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@acharnelhouse
@𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 ✒︎ 𝚊 𝚋𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚛 𝚟𝚊𝚞𝚕𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚍.
a study in the complexity of life, death, and the miserable hands of gods which command it.
This blog portrays pieces and parts of the many adaptations and retellings of Mary Shelley's 𝕱𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖐𝖊𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖎𝖓.
sideblog to @dxmnedderelict ✒︎ she/her, 21+
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You’re here. You’re really here.
FRANKENSTEIN (2025) dir. Guillermo del Toro
del toro's frankenstein / franz kafka, letter to his father
{insp}
@narrativeabducted wrote ✒︎ 🦴 Snap the receiver’s dislocated shoulder back into place. [Percy for Victor]
“Touching me will be the last thing you do.” Venom seethes through gritted teeth, placing distance between himself and the stranger. Over two hundred years weathered Victor’s reaction to pain. Two centuries of scientific and medical improvements made to his body to stay young, healthy, and functioning. Though not as quickly to be healed as one of Victor’s creations, he would heal and be righted in no time. Under no circumstances would he ever allow another to ‘fix’ him as he was not in the position of needing fixed.
OSCAR ISAAC
as Victor Frankenstein in Frankenstein (2025), dir. Guillermo del Toro
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I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel
Frankenstein - art by Bernie Wrightson (1978)
the creature + his leaf Frankenstein (2025) dir. Guillermo del Toro
𓂃🖊 I cannot stand you. I gave you a place to live. I should have given you a ditch to die in. Perhaps if the only nice thing ever said about you wasn’t that you could plow a straight line, you wouldn’t be so completely and utterly useless. A mule reaps the same rewards, you imbecile. You are worth nothing, and you have nothing to offer this world past your body when you eventually fertilize the soil. Get. On. With. It.
My portrait of Boris Karloff as the Monster in Frankenstein 🖤
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“The Split Man” by Victor Langheld, at Victor's Way sculpture park, County Wicklow, Ireland.
Frankenstein 2025, dir. Guillermo del Toro
Frankenstein, 2025, dir. Guillermo del Toro
Victor Frankenstein (Frankenstein 2025) Moodboard by @namesaretomainstream
‼️REQUESTS ALWAYS WELCOME AND ENCOURAGED‼️
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Song pairing:
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"I have a flair for the dramatics and an utter lack of self-perseverance," Elliot drawled, not quite managing to match Victor's flat delivery - their own dry remark still flared with dark embers in its undercurrent.
They stood clasping their leather gloves in one hand, the other hand tense and curled up at their side, feet spred wide apart - having barely entered the man's lodgings, as if stepping over the threshold would be to step into some dark cave you might not return from.
Everything looked ordinary. Their gaze traveled through the room. Books, notes, a smart-looking coat draped over a chair - it was merely the home of a man engrossed in his studies. It was when you began to squint at Victor's scribbles and their contents that things took a turn for the worse.
"You see a spineless sheep and unimaginative idiot in me - why do you keep inviting me in?" they finally quipped in return.
A small, thin smile was all the other pulled from Victor in response. His regard for them was delayed by a genuine recompense of thought spurred not by contrition but of disgruntled reflection upon Victor's own folly. Despite his own experiments, improvements, made upon himself, the man remained human and emotional. An unimpressive attachment lingered between them, tethered strongly by far too many years of intellectual affection shared in youth. One of the few people that Victor has found it difficult to pronounce dead to him.
"Spineless sheep, yes. Unimaginative and unfocused, quite. But not an idiot, no." Victor declared almost regrettably, turning on his heel to open space the foyer into his home for Elliot to come through. "Come. I was just about to prepare myself dinner." Victor operated outside of time when it came to creative inspiration. Human necessities such as hunger and exhaustion became only a dull whine while the man worked. Despite the dead of night draped over the house, illuminated by firelight and an oil lamp sat across his desk deeper into the home, Victor hadn't eaten since dinner the night before. "What do you want at such a late hour, old friend?" Victor poured two glasses of rum, extended one towards Elliot.
@serpentpawn wrote ✒︎ “D-Don’t be frighten, he won’t hurt you. His name is Boba…” For the creature, unprompted
Fear was not something the creature was designed to feel aside from that inspired by his creator. Curiosity, though, sparked within the mangled chest of the creature. Not for the snake- no- but for her. He has of course seen the disfigurement of his design, seamless scar tissue blending into foreign flesh as his creator had seamlessly stitched various parts and pieces of deceased criminals into his form. It comes as a shock, though, to gaze upon her hand acting as a branch for the slow moving python. His master, and the only name that the creature has managed to produce from stolen lips, was flawless. He had descended from the old race of humans that Victor was told to be less than him. This human, the creature wondered, must not be of the same race if she did not look as though Victor did. Was she a superior being like he? Was her form simply not finished yet?
The creature brought a finger to his eye, mirroring the side of her face which was covered in a patch. A sinking feeling of dread descended upon him. Even if he was less than a month old, the creature knew that this other was not meant to be in his creator's private, hidden quarters while he was away.
"Victor?" Where was he? And who was this stranger?
