#Frankenstein inspired

[axel-tiredstudent]

Sometimes bringing your dead son back to life is not an act of love but a violent act of profound hate

[icemuncherjr]

made from scratch

[oracle-of-moon]

I don't know how the internet isn't freaking out about this beautiful couple yet. So, I did a lil tribute. Hope you enjoy!

(And please do yourself a favor and watch this Turkish pearl called Yaratilan).

Song "Aonde quer que eu vá" (Wherever I go), by Paralamas do Sucesso.

Synopsis: Ziya is a medical student ready to follow in the footsteps of his father, a renowned doctor from Istanbul. Tormented by human impotence in the face of death, the young man crosses paths with Ihsan, a brilliant professor who has fallen into disgrace, who keeps a big secret.

[alexanderthejustalright]

[777nekochan-blog]

Day twenty two of my drawing challenge today’s theme is “sewn”.

[frankingsteinery]

AITA for not telling my fiancé I know he’s queer? 

I 20s (F) have a 20s (M) fiancé, V, and he’s been talking about this terrible secret he cannot tell me and he keeps almost starting to come out and then backing out. The issue is V and I were raised together by his parents, and my surrogate 40s (M) father and (now deceased) surrogate mother arranged for our marriage back when we were both children. They thought it was the best for us and at the time we were too young to realize the implications and had no reason to reject to the match. When we were teenagers our mother was on her deathbed and she told us again that she wished for us to marry, and of course we both agreed. However, V is also best friends with a 20s (M) guy called H, and they were nearly inseparable as boys and teens. They also went to university together and shared an apartment but V had to come home due to family reasons. Lately he’s been going out all day and coming home at night hours later. He insists that he’s fine and that we all leave him alone and not worry for him, but I think he and H have been sneaking around. He even delayed our wedding day by arranging a trip to go to England alone with H. It’s exhausting for all of us and I think I should just tell V I know and support him and that we can call off the marriage, but I’m not sure that’s the best course of action? I’m completely fine with not marrying him - he always felt more like a brother to me anyway - but I worry it might come off wrong. The worst part is he’s really beating himself up about it. He’s so guilty it’s beginning to take a toll on his health. I don’t care if he has a boyfriend I just want him to be happy.

EDIT: nvm he built an 8ft creature in his dorm

[upstartgeek]

lisa frankenstein is for the people who harbor beef with how the plot resolved in corpse bride

[panthermouthh]

“I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel.”

[suddenly-frankenstein]

creator and creation

[8trackaxolotl]

Lisa Frankenstein ⚡️

[literaryvein-reblogs]

list of "beautiful" words found in a virtual space

I went through my following/followers lists and collected "beautiful" words and phrases from usernames and blog titles to try to include in your next poem/story

Amour Propre - self-esteem

Ephemeral - lasting a very short time

Espiègle - tending to or exhibiting reckless playfulness

Forgotten faith - faith that has ceased to be remembered

Jovial - characterized by good-humored cheerfulness and conviviality

Moonstruck sun - a sun affected by the moon

Poetic scars - scars that have qualities of poetry

Psychosomatic - of, relating to, concerned with, or involving both mind and body

Nyctophilia - the condition of being very happy and comfortable in the dark

Orphic - of or relating to Orpheus; mystic, oracular

Pirouette - a rapid whirling about of the body

Reverie - daydream; the condition of being lost in thought

Saffron - the deep orange aromatic pungent dried stigmas of a purple-flowered crocus (Crocus sativus) used to color and flavor foods and formerly as a dyestuff and in medicine; a moderate orange to orange yellow

Strawberry Blonde - a reddish-blond color

Sunflowers & teeth - any of a genus (Helianthus) of New World composite plants with large yellow-rayed flower heads bearing edible seeds that yield an edible oil & hard bony appendages that are borne on the jaws or in many of the lower vertebrates on other bones in the walls of the mouth or pharynx and serve especially for the prehension and mastication of food and as weapons of offense and defense

Thaumaturge - a performer of miracles

The last poet - the last maker of verses

Windows of the soul - windows of a person's total self

Wrath - strong vengeful anger or indignation

Zephyr - a breeze from the west; a gentle breeze

If any of these words or phrases make their way into your next poem/story, please tag me, or leave a link in the replies. I would love to read them!

More: Word Lists

[lemonavocado]

"oh i love frankenstein! my favorite quote from the novel is i have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine-" grabs you by the throat and chokes you violently

[burningvelvet]

"Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it."

— Mary Shelley, Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus.

[fioblah]

love the taz vs dracula love! i thought i was the only one listening haha! hopefully we might see more art? i'd love to see you draw any of the other characters!

hell yea taz vs dracula ! heres a victor and a dracula for ya

[m0llygunn]

CREATURE FROM THE GRAVE

Creepy guy on the side of the road? Perfectly acceptable to pick up and bring home, especially when he’s the living dead.

Summary: The first night at your house— the undead has a name! wc: 900 ─── † ཐི❤︎ཋྀ † ───

“Frankie boy, my love, my new pal, please stop gargling or growling or whatever that dreadful noise is.”

He gurgles another low, stomach deep noise, and you use your elbows to prop yourself up on the mattress, looking over the edge to see him lying on the floor. His eyes meet yours and with his cracked, decrepit lips pulled into a frown, you make a mental note to buy him some chapstick tomorrow. His frown deepens, brows pinching together as he shakes his head, upset over something. You fall back onto your pillow with a sigh. 

“What is it now?”

He groans in response, dragging out his deep, annoyed tone. You hear shuffling as his voice grows taller. 

Rolling your eyes, you meet his gaze as he sits up on his makeshift bed, barely visible through the darkness of your room.

“Frankie, I can’t understand you. Didn’t your mother ever teach you about enunciation?” 

He grunts. You sit up again and as soon as he has your focus, in a slow, creaky movement, he raises his arm to point at his chest. 

“You?”

He nods. His shaky finger points towards his chest again, pairing the movement with a negating shake of his head. 

“You not…?” you guess.

He nods enthusiastically— well, as enthusiastically as the undead can get. He points to his chest again and you have absolutely no clue what he’s trying to say. Zero, zilch, nada clue. It’s past midnight and he might not need sleep but you do.

“You not… tired?” you guess again. He groans, shaking his head, disagreeing. He pauses for a brief moment, shrugging— maybe— but then he continues shaking his head more convincingly than before. He’s not tired but that’s not what he’s trying to say. 

With a sigh, you deflate. It’s already felt like the longest night of your life but now this… “Frankie—”

He grunts harshly, interrupting you. His jagged movements point his finger into his chest a final time, followed by a final shake of his head. 

“You’re not Frankie?”

He nods, letting out an agreeable grunt. 

“Well, I know that, silly. We’ve already gone over this— I don’t know your name and until you can better enunciate your grunts, you’re going by Frankenstein.”

He stares at you blankly and you roll your eyes, shifting on your elbows to get a better look at him. 

“You know Frankenstein? Like the book? Mary Shelley? Judging by the pins on your jacket, you should have been alive way after the book was written, so either you’re being difficult or you just had really, really terrible taste in books, Frankie.”

He groans dreadfully again, dragging out his explicit disagreement for his new name. 

“Well, what do you want me to do? Guess names at random until I get it right? That would take forever, and it’s already past midnight because we had to spend three hours scrubbing dirt off of every inch of you. And bugs, Frankie, so many bugs!”

He rolls his eyes and you gasp— to be treated like this in your own home! 

“Frank—”

“Euggh!” he cuts you off.

“Euggh is not a very nice name but if that’s what you want to go by…,” you smile, watching him scowl his hardest yet. “Sweet, Euggh, I am so very tired and I have to wake up tomorrow morning to scrub the house clean from your mud. I am going to sleep. Goodnight. Again.”

You toss your comforter back over yourself and sink into your pillow. Not even a full second goes by before you hear the creaky shuffle of Euggh getting up.

“If I knew the undead operated on a different time zone I would have left you where I found you,” you say, shifting to get comfort. 

He grunts in response, short and abrasive, but you don’t take it to heart. You hear more shuffling, the drag of his bad foot, and the squeal of your desk drawer being pulled open. There’s about 12 seconds of silence before every noise you just heard happens in reverse.

“Hmmmmm,” he groans beside your bed, dragging out the low rasp of his voice. When you pretend to sleep he gets louder, even going as far as knocking the edge of the mattress. 

“Jesus, this can’t wait until morning?” you sigh, sitting up. You switch on your bedside lamp, blinking away the harsh light to look at your new, quickly-growing-annoying friend.

Not having looked at him in a while, his once wet hair has now dried, sticking up and frizzing out in all different directions, making him look more like Bride of Frankenstein than Frankenstein. You can’t help but snicker a giggle. His brows pinch together and once again, he’s back to scowling. 

“Lighten up, would ya?” you tease. “We can give your hair a good deep condition tomorrow, then it won’t be as frizzy. Who would have thought a century of grime would be drying for the hair follicle?”

“Errrgh,” he drags out, before shifting his balance and raising a hand towards you. In his pale, scrubbed clean fist is a paper, ruled lines ripped straight from your diary— classy.

“What’s this?” You sit up even further, crossing your legs in front of you as you take the paper from him. 

Flipping it around, you read the messy chicken scratch writing scribbled across the page in sparkly pink gel ink. 

“If you knew how to write, why didn’t you say something earlier, Eddie?”

[blueish-bird]

In the narrow hours of the night I will wake to a downpour; through the window see your trashcans shining. I will swaddle myself in your warmest jacket, put on my big rain boots. I will brave this storm for you.

And when I am cold and wet and beyond porch light's reach, trashcans in tow, I will watch the world past your driveway. I will love the way dark turns form to silhouette, how the sound of my steps drown beneath the rain's big hush. I will want to leave you and your trashcans. To wander the earth as all lost things do.