#like Frankenstein and his monster I am sickened by my creation

[teethbomb]

easteregg yaoi. That’s all

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for trying to get revenge on the people who ruined me?

…I used to be worth something. I wasn’t perfect— far from it… I know that now, but I… I was good. Even though I wasn’t easy on the eyes. Even though most people didn’t like me. Even though I was a tad selfish. At least I had a friend. At least I tried my best to be kind.

But they took all of that away from me. And for that, I’ll never forgive them.

You see, I was Queen once— of a country that hangs in the clouds. It wasn’t always easy… like I said: a lot of people didn’t like me, but at least I was someone. I was important. I did my job, just like I was supposed to.

It all changed one day when he got me a gift… my best friend that is. He didn’t know it at the time— neither of us did, but there was something dark and evil inside of that brilliant mirror, and it soon decided to use me.

Dark forces warped me from the inside out, slowly distorting my perception of reality and even my feelings. I began to become a caricature of myself— nothing more than a selfish monster. I became paranoid, then self obsessed. I killed the rest of the royal family, terrified they’d try to take what was mine. I began to terrorize my people, and even mistreat my best friend. I stole countless bodies, making them own in a desperation to become perfect somehow, all the while the forces in the mirror watched on and SMILED.

You see, I was a pawn. The goal was…- well, I think it was something like “if we can get a queen under our thumb, then we can use that to vie for control of her world.” That was power they wanted, and they were willing to throw me under the bus to attain it.

Eventually, I was beyond saving. They distorted me so well and truly that I was practically unrecognizable. Running on only blind instinct and egomania at that point, I had the ruler of a foreign country kidnapped, senselessly tried to kill the man who was once my best friend, and then attempted to murder everyone both in my country and the foreign country.

…Needless to say, they put me down. The ruler of that country, his companion and my friend, that is.

I should be gone. But I’m not, thanks to him. That… that foolish, naive idiot! I can’t believe what he did. Still refusing to give up on me, even after everything that happened, my friend sook Death out and found a way to resurrect me, insistent I still deserved a happy ending.

Death ensured I was in my right mind again, but there was only so much it could do to mend me overall. I was and am broken. I always will be after what happened, I think.

My friend explained what happened, reassured me it was all okay now, and took me home. He said I’d be alright— that none of what happened before was my fault, and now I could finally be free.

But that’s not true. That’s not true at all.

First and foremost, my body… it’s hideous. Always shifting, at any given time it’s something between my despicable ‘true form’ and my monstrous Frankenstein’s creation. If you saw me, you’d gag. I can’t stand to look at myself. No matter how I appear, I always see someone evil staring back at me in the mirror. Someone who’s as ugly on the outside as she is on the inside. I hate her.

A few of my friend’s companions— ones far better than me, hypothesized it’s because I don’t know who I am anymore. As such, my sickening, parasitic body doesn’t either, and merely improvises in a futile attempt to capture ‘me.’

And saying I no longer know who I am is correct. I’m not just a stranger in appearance. It feels as if the girl I used to be has long since died— replaced by a callous monster. I remember it. I remember everything. I’m still touched by it, even having been ‘made right.’

I recall killing my family. I recall subjugating my people. I recall abusing my best friend, and I recall just how much JOY I felt doing it. He says that I’m not respond for any of that— that I wasn’t in my right mind, but I know that was still me. My innermost, darkest, sick and twisted desires. I’ll never be able to wash the blood from my hands.

Constantly, it feels as if I’m followed by ghosts. My skin writhes— and I swear I can feel my victims tugging at my limbs, demanding I return what isn’t mine. These hands… I don’t recognize them. I don’t recognize anything about myself. When I think about it too much, I get sick.

I’m broken. I’m ugly. I’m evil. And the people who made me that way have names and faces.

My friend… had actually met one of them. Sickeningly, they shared a mutual friend. When he learned what this person did (long before I returned), he attempted to get revenge himself, but was stopped by the group and reprimanded. He was told that the person who destroyed me— the person I’ll call ‘D,’ could still become a better person, and that he deserved as much a chance as anyone to improve.

Ahahaha. AHAHAHAHAHA.

D wasn’t the mastermind, to be clear. His king, who I’ll refer to as ‘DM’ was. DM is the person who corrupted me. DM is the one who made it so I could no longer love. But D was still an accomplice.

He watched on. He watched on, and made sure I was spiraling properly. When his master ordered it, he’d whisper suggestions in my ear.

Having come to terms with how unsalvageable I am, I decided I needed to make them pay.

D occasionally leaves his domain in the Mirror World, while DM doesn’t, so I started with the former. I ambushed him, took him down and took him hostage, hoping to draw out his master by forcing it to come save him.

But it didn’t even do that. Of course it doesn’t. I was imbecilic to believe something like that could ever care about anyone. D was just a puppet, too… it didn’t care if I disposed of him. It would just find another.

I was devastated. All my work, and I couldn’t make DM suffer. The anger overwhelmed me. Someone had to pay. I decided if it wasn’t him, then D, as his accomplice, was the next best thing.

I viciously attacked D and fully intended to torture him, but was caught in the act. My friend’s companions became aware of what I was doing and stopped me by force. They told me I’d done something evil— that D didn’t deserve that, and was trying to do better, just like I was.

In what world!? HE made me this way! He and his worthless master are the reason why I’m broken now… why I’m evil! How can it be wrong to punch back?

They’re why I’ll never be good. They’re why I’ll never be happy. They’re why I’ll never be a good friend. They’re why I’ll never be beautiful.

I’LL NEVER BE BEAUTIFUL. I’LL NEVER BE BEAUTIFUL. NEVER! NEVER EVER! THAT PERSON KEEPS SAYING I AM, BUT I KNOW HE’S LYING TO ME. HE THINKS I’M DISGUSTING. HE THINKS I’M A MONSTER. HE’S AFRAID OF ME. EVERYONE IS!

I’m worthless. I’m worthless and I’m broken and I’m SICK.

…Was it really so wrong to try and break the people responsible for that in return?

[viktor-leon]

Frankenstein - Streets of horror

this is from a few months ago, hh my version of Frankenstein, for a test Exert. For a series I’m creating. Last edited on October second feel free to give critique.  --- I come out from the forest, the streets of Ingolstadt greeting me, singing a chorus with deep regrets. For the threats I have done, the crimes against nature and to the dead, I pace the streets nothing more than a night like this to remember. My creation left searching, chasing, running rampant, hunting. The eyes, the eyes of milky yellow tinted the sickening color of sewer water around the pupils. A terrifying sight staring into my soul. It was beautiful although, beautiful yet repulsive I must add. As it the last thing I saw in my apartment after I took a nap but I awoke to it. I wish I could sleep but nothing might calm me down to rest, as I am in such utter fear of that thing, the monster, my creation. When I tried to rest and sleep I couldn’t, as I’ve been plagued with nightmares. As for example the very last dream I had, as I held my dear Elizabeth in my arms, so pale and livid. Her lovely blue eyes and blond hair turning placid and white, then shaping and turning into my mother. My mother, who had died of a horrible sickness being painted in white. Holding her in my arms covered in white fabric. I realize it was a burial shroud, but it was making clicking and the sound of a noise only imaginable if you heard the scuttling of thousands, and millions of bugs. A squishy crunchy sound like the worst, jello that's crunchy made by the one mad lady down the street. The burial shroud being torn through ripping, by only those fly’s children the dreaded larvae, Maggots.Maggots from the rotting flesh of my deceased mothers falling onto me, or making their way to me squirming and scuttling. Hundreds, no thousands of the little white disgusting bugs. A stampede of them grouped up climbing over each other, rampaging in competition to devour my very soul and body. When I woke to my horror after that repulsive, disgusting, never so fleeting dream, that didn’t falter to frighten me. My eyes fluttered open laying flat on my back, I found  the creation. The monster that I created, looming over me. I broke with fear after I saw the creature, my creation. Getting up then running pushing the beast out of my way, after I saw it. A description of when I woke what I saw, laying on my back. Its black lips cultivated a grotesque smile, the smell of rotting flesh, the patched yellow skin. Its silky long black hair drooping over me almost touching my face as I stared. The breaths slow and steady, warm and moist, the breaths stench, nothing, like a newborn's breath. It was beautiful, mostly. The eyes, those cursed things, no man or abomination would have eyes like those.That night was the night of my fall after I created that thing and ran. That horrid, terrible, insufferable night. "I created a monster...A monster!" I cried out loud. Albeit I had the purest of intentions, to revive the dead after all, the dead haunted me. Even when I was a child. I went out to a graveyard to speak to an old friend of mine. Who worked and earned his pay due for five years, before without heeding, his end. The friend was no more but dead for a week at that time but I saw him for the week before his successor came. I believe I saw him, I saw him, for that week. But it was all in my head, my friend Clerval asked why I was talking to myself, oh dear Clerval, if only you knew. I could see the dead as clearly as I could see you. I wish it was only albeit a dream, I feel down into a successful deceit of a nightmare blinded by what I discovered. What I created using shadow remnants, a chemical compound, and A lightning tool that I made, harnessing the gods lightning power from the sky. My creation, a demon, no monster of sorts. I meant to create a man but failed, creating a monster. I looked at the forest a bit aways from it, as a tall humanoid figure began to form in plain sight. My eyes widening in horror as I realized what it was, to my terror it came towards me. It glistened like a mirage, nothing was alright after all. Nothing was a glimpse of hope I could not cope with This… This… What have I done? Not one could understand myself, I question why I went through with this. I begin to run.

[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.

[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.” 

[allyvampirelass29]

The King of Nothing: Scene 3

A Vampire Diaries Prequel By: Allyssa J. Watkins

Klaus felt the adrenaline coursing through him like an addictive toxin, infecting his whole body, and he moved with callous force to blur to her side, when an even more ferocious flash slammed hard into him, knocking the air from his lungs, one of them deflating with a sickening, anguished gasp.

The two vampires landed with a bone-shattering thud, creating a crater as the ground sunk beneath them, and Klaus could already feel his brother's fist cracking against his jaw with ravaging, undiluted, rage.

He grunted and growled, as Elijah assailed him, first one fist, and then the next, his neck jerking back and forth, feeling the bruises spread on his face as they took form, and for the first time in a veritable age, he considered biting him, making the holier-than-thou fop bleed, and cower before his King Brother. 

Elijah roared again, his whole body shaking uncontrollably seizing Klaus' neck with both hands, his nails biting hard into the skin, his grip like an iron restraint around his neck, lifting his head, strangling him mercilessly. Klaus fought back, almost impressed as the calm, austere face he knew and sometimes loved, erupted, animalistic, into a bubbling volcanic seethe. Elijah, The Eternal Peacemaker, was GONE, his eyes, whites and irises, a blind window of red, his back arched, his fangs gnashing in Klaus' face, and when he spoke, even Klaus felt the ice crystalize in his blood.

"IS THIS THE VIOLENCE YOU SO CRAVED, BROTHER!? TELL ME!!!!" Elijah slammed Klaus' head back, with concussive force, almost burying it into the ground, and Klaus choked on the dirt as it streamed down, crumbling from the broken earth. "DOES THIS DO TO SATE YOUR STRINGENT THIRST FOR SHEER BRUTALITY OR SHALL I TRY...… AGAIN!?"

Klaus flew up from the ground, leaping, his own eyes murderous and flashing erratic red, his mouth open and snarling, fangs dripping, like a riled, uncaged beast, but Elijah was driven by both the powers of love and hate, harnessing their combined strength, and he didn't even hesitate to halt Klaus, mid-air, with a single strike to his still bleeding heart, and effortlessly flip him over his shoulder, snapping his arm in two.

"YOU DEMON!!!!!" Elijah roared, his voice deafening, making the overcast air shudder, as he whirled around, poised to strike again, his eyes wild, and incensed. "YOU DARED DRINK FROM HER!?!? HELLSPAWN BLOOD OF MINE, if you EVEN so much as make one single move towards THAT girl, An Original SIN such as even Cain and Abel did not know will be perpetrated on this unholy ground, upon which you stand!!!"

Klaus screamed into a blur, holding his wounded wing to his chest, and unleashed his fist, Elijah's windpipe crushing beneath his knuckles, and his boot connected severely with his knee. Elijah let out the faintest, gravelly groan, sinking for a split second to his knees, and he felt the steel press against his throat, as Klaus towered over him from behind, breathing heavily, blade raised, and the thunder above them, threatening the inevitable storm, clashed with the thunder of Klaus' own tempestuous scorn.

"Come, COME, now, Brother of the two of us, which is more likened to CAIN, himself, having the courage to ERADICATE his own BLOOD!?!?" Elijah gritted his fangs, as he felt the sword, covered in Klaus' blood, cut shallowly across his own throat, mingling with his. "Am I my brother's keeper, or his KILLER!?" Klaus mocked bitterly, making another cut, and Elijah did all he could to suppress his anguish. "Valiant Elijah, Chivalrous, STUPID, Prim Paladin, YOU think yourself her Champion, but you are only going to make things infinitely worse for her, by CHALLENGING ME!!!!"

"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU!? VILLAIN, I KNOW YOU NOT, AND RECOGNIZE NO BLOOD OF MINE IN THAT HATED FEVER THAT FLOWS THROUGH YOU!!!!" Elijah's voice drowned out the growing thunder, a glint of blood and silver catching his eyes, and he struck at the sand, retrieving his stained dagger, plunging it deeply into Klaus' hand, making him fumble his sword, and Elijah blurred swiftly toward Natalia, standing between the monster he called brother, and the beautiful thing he had sired.

Klaus thrusted his now healed arm out, pointing his sword in a fiery seethe at his brother and enemy, his blood and Elijah's one as it reddened the blade, but now they stood here as strangers. "Let me tell you...… who the HELL I am, you PREACHING HYPOCRITE!!! I am the man that is going to save this girl, yes, this one that you seek to save from me, and it is I who am going to SILENCE her demons once and for all. Now, step AWAY from My Sired!!!!"

Elijah shook his head, bewildered, frustrated, and Klaus watched a little amazed, as his perfect brother, ran his fingers, deranged through his once, never-a-strand-out-of-place coif, wrecking it with purpose. "WHAT MADNESS IS THIS!? You FRIGHTEN ME, KLAUS, HOW do you seek to slay this girl's demons!? By becoming the WORST of them!?"

Klaus smiled, but it held nothing but foreboding and threat, his eyes focused hard, and unfeeling, almost reptilian. By making them..... FEAR ME. You, yourself, have seen me as thus, HELLSPAWN, yes, so poetic, Elijah, truly. You see this as a battle of that which is good, versus that which is evil, but the only thing evil fears, Dear Brother, is WORSE evil, and if I must frighten you, or her, or HELL itself, so BE it!!!"

Elijah, stepped back, as though to guard Natalia's helpless form from this inherent madness. "Do not THINK I have forgotten your crude display of INSANITY from the day previous, FORSOOTH, SIR, I am just as potently plagued by it!!! Those words...…. they're the fatally blind ambition and uncouth ravings of a MADMAN. You don't want her to be better than you, Niklaus, you want to harm her, PUNISH her, and you DARE do it under the guise of instructed PROTECTION!? YOU SICKEN ME!!! You're going to DRIVE this spirited maiden to her DEATH!!!!"

Klaus laughed cruelly, the sound biting, digging his blade into the ruptured earth, twisting it, each word spat from his mouth. "Oh POOR Elijah, without this darling Spanish Rose, whoever will you charm, scrape and bow to? She will be the BEST, or she will die...… Are we any worse off than before if she does? Tell me, what is truly lost, when you kill an already dead girl?

The tears fell from Elijah's stricken brown eyes, his lips quivering at he stared at this malignance incarnate that bared no resemblance to his brother. "You- You don't mean that.... You CAN'T mean that...…. Not even if your heart were carved of stone could you- could you speak so heinous...….

Elijah got very quiet, and Klaus watched suspiciously, as he knelt down beside Natalia, lifting her head delicately, his fingers poised beneath her chin. "Look at her....." He said softly.

Klaus' eyes went wide, and he brushed off Elijah's request with haughty annoyance. "What are you playing at? I don't need to look at her, and I should punish you for even touching her...…….

"Klaus...… Do you think I don't see it? Do you really think you can deceive me in this, hide your heart from the brother that knows it better, even than I presume, yourself? She's young, so young, she doesn't know you, not like I do, your mannerisms, your idiosyncrasies remain a confounding mystery to our young lady, while I can read them like words you've written in your own hand. It's so slight, these nuances, subtle movements, almost invisible flinches...… Your body whispers, what your mind screams in anguish to drown out. You're in love."

"Am I, now?" Klaus scoffed, his fingers tightening on the blade in his hand, moving closer, his eyes, cool, sapphire rings of azure fire. "WHAT a revelation!!! First, I am accused of being too cruel to this bloom, and now I LOVE her!? My, my Elijah, how ridiculously you contradict yourself. Which is it, then!?"

"Look at her. You know, and I know, Brother, it is no contradiction..... It is both."

"Impossible!"

"LOOK AT HER!!!" Elijah commanded, holding Natalia's head up higher, her curls dangling, "DAMN IT, I said LOOK!!! Look into the face of your greatest happiness, look at that which you love and therefore fear with more suspicion and frenzy than even the evil of your own parentage!!! This beautiful, alive soul, who's ONLY crime exists in feeling tenderness for a diabolical, lunatic king!!!! You are Richard III, Klaus, save that your deformity lies not in the physical, but in the perversion of your heart. You ARE King of Nothing, except reigning royal of CRUEL Men!!!!"

"DO NOT SPEAK TO ME OF CRUEL MEN!!!!"

The lightning struck blue and purple in the sullen sky, as if summoned with the raging power of Klaus' piercing scream. His chest heaved, and his eyes were deadly with blue lightning of their own. Elijah caught the thrown sword between his palms, it's razor point just inches from his forehead, and he hurled it over the fence, thankful that Rebekah was safe inside and spared the inhuman evil now possessing her favourite brother.

"I was not borne of a cruel man, but I am the bastard Frankenstein creation of one!!!!" Klaus seethed, his voice a low growl, feral and frightening. "As much as I loathe this cruelest of all CRUEL men, as much as I ache to drive a blade through his cold heart, just so that I might be granted the utmost pleasure of doing it again and again, until I spear it out with coursing triumph, I was MADE INVULNERABLE by a cruel man. There is NOTHING, not one contrived torture by mine enemy's hands that has not already been thus afflicted by my HELLION father. Cruel Men don't only make monsters, they make...…. Indestructibles……. A Cruel Man, with far greater purpose than the one that came before, is what's going to turn a fast withering rose into sharp-edged diamond that can cut glass. Do not speak to me of Cruel Men...… when they are what forges warriors."

Elijah shook his head slowly, his eyes even darker, rife with revulsion, his elegant hands, hardened fists.

"That's it then, Your Grace? The sins of the father become the sins of the son!? You would commit these same atrocities against her, as they were waged against you!? YOU would recreate her in YOUR image!? Are you a King or a GOD, Niklaus, WHICH IS IT!?!? You ply the heart of the woman you love with the sword, to harden it against you, and here you stand, daring to EXALT the conniving TYRANT that made MONSTERS of us all!? Tell me, Brother, TELL ME your love and your hate are NOT one and the same!!!!"

Klaus growled turning his back on his brother, fangs bared, wishing he'd had another sword to hurl at him in a rage. "One is just as much a curse as the other, my love, my hatred, what does any of it even matter if both parties SUFFER!? He paced back and forth violently as he spoke, snarling the words, deranged, his irises still glowing blood red. "I do not exalt the DAMNED CUR, Elijah, do not mistake me. I exalt the hatred he instilled in me, that breathtaking animosity that made me strong enough to slay him, the author of my hell, along with any man or beast that dares thwart MY WILL!!!!"

"And WHAT, PRAYTELL, is your WILL for her!?!?" Elijah screamed, pointing accusingly at Natalia's form, which had assumed every appearance of death. "You drive me, spur me on to HURT her FOR YOU!!! Again, again, AGAIN!!! It's NEVER enough, and I am ASHAMED of the PAIN, the psychological and physical, that this young, vivacious creature has suffered at BOTH of our hands!!!"

"Ahhhhh," Klaus arched an eyebrow, with a horrible smirk, the tip of his fang visible through his pressed lips. "There it is...…. There we find why you've so smartly donned your kid gloves, Brother, why you've been less than useless to me today, why you will never be a suitable sparring partner for her, THERE we find, why you stint her promising potential...…. I pushed you too hard. You actually got those white gloves dirty, and you're scared that she'll see the monster in you too, even more treacherous for wearing the guise of mannered civility. You do not yet realize in this selfish attempt to keep yourself above it all, you prove yourself her worst enemy."

He started to move slowly toward them, stone-faced, and Elijah's lip trembled, the placid surface of his own countenance rippled with the angrily thrown stone. "DAMN YOU!!!! DAMN you to HELL!!! I am her ONLY solace in this INFERNO you have authored, with the SAME hand as the father you revile!!!! I used to think you were better than him, Klaus, I used to hope there was something still HUMAN behind those imperious eyes, but I LOOK at you, at what you're doing to her, why you're doing it, and I see only HIM!!!"

Klaus' chin shook with his indignation, his red hot irises blazing rings of fire, his seething breath, making his shoulders rise and fall, until they remained hunched with his venomous fury. Elijah's lips were tremulous, as he moved to protect Natalia, regretting the words as soon as they let loose their barbed arrows, but what they reaped in return, made his blood run cold, for never in a thousand years had he tasted more paralyzing fear.

"GOOOOD!!!!" Klaus thundered back, still advancing on them both, eyes manic, getting closer and closer, his voice more howl than human sound. "If you see in me, that particular evil, if my words bite with that wretched POISON, it means my plan is WORKING!!!!! MY PLAN that will make this girl a MARVEL, as opposed to yours that douses her fire, leaving her like this, limp and lifeless!!!! YOU, LOOK AT HER!!!! IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED!?!?!?" Klaus' shuddering yell reverberated through the arena, making the air tremble all around them, and the lightning itself shivered in spastic flashing trails.

"I WANTED HER.....… FOR YOU!!!!!!" Elijah roared back, open mouthed, drowning out the next clap of thunder that rushed down at them, and Klaus took a step back, his own screaming threats falling silent, unnerved.

"What did you just say to me?"

"I wanted her for you...…. I wanted love for you, to gentle you, to heal you, to help you forget these long worn scars, Klaus!!! I saw something rare and uncommonly beautiful, a purity in this divine bond between you and her, love at first sight, such as there has never been before, nor will there ever bloom again, but you- you have poisoned this apple of Eden, and I see how blind I've been. I see how unnatural, how twisted this affect, one on the other, truly is. This isn't love, this can't be love, it's something darker, something wrong...…. You love her...…. but it is WRONG."

Klaus scoffed, flinging his arms out, exasperated, and broke into a joyless laugh. "Love, love, LOVE!!! How QUAINT!? What kind of FOOL do you take me for, Elijah, I barely know the girl, and she DESPISES me, she'd kill me right now, all you need to do is put a white oak stake in her hot little fingers, and point to my allegedly existent heart!!!!! WHAT are these flinches, these purposed movements that confess to you my love, hmm? Why do you think me capable of so weak, so human an emotion, that fragility, that madness, that hateful infestation that can only be called love!?"

"Me thinks he doth protest too much...…." Elijah said much quieter, searching his brother's eyes for mercy, but was not at all surprised when he found none. "Rant, rave, spew the opposite, but Brother, your body fails you in this unnecessary deception. I see you...…. Every blow, every cut, every bruise, every pain, that has befallen this young woman, is mirrored in your own body. You flinch when I strike her, even as you command me with your own lips to strike her harder, you wince at her wounds, and I see the glimpses of an escaped truth. Her hurt is your hurt, you feel her pain, and still you make her suffer, and in effect, suffer yourself. You hurt her with your own hands, you BIT her, tasted her blood, such graphic theatrics all to prove you feel nothing. All to prove...…. you don't love her, but oh the elaborate and ghastly lengths you go to, prove that you do."

Klaus rubbed his lips together, his gaze hard, flitting from Elijah, to Talia, but his eyes were unwavering in their indifference.

"Why do you do this to yourself, Niklaus...….? Why suffer the girl, sacrifice her, for the sake of your own unyielding pride? FORGET this Fool's Errand. This MAD babble about making her better than you, you're an ORIGINAL, such a quest is a death sentence for any who seek to undertake it. Stop pushing her. Stop pushing her away, let her in, save her...… even if it must be from yourself. Either let her in...…. or let her go...…."

"No." Klaus said with a scathing finality, his red, bloodshot eyes piercing into Elijah's as he leant forward in his face. "I told you, I cannot be deterred from this path...…. Whether it is love or hate that burns between us...…. She WILL be better than me, SHE will be the most powerful vampire of all time, or she will be...…. sacrificed. My course is charted, call it madness, call it prudent, but you will not stop me."

Elijah looked down at Natalia's slumbering form, and Klaus could see it in his austere brown eyes, his temptation to gather her up in his arms, and speed her away, never to return, but instead Elijah breathed deeply, palms up, backing away. "I will not court this madness, I will never condone this obscene abuse, this hold you have on each other, this ruined love that now shackles you together, condemning you both. These fates once braided, cannot be untied. I wash my hands of this...… I wash my hands of YOU."

Elijah turned, shaking, blurring away, and the moment he was gone, Klaus felt his legs falter beneath him, stumbling forward to Natalia, collapsing in the mud, his eyes stinging, as the dreary sky opened up and wept with him in a deluge of descended rain.

His tears mingled with the pelting raindrops, tasting salt and freshwater on his lips, as they shook, and he coughed, choking on his own flooding sorrow. He crawled through the mud, moving closer to her, more tears streaming from his anguished blue eyes, and he brought forth a trembling hand to touch her face, a pained murmur escaping him, as he brushed it against her cheek, moving his fingers up to the wound gaping, haloed with a bruise, at her temple, single tears becoming sobs, as his hand trailed with the rushing water down her neck, the rain washing clean the dark red blood pooling from two deep puncture wounds. The artist's unsavory mark.

He fell upon her chest with a desolate scream, as though cursing some unseen evil, knowing full well this malevolent foe that so assaulted his beloved, resided inside him even now. He wept bitterly, gathering her up in his arms, holding her to him, his head pressed against her heart, the beat of which soothed the chaos within. He slowly lifted his drenched hyperion curls, rain falling from his eyelashes, streaming down his nose, soaking his leather clad skin to the bone. His two fingers shook even more, the closer they drew to the bloodied bitemark, and he forced himself to touch it, feel the depth of his imprint, more sobs released, her blood on his hands in every sense. It dripped down his fingers as he spoke, staining them red, his other hand drifting through the water droplets collecting in her muddy, mangled curls.

"CURSE these wayward hands that have done naught but bring you harm. CURSE these impure lips that dared profane your neck, your blood!!!! CURSE this man who was never anything but a monster, who does not know how to love something without killing it DEAD!!!!!" Klaus sobbed profusely, his voice broken and choking, his words bleeding with the profound depth of his pain. He fumbled into an upright position, pulling her tenderly to him, laying her body across his lap, his chest shuddering, her head resting atop the curve of his shoulder. "Never...…. again." He whispered, his lips still trembling, the words drowning in his misery, with barely a sound. "Never again, will I violate you so, drink from you without your consent..... this I vow….... Forgive me, Natalia...…. Forgive me, though in secret, never shall I forgive myself."

He bit deeply into his own wrist, much harder than necessary, squeezing his eyes shut, wanting it to hurt, the way it had hurt her. Fresh tears blurred his woeful gaze, as he pressed his bleeding wrist to her wet, luscious lips. "Drink, My Love....... I know it is not recompense sufficient for the pains I have caused you these languishing weeks, but let me heal you, repay the blood I have so recklessly taken, both with blade and fang. Precious blood spilt by a mad king. You were right, Sweet Talia...… I am the King of Nothing. How else can I do this, fell my own sacred queen? Where is my kingdom? Here lies King Richard III, I, with my deformed love, clinging to my crown above all else, and I wish you would prove him and I, the same in such heartlessness, return that sword to this sheath a hundred fold, for this sin unforgivable. He pressed one hand against his pierced heart, still holding his bleeding wrist to her lips, but they stayed unmoving against his skin.

"No, no, no, my bloom of fire, you must drink, please, let me ease your suffering and thus...……. my own. Elijah's innate perception serves him far too well...…. I cannot see your pain, without it becoming my own...….. He sighed, cradling her curly head in his palm, easing her mouth open with a trembling finger, the rain cascading over them both. "I am doomed Hamlet, driven his dear Ophelia, and himself mad. This is courting madness, and I muse how long until this worn mask becomes my real face? That face which you could never love......"

He felt more tears stream from his stricken eyes, as he dripped his aromatic, spiced blood into her open mouth, watering his rose, drop by drop, and he saw her crimson lip quiver with hunger. "Yes, there's a good girl," he whispered through his raw ache, returning his wrist to her mouth, and this time she drank deeply from him.

"That's it, Mi Reina, bebida," he whispered in Spanish, watching her curved chest lurch forward to get more, and he stroked her soaking wet, raven tresses, his touch tender, letting each glistening curl fall through his fingers. He gathered her into his arms, lifting her up from the mud, and his face was solemn as he held her, cradled her, assailed by the unrelenting rain.

Curse these arms that are strong, but not careful enough to hold you, curse these eyes that cannot look on you with love, unless yours are closed...….. His mind lamented, his expression hard as he carried her inside, rain pouring off of both of them. Curse this lying tongue that dared call you dead, when I've never seen anything more fearlessly alive...…. Curse the wounded heart that will always break yours.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3