dracula is still evil and not in-love:

Note: I am not counting the 1931 Dracula because there are people who find him mildly sympathetic.   Horror of Dracula Dracula: Prince of Darkness Dracula has risen from the Grave Taste the Blood of Dracula  Scars of Dracula Satanic Rites of Dracula The Seven Golden Vampires Monster Squad  Son of Dracula  House of Frankenstein  House of Dracula  Abbott and Costello meet Frankenstein  Dracula: The Dark prince (2013) Dracula’s Guest  Bonnie and Clyde vs. Dracula  Billy the Kid vs. Dracula  Blackula Blade Trinity  Monster Force (TV show) Count Dracula (1970) Count Dracula (1977) 

And several more than that.  

_____________ 

Films where the Frankenstein Monster is actually intelligent and not based on movie tropes: Terror of Frankenstein  Frankenstein (mini-series from 2004 starring Luke Goss) Frankenstein (2004 Mini-series loosely based on Dean Koontz books) Penny Dreadful  Van Helsing (sort of...) I, Frankenstein  Dark Shadows _____________________________

Films that actually remember Dracula could walk around by day in the original novel and is just weaker by day: Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1992) Dracula starring Mark Warren (2006) Hellsing / Hellsing OVA (Anime)  So yeah, scolding me for wanting an intelligent Frankenstein Monster and being angry because of my not caring if there are a few romantic Dracula stories floating around...  Not the best comparison. You got plenty of pure evil Dracula films. So what if there are a few romantic ones?    With Frankenstein I can count literary accurate versions of his appearance and / or personality on one hand and a few of those are very loose!

#Dracula #Frankenstein #Mary Shelley #Bram Stoker

[floral-and-fine]

Stitched Together part 1

The creature/Adam x fem reader

Frankenstein AU/ Modern Frankenstein

Warnings: brief mention of suicide, death, and body horror (a little)

Summary: The reader is a mortician and a friend of Victor Frankenstein. After receiving a strange message from Victor, the reader finds herself with a lot of unanswered questions and a new roommate.

A/n: Yay! I wrote something! Sorry I didn’t finish the drawing, but I’m satisfied with it, mostly, lol. Anyways, I’m pretty excited about this story. Enjoy!

Tags: @rusticup​ @luna-xial​

This was insane, in fact, it was by far the craziest stupidest thing you had ever done in your life, but here you were standing out in the rain, in the middle of the night, with no flashlight trying to pick a lock. 

Yes, technically you were breaking and entering, but you had to know if Victor was alright. Rationally, you probably should’ve called the cops, but you weren’t exactly thinking rationally right now. For all you knew, he could be laying on the floor, clinging to life somewhere in his lab. 

God, you were going to feel like an idiot if everything was fine and you were just overreacting.

You blinked in surprise when you heard the lock finally clicked. 

Pushing the door open, you gasped as you entered Victor’s lab, immediately upon entry you were assaulted by a foul stench. Using your shirt, you covered your nose and mouth. 

It was too dark to make out anything, except for the occasional flash of lightning that lit up the room for a brief second. 

“Victor?” You called, feeling along the wall until you found a light switch. However, after flipping the switch nothing happened. 

“Damn,” you muttered under your breath. With shaky hands, you reached into your pocket taking out your cell phone. 

The small light didn’t reach far, only illuminating a couple of feet in front of you, but at least you could see a little.

His ‘lab’ was an old warehouse he was renting. Why he needed such a large space was beyond you. Victor was very secretive of what he was working on, deflecting your concern with vague answers. Very few people were even aware that he was renting this place to use for his experiments. 

With your small light, you scanned the area nearest to you. 

The warehouse was an utter disaster. There were notes with anatomical drawings littered everywhere, furniture tipped over, and broken shards of glass scattered on the ground. 

From the state of his lab, you could safely assume it had been abandoned. It appeared as if Victor left in a hurry, or as if it had been ransacked. 

Neither option gave you much comfort and just brought you more worries. This warehouse, those drawings, all the notes were Victor’s life work, and his work meant everything to him. 

From the moment you met him, all he seemed to care about were his studies. He spent all his time here, rarely slept, and only left for absolute necessities. He even lost the lease on his apartment, so he could continue to afford the rent for the warehouse. 

“What the hell happened?” You whispered to yourself. What had Victor been up to? Why did he disappear? Where was he now?

...

Victor had become an acquaintance of yours through a mutual friend. 

You were a local mortician who lived near the university your friend was attending. You often mingled with various professors and graduate students, because of it. 

Victor had been part of a graduate program to become a doctor before he dropped out. Amongst his colleagues, Victor was known for his peculiar curiosity of death. Upon discovering your friend’s relationship to you. 

Victor practically demanded him to arrange a meeting between the two of you. 

You were able to answer most of his questions, having more expertise on the subject than his peers. At first, his questions seemed innocent enough, but as you continued to get to know Victor the more strange and morbid his questions had become. 

You chalked it up to his youth and his ambition to learn. Not to mention, at the time, you didn’t really question his odd fascination with the subject. 

In all honesty, you almost welcomed his straightforwardness and his interest in your work. So many of the people you met always skated around the subject of your job, or visibly cringed anytime you mentioned the morgue. It was very refreshing to be able to talk about your day without having to worry or freaking someone out.

In a short time, you became friends with Victor. You checked in on him frequently, dropped groceries off at his place hoping he’d take a break and eat something, but 

Then suddenly he fell off the face of the planet. He stopped visiting the morgue. He didn’t return any of your calls. Weeks passed before you received a rather cryptic voicemail from Victor. 

What he said in the message didn’t make a lick of sense, he just rambled on and on about how he had finally figured it all out, that it had to be done tonight, and that it was all thanks to you. 

You had tried calling him back several times but each time it went straight to voicemail. 

...

Letting out a long sigh, you hoped you would find the answers to all your questions. 

Steadily you took a few steps forward, and slowly moved the light your phone provided, scanning your surroundings. You frowned as you stepped in something wet, the squelching sound underneath your foot was rather unpleasant. 

Looking down, you covered your mouth and stumbled backwards. Dropping your phone in the process. 

“Oh God!” On the floor was a pile of discarded limbs in a pool of blood. “What the hell did he do?”

You noticed a familiar tag hanging off of a toe in the pile.

“He didn’t,” you thought out loud. “He wouldn’t...”

You shook your head and closed your eyes tightly. He used you, he got close to you so he could learn about the morgue. God, how did you not realize it? 

A few weeks before, around the same time Victor seemed to disappear, several bodies were taken from your morgue. You reported the break in when you arrived to work the morning after. You couldn’t imagine why anyone would steal bodies. 

Feeling an overwhelming mixture of disgust, betrayal, and stupidity, all you wanted now was to leave this nightmare and report your findings to the police. 

Grimacing, you bent down to pick up your phone wiping the screen off with your sleeve.

Lightning flashed, and suddenly, you heard a loud crash, as if someone had bumped into something metallic knocking it to the floor. Your head whipped around to the direction of the sound, “Hello?”

The silence that followed was somehow quieter than before. You stared out at the vast darkness, waiting for a reply. 

“Victor?” You called, rising to stand. “Anyone there?”

Once again there was only silence. You used the light from your phone as you proceeded to search. 

Your brow furrowed as you discovered various machines you didn’t recognize. They were large, with all sorts of wires, cords, and coils. In the center, was a surgical table covered in blood. 

As you studied the scene before you, from the corner of your eye, you saw movement. Without thinking you pursued whatever it was. 

You managed to corner it, watching as the creature withdrew into the darkness, cowering on the floor.

You shined your light on the shadows to reveal a man huddled in the corner. His legs were pulled up to his chest, his arms curled over his head. 

As you got closer, the man curled further into himself even more, shrinking down as far as he could. He flinched back, shielding his eyes from the light.

“Oh, sorry,” you murmured, lowering your phone. “Is that better?”

Slowly, he moved his arms down. His yellow eyes watched you cautiously, but he gave you no indication as to whether he understood anything you were saying. 

Crouching down to his level, you noticed that he was completely nude. Long strands of greasy black hair hung in front of his face. His skin was pale and sickly looking.

You wrinkled your nose as you noticed the stitches all around his wrists, then the ones on his forearms, shoulders, neck, knees...

Slowly reaching out, your fingertips lightly brushed against his arm, feeling along the stitching. Upon further inspection his skin appeared thin like paper, and almost transparent with a bilious yellow tint to it. Underneath, you could make out clearly, blue and green veins all over his body. 

Your teeth clenched and your stomach dropped, as you started to realize what Victor had accomplished. 

This poor man and those poor people he used for his experiment, they were all victims of the careless ambition of Victor Frankenstein, a foolish boy trying to play God. 

The creature trembled under your lingering touch like a scared rabbit.

“Are you cold?” You asked him, without thinking you stood up faster than the creature cared for, who flinched and shrunk away again due to the sudden movement. 

“It’s alright,” you cooed, reassuring him as you would a scared child. You made a conscious effort to make your movements slow and fluid as you searched for something he could cover up with. 

You spotted a thin white blanket on a cot that was in the corner. You figured Victor was probably sleeping here after he lost his apartment. 

Returning to the creature, you slowly knelt down once more and offered him the blanket, but he remained still. It was unnerving how he kept staring at you, but you doubted he meant you any harm. The poor thing was simply so frightened that you couldn’t hold it against him for being so wary. 

“Here,” you murmured as you gently placed it around him. “Isn’t that better?” 

You smiled, as he clutched the edges of the blanket and wrapped it around himself tighter. 

Slower than last time, you stood up again. “I’m y/n,” you introduced yourself offering him your hand. “Would you like to leave this place with me?”

This was crazy, but you didn’t know what else to do. You couldn’t just leave him here alone, he had already been abandoned once in this dark cold warehouse by his negligent creator. You couldn’t do that to him, he seemed so helpless. 

Shyly, he accepted your hand and rose to his feet.

Looking up at him you couldn’t help but gawk. The man towered over you. He didn’t appear to be so large when he was cowering in the corner. 

“We’re going to my house, okay?” You shared with him giving his hand a light squeeze. Still holding his hand, you led the way out and back to your car. He moved awkwardly and walked with a slight limp, so walked at a casual pace. 

Reaching your car, you adjusted the passenger side seat moving it back, to make more leg room so he could sit comfortably.  Helping him into the car, you buckled him in. 

You didn’t say much on the drive. It all seemed so surreal, like you had been dreaming. Even when you arrived home and he followed inside it still didn’t seem real. 

“Home sweet home,” you chirped, opening the front door and turning on the lights. You guided him inside and kicked off your shoes . 

Finally, seeing him under some better lighting, you realized how dirty he was. He was covered in all over with some kind of filth, mostly dirt and blood you assumed, but you couldn’t be sure. 

“You need a bath,” you announced. Walking into the bathroom, you turned on the faucet, allowing the water to warm up before putting in the stopper. 

Once the tub was full, you guided your guest into the bathroom. Gently, you took the blanket from him and discarded it on the floor. 

“Get in,” you gestured to the bath. “It’ll be alright. We just need to get you cleaned up.”

He hesitated for a moment before stepping in and slowly sinking down. He held the sides of the porcelain tub with a tight grip, as if he were to slip he’d drown in this shallow tub. 

You couldn’t help but giggle over how endearing he acted. Getting on your knees next to the tub, you gently started to wipe off the dried blood on his face with a washcloth. 

Despite the discoloration of his skin and the unnerving yellow of his eyes, he was handsome. He had a strong jawline, pouty lips, high cheekbones… you shook your head when you noticed you had been staring, not that he seemed to mind. 

His own eyes were busy moving, looking at everything, taking in all of his new surroundings. It was kind of cute how awfully skittish he was for such a large person. 

You couldn’t imagine what he was going through, or even what was going through his mind. As much as you hated Victor after discovering what he had done, you were still aware that this man was just the product of it, not the cause. He didn’t ask for any of this. 

As you began to wash his arms and chest, that’s when you noticed a familiar scar on his wrist. One of the bodies Victor had stolen was of a young man who had taken his own life. 

It always broke your heart when you had cases like that, not that your job was a happy one and that you didn’t care for the other people who ended up in your care. It was just that you often wondered what sort of pain were they feeling that ending their own life was a better solution. 

You recognized a few more familiar body parts, but what rattled you was how the creature’s face and a few of his other limbs weren’t familiar at all. 

Biting the inside of your cheek, you tried to figure out where else Victor could have gathered parts for his experiment. They would’ve needed to have passed away recently, they were probably taken from a nearby location...

You shook your head, none of that mattered right now. The only thing you should be worrying about is this strange man, who was sitting in your tub patiently waiting for you to finish.

Once he was clean, you helped him out of the tub allowing him to lean on you for support so he wouldn't slip on the tile floor. He seemed to still be figuring out how to move correctly, as he kind of moved in a disjointed fashion. 

Grabbing a couple of towels, you wrapped one around his waist, and then led him to your living room and had him sit on the couch. With the other towel, you leaned in front of him and dried his hair, arms, and chest. 

He tilted his head to the side as you dried his face, his eyes focusing on you. Unexpectedly, he caressed your cheek, you lowered the towel and smiled at him. 

“I’ll be right back,” you told him, before getting up and  heading into your bedroom. 

Digging around your closet you tried your best to find anything that would fit him. Sadly, the best you could do for now was letting him borrow your bathrobe. You laid it on your bed, so you could change into something more comfortable. 

Stepping out of your room, your heart almost jumped out of your chest, as you came face to face with your guest, who was waiting patiently outside of your door. 

“Sorry that took so long,” you laughed, recovering from the slight scare. “I found this for you to wear for now. Tomorrow, I’ll try to figure out how to get you some actual clothes.” 

You covered your mouth hiding your smile. The poor dear looked ridiculous. The silk robe barely reached above his knee and the sleeves ended at his elbows, but at least his private bits were covered. 

Now that he was clean and dressed, you wondered what else he needed. Was he hungry? thirsty? Was he bored? 

“Do you need anything?” You asked, knowing there was a good chance you wouldn’t get any kind of response. He simply just looked down at you. 

You bit your lip, as the two of you just sat there in silence, side by side, on the couch. Hopefully, he’ll learn to talk or perhaps find another way to communicate with you. You weren’t sure how long you would be able to care for him if not. 

“Well, I’m feeling a little hungry, so I’m going to get us a snack,” you explained standing up.

He watched your movement and then followed you to the kitchen, similar to what he did earlier when he was waiting outside your bedroom. The creature stood outside of the kitchen and watched as you prepared a couple of cups of tea and grabbed a pack of cookies for the two of you to share. 

You felt a dull ache in your chest as you realized that him following you around, was probably out of fear, scared that you were going to leave him.  

Gently, you placed your hand on his arm and tried to comfort him, “I promise, I’m not going to leave you.”

Carrying your snacks into the living room, you turned on the TV, putting on one of your favorite movies and started eating. The creature sat next to you, and watched carefully as you took a few sips of tea. 

He didn’t seem all that interested in any of the cookies even after you offered him one, but he did pick up his cup and repeated what you had done, including blowing on it before taking a sip. 

You tried to focus your attention on the movie, instead of worrying about the crazy day you just had. This was usually your way of unwinding, having a warm cup of tea and watching a little TV before bed. But your eyes kept wandering over to the creature. 

You frowned at yourself, referring to him as the creature was wrong, even if it was just in your head and not out loud. The poor guy needed a real name.

Resting your chin on your hand, you mulled over different options, making an imaginary list of names, and trying to decide which one suited him best. 

Lost in thought, you were surprised when he suddenly yawned, in fact the action seemed to startle him too. He looked over at you wide eyed, causing you to laugh lightly. He probably hasn’t slept since being created.

“C’mon,” you started, getting off of the couch and taking his hand. “It’s time for bed.” 

You led him into your room. “Here,” you said, pulling back the comforter on your bed. “You can sleep here for tonight.” 

He climbed into the bed, his feet hanging off of the edge. Despite his size, you couldn’t get over how small he acted, how timid and afraid. 

You brushed a few strands of hair away from his face, and caressed his cheek, “Good night, Adam.” You smiled, glad you finally picked a name for him. 

As you started to walk away, his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist. Adam looked up at you with pleading eyes. 

He didn’t have to say anything for you to figure out what he wanted, since meeting him it seemed that all he wanted was not to be alone again. 

“Oh, alright,” you relented, approaching the bed. “But just for tonight.”

Adam shuffled to the other side making room for you. You crawled into the bed, and turned off the light on the nightstand. 

Laying down, you realized how exhausted you actually were. Before passing out, you felt Adam’s hand finding yours, his fingers curling around it and holding it gently as you fell asleep.

#Frankenstein’s monster #Frankenstein’s creature #Frankenstein au #Frankenstein #Frankenstein fanfic #the creature x reader #reader insert #female reader #frankenstein imagine #Frankenstein fanfiction #frankenstein's monster x reader #Frankenstein's creature x reader

[the-gay-prometheus]

Frankenstein AU Segment - “Willful Disobedience”

Clervalstein yearning goes brrrrrrr

Anyways- uh... so as I said at the beginning of pride month, my goal for June is to write at least one directly Clervalstein related AU segment each week because gay. 

This time around, I was inspired to write about the events that led to how Henry would eventually find Victor and the Creature on the mountain, so in terms of timeline, this takes place before all segments I’ve written except for “Home Again” and “Same Scars, Same Stitches.”

A couple of fun little tidbits about the making of this segment (feel free to skip over them and get right to the segment below the cut, this is just me rambling about some inspiration):

1. The whole bit with Victor drawing and the Creature mimicking him by drawing as well was somewhat inspired by the “Forbidden Friendship” scene from How to Train Your Dragon. I listened to that specific track from the movie score a few times while I was in the process of thinking about this idea!

2. Another bit of musical inspiration actually came from the Chronicles of Narnia, specifically the track “Evacuating London” from The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. If you time it just right and you’re somebody who can actively read and listen to music at the same time, it should somewhat line up with the last few paragraphs (excluding Henry’s bit at the end) - starting at where Victor says “I’d give anything-”, then with the little piano part being timed with the paragraph that starts with “It was intricately detailed-”, then the major swell in that half of the song should line up with the paragraph where the Creature begins feeling the need to disobey Victor’s most important rules; then comes the part that begins with a bit of bells and eventually vocalization, and that entire half of the track should align with the Creature carrying out his plan at least most of the way. Of course - all of this depends on your reading speed, but I would definitely recommend listening to the song after reading at least and imagining those parts of the segment along with it if you’re interested in a little peek into my crazy writing process! 😅

Anyways- this is another wholesome segment, so no warnings needed to my knowledge!

As always, all likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind are welcomed, encouraged, and appreciated!

~~~

Sunlight warmed the cold stone of the mountain ridge upon which Victor sat. His sleeves were rolled up on his arms, as the heat from the summer sun was felt much more intensely up on the mountain top despite the cool alpine breeze. Heavy clouds capped the peaks beyond though the sky was primarily a clear blue, and mist drifted through the valleys below. Though the view was magnificent, the sketchbook that sat on Victor’s knee contained no trace of the mountains. His eyes darted from the open page to the horizon, but it wasn’t the horizon he was searching for. As he stared over the peaks beyond, it wasn’t the view itself he focussed on, and instead an image that was clear in his mind. With a slight smile at the thought, he turned his gaze back down to the page and continued his sketching. It wasn’t long before the smile faded as the sound of quiet, careful footfalls upon the stone broke the calm silence, and he became aware of a presence directly beside him. He instinctively scooted himself about a half inch away as the other figure slowly sat at his side, his brow furrowed as he tried to concentrate harder on his sketching. “What are you doing?” came the inquisitive voice of his creation, and he felt the looming figure lean over in an attempt to view what he was drawing. With a further frown, Victor covered over his sketch with his other hand and turned away.

“Last I checked, that was none of your business,” he grumbled in reply. The creature tried to get a better look, but Victor’s hand covered over too much of it for him to be able to see. He sat there for a moment longer, his mind wandering and his gaze flitting about from view to view as he tried to decide what it was he should do. Now that the cabin was finally completed, he found himself with a lack of activities to keep him busy, and though his creator was certainly better company now than he had been when he first arrived to the mountain, he still wasn’t much of a conversationalist and was often preoccupied with his own thoughts or projects. Out of ideas, he hummed something softly to himself, some tune he had once heard Victor singing one day many weeks ago. Victor lifted his eyes at the sound and glanced over at him, but the moment the creature returned his gaze, he rolled his eyes and shook his head, turning back to his sketching. Quieting himself at his creator’s reaction, the creature sighed and stood, walking back toward the cabin. Victor almost felt bad - almost - but he kept drawing, now absentmindedly humming the same tune. After a few minutes, he became distracted by the sound of footsteps once again, but this time the creature sat a ways away from him. He went quiet, trying to ignore his creation and keep his focus, but he heard the scratching of another pen on paper, then a pause, then more scratching, and he felt himself being watched. With an exasperated sigh, Victor dropped his pen beside him and looked over to the creature. “What on earth are you doing?” The creature looked up at him, his expression blank.

“Last I checked, that was none of your business,” he answered matter-of-factly. Victor stared at him a moment, then frowned.

“Back talking me? That’s new.” The creature blinked, but didn’t answer, instead turning back down to the piece of paper that lay on his knee and continuing to draw something on it. Now thoroughly curious, Victor stood, walking over to him and standing behind him to look over his shoulder. The creature made no efforts to hide his drawing, and Victor could clearly see the rough beginnings of a person sitting in the exact same pose he had been sitting in. “Are you… drawing me drawing Henry?”

“Ah, so you were drawing someone named Henry.” Victor blushed furiously.

“Oh you sly bastard,” he muttered. The creature glanced up at him. “How clever of you, to get an answer out of me like that.”

“That was not my intention, but I cannot say I am disappointed by the result,” the creature responded simply. Victor sighed, sitting down beside him before flopping dramatically onto his back. Now trying to think based on memory, the creature gazed off into the distance before looking down at his paper and continuing to draw. “May I ask who this Henry person is?” he asked as he drew. “I hear you speak the name often. He must be of great importance to you.” Victor wanted to be angry. He wanted to tell his creation to mind his own business and stop prying into his personal life, and yet… he couldn’t be angry - not while Henry was the topic of the conversation, anyway.

“Henry is… was my…” He paused, carefully thinking about how to choose his words, “closest friend.” There was a length of silence as he felt an ache in his chest from the thought of Henry, and the creature took a moment away from his drawing before returning to it.

“Tell me about him,” he suggested as he sketched. Victor sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, holding his sketch of Henry over his heart as he stared into the sky.

“Where to even begin with him,” Victor uttered quietly.

“Describe him to me.” Victor lifted his sketch up and stared at it, before holding it out to the creature. The creature glanced up, and looked at it with a curious expression. Victor gave him a curt nod, signaling that he was welcome to inspect it closer, so he gently took it from Victor’s hand and inspected it closely.

“He’s tall, but not too tall - just tall enough that I have to look up in order to look into his eyes. And he’s always well dressed - I don’t think there’s ever been a day when he wasn’t looking his best, though I suppose I might be a bit biased on that.” For a moment he wondered just how much further he should go with his description. How could he describe someone like Henry without giving his true feelings away? He hesitated, then sighed with a smile. His creation already knew one of his secrets, and, after all, it wasn’t like he was going anywhere or seeing anyone else, so what harm was there in completely venting his thoughts? “He has the most thoughtful hazel eyes, toffee brown around the edges and streaked with emerald green that deepens toward the pupils, the kind of eyes you could get lost in if you stared for too long.” The creature’s pen went still and he looked up toward the horizon, trying to imagine what Victor was describing. “And his hair is long - not quite so long as yours, but ends just past his shoulders - and lays in tangled waves always kept tied back, though a few strands never fail to set themselves free. When the sun hits it just right, I could swear it was made of fire,” Victor breathed as he pictured it in his mind. “It’s the kind of brilliant auburn that takes your breath away, that seems to gleam with its own radiant light. Sometimes I swear he’s more angel than man, and perhaps if angels do exist, he may well be one of them.” The creature smiled, but the smile soon faded as his mind drifted to Paradise Lost and further to his past. He blinked the thought away, then turned his eyes back down to his art, setting Victor’s drawing of Henry down at his side. “He’s covered with what must be thousands of freckles, mostly concentrated on his cheeks but they expand over his face and at the very least his arms, chest, and back. I would liken them to… dark stars against a bright sky,” Victor explained. He raised an arm up and began tracing lines in the air as he continued. “I used to try to find constellations among them, and sometimes I thought I nearly could. Orion, Andromeda, Lepus, Lynx, Pegasus, Phoenix, Vulpecula,” he muttered each constellation as he imagined himself tracing the lines between freckles on Henry’s skin, his chocolate brown eyes seeming to light up with wonder as he grew to be lost in his own imagination.

“He barely sounds real,” the creature interjected nonchalantly, hardly looking up from his drawing as he began to focus closer on it. Victor grinned and chuckled softly.

“I tell myself that every day,” he murmured with a hint of sarcasm. “Surely no man could ever be so perfect, and yet there he is-” He paused, reaching higher toward the sky and extending his fingers to feel the breeze between them, “as real as you and I.” His hand dropped back down to his chest as he heaved a sigh. “There’s no man on earth as generous or as compassionate as my-” He stopped himself, blushing hard as he realized what it was he was about to say. “As Henry, I mean. Just… just Henry.” The scratching of the creature’s pen stopped again, and Victor glanced over at him to see him staring ahead in clear contemplation of the implications of his words before returning to his art. “You know,” Victor began, returning his eyes to the sky. “I can just about guarantee that if it were Henry who made you instead of me, you would have turned out ok.” The weight of his words hadn’t set in before he said them, but now that they were out, they sat heavy on his chest like lead. It took him a moment, but he sucked in a ragged breath and exhaled unsteadily. “If it were him instead of me, William would still be alive.” At those words, the creature froze, as rather than a weight to him they felt like a dagger slowly piercing between his ribs and etching each letter directly onto his beating heart. “And to think… Even if it wasn’t him who made you, if it were him who found you here, perhaps your night terrors would have all but ceased by now. And maybe, by his grace, you would be at peace.” They sat in contemplative silence, both somehow altogether calmed and unnerved in each other's presence. “I’d give just about anything for him to be here,” Victor mentioned, breaking the silence and lifting himself up onto his hands. “And I know all it would take is one letter. He’d drop everything to come here. But that’s… that’s just it. That’s the problem.” He sighed, fully sitting upright. The creature glanced over at him. “I can’t let him just… ruin the rest of his life for me. I don’t know how I could live with myself knowing that I held him back because of my own mistakes.” His eyes dropped to his other side. “And yet… I barely know how I can live with myself without him here.” It was at that moment that he felt something being laid gently on his lap, and when he looked down, he saw the drawing the creature had been working on.

It was intricately detailed, each line placed carefully onto the page with such precision. Though it was only simple line art, Victor could clearly see the image of himself sketching from earlier on the page, but standing in front of him was another figure - Henry. He was exactly as Victor described him, tall and well dressed, with long hair tied back and a few strands that drifted over his face. Though there was no color, his eyes seemed just as gentle and full of wonder as Victor remembered them to be as he stared off to some distant land. His face was covered in tiny dots, freckles, each so meticulously pricked on that Victor could clearly trace some of the constellations he described between them. Tears welled in his eyes as he placed his fingers gently on the drawn image, running them gently down the drawing’s cheek, wishing instead of cool paper that it was the soft, warm touch of Henry’s face. “Did I do him justice?” the creature inquired quietly, trying to read his teary expression. Victor sniffled and smiled.

“You… you’re quite the artist,” he managed to answer. Gingerly, he folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket, slowly rising to his feet. “I’ll… I’ll be back later. I need to take a walk and… clear my head,” Victor mentioned, wiping the tears away from his eyes. “Will you be ok on your own?” The creature didn’t answer for a moment, his yellow eyes staring into the distance as he thought deeply, but soon he snapped his attention back to the present.

“Yes, of course. Take your time, Victor.” Victor sighed and nodded.

“I’ll try not to be too late to return.” His creation watched as he wandered off and eventually disappeared into the trees, before returning to his thoughts. It was strange - in all the months that he had been there, the creature had never once considered disobeying Victor, especially out of the fear that he might abandon him again. Suddenly, however, he felt the strong need to disobey each and every one of Victor’s most important rules. He hated to see his creator so struck with longing, but even more so, he considered the positive ramifications of what his carefully formulated plan might bring. Sure, Victor might be initially upset, but with how much he desperately wanted this Henry person to be there with him, surely it would be well worth it in the end.

The first part of his plan was simple. He would need to break Victor’s trust, and search through his personal belongings. He made his way back to the cabin and slipped into Victor’s room to find a mess of folded papers lying on the bed stand - each paper being a letter he had received from a Henry Clerval. Though all he was searching for was an address, the creature couldn’t help himself and decided to read through some of the letters. As he did, he became even more certain about his decision. Not only was this man exactly as Victor had described, but the connection between them was clearly something so strong that it should have been unbreakable. To his luck as well, the creature managed to find amongst the scattered papers a letter Victor had intended to send as a reply to Henry but never had the chance to send, dated from a time before his creation.

The second part of his plan would be the most time consuming, but also the most critical, and this unsent letter would prove to be the perfect resource. Retrieving his pen and a small stack of paper Victor had stashed away, he began crafting a letter of his own. With as much precision as he could muster, he forged Victor’s handwriting and did his best to copy his style and choice of language. A few hours were spent on this, most of that time spent on crafting one single sentence until he was sure it was perfect before finally continuing on with the rest of the letter. After he completed it, he spent a few more minutes checking it once, then once more to ensure it was in fact as accurate as he could make it, before then spending a little more time practicing forging Victor’s signature and finally signing the note in his creator’s name.

Finally came the most dangerous part. With only his own memory of his travels from Ingolstadt to guide him, he would need to find and deliver the letter to someone who would be able to ensure that it reached Henry safely. Of all Victor’s rules, perhaps his greatest was that the creature was to never descend the mountain, and above all, was never to enter civilization or interact with any other human beings. Each of these would need to be broken in order for his plan to succeed. For a moment, he hesitated. Would Victor become so cross with him over this that he would abandon him once again? Where would he go if he did? What would he do? Who could he turn to? Still, it cut him sharp to think that he might be squandering this small chance to bring his creator some joy after all his sorrow if he were to abandon his plan now. His mind was made - no matter what the outcome would be, he was going to ensure this letter was delivered, and hope that Henry would arrive some day soon just as Victor said he would.

He would need to be swift in order to ensure that Victor would never know he had even left, so he quickly yet cautiously put each letter back in its rightful scattered place as though they had never been touched, and pulled the hood of his cloak over his head. With a deep, shaky breath, he could feel a new sensation pulsing through him - a rush of adrenaline that raised his heart rate and widened his yellow eyes. Letter clutched tightly in hand, exited the cabin and broke into a sprint. Down the mountain he ran with superhuman speed, leaping over logs and boulders as though they were mere hurdles. Though he should have balked at sheer cliff faces, instead he lept from them and skid down their sides, ignoring the sharp pain of the rock scraping at the soles of his feet and the palm of his empty hand. Letting his intuition guide him, he continued his swift journey to Geneva. Though the place held painful, dreadful memories for him, the surge of adrenaline that coursed through him overrode the thoughts, and he raced toward the location of the address. Slowing to a walk, his chest heaved and ached from exertion, but he slowed his breathing as he came upon a fence that outlined one of many pastures that outskirted a large house on a hill beyond. In one pasture, he could just barely see a figure on horseback, cantering through a field with his wavy, tied hair flickering ember orange in the sunlight behind him. 

“Can I help you, sir?” came a sudden voice from beside him. He jumped at the sound, instinctively hiding his face in the hood of his cloak.

“I- ...yes. Yes, I believe you can,” he stammered in reply. The stranger, a servant from the Clerval household, gave him a curious look as he held out the letter. “This is a letter for a man named Henry Clerval. I am of the impression that this is his residence?” The servant smiled as he took the letter.

“Ordinarily I would have sent you in the direction of Ingolstadt in Germany, but as luck would have it, master Henry returned home just yesterday.” He inspected the folded letter curiously. “May I ask your name?” The creature froze, gripping his cloak tighter around himself.

“I am but a simple deliverer of this message, kind sir. My name need not be of any concern. As for the letter, I am under the impression that he will understand who it is from once he has received it.” The servant nodded.

“I understand. Thank you - I will see that it’s delivered to him promptly.” With that, the man turned and started off toward where the man on horseback was riding, glancing back at the creature in confusion for a moment before continuing with a brisk pace to the one he would be delivering the letter to. The creature waited a moment longer to watch for the rider’s reaction, smiled, knowing he had made the right decision, and began his sprint back toward home.

“Master Henry? Sir?” the servant called in the pasture, letter held carefully in his hand. Henry’s hazel eyes lifted as he turned his head and gently pulled back on the reins of his mount. The mare he rode slowed to a trot, then to a walk as Henry carefully turned her in the direction of the servant.

“Yes, Marc? What is it? Is there something wrong?”

“Nothing wrong, sir,” Marc replied. As Henry slowed his steed to a stop at his side, he looked down curiously at the other man, who held the letter out to him. “This arrived for you just now from an unknown deliverer. He said you would know who it was from when you read it.” Now thoroughly intrigued, Henry took the letter and opened it. His eyes widened as he beheld the handwriting, and slowly his other hand lifted to his mouth as his jaw dropped while he read. “Is there something wrong, sir?” Tears welled in Henry’s eyes, dripping down onto his freckled cheeks as he looked up from the letter, his expression of shock turning to a tearfully happy smile.

“No, Marc, everything is much better than I had anticipated.” Marc gave him a confused glance. “Will you help me ready a supply pack and ride with me? I will need to be leaving at once.”

“Of course, sir,” Marc replied with a curt nod. “May I ask where it is we are headed?”

“The base of Mount Montanvert.” Henry turned his mount, his eyes resting on the distant mountains. “Be prepared to bring the horses back here for me once we arrive there. I might not be returning for quite some time.”

#frankenstein au #frankenpride #clervalstein #head empty clervenstein thoughts #clervenstein my beloved #also back at it again with not proof reading before posting lmao so hopefully this is good

[prittypony1]

Why Couldn’t I Love You When I Got The Chance? CH 2

Time Keeps Ticking On 

Creatures POV

What sense is there, in living in a world where you are feared and hated? My creator, Frankenstein, turned on me. I told him my tale of woe and sorrow and I only asked one request, for him to make a female that was as hideous as me. He began the creation of her and I constantly watched his progress. Then one night, in a fit of repulsion for what he was doing, he tore her apart and my hope vanished. I vowed to murder everyone that he loved and I did. I reveled in the man that I had made him become. He now knew how I felt. He felt the same misery and loneliness. I started a wild goose chase and every time he came close enough, I was always right out of his reach. He must have lost his way for I have not seen his sled or heard his dogs barking in the distance behind me. I now realized that up to now, I was filled with hatred and revenge. I now admit of my wrongdoing but it was the only way to teach him what misery and loneliness felt like. I do not want to kill my creator; there is no need, for, in his state of mind, he will slowly kill himself. I had gone back to Frankenstein's apartment and had taken some small surgical metal scissors. I now hold the sharp instrument in my left hand. My hand hovers for a minute over my beating heart. Then I begin to carefully cut into my skin until I have a big enough wound. Blood began to seep out of it, comforting warmth in the cold blizzard. I then plunge my right hand into it and begin to search for that necessary blood-pumping organ, which life is not complete without. I find it, and gripping it in my right hand, firmly tear it out. I now gaze at the organ in my hand covered in blood and still beating with life. It began to beat slower and slower until the beating died. It won't be long now. I will leave this cold and harsh world behind. Wherever I go from here, let it only bring me peace and happiness. I can feel my breath start to slow down and darkness begins to blur my vision. I give into the overwhelming cool blackness and descend into a calming sleep. I am free of this world at last!

Victor's POV

I was chasing the monster I had created, when a blizzard seemed to come out of nowhere. I had to seek shelter for the night. I awoke to find all of my dogs had died. They could not get into the cave in time and had died of the cold. I dug graves for each of them and thanked the Lord for their comfort on my journey. From there, I walked and I have been walking ever since. I trudge through the snow slowly. I am hungry and tired but I must keep going. I must kill my monster. I know he is waiting for me. He might be behind me this very minute. I quickly look behind me and find no one. I only hear my breathing and my heart beating inside my ears. Up ahead, I see a shape and walk towards it and as I move towards it, my blood freezes and my hair stands on end, for it is my monster, the evil creature, that creature I have so foolishly given life to, is laying on the ground unmoving at my feet. I kneel next to him and put my ear to his chest. No breathing. I check for the slightest heartbeat. No pulse. As I look over him, I notice my surgical scissors in his hand. They are covered in blood and as I look closer I find that he had cut a wound above his heart and had pulled his own heart out, for it is now loosely held in his cold hand. Oh! Oh, what a horrid way to take a life! My poor creature had come to use one of my instruments to take his own life when I should have done it for him and finish what I started. Now, I have no fear. The nightmare is over. But wait! There's a piece of paper here.

Dear Creator,

If you are reading this, it means that you have seen what is left of me. No doubt you are confused. Why did I take my own life? Well, you are now burdened with so much sorrow that you will eventually take your own life as well. I am sure you are disappointed that you cannot finish what you started. Do not worry, for I am in a better place and I will trouble you no more. I am confessing to everything I took away from you. I now realize I was fueled by anger and revenge. I am truly sorry but there was no other way to make you pay for my sorry, painful, hated life. This whole thing could have been prevented if you would have taken my hand and showed me that there is somebody in this world who does not think I am something to be feared. They can see past the wretch I am and find it in their heart to love me. Show me some sort of comforting deed. Show me that mankind is not lost. I realized that everyone needs love. Alas, no one can love an ugly creature such as I. Every time I look at my reflection, I am repulsed at what I see. I cannot bear to think that the monster I see before me is I. I am ugly. No wonder everyone runs away. I am hated. All I wanted was love and all you did, Frankenstein, thy creator, was turn your back on me. Spurn me a devil-like that rest of mankind. Leave me to wallow in misery and loneliness. I walk this world a lonely outcast. Why, creator, did you bring me to life? Did you only think of the result and not of the consequences?

Your miserable creature

After I had read this, I wept over him. The poor miserable wretch. He was right that I had let my revenge and anger get the best of me and had pursued him with hatred when I should have taken his advice the first time he had come to me and loved him. But alas, my anger had blinded me to only see the horrid creature I had created and not the man he was.

I lifted him into my arms. His body was cold and frozen. I held him in my arms as a mother would hold her child. I looked down upon my creation with sympathy and pity and not with rage and hatred. I wept as I walked and whispered my apologies to an unhearing body. I finally understood and saw him not as a monster but as a man. I should have to give him guidance and love but instead, I looked at him with hatred and shunned him. Oh, if only I could go back and make everything right. But I know it is impossible and time keeps ticking on. We must move forward and forget the past or the past will drag us down with it, toward misery. I just wish I could make it up to him somehow for teaching me that it's what on the inside that makes us human and not on the outside.

I reached the cemetery of a nearby town and paid for a grave to be dug. I paid for a headstone and a funeral. I placed him myself in a coffin and before I closed the lid, I kissed his forehead and placed a red rose in his hand. They then lowered him into the grave, as I whispered the Lord's Prayer under my breath, covered the grave and had placed a headstone above it that said:

My beloved creature,

As soon as you lived, you died. I pray that you are in heaven now, your painful life is behind you and you are at an everlasting peace.

#frakenstein #frankenstiensmonster

[thewritenerd]

Victor and Adam: NaNoWriMo Last Day

‘So what will it do when it’s finished?’ at first there was no response and Victor had to wonder if Adam had even heard him. Then after a while he turned to look at Victor. ‘It’s supposed to be a device for taking books of the high shelves.’ ‘Didn’t you think of that months ago?’ ‘Yeah well I’ve been busy.’ Victor nodded. ‘Well is there anything I could help you with?’ Adam shrugged. ‘Sure. I need two hands for some parts of this anyway.’ So Victor sat himself down and watched as Adam worked. Occasionally holding something, or pinching something together, or keeping something steady when he was asked. ‘This would be some much easier if I could weld this together.’ Adam grumbled. Victor nodded. ‘Maybe we could look into that.’ Adam turned to look at him. ‘You’re joking?’ ‘No. This is clearly something you’re serious about. I won’t let you do anything like that unsupervised. But we can still go about getting you the equipment you need.’ Adam’s face broke into a smile at that. The first smile in days it seemed. It made Victor want to smile back. After a little over an hour Victor decided it was time to take the next step. He took a deep breath. ‘Adam. I’ve noticed you haven’t been yourself these last few days. And while you don’t have to tell me now, or ever if you don’t want to, I want you to know you can tell me what’s bothering you. Whenever you’re ready.’ Adam sighed and set down his pliers. ‘That’s the problem I don’t know what’s wrong. I mean at first it was because I felt like I let someone down.’ ‘Who?’ Victor asked. Adam shook his head. Was he unsure who or did he just not want to say it out loud? ‘It’s the same.’ Adam said quietly under his breath. 

‘What?’ ‘My broken arm. It looked just like…’ he was quiet for a moment and it took Victor a second too long before he realised he was crying. Unsure what else to do he reached out and rubbed the back of Adam’s neck. ‘Why do these things happen to me?’ Victor sighed. ‘You’ve got a lot to learn about the world, and you don’t know the limits of your own strength, and that’s my fault. I should have taught you instead of chasing you off. I should have been there for you from the start.’ He hadn’t planned on saying the last part out loud but now it was out there he decided to continue. ‘I’m sorry. You’re just a kid but I refused to see it, and you got hurt because of it. Those things you did I should have been there to prevent them. But I wasn’t. You didn’t know any better and I did.’ He sighed and reached over to pull that infuriating strand of hair out of Adam’s face. ‘You’re a good kid. I wish I could have seen that sooner.’ Adam nodded and looked at him. Though he wasn’t crying anymore his eyes were still wet with tears. Though both his eyes were brown they didn’t quite match. One was so dark it almost seemed black, while the other was a chestnut brown. For a moment those eyes stared at him searching for something, sincerity, a sign of humour. They seemed hopeful but not fully trusting. Eventually Adam sighed and lowered his head. Victor wasn’t sure what he’d seen in his face. Or if it was what he’d wanted to see. He just hoped he knew he had been genuine with all he had said. ‘Right. Well I’d better go and get cleaned up for dinner. You should start thinking about doing the same.’ ‘Okay dad.’ Adam said seeming half distracted. Victor left the room and it wasn’t until he got to the bottom of the stairs did it occur to him Adam wasn’t being sarcastic.

Adam

‘I’m not a religious man Mr Frankenstein. But the word miracle is the only one that could possibly describe this’ Victor nodded in agreement. ‘It’s certainly unusual.’ Adam frowned. ‘I’m sorry but what is going on?’ he asked wondering if the two men had somehow forgotten his presence. ‘What’s going on is your arm has completely healed in a little under two months.’ The doctor cried. ‘That’s good right?’ Adam asked still confused. ‘Good. Perhaps. But definitely inhuman.’ Adam found himself flinching away at that word. Inhuman. It sounded no better than Monster or Creature. ‘So he won’t need any more treatment?’ Victor asked. ‘Absolutely none. Though I do wonder if you’d be willing to have more tests. .See how far this healing thing goes.’ ‘And what would that entail?’ Victor snapped. ‘Well… Maybe Adam should sit outside while we discuss it.’ Adam suddenly felt even worse than he had before. Though he couldn’t be sure of it was due to what the doctor was saying or the murderous expression on Victor’s face. ‘If you can’t say what it would involve in front of Adam then maybe you shouldn’t be suggesting putting him through that. He’s not some lab rat to be poked and cut whenever someone pleases.’ The doctor looked like he wanted to argue but quickly backed down. While Victor was no where near as big as Adam he was not a small man, slim maybe but not small, especially when compared to this doctor. And while Adam had never experienced such a thing himself he knew having someone bigger than you stand over you while visibly angry was a very scary experience. ‘Well. That will be all.’ The doctor said forcing a smile. Victor shot him another scathing look before standing up. ‘Come on Adam. We don’t want to waste any more of our time here.’ Adam followed after him, shooting the doctor one last look before closing the door behind him. As they headed down the corridor Adam noticed Victor was thinking hard. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked. Victor shook his head. ‘Nothing. I’ve just been thinking. In the two years you’ve been around you’ve never gotten sick. I didn’t think anything of it. But now I have to wonder…’ Adam waited for him to say more but Victor remained silent. ‘What do you wonder?’ he asked. ‘It doesn’t matter. Come on there’s an ice cream shop just round the corner.’ The shop itself was a bit crowded with it being such a hot Saturday afternoon but Adam didn’t mind. In fact he was grateful to not have to sit inside with all those people watching him. It took him a while to choose a flavour but eventually settled on cherry with chocolate sauce, Victor just had vanilla. Once they were out of the shop they started heading back to the car. They had almost reached the car park when Victor stopped. ‘I just remembered I needed to pop into here for a second.’ He pointed to the shop they had just stopped outside. It was some stationary shop called Write Here Write Now. Adam wasn’t sure if he found the name corny or clever. ‘Here you can finish this.’ Victor handed Adam his half-eaten cone and disappeared into the shop. Adam peered through the window but found he couldn’t see much from behind the displays of typewriters and notebooks and pots of pens. He could vaguely make out Victor standing by the till with his back to the window. Adam watched as he leaned forward and seemed to write something, occasionally lifting his head to say something to the man behind the counter. Giving up Adam took a step back and took a bite out of the cone. As he waited he suddenly noticed someone familiar making their way towards him. He gave a quick wave which Maram returned. ‘Hey Adam.’ She said as she reached him. ‘Where’s your cast?’ ‘I got it off today.’ He replied. Maram blinked. ‘Really that fast?’ Adam shrugged. ‘What can I say. I’m a wonder of science and a freak of nature.’ ‘Maram. Aren’t you going to introduce your friend?’ a woman Adam guessed was Maram’s mum asked. ‘Oh right. Mama this is Adam. Adam this is my mum.’ ‘You may call me Mrs Karim.’ Mrs Karim looked pretty much how Adam imagined someone who spent most of their time fixing cars would look. She wore dungarees and a black long-sleeved shirt. Her trainers were mostly black with engine oil. ‘Nice to meet you mam.’ Adam said holding out his hand. Mrs Karim blinked at him and Adam suddenly got the feeling he’d done something wrong. Slowly he lowered his hand. ‘Sorry. I was told when you great a grownup you should offer to shake their hand.’ Mrs Karim nodded. ‘I understand. But as you’re a guy when you great a woman in a hijab you should place your hand over your heart.’ ‘Like this?’ Adam asked doing as she said. ‘That’s it.’ Mr Karim beamed at him. Adam smiled back. ‘So are you here alone?’ Maram asked. Adam shook his head. ‘No Victor’s in there. He pointed to the shop window. ‘Who’s Victor?’ Mrs Karim asked. ‘My dad. But he doesn’t like me calling him that.’

#long post #read more #victor and adam #nanowrimo #writing #writblr