frankensteins monster


Random images of my current FO4 character. High res on flickr.
Mods used:

The Eyes of Beauty
Precursor Suit
Synth Suit Retexture
LooksMenu Customization Compilation
Valkyr Female Face Texture

ENB is Frankensteins monster, butchered together stuff I liked and added LUT support, trying different looks for this character. DOF is Marty McFly’s.

Next post will be Skyrim again! Sorry for the inactiveness lately, last couple of months were busy for me. This blog ain’t dead yet! :0

Had the absolute pleasure of tattooing this Frankenstein’s monster/Boris Karloff portrait today for the lovely Greg, his first tattoo, and sat like an absolute champ.

Bride to come next!

#dotworktattoo #juniortattooist #dotwork #pointilism #frankenstein #frankensteinsmonster #horrortattoo #horror #boriskarloff #btattooing #blackworktattoo (at Victory Tattoo Company)

Made with Instagram

i literally saw the DNC turn diehard bernie people into emotional hillary supporters before my fucking eyes on my dashboard tonight it was like horrific. it was like watching Frankenstein’s monster come to life



                                         AS THE LEGEND STATES

She had always seemed to be something of a different world; strange, solitary, clinical. Born of the sea and to the sea recovered, Leviathan was always a monster in her own right. Not a muse, not the dark lady of which Shakespeare wrote; she had been a myth long before outliers told stories of the Greeks and their gods of the sea and sky. In a hut upon the rocks, bathed in sea salt and spray, she was born into a mind of madness, a life of creation and destruction to rival that of Frankenstein himself. The sea monsters of which the great legends speak are of her creation, and some say that, perhaps, she was a monster just as readily as they. A monster to create monsters – the circle of life personified. 

It is only appropriate that she stitch together monsters now, as well. With cruel hands, she tears at the link between humanity and monstrosity, creating soldiers from prisoners, and darkness from obscurity. Occupy or perish. 

Occupy or destroy. Or perhaps both are synonymous.

                                          AS THE RECORD STATES

She never knew much of her mother; her father was the only human contact she had for years, and though he was hardly enough, she made do. The daughter of a fisherman with a nasty drinking habit and a penchant for disappearing for weeks at a time, Leviathan was born independent, with her innate bitterness only festering over time. She was also born with a fierce hatred of men, an unbridled vitriol for those who would presume to call women subservient, to damn them to a life of silence and servitude. From the moment her father brought home a friend he’d met on the sea – a man from London, a scientist, whose vacation had turned to a nasty tumble into the brine – she’d known that this shack by the sea was not the life for her. This shack, this unabashed slamming of high tide into the kitchen wall, the insistence that her father’s presence be met with a locked door and a butcher knife hidden beneath her pillow, was not for her; had she stayed, she might have butchered her father long before she did. 

The scientist had left behind a pair of books, forgotten and warped by the salty air, and had never returned for them. Leviathan had been a mere girl when the scientist had come, and she could barely decipher the words upon the wrinkled pages, but as her father shipped off for another month of absence, she took to learning what it all meant herself. The diagrams were her guiding light, the mark by which the words lived, and soon enough she understood. Cut down the middle, open it up, and onto the innards – a book of medical science, it was, depicting the various ways to cut apart a body and study what lay inside. Leviathan was fascinated by the idea that mere humans could toy so flagrantly with the idea of life, the idea of what constituted wholeness and brokenness; it was not long before her fascination turned to a need for experimentation – for what else did she have to do, besides wait, and rot, and decay whilst her father was away? 

It began with the fish that washed upon the rocks by her hut; though her father had told her never to venture onto the slippery rock, Leviathan hastened to collect the flopping fish who had been stranded upon dry land and betrayed by high tide. Using the silverware her father had been given on his wedding day, she cut them open, following the diagrams in the books as well as she could, though the difference between human and amphibian anatomy was a marked leap. But she managed to make it work, to pull the amphibian heart from where it lay, stop it up, and start it again. This fascination with anatomy, with science, with the line between life and death ( dancing back, and forth, and back again ) grew, flourished, in the month that her father was gone, reaching to monumental heights and darkest depths with much effort, and much blood spilled. 

It was a rabbit who started it all, who truly kickstarted the need to create – a rabbit with the head of a squirrel; Leviathan had graduated quickly from fish to work upon mammals, first cutting them open, then stitching them back together with little care for what was meant to go where, but with only what was fascinating, and what was possible. A rabbit with the head of a squirrel, stitched together in grotesque fashion with sewing thread – green thread – twitching about as it struggled to come back to life beneath her surgical hand, was her finest work as well as her denouement, for as the strange monster flopped upon weary and half-alive feet, her father returned home, smelling of the sea and of whiskey. Horror was met with horror, and in his indignation, he threw a young Leviathan, riding on the high of her creation, into the wall, crushing the skull of her dear, furry frankenstein’s monster, and effectively inciting a hatred not even Leviathan had known she possessed. 

She ran into the next room, slipping her butcher’s knife from beneath her pillow on the heel of a wave breaking upon the house, and before the next wave could even be born upon the rocks just outside, Leviathan had killed her father. He had been drunk, surely; his fight was not what it should have been for a man of his size, or so Leviathan would have liked to believe. It took an hour to drag him upon the kitchen table, swiping away plates, and papers, and yellowed napkins in order to replace the rabbit with a human body – and it was this that truly convinced her to move to London, to follow this wild hare of a fascination, away from the salty brine beneath which she had been oppressed for her entire life. Her father’s body looked the absolute picture of the diagrams in her books, and so she made quick work of it, not bothering to keep clean or to keep the blood off the floor; his heart, his liver, his kidneys were all laid upon the table and meticulously replaced, in an almost comical fashion, with that of the rabbit he had squashed. 

Leviathan was lucky enough to find a job as a bookkeeper in the Medical Department of the University of London; in a surgical theatre, she spent the vast majority of her time, watching as the doctor and professors under which she studied picked apart human bodies under the careful gaze of their students – all male, of course, which never ceased to irritate her. Leviathan was charming enough, persistent enough, to ask questions after hours, to stay as long in the professor’s office as she could, and even looking over the bodies herself. Before long, she was allowed to sit in on the classes, blending in with the students only to stand out with her knowledge and enthusiasm. Enthusiasm which, then, manifested in the form of her own experiments; she stole and smuggled from the professor’s office, turning her own minuscule flat into a shop of horrors – and in it she created monsters of her own. It is only appropriate, surely, that she be put to use creating monsters in her afterlife just as soon. 

She was murdered by a group of thugs looking for the pearls she wore about her neck, and the money she kept in her handbag; half-dead, she was tossed into the river and floated out to the sea, but was dead before she reached the salt. It was an unceremonious end, for such a strange and wondrous woman, but she’d soon found that death was just a stepping stone to bigger and better things. She’d only been in Heaven a short time when Lucifer himself reached out to her, showering her with adorations and supplications, for there was no one quite like her. He’d heard of her experiments on Earth, had watched as she attached a woman’s arm to where a man’s leg should be, and scalped the woman only to sew the man’s hair upon her skull. Grotesque, beautiful, demonic – it took little convincing to send her to Hell, and even less to convince her to establish The Tower, where she has remained since. 

Creating demons from humans and angels with the help of The Conscript has been a divine calling if ever there was one. Leviathan is a kingpin, manufacturing Lucifer’s army in bulk; she is also the source of many ghost stories, for which she is rather proud. And rightly so; the bulk of Lucifer’s army was built under her teaching. To merge a demon soul and a human body is a beautiful, terrible thing – Doctor Frankenstein could never compare to a woman playing God. 

anonymous asked:

Ehat does the Frankenstein roast mean?are they judging/criticizing the play or are they making fun of it? Ps I checked the faq!!😮

They’re poking fun of the cast and crew members and recalling anecdotal shenanigans that went on during production of the play. For example, Dylan made fun of Brooks commenting that he looked ‘ugly as shit’ as Frankenstein’s monster and Zack quiped that Dylan sucked at working sound production. See post here

Thanks so much for checking the FAQ first (even though I’m far from finished with it.. 😬) 👍🏻


That one time when I joked that Frankenstein’s monster didn’t kill himself and went on to become the Phantom of the Opera…ha ha…I am officially monster mash TRASH.

Seriously though, Erik and Frankenstein’s Monster would get along so well–with the shared parental trauma, self-esteem issues, and complex relationships with women whose names end in “-tine”. Oh, and that whole strangulation thing. Monster is waaay bigger though. 

Coincidence? I think NOT! Its a conspiracy, I tell ya! Them gothic authors are all in cahoots!

@thedrawingduke on twitter + instagram 


ITS ALLIVEEE! *lightning strikes* 

Ok, so here are the first few pages of my Franken-Phantom monster mash bash! I haven’t decided on a title for it yet–I really wish I could keep “Frankenstein” in the title somewhere but I haven’t been able to come up with anything that isn’t a lame pun. Leaning towards “Opera Macabre” at the moment, but that sounds lame to me too. I dunno, thoughts, anyone? Right now I am just calling it FrankenPhantom: Monster Mash Trash. Not a very dignified title, though…

For those who aren’t familiar with the concept, click here for the original post! Also, here are some questions on the subject! 


@ thedrawingduke on twitter + instagram + Facebook 


Poor Christine! Yeah-you better feel sorry for what you’ve done, big bully!  >:{ 

I just finished all the art for Ch. 1 and ha HA, *rubs hands together* everything is going to go NUTS and this is getting way longer than I had originally anticipated but oh well. C’est la vie, as they say. 

In other news, THANK YOU ALL for the support and enthusiasm and sweet messages. You are the best <3

Part 1 + Part 2 

@ thedrawingduke on twitter + instagram + Facebook