'TIS DEATH IS DEAD, NOT HE.

[kaerlighedsbrev-deactivated2020]

self care is suppressing all your trauma until it comes and slaps you in the face with the force of 7 very large trucks

[frncnstn]

* 𝐃𝐑𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒.

𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒         𝖙𝖍𝖊         𝖒𝖎𝖉𝖘𝖙         𝖔𝖋         𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖐𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖘            ,            a         sudden         light         had         broke         ‘pon         me            .                SO         BRILLIANT            !                SO         WONDERFUL            !                oh            ,            but         how         quick         that         darkness         was         to         reclaim         what         once         belonged         to         it            .                perhaps         i         had         been         too         quick                (       𝚗𝚊𝚢         ;         𝚝𝚘𝚘       𝚎𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚛       )                to         bask         in         dizzying         rays            .                rays         that         lost         their         warmth            .

i         find         there         to         be         a         ᴄᴏʟᴅ         ʙɪᴛᴇ         that         grips         me         tighter         &         tighter         with         each         day         gone            .                𝚝𝚑𝚎         𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚑         &         𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚜         𝚘𝚏         𝚐𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚝         rooting         deeper         into         my         heart            .                RAGE         FLARED            .                poor         justine            .                dread         had         flooded          my         very         being         when         ernest         had         informed         me         of         her         arrest            .

               (       𝚒         ,         𝚗𝚘𝚝       𝚒𝚗       𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚍         ,         𝚋𝚞𝚝       𝚒𝚗       𝚎𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝         ,         𝚠𝚊𝚜       𝚝𝚑𝚎       𝚝𝚑𝚎       𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚎       𝚖𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚛       )                how         many         more         would         fall         due         to         my         transgression            ?                would         i         soon         have         ernest’s         blood         𝖈𝖔𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌         𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖘𝖊         𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖘         that         gave         a         monster         life            ?                the         mere         thought         made         my         stomach         churn            .

it         was         the         voice         of        the        man         in        question         roused         me         from         my         thoughts            .                i         regret         that         i         could         not         bring         myself         to         smile         at         his         presence            .                        ❛     that         would         depend         entirely         on         𝑤𝘩𝑎𝑡         𝑖𝑡         𝑖𝑠         you        wish        to         discuss            .     ❜ 

i was accustomed, by now, to my brother’s eccentric and melancholy nature. even before he departed for his university studies, he had been distant; i had, in the past, attributed these strange particulars solely to the difference between my age and his, but now, it seemed infinitely more alarming and all the more difficult to dismiss. it was no longer only age and physical distance that separated us — something profound yawned between the both of us, severing myself from my brother in the most wretched of ways. 

with a hesitant and faltering step, i crossed the room and settled down into the chair beside victor’s chosen seat. how to begin this conversation, i could not decide; practicality insisted that i ought simply to launch into the matter at hand, but sympathy argued that i ought to ease gently into what i had come to discuss. between the two, i could not decide. if i knew victor better, i might have known which path would be more prudent to take, but the victor i recalled from four years ago felt like a dream when compared to the victor who now lounged before me.

“ i must speak with you regarding what you said of justine’s innocence. i feel as you do; i must believe she is innocent, as you say. and yet you, ” i pressed on, “ seemed to have further grounds for this belief than any of us. you claimed that you knew the murderer — by god, victor, if you know that it was not her, tell me how you know this! ”

[frncnstn]

oh good news i found ernest @ victor

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tbh at least five times in their journey margaret opens the door to ernest’s room and finds him just kinda lying face down on the carpet

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me, remembering that ernest lost his mother, his younger brother, his governess who was practically a second mother, his adoptive sister, his father, and his older brother, all without knowing why, all before he was even twenty fucking years old

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@drwhales.

since the funeral of william and the hanging of justine, ernest had not known how to approach his elder brother. it was natural, of course, that every member of the family ought to be sombre after a loss like this one, but victor’s grief had tipped over into something approaching mania. ernest had never seen him this way, even after the death of their mother; something, this time, was different, and ernest knew not how to ascertain what it was. he and victor had never been close — owing, perhaps, more to the difference in their ages than to any fault in either of their personalities, as ernest had been no more than ten when victor had departed for university. after victor’s four-year absence, he felt more like a stranger than a brother. 

what victor had said before the trial of justine weighed heavily on ernest’s mind. ‘you are mistaken,’ victor had cried, when ernest had told him of justine’s arrest; ‘i know the murderer. justine, poor, good justine, is innocent.’ he had said it with a desperate conviction that had robbed the breath from ernest’s lungs. it was natural to doubt the guilt of so gentle and so tender a woman as justine, but victor had spoken as if he himself had watched the murder done by another’s hand. 

after several days of agonising contemplation, ernest could remain silent upon the matter no longer. wringing his hands together and composing his opening remarks over and over again in his head, he searched the rooms of the household one by one until he finally found victor, melancholy and alone, stretched out on the sofa in the vast library. 

“ —victor? may i speak with you? ”

[frncnstn]

whomst would like an ernest. canon era (1700s) only, but like this if you wanna plot some shit.

[frncnstn]

i’m angry again about victor’s refusal to tell his family anything thanks and good day

[scotchymemes]

Hannibal Season Two Sentence Starters

Now my inner voice sounds like you and I can’t get you out of my head. I assume it’s easier to suspect that I’m responsible for those murders than to accept that you are. I am the unreliable narrator of my own story. I’m not interested in a pissing contest with you, (…). I’ve heard so much about you, I feel like I almost know you. Saving lives is just as arousing as ending them. I’m not asking you to believe anything you can’t prove, I’m asking you to prove it. I want to surrender while I still have my dignity. I’ve always found the idea of death comforting. I can’t make pain go away but I can make it so that it doesn’t matter. Who does he have to kill before you will open your eyes? I’ve convinced myself of something that took me a long while to see. By my experience that means a lot of people are lying about a lot of things. I feel like I’ve been watching our friendship on a split screen. You tried to kill me, (…). It’s hard to not take that personally. I wonder how many more people are going to get hurt by what you do. If only every problem could be solved with a simple Waltz. A tragedy is not to die, but to be wasted. The way you think I am isn’t always a reliable way to believe who I am. I would like to remain not dead for the forseeable future. When you wake up, your only choice will be to run. Doing bad things to bad people makes us feel good. I would change many things, but not that we ended up here. Everybody loves a sinner redeemed. At some point almost every society believed birds carry our souls into the afterlife. It won’t feel the same, (…). It won’t feel like killing me. This is not the reckoning you promised yourself. A life without regret would be no life at all. Most of what we believe is motivated by death. Hollywood is a fine place for the obnoxious and wealthy. You failed to murder (…) because you still love him. I’m not having this or any other kind of conversation with you, (…). I enjoy putting a face to the name. I can guarantee you there’s a really good explanation for this. I provide the ingredients, you tell me what we should do with them. This animal tastes frightened. What does frightened taste like? Fire destroys and creates. It is mythical. It’s common for killers to revisit their victims after death. I think a child may be what we need to bring us closer. If we were truly considerate of a pig’s happiness, we wouldn’t eat them. Whenever feasable one should always try to eat the rude. You don’t want me to have anything in my life that’s not you. Nothing makes us more vulnerable than loneliness. Don’t fool yourself into thinking (…) is not in control of what’s happening. I am convinced of my general lack of trust in people. When the fox hears the rabbit scream, he comes running, but not to help. When the moment comes, will you do what needs to be done? What we do for ourselves dies with us, what we do for others lives beyond us. Will you save (…) for me when I’m gone? Reality doesn’t go away just because you stop believing in it. You would deny me my life? Fate and circumstance have returned us to this moment, when the teacup shatters.

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independent & selective 𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐈𝐍, of mary shelley’s frankenstein, or the modern prometheus.  /   penned by 𝐊𝐘𝐑𝐀.   /   mun is 20+.   /  sideblog to thaegeiro.  /  due to the graphic nature of the original story, content warnings (gore, blood, death, etc) apply.

[frncnstn]

the description of ernest differs a little between the 1818 text and the 1831 revision. we don’t get to learn much about him at all, but here’s a comparison of two passages, starting with the 1818 text and followed by the 1831 version.

“My uncle and I conversed a long time last night about what profession Ernest should follow. His constant illness when young has deprived him of the habits of application; and now that he enjoys good health, he is continually in the open air, climbing the hills, or rowing on the lake. I therefore proposed that he should be a farmer; which you know, Cousin, is a favourite scheme of mine. A farmer's is a very healthy happy life; and the least hurtful, or rather the most beneficial profession of any. My uncle had an idea of his being educated as an advocate, that through his interest he might become a judge. But, besides that he is not at all fitted for such an occupation, it is certainly more creditable to cultivate the earth for the sustenance of man, than to be the confidant, and sometimes the accomplice, of his vices; which is the profession of a lawyer.” 

“How pleased you would be to remark the improvement of our Ernest! He is now sixteen and full of activity and spirit. He is desirous to be a true Swiss and to enter into foreign service, but we cannot part with him, at least until his elder brother returns to us. My uncle is not pleased with the idea of a military career in a distant country, but Ernest never had your powers of application. He looks upon study as an odious fetter; his time is spent in the open air, climbing the hills or rowing on the lake. I fear that he will become an idler unless we yield the point and permit him to enter on the profession which he has selected.”

so, in both, it remains consistent that ernest isn’t as much of an intellectual as victor. i don’t think he’s stupid, by any means — he just would rather do physical stuff than sit around studying. it’s also consistent that he really likes the outdoors and spends most of his time hiking or rowing. 

the difference is mostly in what ernest is intending to do for a profession. the idea of him becoming a farmer is... really weird, since his family is well-off and his father has a high position in politics. i have no idea why ernest would go be a farmer, or why elizabeth wants him to do that — nor do i really get why he apparently has no say in the matter. i much prefer the 1831 version, where he has his own idea about what he wants to do. that’s the canon i’m gonna go with. 

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ok, so!! if people are up for threads, i’d love to start some threads here. 

to be honest, i really want to restrict things here to ernest’s canon verse. this blog is pretty much exclusively to help get my voice / style down for writing him in a novel, so i don’t... want to just go off into dozens of aus like i do with my usual rp blogs. if you are up for doing 18th century stuff, awesome! we can make a verse that works. just give this post a like if you wanna plot something.

[traumasuggestion]

I’m allowed to be angry about what happened. I am allowed to be angry about what you did.