#the back to george and dream killed me its like. it’s not over yet

[brokehorrorfan]

6 Things I Learned from the Lisa Frankenstein Commentary

We don’t get movies like Lisa Franeknstein often, which is a shame because it’s endlessly charming yet delightfully twisted. While it disappointed at the box office, it has "cult classic" written all over it.

The coming-of-age horror-comedy is out today on Blu-ray and DVD. Among the special features is an audio commentary by Zelda Williams. Here are 6 things I learned…

1. Catch Me If You Can inspired the opening credit sequence.

The opening credit sequence, which briefly depicts the Creature's love story from his previous life in the style of Victorian shadow box art, was inspired by Catch Me If You Can.

"We wanted to do something interesting with the credits in this bit. I was really inspired by Catch Me If You Can, which I thought the opening credits were particularly interesting and helped establish the story before we ever got to it. And because Creature doesn't speak this whole movie, I wanted an opportunity to show what his life would have been like."

2. The film was originally intended to be rated R.

Although Lisa Frankenstein pushes the PG-13 rating as far as it can go, it was originally intended to be a hard R. Williams cites the party scene, in which Lisa originally smoked a laced joint rather than drinking a PCP cocktail, as a difficult revision.

"This is where stuff got a little complicated when we were going from R-rated to PG-13. Originally there was a coated joint they were passing around. This is one of the only scenes that I'm not sure I'm as fond of in comparison to the joint stuff. Most of the rest of the changes were fine, but this one I find very strange. It's just a very different reaction and interaction than what used to be there. However, these are the things that happen when making a movie."

3. Creature is an homage to Day of the Dead's Bub.

Not only Lisa is seen watching George A. Romero's Day of the Dead in the film, but the Creature is an homage to its iconic zombie, Bub.

"Creature for me is definitely an homage to Buster Keaton, but he's also an homage to the zombie you just saw on screen, Bub, who was in Day of the Dead, a Romero movie that I'm very fond of. It was an incredibly emotive and a very intelligent zombie and ended up getting revenge against the asshole in the movie. It was one of my favorite monsters ever made, so when I could put that on screen during the movie, it made me very happy."

4. Zelda hid a tribute to her father, Robin Williams.

Williams is the daughter of Robin Williams, and she included his 1983 comedy album, Throbbing Python of Love, among the records scattered on the floor in Lisa's living room.

"Oh, there's Dad! We used one of Dad's vinyl albums because we had to scatter some across the floor." She refers to it as "a little, mini Easter Egg for me."

5. The police officers are named after John Waters.

The police officers in the film are Officer John (played by Walker Babington) and Officer Waters (Sylvia Grace Crim) — named on a whim in honor of cult filmmaker, John Waters.

"They asked me to name the cops, because obviously they needed to have name tags, so I named them Officer John and Officer Waters." She thought no one would notice since they're so small, but a viewer pointed it out at a test screening.

6. The film is sprinkled with movie references.

Williams wore her influences on her sleeve with her directorial debut, and she pointed out several references on the commentary:

A Trip to the Moon (clip featured in Lisa's surreal dream sequence)

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (stylistic inspiration on the dream sequence)

Weird Science (the party scene)

Suspiria (red lighting during drug sequence)

My Boyfriend's Back (camera shot from inside a grave looking up at characters)

Kill Bill (weapon point-of-view shot)

E.T. (a boy on a bike — played by Diablo Cody's son — at the end)

Notting Hill (reading together on a bench at the end)

Lisa Frankenstein is available now on Blu-ray, DVD, and Digital via Universal.

#lisa frankenstein #zelda williams #diablo cody #kathryn newton #cole sprouse #article #review #dvd #gift #liza soberano #henry eikenberry #joe chrest #carla gugino #horror #horror comedy

[thefrontofmymind]

Unknown (matty healy x reader)*

WARNINGS: THIS IS SMUT, IF I FIND OUT A MINOR READS THIS IM TELLING UR PARENTS

a/n: this is a part 2 to all things end, this one is based off of the song unknown by hozier. listen to it, it's such a good song

You spent months living your life before you let yourself think about him again. You were invited to a dinner party at the Hann’s, it would’ve been weird if he wasn’t invited. You were thinking of it as something of a preemptive strike against yourself–finally thinking through and addressing your relationship with Matty. 

It’d been easy so far, he’d been away on tour so things in your flat were like they always were, apart from the day after you knew they’d all gotten back when George showed up to your flat, asking for some of his things. You let him take most of Matty’s things, from a list you saw he was reading off of from a text on his phone–a guitar he particularly loved, some of his clothes he didn’t pack for tour, and his stack of full notebooks he’d compiled over the years. He let you keep all the records housed in a floor-to-ceiling shelf in your living room. You knew there were some especially rare ones in the collection, ones you knew he tracked down after years and years of looking.

You decided the best way to really digest everything you’d hid away in a locked-up cupboard in your mind was to write a letter. You didn’t go into it thinking you’d ever give it to him, but you just wanted to write down all the things you wish you could say to him, so you could start again with a clean slate of sorts.

Dear Matty,

To start out this letter, I should tell you that, even now, I think I’ll always love you. Of course you knew this from our last proper conversation, but it’s still true now over 2 months later. We did so much together, you’ll always have a piece of my heart, and I hope mine your’s.

I try not to think about you when I see the ashtray I made for you during that week of quarantine when I got really into pottery. It still sits at its home on the window sill of the bathroom. I try not to turn my head too quickly when I’m out in public and I hear a Northern man speaking behind me. I don’t think I can ever watch True Romance again without thinking about my favourite song, I don’t think I could listen to Fugazi again without thinking of that goddamn t-shirt you wore until it was covered in holes.

I never said it enough, but I’m still so proud of you. For everything. You are a true image of dreams being accomplished, you’re basically a legend in the making. I know you never liked me inflating your ego too much, but I hope you’ll take this compliment at least this once.

This could be misconstrued as a little selfish, but I hope you’re hurting as much as I have been. I hope you struggle to think of me, I hope you reminisce on the good times and dwell on the tough times. I don’t know where you’re staying at the moment, I’m still getting all your mail so you mightn’t have gotten a new place yet, so you’re probably staying with George or someone, but I hope there’s things that remind you of me. Like those cufflinks I bought you for the first of your birthdays we spent together or when you see a movie on Netflix you know I love.

I hope that when we see each other again, there’s not a shred of any contempt in my heart. We don’t have to be friends, but it would kill me if we couldn’t even speak.

Love From Me

As you folded it and slid it into an envelope you felt so much lighter. And with it placed at the bottom of the drawer of your nightstand, you felt like you could breathe freely–for the first time in months.

Now you just had to face him. A task easier said than done, even with your previous exercise, it was a bandaid that made the pain bearable.

The evening of the dinner, you made sure to look your best. Not for Matty, no. You needed to show everyone else that you were fine–you were sure Matty had told them all about what happened, and the only one of his bandmates you’d spoken to was George. It was a shock when you got the text from Carly asking if you were free, you thought the end of your relationship with Matty would mean the end of your friendship with the people around him. Not to say you weren’t pleasantly surprised, just a little bit caught off guard.

You did a quick once-over before you headed out the door, and in the least self-conceited way, you’d never looked hotter. Your makeup was perfect, your hair had that fluffy, 90s supermodel look, and you were wearing a dress that fit you like a glove, in a colour that was the perfect compliment to your glowing skin.

On the drive there you were trying to psych yourself up. It wasn’t a big deal…You could do this. Even as you were walking towards the front door and you could hear laughs inside, you kept telling yourself you would be okay…even if you didn’t believe it all that much.

Only about a second after you pressed the doorbell, you were greeted with the sight of the one, the only Jamie Squire.

“How are you, kid?” He asked excitedly, giving you a friendly hug.

“Oh…You know,” you answered. Because he most certainly did know. You held up the mid-priced bottle of red wine you brought. “Where should this go?”

“Oh Carly’s in the kitchen,” he said.

You were glad to see Carly alone in the kitchen, checking on whatever meal was in the oven. She was just as dolled up as you–you were glad you wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb.

“Carls!” You called to her as you entered the kitchen.

She excitedly turned and gave you a hug, and gave you a compliment on your makeup. You were always grateful for the friendship between The 1975’s WAGs, past and present.

“So where’s the little rockstar?” You asked, you always loved spending time with Baby Hann, as one of his godparents you’d spent many days playing along with any game he could come up with–which were becoming more and more inventive as he got older.

“He’s at Ad’s parents’,” she answered, you frowned. “Hey, we need a night off every so often!”

“I know…I know…” You joked as you poured a glass from the bottle you brought. “Well then where’s your lovely husband? Need to tell him he should help out his wife.”

“He’s in the living room with everyone else…” She got quiet at the end of her sentence.

“Hey,” you said in a serious tone. “It’s okay, I can be around him.”

“You’re sure?”

“I think.” You laughed.

“If you say so…” She went back to preparing some kind of sauce on the stovetop, leaving you to wade into the unknown. 

You followed the noise of laughter and talking. You were greeted with the sight of George standing in front of everyone else, telling some insane story of his–and the band’s–youth. He trailed off mid-sentence when you entered, and his audience all whipped their heads around to look at the interruption.

Immediately everyone stood, each taking turns to greet you with a polite hug. Last was Matty, he hung back as everyone else said hello. You were so distracted you didn’t notice him at first, but when you did, it was clear how he’d been doing. His hair was longer than before, but not in a way that seemed like he was trying to grow it out, he had a light sprinkle of stubble, and the suit he wore–a staple for him recently–was wrinkled and it looked just a little too big on him.

You politely gave him a kiss on the cheek. You were engulfed in the scent of his cologne, a scent you didn’t realise you missed so dearly.

“How are you, love?” He asked. Love. Sometimes things don’t change, you thought.

“I’m alright,” you said with a bright facade. “Busy with work.”

“Good! Me too,” he answered.

Soon you were whisked away by whomever wanted to talk to you next, not even given an opportunity to say goodbye.

And that was how it went for most of the evening, you’d somehow end up standing next to each other, and someone would intervene. You couldn’t blame your friends, they just wanted to minimise the tension, but there was nothing that could be done about your heart shattering more and more every time you got a look at him.

It got later into the night, and soon the group began to get thinner and thinner. At just a few stragglers left, you saw Matty in the back garden, smoking a cigarette and scrolling through his phone. It was time.

Maybe it was the bottle of wine giving you the courage, but you knew you couldn’t end the night without a proper conversation with Matty, it would be just plain rude not to.

He didn’t react at hearing the clunk of your heels on the wooden deck he was sitting on, only when you sat down right next to him. All he did was offer you a drag of his cigarette which you took, like old times.

“I’m glad you came,” he said after you handed the ciggie back to him. “Here, I mean.”

“Me too…” You answered. “Was a fun night.”

“Did you see how pissed Charli was?” He smiled. “G had to carry her to the car.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” you laughed. “So…uh…where are you staying at the moment?”

“I’ve been bouncing around…” He answered. “Here for tonight.”

You nodded. He seemed quite content to keep scrolling on his phone in silence, but you didn’t want to quit.

“Do you think we could be friends?” You asked. “One day, I mean…eventually.”

Matty looked at you–properly–for the first time since you sat down. “I hope so. Just…”

“What?”

“I need to get over some stuff before that,” he said, nonchalantly, stubbing out his cigarette on the wood of the deck. “Like…I don’t think I’ll ever love someone the way I love you. Like ever.”

Your heart sank at the admission. Everything you’d done to prepare yourself to face him calmly suddenly went out the window.

“Then what are we doing?”

He looked confused by your question.

“Why are we both miserable and just not doing anything about it? Why did we decide to split up if this was how it would end up?”

You were admittedly a bit drunker than you realised at first, you’d never have as much courage to talk to him about all this if you were completely sober.

“Because…” He started. “We run our course.”

“Who says?” You could feel something–Anger? Passion?–bubbling up. “Why should we suffer doing something that neither of us really want? Why were we so rash with all this?”

That last question was more to yourself, why did you give up so easily? You could see Matty’s eyes had a slight gloss to them, yours matched them.

“I don’t know.” Was all he said. And it was enough to solidify your decision of what you were about to do.

You began to lean forward, strong eye contact between the two of you. Matty met you in the middle and before you knew it you were engulfed in the warmth of his kiss, now letting the tears flow freely. It was some kind of cathartic release, all pent up over the last few months.

You didn’t break away until you were in desperate need of air. You both caught your breaths, just staring at each other. Eventually Matty let out a small chuckle.

“What?” You asked, confused but matching his grin.

“Was just thinking…” He started. “I’m supposed to stay here tonight…And I don’t know how I’m gonna sneak out to spend the night with you.”

You laughed. “Well that’s very presumptuous of you.”

“Well I know my audience…” He quipped. It was true, he knew the kind of person you were, as evident when you brought him back to your flat after your first proper date and silently begged him not to judge you–which he didn’t.

You both sat in silence for a little while, a comfortable silence. You didn’t want to go back inside, you felt safe in just Matty’s presence. But you were thinking, how would you explain this to everyone? Simple, you didn’t have to. As much as you loved the band and everyone that came along with them–your family–you did like being alone some of the time. And you thought it best to be alone right now.

“Well I’m going home,” you said, standing up.

“What do I do?” He asked.

“I don’t know! Come up with some excuse! Like you need another pack of fags or something!”

“Carly doesn’t like me smoking here! I had to sneak that one!” He pointed to the butt that was sitting crumbled on the deck next to him.

You sighed. “Just come up with something?”

He laughed. “I’ll try…”

You bid a farewell to the last of the group, and thanked the wonderful couple for hosting. As you turned the ignition of your car, a sense of excitement ran through you. You felt like a teenager again, sneaking around with a boy that made you giddy.

When you got back to your flat, you hurriedly tidied as best you could; making your bed, drying and putting away the dishes you’d left on the sink. When you finally had the time to get a look at yourself in the mirror and saw the sight before you, you quickly refreshed your makeup, fixing your smudged lipstick and creased concealer.

And then you waited on your sofa, after you poured yourself a glass of wine to keep your fearlessness going. Time ticked by ever so slowly. You must’ve checked your phone about two hundred times over the course of about 50 minutes. Eventually you heard a series of rapid knocks at your door, it could only be him. As soon as you opened the door his lips were on yours, feverish and rough.

“What took so long?” You asked in between kisses.

“Had to wait for everyone to leave…” Another kiss. “And then for Hann and Carly to go to bed.”

You just smiled. You had the adrenaline of a horny teenager.

In a flurry of clothes being stripped off between biting, hot kisses, you made your way to your bedroom. A task that was easy for Matty, purely for muscle memory.

There was no need to warm up to it. You straddled Matty and engulfed him in another kiss that almost made you melt.

“You want me to wear a condom?” He asked in a string of breaths, trying not to focus on the heat radiating from you on his thighs.

“I know I’m still clean, are you?”

“Of course.” Was his way of saying there’d been nobody else, An admission that made you beam.

You took gentle hold of his cock, running your thumb over the tip and eliciting a moan from him. And even more as you slowly lowered down on him. It felt comfortable, like home.

As you began to bounce, keeping firm eye contact with Matty, you could feel a bubble start to form in your abdomen. 

You felt your spine turn to jelly when Matty placed two firm fingers on your clit, massaging it in a familiar pattern that you hadn’t felt in months. You were rapidly approaching the edge.

“Ma–Baby…” You began to get out. “Al-almost there…”

“Do you want me on top?” He asked, you nodded.

In a flash, Matty readjusted you so you were laying on top of the mattress, lifting your hips up just a little so he could hit that spot, over and over and over again.

You were biting your lip to stop from letting out the most guttural moan, you just about drew blood. But you just couldn’t hold it in any longer.

Once Matty had hit your g-spot one last time, you just unravelled underneath him. He kept thrusting as you ran out your high, but it wasn’t long before he was emptying into you and collapsing next to you.

In a hazy silence, you both were laid on your bed–yours and his–catching your breaths. After a few minutes of recovery, you sat up a little to look at Matty. He was staring at the ceiling with the biggest smile you’d ever seen on him.

“You alright there?” You asked, with a smile of your own.

“Yeah just…” He took a second to gather his thoughts. “Just really, really happy.”

“Me too.”

The rest of your evening–in a word–was still. You were sat in bed, now under the covers with legs intertwined, just talking. Talking about anything, everything, what you missed out on each other’s lives in the past couple months.

But there was one thing you wanted to tell him–needed to tell him. It was whispering at you from the drawer of your nightstand.

“I have something for you,” you said.

“Oh?” Matty asked with a smile as turned away from him to retrieve the envelope. “Is it a good something or a bad something?”

“Good, I think.” You handed him the envelope that had ‘to Matty’ scrawled on the front. “I wrote it a couple days ago, I just wanted to get all my feelings out.”

As he opened the envelope and quickly scanned the paper within, he got the memo. “A letter for me?”

“You don’t have to read it, or if you want to I can leave the room if that makes it easier…”

“No, you don’t have to…” He said with urgency. “Just sit with me?”

You nodded and shimmied closer to him as he read. It took a couple minutes, after he was done, he folded it back up and placed it on the nightstand on his side of the bed. You finally looked at him, he had tears in his eyes.

“I…” He said shakily. “I love you so much. And I’m never letting you go again.”

#matty healy x reader #matty healy imagine #matty healy smut #matty healy fic #matty healy oneshot #Spotify

[livingproofoftbd]

manhunt au drabble

im making a manhunt au that im quite proud of and very excited for, if anyones curious here’s me just talking about it 

so basically dream is a mortal on earth in, like, some undisclosed year (not modern but kind of with modern slang) like pre dsmp, and he’s super cocky, super selfish, basically a huge dick no one likes. he’s also really strong and really smart, so he’s always challenging people to these dumb bets to prove that he’s better than them, and he always wins. the more he wins, the more he starts betting money, and the more he starts betting money, the less people pay up when they lose. 

and then there are the gods. i havent decided who goes to speak to him, hannah (i figured she could be the most powerful goddess since she was the only one to get an elytra in the dsmp) or callahan (since he apparently helped a lot with the manhunts behind the scenes) but i think im gonna go with callahan. anyways callahan hears about this mortal who thinks too highly of himself and decides to knock him down a few notches by setting up a trial for him. which is manhunt. he recruits five gods to help him, and indirectly makes them sign their souls away to fight him if it comes down to it. he’s positive dream won’t make it past the first god (george) but he has the other four as back ups. 

the rules are simple: kill the ender dragon without getting killed. the challenge itself takes place on some plane thats on the tightrope between the mortal plane and the heavens, where the gods live. when he dies, he wakes up in a new world with scars from before. when he wins and walks through the end portal, the same happens. and yes, im going to include his irl scar, im still figuring out how i’m going to do so. 

the gods, when they first join, hate dream. they hate that its because of him theyve been stripped of all their powers and reduced to mortals just to give him a fair fight. they hate that they lost their right to choose, being forced to participate in this dumb gauntlet. eventually, they all become sort of friends, but that’s in the moments before and after the fight starts. during it, theyre focused intently on their goal. 

since the gods can die and respawn as they please, they feel nothing when they die. well obviously they feel something, but for dream, depending on how he dies, the pain is excruciating. but he and the gods alike dont feel much during the fights themselves so it doesn’t distract them. so if like dream takes fall damage, usually youd swear and grab your ankle and maybe have a limp if you fell really far, but he just keeps running. he only feels it afterwards. 

this gauntlet lasts for weeks, maybe months. time is irrelevant here. but when its over and dream returns home, he’s informed no time was missed while he was competing. he was granted immortality for winning, but he demands to become a god for the hell he was put through, and at the end, he becomes dreamxd. 

(and maybe i’ll include a brief part about him seeing the start of the dsmp, i havent decided yet)

#thinking of calling this the playing god au #gonna make a tag for that hold on #playing god!au #<- new tag wooo #ignore the ! in that its fine #dsmp #dwt #dreamblr #dreamwastaken #gnf #bbh #awesamdude #antfrost #callahan #sapnap #minecraft manhunt #fic plans

[elmhat]

// dsmp rp

c!DNF Week — Worship/Devotion

Dream’s most valuable possession was a book. He had done a lot to gain it, and he had made good use of it since, the details of which only one other person would ever know. As he ran a hand over its worn pages, he knew he would have to do more to keep it.

“Since when do you read?” said George.

Dream slammed the book shut, hauled it up from the tree stump, fumbling to shove it back into his satchel. Heart thrumming in his ears. “I don’t— I’m not, like— it’s nothing. I mean, it’s someone else’s.”

George was leaning against a tree—for how long, who could say. “That sounds really convincing,” he said.

“What are you even doing out here? Did you follow me?” No one should be this deep into the forest, and certainly not George. Dream wasn’t foolish enough to study the book where there was a chance of being seen.

George’s smile was wry. “So what if I did?”

“George, you can’t just follow me around! I’ve told you, this is serious. You can’t be seen with me!”

“You’re actually so dramatic.”

“I’m not being dramatic! Most people will literally kill you if they think you’re on my side!”

George shook his head. “Why would they even do that, though. That’s stupid.”

“Because, I’m… going away for a while.” Dream looked out towards the east. His plans felt so distant right now. “And people won’t like me after. I have stuff I need to deal with, with Tommy and Tubbo—”

“Tommy? Seriously, again? Tommy.” George crossed his arms.

Dream felt that anger rising up again; he pushed it down. Play the part. “Listen, you’ll— you’ll understand later. Just… I don’t know. Just trust me.”

George laughed; it made Dream’s heart ache. “Ohh, just trust you. Because all your plans always work out, all the time.”

“This one will,” Dream asserted.

“You’d better not die to Tommy, that’s embarrassing. Wait, that would be funny, actually. I would laugh.”

Maybe Dream would have smiled, if not for the sincere concern shining in those blue eyes. He began mounting his horse. “I’m not that stupid, come on.”

The thing was, Dream knew he was in the right. The book, the prison, the plan—they would make it better. The two of them had a future together, the same way all of Dream’s former friends had a future together. George was too immature to see it yet.

The revival book was a lifeline; an answered prayer to a god Dream didn’t know. All the pieces were here, and he would devote his life to fitting them together.

“Don’t wait for me,” he told George.

He was riding before he heard the reply.

~

[ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 ]

#this also barely fits the prompt! #dreblr #cdnfweek #c!dream #c!george #c!dnf #drabbles #my writing

[hopalongfairywren]

Sam Bucket Lore liveblogging

FUCK WE'RE LIVE

lore is starting in nine minutes ok. I can wait.

quackity inspires him omg. cc!Quackity really did raise the dsmp to new levels. It was already great but he made it fucking cinematic

tina shoutout! Everyone say thank you to cc!tina she is the reason

Sam bucket. I will never get tired of cc!sam saying saaam buuucket

wait its not over till its over... Huh. Damnit their goes my friday night

c!george cameo? They really are shoehorning in every lore deficient person into these finales huh.

creepy music ooh. I love the music its not spooky month yet but i feel like the music makes it come early.

jumpscares? Fuck. The things I do for minecraft lore

Bad, minecraft is fucking terrifying

Oh thank god the timeline is saved

STARTING

oh god it has a "disturbing content warning" and its crackling like a found footage thingy. Well dsmp fandom if I don't see a shit ton of halloween/horror projects after this imma be mad

recap! with creepy music!

god damn it im already on edge

c!sam thank you for having more reason than the average horror protagonist

YESS. WAIT KNIGHTS OF HOPE? WILL THEY JOIN? AU MATERIAL?

talk to foolish? At the same time as perhaps... the knights of hope... so interconecting lore and plotlines that compliment each other?

No one would come. Nobody trusts c!sam or c!bad because of their actions. Jesus christ. That's my angsty interpretation but it's probably everyone just going; "Well ghosts are real, you can revive the dead, their was a parasitic red egg that tried to kill us, but that..? That's ridiculous lol. Go take your meds."

c!sam is fucking terrified and trying to reassure himself that maybe this isn't real. I wouldn't exactly call it gaslighting (can we not water down the term gaslighting is actively malicious-)

Oh. He brought up being stuck in the egg. Get him c!Sam.

Past lorestream being mentioned in canon? consistency for lore/characters/timeline? Can this stream kiss me pls?

FUUUCK

why does the music sound like fnaf phone ringing stuff

aaand they split up. theyre totally dead

sam bucket

ok but imagine from an in universe perspective how terrifying this is. I'll make a detailed post later

fuck the worst thing is when its to dark you can't see the threat

is he gonna do the horror classic of sneaking into the monster?

YEP

EGG AINT GONE YET EGG MAINS STAY WINNING

jesus christ they took notes from classic horror movies didn't they

Oh god the og eggpire. This makes the current eggpire's actions even more horrifying. They knew they were wrong. they did it anyways.

And yet more proof that the dsmp has been inhabited long before c!dream and will be long after!

Sam bucket

Francis? FRAN?

Callahan? Dream? Slime? Who knows who started this take ur pick!

Oh god I was right. The eggpire people would have had a few momments of lucidity. Scp Slowburn sloth nightmarefuel shit right their

Oh he wanted his dog. Oh. :(

SAM BUCKET WAS WARNING THEM? OH? OH? (pls tell me this is the truth no sudden attack no jumpscare let sam bucket be good)

ok now i feel bad for what im gonna do with sam bucket in pitdd :(

Wait is this a trick? Oh fuck. FUCK.

Is he sacrificing himself or Bad?

Oh HIMSELF?

Now I REALLY feel bad for what I'm gonna do with sam bucket lore in pitdd. Ah well I wrote it back when sam bucket was new and its important

HE PULLED A SKEPPY REFRENCE WTF

OK that ending. I DID NOT SUSPECT THAT ENDING

So many questions. Is Sam bucket good? did he trick c!bad? Did he somehow escape after destroying the egg? did he kill c!bad after this or get him posessed? This doesn't end until cc!sam gets raided so I guess we have to find out....

Oh god back to the scary part no more whismical music

THE EGG IS FROM THE FUCKING NETHER?

Ok this left more questions then answers why did sam bucket show up outside after he blocked himself off. The implication of the Egg being from the nether. If this is the end I'll be confused.

oh wow this is late i forgot to publish it woops

#dream smp #dsmp #sam bucket #dsmp liveblogging #dsmp lore #awesamdude #c!sam #badboyhalo #c!bad #dsmp horror #horror tw #egg #the egg

[fandomnatic]

HELIUM CH 14 SPOILERS

And my thoughts that no one asked for

(I JUST OPENED MY EMAIL AND GASPED BC I SAW THE MESSAGE THAT TBHYOURE LAME UPDATED SO I CAME STRAIGHT HERE TO MAKE MY REACTIONS POST BUT YALL DONT CARE ABOUT THAT SO HOLD ON IMMA GO READ)

AHDKLCKFOEIJSKDOKDWA

Yet another whirlwind of emotions but if it wasn’t a whirlwind would it be helium? No

SO WHAT WAS THE REASON

FOR MAKING ME THINK OH ITS JUST GONNA BE A FLUFFY CHAPTER

AND THEN DREAM SAYS I LOVE YOU BUT IN LIKE A VERY SERIOUS CONTEXT

AND IT GETS FUCKING RIPPED AWAY OF COURSE

also I’m not gonna lie for a solid few paragraphs I thought the reason George ran and Dream got upset was because George couldn’t say I love you back

BUT THE VISA THING UGH AND ITS SO BAD BECAUSE 1. GEORGES PARENTS TOLD HIM WHILE D AND G WERE DOING A FUN THING THAT REALLY MEANS SOMETHING TO GEORGE 2. THE VISA IS KINDA WHAT STARTED THE WHOLE THING 3. THEYRE GOING TO GEORGES GRANDPAS WHERE THE WHOLE SHIT SHOW STARTED AND 4. THEY JUST GOT OVER THE UNCERTAINTY BUT NOW ITS BACK

ughhhhhhhhhhh

Also the beach picture? Was that the beach that Dream saw in his nightmares? I know it said George sent him the picture but Dream seemed to know it too well for seeing it once years ago

Ok now to the fluff

Georges pictures ulajdksinc imma need to read them finishing that and more of George’s explanations please I LOVE

PATCHES CONTENT

the parallel to George texting Dream’s mom on one of his first streams “hi this is your sons boyfriend”

We loveeee the offhand karlnap mentions

I’m a sucker for morning fluff too and this was so fucking good

Then hitting me with domestic fluff with cooking together, meeting the family and patches? Really out here trying to kill me

#helium ch 14 #helium dnf #heatwaves dnf #dream smp #georgenotfound #dream mcyt #gnf mcyt #dream was taken #dreamwastaken #mcyt #dream team #tbhyourelame

[minetvnetwork]

Could a Mysterious Keith Haring Sculpture Reheat New York’s Nastiest Divorce?

Art dealer David Mugrabi and wife Libbie’s 2018 divorce—with its allegations of extramarital skinny dipping and battles over shared art—was the stuff of tabloid dreams. Though they eventually settled, a new complaint from an allegedly aggrieved art buyer is revisiting all that scorched earth.

On July 10, 2018, Libbie Mugrabi was having lunch at Le Bilboquet, the pricey Upper East Side bistro where everybody gets the Cajun chicken, with her sister, Mia Rowe, and a friend named Lauren Amar. Mugrabi had just returned from a spell at her family’s Hamptons home. The trip was not exactly all suntanning and hitting the links at the Maidstone Club. On the morning after a Fourth of July weekend dinner party at the 7,000-square-foot Water Mill residence, she has said, she walked into the family room to find her then husband, David Mugrabi—who with his family owns more Andy Warhol paintings than anyone alive—naked with another woman, both partially draped with a towel, his head resting on her breasts. The pair had been skinny dipping, the woman later told the New York Post, which covered the ensuing divorce with something like gleeful duty.

After Libbie discovered the nude duo, the other woman proceeded to stay in the Hamptons manse for another four days. The woman, who was not named, told Libbie “nothing happened,” adding, “I have no interest in your husband.” Eventually, Libbie tried to cut a deal for her own freedom, telling David she would walk away from their marriage if he agreed to a $10 million settlement. He had other ideas. As soon as Libbie left the Hamptons to get back to the city, she has alleged, David hired movers to pack up the priciest works—by the likes of George Condo, Jean-Michel Basquiat, and Kaws—from the Water Mill mansion. A housekeeper called Libbie to tip her off to the caravan of art handlers taking down masterpieces one by one, and reached her while she was sitting down at Le Bilboquet. The divorce was real, she thought, and her husband was trying to hide hundreds of millions of goodies.

Distraught, she ran back to the East 85th penthouse the family was staying in while their regular abode on East 82nd was going through a $57 million renovation. According to later testimony from Amar, Libbie started grabbing whatever valuables she could—jewelry, a Basquiat plate—before her sister recommended that she take Keith Haring’s Untitled (Three Dancing Figures) (1989), a foot-tall, 25-pound enamel-on-aluminum sculpture.

Suddenly, David arrived back at the apartment, shocked at the scene. Amar testified that Libbie yelled out to her friends, “Don’t go! He’s going to kill me.”

Per the testimony, David then lunged at his still-wife, grabbed the Haring, and wrestled with it for a few moments before shoving Libbie down on the ground in their penthouse.

“You're taking my things!” David reportedly yelled.

Eventually, he pushed his wife out the door, Amar said, adding that David called the three women “lowlifes” and “gold diggers” once they were in the hallway.

The couple’s divorce was finally settled last year after being reopened, but the fate of the Haring remained a mystery. Now it appears to have recently reemerged and is shaking up the tenuous truce between the formerly warring Mugrabis. There is a lawsuit—filed last month in New York Supreme Court, but only reported now in True Colors—against David and his family’s holding company, High Fashion Concepts LLC. In the suit, a dealer tells a tale of how he snapped up what sure sounds like the Haring statue from Libbie and consigned it to Phillips for a high estimate of $300,000. The work was in the printed catalog, and several bidders had placed pre-offers that would be run through Phillips specialists on the phone banks. (High Fashion Concepts has not yet responded to the lawsuit; neither David nor Libbie Mugrabi responded to multiple requests for comment when True Colors reached out this week.)

But then, the suit alleges, the Mugrabis used their clout on Park Avenue—decades of selling, buying, and guaranteeing works for Phillips—to get the house to pull the work. All they had to tell them was that the work had been stolen.

“On the eve of the Phillips sale, counsel for [High Fashion Concepts], an entity that is co-owned by Defendant David Mugrabi, telephoned a sales director at Phillips claiming that the Work had been stolen from HFC,” the suit alleges.

“Phillips awaits to hear the resolution of this matter between the two parties involved,” said a spokesperson for the auction house when I reached out this week.

The complaint pits two old-school art-dealing families against each other. The patriarch of the Mugrabi family, Jose Mugrabi, emigrated from Jerusalem to Bogota, and then moved to New York when his sons—David, as well as Alberto “Tico” Mugrabi, who settled down with the former Colby Jordan after a star-studded 2016 wedding—were preteens, hoping to import his last-year’s-looks business of selling old fabric to the States. That failed, but Papa Mugrabi soon struck gold buying and reselling art, especially when his eye drew him toward undervalued works by Andy Warhol, ones that he could buy for a few thousand and then resell for millions.

The plaintiff is Aiden Fine Arts Inc., the company of Ely Sakhai, who emigrated to the U.S. from Iran as a child, becoming a jewelry-rocking, pot-bellied, Long Island–dwelling, big-pocketed supporter of Chabad, as well as a fairly successful art dealer running a company he called the Art Collection, later called Exclusive Art, that operated out of a Broadway storefront near Union Square. And then, in 2004, the feds showed up. Turns out Sakhai was also running a scheme, which he later pleaded guilty to, of having forgers copy middle-market works by Impressionist masters. He was eventually nabbed when he consigned a real Gauguin, Vase de Fleurs (Lilas), to Sotheby’s in the exact same sales season that a Japanese client who had bought his fake of the same painting consigned it to Christie’s. Hate it when that happens. Sakhai avoided jail time and had to fork over $12.5 million to former clients he conned. (His son, Andre Sakhai, is an art collector who got ensnared in that whole Inigo Philbrick debacle some years back.)

In the new suit, Sakhai’s company makes it known that it purchased “an artwork by a famed American artist (not described here, but known to the parties)” from Libbie for “a six-figure sum” later said to be $165,000. The suit also states that the work was never listed on the Art Loss Register, and was located in Libbie’s Manhattan apartment when the deal went down.

According to the text of the suit, under the sale agreement, the former Mrs. David Mugrabi “is the sole and absolute owner of the Work,” and she “has the authority to sell and transfer good and marketable title to the Work.” Referring to Sakhai’s company and David, the suit also notes that “at no point until the events giving rise to this lawsuit did Plaintiff know or have reason to know of Defendants’ claims concerning the Work.”

But he would have known about such “events” if he had read the Post or Daily Mail. A photo of the work he bought from Libbie was published in multiple reports after the scorned ex-wife brought it into a Manhattan courtroom as evidence while testifying in regard to the events of the July day when a Bilboquet lunch got cut memorably short.

Furthermore, the suit states that the work was consigned about one year after its September 2020 purchase, meaning it would be slotted into the bellwether November New York sales. The suit also says that the lot was given a high estimate of more than double what Sakhai’s company had paid, or around $330,000. Withdrawn lots no longer appear on the Phillips website after they are pulled by the house or consignor, but they still exist in the original PDFs of the catalog. A cross-reference search of all the works pulled from the Phillips sales in November 2021 turned up just one work with a high estimate close to double what he paid—Haring’s Untitled (Three Dancing Figures), the exact work that the dueling Mugrabis gripped in a half-million game of tug-of-war, estimated to sell for between $200,00 and $300,000.

According to the suit, filed in New York Supreme Court on February 25, the work is currently being held in Phillips storage, with its fate very much up in the air.

The Rundown Your crib sheet for comings and goings in the art world this week and beyond…

…This week Christie’s announced that it would be selling Andy Warhol’s Shot Sage Blue Marilyn (1964), one of the five portraits of Marilyn Monroe that all happen to have been pierced by a bullet. Soon after the works were made, the performance artist Dorothy Podber walked into the Factory, pulled out a pistol, and shot four of them lined up in a row. It didn’t hurt their value, though. They were repaired, and are now considered the most iconic and desirable works Warhol ever made. And when the Shot Marilyn from the collection of late Swiss dealer Doris Ammann hits the block in May, it will carry the highest presale estimate ever slapped on an artwork: $200 million. That guess could be conservative. At its unveiling this week, Christie’s rainmaker Alex Rotter said that the Warhol is “poised to become the most expensive painting of all time,” unseating Leonardo da Vinci’s Salvator Mundi, which was purchased by Abu Dhabi’s Department of Culture and Tourism for $450 million in 2017. My sources say the same, indicating that the some $200 million that Ken Griffin paid S.I. Newhouse’s family for Shot Orange Marilyn in a 2018 private transaction was apparently a steal. (Disclosure: Said family owns this magazine’s parent company.) And if some prognosticators are to be believed, things could go stratospheric. As the thinking goes, there’s a handful of mega-billionaire collectors who think this is their last chance to get a Shot Marilyn, and will pay anything for it. If two or three go head-to-head in the bidding, anything could happen. One source even floated a scenario that once upon a time seemed utterly impossible: It might be time for the world’s first billion-dollar artwork.

…Matt Dillon was spotted at the Thomas Bayrle opening at Gladstone Gallery on Thursday, catching up with the artist and Gladstone partner Gavin Brown. Little-known fact: Dillon was once roommates with the legendary Los Angeles dealer Patrick Painter.

…One of the more jaw-dropping art books to hit the marketplace soon is Amor Mundi, a comprehensive look at the collection of Dallas philanthropist Marguerite Steed Hoffman, to be published next month by Ridinghouse. In addition to featuring texts by more than 30 curators and artists and extensive interviews with the collector, the book serves as a catalog of a collection that’s long been one of the more storied art holdings in Texas. Among the masterpieces revealed in the pages are Robert Gober’s Two Doors (1989); Peter Doig’s Briey (Concrete Cabin) (1994–1996); and Philip Guston’s Studio Landscape (1975), as well as newer work by the likes of Rashid Johnson, Jordan Wolfson, and Florian Krewer.

…Curator Alison Gingeras has delivered a dispatch for True Colors from Warsaw, Poland, where the arts community is coming together to shelter and feed refugees from Ukraine. The Nowy Teatr is usually a hipster-besotted avant garde showcase for independent dance, film, and stage productions. In the last month it’s been transformed into a makeshift welcome center where grassroots organizers can help arrivals with paperwork and ID issues. And while the Museum of Modern Art in Warsaw is currently scheduled to host a group show of artists on women’s rights—including work by Barbara Kruger, Andrea Bowers, and many Polish artists—it instead has opened its doors to refugees. “They are located next to the central train station where tens of thousands are pouring into the city daily, and have converted a large part of the space into a daycare for refugee children while their parents are out looking for work or lodging,” Gingeras said. “Artists are taking in refugees into their apartments to live. Museum people coordinating transportation from the border, driving medical supplies to the border.” She added that most of the efforts are being led by ordinary citizens, rather than government organizations.

Scene Report: Fin de Siècle Dimes Square On a March evening nearly 300 years after James De Lancey planted a grove of apple trees on an island-based English settlement in the New World, the artist and former skateboarder Tony Cox locked up the secret gallery he houses in his apartment on a street named for the old orchard. He walked a block down a street in turn named for a canal that once drained a fetid pond, and looked up at the first luxury hotel in the history of the neighborhood. It’s called Nine Orchard, and it opens this summer in the former Jarmulowsky Bank Building, the historic tower across from Dimes with the fancy cupola on top. For the locals, it’s a clear, ahem, vibe shift, and perhaps not in a fun way. A century after Sender Jarmulowsky’s bank failed, emptying the pockets of the Lower East Side, the building is set to host hordes of brunchgoers at its half dozen bars and boites. “They literally just turned the lights on, and it’s already over,” Cox said, half sad and half bemused, the hotel’s sparkling sconces looming like a threat.

But the fin du monde attitude has only hardened the scene on the five-block nucleus of downtown known as Dimes Square. The micro-nabe has been immortalized onstage thanks to playwright Matthew Gasda—the production Dimes Square has been a surprise hit, extending its sellout run. Naturally, a splashy feature on the production is running in the Times Styles, on newsstands this weekend. In the last week alone, the beloved Clandestino has been graced by media celebs known locally (Dasha Nekrasova, Alison Roman, Dev Hynes) and globally (Dave Chappelle). The gallery scene is reloading too—in addition to Cox’s fantastic space Club Rhubarb, the stretch of Henry Street a quick hop down from Wu’s Wonton King hosts Situations, Fierman, and Public Access, the gallery run by former Kids star Leo Fitzpatrick. On Thursday night, longtime Henry Street godmother Ellie Rines moves her gallery, 56 Henry, a few blocks closer to the center of the action, in a space about twice as large as the closet-size spaces she’s had in the past.

And while David Zwirner doesn’t have a Lower East Side outpost, the gallery’s online sales portal, Platform, had a dinner Wednesday at Bacaro, the area’s reigning artist hang, to honor a new print by Ebecho Muslimova, sold only on the site, with part of the profits going to the Ukrainian National Women's League of America. When trying to figure out where to dine, Muslimova drew a hard line when picking the spot.

“I live next door, so it couldn’t be easier,” she said. Enjoy it while it lasts.

#News #breaking news #latestnews #money #viralpost

[filmtexts]

Maestro

Okay, I admit that this pun was hard to resist. With his latest film Maestro, writer-producer-director-star Bradley Cooper is back in "the shallow now.” How did he get there?

Flashback to five years ago. The pre-release hype of Cooper’s directorial debut A Star Is Born didn’t pass me by. I had, perhaps as a snap judgement, not placed my the film on my must-see list. First, while acknowledging Bradley Cooper’s respectable work in films such as Silver Linings Playbook and American Hustle, I don’t avidly follow him like other actors whose presence in even otherwise less remarkable movies are a tipping point to watch them.

Secondly, Cooper and Lady Gaga didn’t appear to be a surefire match. Gaga herself didn’t elicit doubt. While not a fan, I can see why her “little monsters” are so devoted and her musical talent and also acting ability (award-winning turn in one full season of American Horror Story) are undisputed. Yet somehow, the Cooper-Gaga pairing seemed neither no-brainer, nor so weird it’s inspired, just a tad calculated.

Lastly, this is the fourth version (third with songs) of showbiz melodrama A Star Is Born, updating the music to cater to the tastes of a contemporary 55+ audience which in its youth preferred The Eagles and Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young to The Ramones and The Clash. (Likely over Young and DEVO, or even Pearl Jam, too.) The previous version in 1976 with Barbra Streisand and Kris Kristofferson begat the chart-topping and Oscar-winning song “Evergreen”. Otherwise, the 1970s take was less successful than George Cukor’s radical 1954 reboot (avant la lettre). He reimagined the acclaimed drama from 1937 as a dazzling Hollywood Golden Age musical. The showstopping numbers (motivated as part of a film or stage show within the film) were Judy Garland’s most iconic performances since Wizard of Oz. And in contrast, “offstage” scenes of the doomed central love affair became even more heartwrenching. This ‘revealed’ the disconnect between dream factory and ‘real life’ while such meta-narratives then became another popular Hollywood trope. Cukor and Garland created a classic. Thus, yet another A Star Is Born seemed like diminishing returns.

Then one day, as fate had it, I needed to kill time during a film trade show and A Star Is Born screening filled the empty slot. Low expectations yielded to surprised, genuine delight. Cooper had pulled off a well-crafted and entertaining film. While it would be silly to say “a star is born” in reference to Gaga, her natural and intelligent performance put her on the table for more acting gigs. (In House of Gucci, she was the saving grace.) And of course, there’s ”Shallow,” perhaps more an evergreen than that earlier song of the same name.

So my expectations had risen by the time I first heard about Cooper’s next outing as director-producer-writer-star: Maestro, a biopic about Leonard Bernstein. The legendary composer and conductor’s work and life are a motherlode: innovations in the stage and screen musical, a new approach to symphonic musical performance, making classical music accessible for young people (and generally less elitist), controversial support of progressive causes and a complex private life. The trailer showcased the film’s bold style, alternating between chiaroscuro black and white and sunny, slightly faded color. It also centered upon a lovely romantic moment: Bernstein and his wife Felicia Montealegre (Carey Mulligan) sitting, first as young lovers, then an older married couple, back to back in a park, trying to guess a number the other is thinking of.

The trailer turned out to be a much more satisfying experience than the film itself, although the focus on the relationship foreshadowed things to come. Maestro’s plot boils down to this: how saintly Felicia put up with Lenny’s infidelity with men, until she didn’t anymore. On The Town? A few shots of dancing extras in sailor suits. West Side Story? Mentioned in passing by Felicia as a Romeo and Juliet update, then a few bars of The Prologue play later in the film. It’s supposed to be some sort of “comment” but feels random. Bernstein’s overall impact on music composition, performance and education? If it all, told, not shown and sidelined by Bernstein feeling intermittantly unfulfilled as a conductor and struggling with a dryspell as a composer.

It is Bernstein’s bisexuality that drives the narrative forward. If handled more skillfully, this could have provided insight into the acceptance of homosexuality during the depicted era and the dynamics of polyamorous relationships. Instead, scenes like Felicia forcing Lenny to lie to their daughter when she asks about persistent rumors are poorly written and have little resonance within the story as a whole. We are left in the dark about Lenny’s obliviousness to Felicia’s pain everytime she becomes aware of a new male lover: does he take his unwavering love of Felicia for granted, regardless of other sexual encounters or is he just a cad? After Felicia’s death, Lenny sternly but fairly critiques a male student’s conducting during rehearsal, then cut to them joyously dancing in a club. This image suggests Lenny can separate work and pleasure (no Tár-like abuse of power here). But does this also imply that Felicia’s absence might have set him free (although he “misses her terribly”)? The exploration of Bernstein’s sexuality remains sketchy.

Maestro also fails to spark any passion or curiosity about Bernstein’s music, something that other deeply flawed biopics at least managed. Instead, much screentime is devoted out to Bernstein getting his head around conducting Gustav Mahler’s "Symphony No. 2 in C Minor." No doubt, this was a milestone of Bernstein’s career. But making this a central setpiece and downplaying his return to composition after the aforementioned personal crisis about being “merely” a conductor doesn’t truly do service to the diverse talents Bernstein craved acknowledgment for.

(Musical) biopics are hard to do really well. Many are jerry-built, held together only by the appeal of the portrayed artist and a chameleon-like lead performance. Bohemian Rhapsody, for example, coasts on the appeal of Freddie Mercury and Queen alone, despite accolades for the weakest elements: Rami Malek’s performance and the inexplicably Oscar-winning editing (this video essay presents a convincing case. The film’s editor John Ottman has since defended himself with the film’s turbulent production history.) The more interesting ones often display unconventional choices. Multiple actors (including Cate Blanchett) played Bob Dylan in Todd Haynes’ I’m Not Here. Judy (Rupert Goold) and Nico ‘88 (Susanna Nicchiarelli) eschewed the sweeping career arc to focus on the respective singers’ final years, not sensationalist, but restoring some dignity. Many other biopics beg the question, why not watch a documentary with footage of the real artist instead?

As it doesn’t want to go the boilerplate biopic route, Maestro is all the more frustrating. There are many ideas floating around. Sadly, they often fall flat. The use of different 35mm black and white and color film stocks and aspect ratios to depict the various time periods has become overused. The black and white scenes of Felicia and Lenny’s early courtship at one point briefly slide into a musical-style dance/dream sequence, but the execution remains half-baked. Using snatches of Bernstein’s compositions to comment the story sounds good on paper. On screen, the fragments are often too short to really register.

Misfire stylistic choices aside, Maestro is handsomely mounted. The cinematography by Matthew Libatique (who also shot A Star Is Born) is gorgeous, not just the aforementioned use of color but also unusual, evocative camera angles. As for the elephant in the room, Bradley Cooper’s mimicry is uncanny, aided (not only) by convincing prosthetics (the “Jewface” accusations are somewhat unfair; cinematic representation will nevertheless generally remain an issue). Carey Mulligan makes the best of a role that devolves from incandescent to long-suffering. Aside from them, other roles like the Bernstein children or Lenny’s male lovers are underwritten. (Comedienne-actress Sarah Silverman is wasted as Lenny's sister.) With a hot mess of a screenplay at the film’s core, the opulent production values cannot conceal that Cooper’s reach exceeds his grasp. Let’s hope he finds his way out of the shallow for film number three.

#leonard bernstein #bradley cooper #carey mulligan #maestro #film #cinema #movies #biopic #classical music #music

[csueno]

I am going 👀 at the dnap antigone-ismene comparison

ANONIE DO U EVEN KNOW THE CAN OF WORMS YOUVE JUST OPENED. okay so listen LISTEN this is something i am SO passionate about. to me cdream is LITERALLY antigone. and his mirror is csapnap such as ismene is antigone's mirror. I have the play opened right beside me (the anne carson one and a less interpetrative spanish one) so allow me some mindless rambles:

in a way my logic for cdream being antigone is quite simple: she is stubborn. she is so so stubborn. she is a force to be reckoned with, she is set to a way and she will not see her plan not being done. no matter what it takes. and like i dont have to write how thats.. quite literally cdream. i guess something i really also love about antigone is how she stands herself against the law put before her -- she is smart but she is passionate, as a woman is (ancient greece moment) and this makes the other characters characterize her as irrational and in a way stupid. i look very fondly to the anne carson poem about her, asking how to translate (explain her). translation matter so MUCH to me so the way anne carson handles it matters the most

to quote Kreon you are autonomos a word made up of autos “self” and nomos “law” autonomy sounds like a kind of freedom but you aren’t interested in freedom your plan is to sew yourself into your own shroud using the tiniest of stitches

Autonomy sounds like a kind of freedom / but uou aren't interested in freedom is sooooooooo cdream to me. He cages himself, he builds a prison for an idea and then it slaps him back, yet he doesn't give up, he doesn't let his plan go sideways (it still does.)

the play opens with antigone and ismene; there is dream and george and sapnap at the beginning. she is not bad person THIS IS WHAT MAKES ME THIMNK CDREAM IS SO HER theyre not bad people theyre just So Fucking Stubborn and so like. stuck in whats fair? and if the world is not fair theyll MAKE IT FAIR.

and then you have ismene. her sister. shes introduced as a daugther and a sister (much like csapnap is a son and a brother). i disagree so much with the people that considere ismene a passive contrast to antigone, the fact that she is not going against creonte's law is NOT hwer being passive SHES STANDING UPRIGHT BUT RIGHT BESIDE THE WRONG SIDE JUST BECAUSE ITS THE LAW!!!!!! csapnap is a protector and a soldier before anything ELSE. he follows orders. he shields people, and whats right for him is very much whats like legal and allowed. he respects church prime peace. he might have fun killing pets and shit but that's never not allowed -- its just that at some point things are so tense that he's no longer /welcome to/ but its never in the rules of the server. he's the first to listen to cdream's command when he thinks he's following the law. we need to understand that law can mean a variety of things in a way ok im not making any fucking sense TO THEM AGAIN the conflict between the two sisters is that they dont see the rule the same way. antigone sees it as an offense, as an insult to her and her family not to follow the gods, as an affront to her beliefs. this is lmanberg And ccrimeboys "[KREON] HAS NO RIGHT TO DEPRIVE ME OF THOSE THAT ARE MINE" !!!!!!!!! meanwhile ismene wants peace wants reconciliation They Have Suffered Both So Much. if creonte (leader) wants not to bury this man, who is she to affront it? why shouldn't she try to make amends, to befriend people, to make a country of her own away from civilization with those she loves???

they are two sisters they are daughters of the same cursed parent (oideipus bad is something OKAY.)

Ismene: youre a person in love with the impossible Antigone: don’t say that or I’ll have to hate you

i think the ismene antigone tragedy fits cdreamnap so well because at the end of the day they disagree over how things were done. i dont think csapnap disagrees with cdream's fundamental ideas i think he hates his methods and i think cdream thinks csapnap would never understand them and to a degree knew he would try to stop him so he cut him before he could (i think a lot about ismene promising to keep antigone's plans quiet for her so she would not be found out even if she refused to help. i think about it all the time). and then dethronement happened

also to me kreon is both cwilbur and cawesam. duh.

#SORRY FOR BEING CRAZY #boys when sisters

[spacecadetspe]

Oct. 12, 2023

I grow bored with games. My mind is almost constantly elsewhere, in that other world where I do things that no other spirit could possibly do. The world where I don't feel pain the same way, or need as much sleep, or am ever terribly, terribly lonely.

Is this how Thanatos feels all the time? Even with his loving wife around?

Or maybe perhaps I'm just exhausted. I do work an awful lot. In the mornings, I do mostly computer work. In the afternoons, I teach music. And somewhere in between, I work my role as Hope, or mother, or judge, or executioner.

It's no surprise that Michael drinks like a fish.

I've been reading a comic called "Chateau Grief," and the parallels to the Eleusinian tradition is striking. And the author has an uncanny ability, similar to mine, to incorporate older, deeper, more eldritch things into the story. It hasn't occurred to the author yet that Hades shared this roller-coaster romance not with Persephone, but with Elpis, Minthe, and Hecate. The philanderer! Still, I'm deeply enjoying the story, and am deeply drawn to its characters. Perhaps I needed this; just some fresh perspective.

Not only that, but my dog is becoming nocturnal. I need to do more with her during the day so she'll sleep at night instead of pawing me awake two or three times a night. I can't believe I haven't mentioned that in my last few posts...

Oddly enough, I miss Hades. He works a lot too. I'm not sure how he'd react to seeing me on short notice. I'm sure he already knows that I've taken up Thanatos' post. Not sure how he feels about that, if anything. If he's smart (which he is) it should scare him. But thankfully, he knows me, and knows I'm not going to stop being who I am while Thanatos takes his well-earned vacation.

Destiny insisted I take her for a "walk." In her master's absence, I've become death. It's a strange, almost subdued position to take; there's little drama about the role, unlike that of a Dream Lord. Perhaps that's why Thanatos likes the black hood and skeletal glamour; it gives a little spice to the drudgery.

Yesterday, I stopped a fratricide. I'm not sure Than would have done that in my place. He says his role is simple; just reap. But... I can't stop being Hope.

The elder brother stood over the younger with a gun in his hand, ready to pull the trigger. I ran a cold finger down his back to try to alert him of my presence.

"You sure you want to do that?" I asked.

He stared down over the gun at his intended victim and replied with a quote from George R. Martin. "Love is the death of duty."

"Look at me."

He glanced up and saw me leaning on Death's Scythe.

"Do you have any idea who you're quoting?" I asked. I honestly intended to give some quip about the author being an asshole who couldn't finish what he started, but I lost the heart for it.

"I do. A man who wouldn't let his judgment be compromised by attachments."

I nodded. "And how old are you?"

"Old enough to know that some people will never get better no matter how much patience you show them..."

I interrupted him. "The answer was 'Not old enough.'" That stopped him. "If he's not getting better, then leave him. Killing him is currently my job, not yours. You have other options; options that won't lead you to a prison cell or worse."

The older brother was insistent. "He's too much of a liability to simply 'leave'."

I folded my arms around Destiny's shaft. "Oh? Will he endanger others?"

"Given enough time, yes."

"'Given enough time'?" I asked. "Is he your responsibility? Too young to be his own?"

Big brother turned a bit more to face me, angry that I was second-guessing his judgment. "I carried him for as long as I could. His ingratitude, selfishness and errant whims... they are not to be taken lightly."

I sighed. "You know who I am? It's funny because I'm carrying this scythe for a guy who's currently on vacation." I introduced myself. "The thing about me is that I love accountability." I gave him a wicked grin. "But justice only happens under a consensus. Which means other people have to come to the same conclusions you have." I shrugged. "It's only a matter of time before he gets his deeds 'weighed and found wanting'. My advice to you is don't add more weight to your side of the scales." I took a moment to look around the small, terribly messy room. "Pack your things," I said. "Or his. But one of you needs to leave. Justice will take care of the rest." I set Destiny down for a moment. "Right now your only 'duty' is to watch out for your own virtue. Realize what's your responsibility to deal with..." I nodded at the younger brother. "And what's not."

The elder of the two stared down at the ingrate with the gun pointed at his head.

I gently put my hand on his arm and gave him a warm smile. "Stop making him your problem. You've done enough."

Slowly, the elder clicked the safety back on and holstered the weapon.

I patted his arm soothingly. "You're a good man. Keep it that way."

He stormed out of the room, and Destiny opened a portal to my next locale...

The Gaza Strip.

I chose to hide the rubble and the gore from my mind and gathered the souls one at a time, all the while singing a slow, soft chorus of "Jerusalem of Gold" for them to follow along to. I answered a question or two from the indigents, and then guided them into Charon's boat... and they were gone in an instant.

And my day wasn't even half over.

I had music students in the afternoon. Not a bad gig, if I do say so, but trying at times. One such young lady has a nice enough voice, if only she weren't so afraid of it. I asked her to take a good, hard look at that fear; how it felt in her body and how she clung to it as if it were Kevlar and not sandpaper, chafing away at her.

She started to cry. Slow, silent tears behind her cute glasses, making her brown eyes and cheeks gleam.

I asked what she was feeling, and she said she didn't know how to let it go.

I reached over and took one of her hands. "It's as easy and as terrifying as losing control. Like a balloon whose string has slipped out of your grip." I shifted toward her in my seat. "See, we grownups all have this secret; you see all of those people who seemingly have their shit together?" I jerked my head out the door at the low commotion of the other music teachers making ruckuses of their own in the other offices.

She nodded.

"They don't. We all do the best with what we get, and that's the most control we ever have in our lives." I rubbed the back of her hand with my thumb. "You know," I said, "I'll do any crazy, scary thing as long as I have someone to hold my hand. And you have so many people ready to do that for you; just like me!" I shook the hand I held, gently. "But being brave means standing and facing those fears, if just to see them for what they really are." I smiled at her. "I am so proud of you for doing this with me. Most grownups aren't even that brave."

She's not ready to really let her voice out, or know how to fully let go, but she looked. And she knows that fear isn't doing her any favors. I gave her a hug, told her again I was proud of her, and let her go.

I had another student, a Muslim woman nearly my age, come in and notice my tattoos on my arms. We began an exciting discussion of the Sufi saints and the prophets, and I told her about my own fight against my first fear; needles! I told her that I had read a book, given to me by my beloved Fortitude, that made me feel both so miniscule and so special that I resolved to fight all the things that made me afraid. So I started with these two tattoos: "Hubb" and "Habib" on my forearms. The conversation nearly brought me to tears of joy, remembering that love.

Whoever reads this writ, if you so desire, the book's title is Habibi. I hope it changes you as it changed me.

#mythology and folklore #spicy psychology #magic #dreams #habibi #craig thompson #music teacher

[electracraft]

okay i know that this video is from ages ago and we’re past all of that but i found it in my youtube homepage again and i almost cried laughing because i cannot think of a worse timestamps selection that would spike more fear in me than this

#the back to george and dream killed me its like. it’s not over yet #we as a society have moved past whatever the fuck the queerbaiting era was but this sent me #this is from i/nabber’s video btw in case you were wondering. the one with that awful thumbnail god bless #ask to tag

[fraseris]

love how wilbur, ranboo, tubbo, schlatt, and george are all enigmas but in entirely different ways

wilbur is perfectly willing to talk about himself, but never Actual Stuff. always random little stories or facts. and most of it is normal but then he’ll drop the wildest stuff. casually. out of the blue. and it just never ends. theres always new strange and confusing lore you can learn about him. you think you know his streaming persona by now? he’ll mix in some tidbits of his real life self and its like youre back at square one. honestly

ranboo feels like he shouldnt exist. he feels like human eyes werent meant to perceive him. he was a stan like 5 months ago. i subscribed to his youtube channel when he had 35k. he hit 100k a month later. he has 1 mil now. where did he come from. who is he. he once said “good luck trying to kill [my family]” like its hard. or dangerous. it haunts me. its like he was supposed to be that one funny guy that everyone knows about but nobody actually watches, yet he somehow got three nat20 roles in a row in the game of life and now hes on the dream smp

tubbo is just a feral animal. its like he blacked out as a modded minecraft streamer with 15 average viewers and woke up to an audience of a hundred thousand. he doesnt know how to navigate life and he hasnt for a long time, but hes still going, somehow, and hes got some of the highest concurrent viewer counts on twitch. he openly admitted to tax fraud live on stream and suffered no repercussions. he coded his own hacked client. he plays on 2b2t. ive never seen him go on hypixel before which makes me assume hes banned. he leaked the old dream smp ip. he leaked his sisters channel. he leaked his lets play channel. he has a reputation as the innocent angel child that somehow holds up despite his constant state of chaos. i saw a post about how he seems like the kind of guy that was raised as a russian spy and somehow escaped and i havent stopped thinking about it for 3 months

schlatt doesnt talk about himself. ever. does he have. a name? did his parents name him? does he have parents? the level of privacy he has after being a youtuber for over 6 years is impressive and kind of scary. i literally could not tell you anything about this man outside of his streaming career. it kind of makes you think something is off with him, like he got bullied as a child, or maybe he stabbed a man. i think noah hugbox described it best in the meeting lunch club video - “its like that man was the first step in human evolution. its like he crawled out of the ocean / he has a deep dark secret. something eating him up inside“

georgenotfound... hes so boring. he is mind bogglingly boring. who knew a persona made of pretty boy cardboard could be so enticing? hes almost as private as schlatt, but when he does inevitably give an anecdote or fact about himself its just the most normal thing you could think of. hes like if the sims 4 had a default sim, but with a fully flushed out backstory and neon green youtube boyfriend. i swear hes british but i cant... i cant be sure of it. surely my eyes deceive me. surely theres something more to him

#this one goes out to ranboo and tubbos tumblr accounts #text #i am posting #mcyt #wilbur soot #tubbo #tubbo_ #ranboo #jschlatt #georgenotfound #i didnt read through this twice so good luck #1k #2k #3k #4k #5k

[luthienne]

Louise Glück, from Averno

“Sometimes you leave your hair at the bus station & get on the bus & as your face falls asleep against the window you realize it is all your body now, everything between you & the pieces you lost once,”

Aracelis Girmay, from Kingdom Animalia; “Portrait of the Woman As a Skein”

Marie Howe, from Magdalene: Poems; “The Girl at 3″

“She knew herself, how she had slowly, over years, become a cat, a wolf, a snake, anything but a girl. How she had wrung out her girlhood like death.”

Catherynne M. Valente, from Deathless

“Many girls lock themselves up, / become pantries, closets. / Some, like trees, grow bark, / and others, like rivers, / burble into dimpled pools.”

Eli Mandel, from “Rapunzel (Girl in a Tower)"

“Sometimes I forget. I become a volatile spirit / a butterfly out of its wings, a blooming flower / in decay. I fall in love with ghosts and cry / when they flesh out,”

Mahtem Shiferraw, from Fuschia; “Being a Woman”

Aracelis Girmay, from “Portrait of the Woman as a Skein”

“Not every girl survives the forest. / Sometimes she becomes it.”

Catherine Garbinsky, from “The Princess & the Thorns,” Even Curses End

Rebecca Solnit, A Field Guide to Getting Lost

“I was something else, not a girl, not a wolf, something blank-eyed, tired,”

Catherynne M. Valente, from The Bread We Eat in Dreams

“Shame fuses to silence letting the night maraud, killing bit by useless hope of not being this girl I was. Am. She is.”

Eimear McBride, from The Lesser Bohemians

“When I was a girl / and you were a girl / we were floral / and ungiveable. Squash / blossom. Bleeding / Hearts in the sideyard. / Vine, albino root. / Petals open only in the moonlight.”

Emily O'Neill, “Wedding Soup,” from Pelican

“Glory be to the girl who goes back for her body.”

Dominique Christina, from Star Gazer

“Cover the memory of your face with the mask of who you’ll be—come, and frighten the girl you used to be.”

Alejandra Pizarnik, from Extracting the Stone of Madness: Poems 1962-1972 (tr. Yvette Siegert), “Paths of the Mirror”

“—if I could remember a day when I was utterly a girl and not yet a woman— / but I don’t think there was a day like that for me. / When I look at the girl I was, dripping in her bathing suit, or riding her bike, pumping hard down the newly paved street, / she wears a furtive look— and even if I could go back in time to her as me, the age I am now / she would never come into my arms without believing that I wanted something.”

Marie Howe, from What the Living Do: Poems; “The Girl”

“‘How strange it is to long for one’s self!’ she said; ‘and yet I often, so often, long for myself as a young girl. I love her as one whom I had been very close to and shared life and happiness and everything with, and then had lost while I stood helpless.’”

Jens Peter Jacobsen, from Niels Lyhne

Mary Oliver, from Blue Horses; “Blueberries”

“Your bare feet became a woman's feet, always saying two things at once.”

Louise Glück, from Descending Figure

“And I must choose. War before me, and behind, a woman I do not know, the woman I could have been, a human woman, whole and hot.”

Catherynne M. Valente, from Deathless

Louise Glück, from “The Myth of Innocence”

“Beware your face, / your limbs, your walk: / Gods see these / as invitations. / Beware of swans. / They may lift you / but you will fall. / Beware of children / hatched from eggs, / unfledged and beautiful: / they will burn / cities to the ground. / Don’t be seduced by the gods, / my daughter. / Though you break / into song beneath them / you will remain broken.”

Jeannine Hall Gailey, from Becoming the Villainess; “Leda’s Mother Warns Her”

“What could I have grown up to be? What kind of human woman, what kind of simple, happy thing? If I had never been broken on a bird’s wing. If I had never seen the world naked. I want to be myself again… I want to stop knowing everything I know.”

Catherynne M. Valente, from Deathless

“But I don’t really like what I know; I don’t really care for wisdom and experience. I would rather believe, and beat out my brains, and believe some more. I do not like this safe well-armed woman I have become. The loud bleating disheveled starry reckless failed girl was a better person.”

Martha Gellhorn, from Selected Letters

“a child with seafoam eyes / and dusky skin might cry, there / goes a girl with seven thousand years / at the hollow of her throat,”

Amal El-Mohtar, from ‘Song for an Ancient City’

“I say “her,” because I don’t recall having been present, not in any meaningful sense of the word. I and the girl in the picture have ceased to be the same person. I am her outcome, the result of the life she once lived headlong; whereas she, if she can be said to exist at all, is composed only of what I remember.”

Margaret Atwood, from The Blind Assassin

“There were always in me two women at least, one woman desperate and bewildered, who felt she was drowning, and another who would leap into a scene, as upon a stage, conceal her true emotions because they were weaknesses, helplessness, despair, and present to the world only a smile, an eagerness, curiosity, enthusiasm, interest.”

Anaïs Nin, from The Diary of Anaïs Nin: Volume One, 1931-1934

“Come, let me suffer! That is worth more than viewing injustice with a serene countenance, as Shakespeare says. When I have drained my cup of bitterness, I shall feel better. I am a woman, I have affections, sympathies, and wrath.”

George Sand, in a letter to Gustave Flaubert

“Slapped the man’s face, then slapped it again, / broke the plate, broke the glass, pushed the cat / from the couch with my feet. Let the baby / cry too long, then shook him, / let the man walk, let the girl down, / wouldn’t talk, then talked too long, / lied when there was no need / and stole what others had, and never / told the secret that kept me apart from them. / Years holding on to a rope / that wasn’t there, always sorry / and righteous and wrong. Who would / follow that young woman down the narrow hallway? / Who would call her name until she turns?”

Marie Howe, “What I Did Wrong”

“She is a woman stranded at doorways and passivity is killing her. There is only one thing she can do. Make noise.”

Anne Carson, in her Introduction to Elektra

Audre Lorde, from The Black Unicorn: Poems

“Part of me died here / so another could go on.”

Marty McConnell, from “When They Say You Can’t Go Home Again, What They Mean Is You Were Never There”

“see, you will rise. / and are you less of a woman for this? / no / what is woman? / woman is this—enduring. / listen girl, you will survive this—you will. / but what fool said you had to do it silently? / here is a tip—scream”

Salma Deera, Letters From Medea, “medea gives advice to a young girl with a broken heart”

#compilation #quote compilation #words #the great wound #regarde comme ta fille est faite #long post #terfs dni #this is very long. but i needed to make it and every word was necessary so i am not sorry

[apocalypticgargoyle]

YES YES YES REBEL PUNZ PLEASEEEE I NEED IT FOR SCIENCE PLEASEEEE

-🐉anon

Okay so *sigh* I know I keep saying this about all our boys but I love heem

𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐋. ☥ 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐞𝐥!𝐏𝐮𝐧𝐳

pairing: rebel!Punz x fm!reader

word count: ~ 3500

warnings: smut (18+), pure filth basically, language, blood, fighting, illegal activities, degradation, praise, domination, spanking, etc.

playlists: Rebel!Punz, EDGERS

The basement was only accessible through one door which was stationed at the back of Techno’s motorcycle shop. The door was bolted from the inside, only to be unlocked after the murmuring of a password known by word of mouth.

Behind the door was a flight of stairs going downward. The walls are reminiscent of walking through a damp tunnel, the air hanging thick, smelling of rotting soil and burning leaves. A man stationed on one of the landings would open the door at the end of the staircase and then move back upstairs as one would continue through the dark hallway, faintly hearing the sounds of men shouting. Finally, the last entryway and the gateway into a different universe: two double doors made of decaying wood.

The hinges always creaked when pried opened, giving the illusion that the basement was nothing more than storage, yet through those doors laid a bustling room of cockroaches and their bookies. Men in all shapes and sizes, in suits and sweatpants, with elaborate hairstyles and hats clustered around a giant roped-off area in the center of the basement.

Ritual followers of the activities referred to it as the Ring.

The dingy atmosphere of expensive cologne and cigar smoke was a trip back in the twenties when similar tactics were just for the high of living. Underground matches are like alcohol during the prohibition and the Ring was the modern-day speakeasy.

And that’s where you were, swimming in the stale fog of cigar smoke and sweaty bodies as you scored percentages into your small notebook, taking the bribes as cash was handed to you. The men with the expensive appearances always flaunted their exaggerated statistics, testing your knowledge about the Ring as if they weren’t facilitating some kind of kill match. They treated you as if you were the equivalent of a cigarette girl when in reality, you held their fortunes in your hand and controlled the fate of the fight.

You were Techno’s eyes, ears, and author. He would observe from afar, crossing his arms over his chest as you eyed Punz, telling him which way to fix the fight to make Techno the most money. Punz was completely attuned to you, his light eyes trained to search for your mild quirks and subtle hints as you pretended to add up the odds. Regretfully, it was a losing night against an outside competitor.

Punz drew in a sharp breath as you chewed the inside of your cheek, barely instructing him. You flashed him four of your fingers, knowing full-well that Techno was guaranteed at least a $10,000 payout if Punz let the competitor wail on him for that long. You always preferred the nights when you could nod for him to flatten the challenger in under two rounds, but nights like tonight left your stomach in knots.

You rolled the sleeves of your white button-up shirt, your suit jacket hanging on a fold-out chair nearest to Techno as you continued to work the floor. As you walked the perimeter, your gaze glued to Punz, who was wrapping white tape around his knuckles and watching you. You knew that his heavy-handed approach in the first few rounds would leave the protection in nothing but white tatters, peeling away from his butchered skin.

His lip was still busted from the match a few days prior, cheekbone tinted with a purple hue and eyes set tired to avoid giving away the adrenaline you knew was pulsing through his body. His hand flexed against the tape, giving him more motion. Your sights settled on the healing cut that divided his eyebrow, the memory of seeing Dream’s ring cut into Punz’s face making your blood boil.

You liked to stand on the opposite end of the make-shift ring from Punz. There were days when you wished you weren’t some kind of conductor for the underground matches, mainly so you could cheer on your lover like the rest of the spectators.

But alas, you were the puppeteer and Punz was your obedient marionette.

The fight began with the ringing of an ancient-looking shift bell, Punz stepping back on the balls of his feet as his opponent remained defensive. Punz rolled his eyes, sights flashing to you before moving to land the first blow; a heavy shot to the man’s side. You crossed your arms, nodding as if to tell him he only needed to lose by a hair.

At your direction the fight became bloodier, knuckles cracking against bone and rib cages, drawing the crimson streams of life from their bodies. In an ideal world where Punz was fighting for his own mercy and not the money bags of his boss, Punz would have wasted the opposing man, smiling as he did so.

Punz always seemed to gain stamina the more he was battered, thriving off of the blood pooling in his teeth or streaming down the side of his head. In bare-knuckle matches, he was almost unrecognizable in his blood lust.

The bell chimed again, the rounds moving quicker as Punz pretended to be worn out from the weaker jabs of his competitor. You chuckled to yourself, a smirk settling on your lips as he rolled his shoulders. His expression tilted towards you, seemingly noticing your amusement as he fought not to grin himself.

Punz launched his fist into his opponent’s face, blood gushing instantly from the man’s nose as Punz hammered another blow into his torso. The man retaliated by driving his elbow into Punz’s stomach before throwing his knuckles into Punz’s jaw. Punz’s t-shirt clung to his sweat-drenched body, the thought of peeling him out of those clothes later in the night made your skin prickle with goosebumps. His messy hair and concentrated eyes were allusions of unadulterated sin as he brushed the back of his hand over his mouth, wiping away the thread of blood trickling down his chin from his re-busted lip.

Punz knew to wear down, letting the man knock him against the ropes, Punz’s light eyes looking up at you with nearly a breath between the two of you. “Good boy,” you stated, only loud enough for him to hear. His eyebrow quirked at your words to combat the cocky grin wanting to break through his tough façade with your praise. He stood up straighter and submitted to losing as his competitor landed another punch.

After the fight, you indulged in the sound of your heels clicking against the staircase as you moved back up to the shop, the area quiet and desolate after the cockroaches had scampered away back into their crevices. You turned, starting down the long hallway towards the locker room, grabbing the First Aid kit off the wall on your way. The envelope of money felt heavy in your hand, its manilla coloring almost too obvious against your suited attire.

You pushed the door open with your foot, peering down one of the rows of lockers before spotting Punz, yawning slightly as he pulled off his shirt, revealing various old-style tattoos that matched the ones painted across his knuckles. Whenever you saw him in this state, you silently thanked George for his hours of work and steady hand.

Punz’s eyes perked up as you entered the room; the familiar sight of you ready to patch up his wounds brought a content smile to his bruised features. “How’d I do, dove?” He coaxed looking up at you as he sat on the dividing bench. His voice was raspy and deep from exhaustion.

You gave him a small smile, tossing your jacket on the other side of him and taking his face in your hand, pressing your lips against his briefly. Your nose brushed his as you placed a kiss on his cheek. “So good,” you hummed. He moved to straddle the bench as you sat in front of him, digging into the aid kit.

Before you could even start in on his wounds, his hands were snaking up your legs to grip your thighs, pulling you closer to him on the bench. You propped your knee against his, taking one of his hands and dabbing away the dried blood on his knuckles as he dug his face into the crook of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin as he took in your scent, his lips pressing against your neck before he unclasped the top few buttons of your shirt. His other hand moved to press against your freshly exposed skin, teeth nibbling at your ear lobe.

You let out a quiet giggle at his antics, moving your head to brush against his cheek and shrug him off. “Cut it out. You’ll distract me,” you muttered, stifling the obvious grin in your tone.

He let out a low chuckle, moving your hair out of the way before settling in the crook of your neck again, hand moving to wrap around your waist and draw you closer. “There’s no way. You’re too stubborn,” he jested, his stubble tickling your chest as he nibbled at the sensitive skin on your throat.

Once you finished with his hands, you moved onto his face, tending to the small cuts and scrapes. Punz continued his own form of clean-up as he pressed his lips against the inside of your wrist. You knew he was coming off of his fight high and you were waiting on him to rag you about wincing during some of the harder hits. He got off on the idea that your calm and indifferent surface cracked when it came to him.

His hands hooked around the back of your knees, tugging you practically into his lap as you rolled your eyes. His fingers untucked your shirt, slipping between the material and your skin as his lips traveled the length of your jaw. His blunt nails raked down your back, his neediness unmasked by the slight roll of his hips against yours.

You dropped what you were working on, running your fingers into his blond hair as he moaned against your skin. You moved your legs to wrap around his waist, letting him grip onto your hips and press you against his body. He sealed his lips against yours, hungrily kissing you with a groan. You tugged on his hair, his tongue slipping into your mouth.

His fingers unbuttoned the rest of your shirt, slipping it off your shoulders as your teeth moved to dig into his shoulder. His hands moved to tug your pants down your thighs. You pushed him back against the bench, balancing yourself on his lap as you settled his hands on your thighs, leaning down to kiss him again.

He gripped onto your hips, driving you to grind against him, a moan of his hand slipping through your lips in praise. Your fingers raked down his chest as you ground your hips against him, making him bite his lips to keep himself quiet.

He pushed himself into you, making you groan as you adjusted to his size, hungry for more friction. As you rolled your hips, his hands moved to your chest. You pulled his arm towards you, pressing your lips to the tattoo across his wrist in your handwriting. "You did so well tonight, baby," you cooed, earning a moan from him at your praise. "I'm so proud of you."

You leaned down, swallowing his lustful noises and you pressing your lips against his as you thrust against him. The tension from the night and the sight of him submitting to you completely.

His head tipped back against the wood, his hips swirling against yours as his mouth opened with a slight whimper. You clenched around him, feeling him throb inside of you. You bit back a smile, watching how easy it was to get him off as his cheeks flushed, a lazy grin on his face as you moved on top of him. "Fuck look how much you want me," you mocked, his hands moving to dig into your hips.

His brows furrowed as he mumbled your name, making you pick up your pace. "Shit, don't stop," he nearly begged.

You curled your hips, leaning down to press your lips to his neck. "You deserve it, my good boy," you husked, tongue flattening against his collarbone as he moaned at the feeling.

He pushed himself to sit up, giving you a new angle as you drove him deeper into you, thrusting against his body and tugging at his hair. He dug his face into the crook of your neck, quietly pleading out your name as if he were confessing his sins to you.

His coarse hands dug into your back, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as your head fell back, moaning about how good he was making you feel.

It didn't take long for him to finish, his hot seed spreading between your legs as he groaned darkly in your ear. You combed your fingers through his hair, letting him roll his hips against yours and ride out his high.

Dream kicked his feet up on Techno’s desk, popping a few jelly beans in his mouth from his position on the other side of Sapnap, the bone tattoos on his fingers making you slightly grateful for Punz's ink choices. Sapnap leaned his head back against the edge of his chair, closing his eyes tiredly as you crossed your legs, flipping through one of the magazines that Techno had stacked in the corner of his office. Punz flexed his hands, still sore from the previous night’s fight, as he watched your skirt ride up your thighs a few centimeters.

The office was silent between the four of you, waiting for the man in charge after he’d called all of you in for an “emergency meeting.” Punz looked over your shoulder at what you were reading and you angled yourself to share the magazine with him, trying to ignore the tension he was building between the two of you as his thigh brushed yours.

The bag of jelly beans in Dream’s pocket made shuffling noises as he moved closer to whisper something to Sapnap, making him chuckle softly. The door swung open, sending the four of you on your feet as Techno’s secretary rattled off what was on his docket for the day. He ran his fingers through his short pink hair, eyes zoning out slightly as he took a seat behind his desk before thanking the woman and sending her on her way. He motioned for all of you to sit.

“My anxiety is through the roof, I just need to know if I’m in trouble first, Tech,” Dream started in, making Punz’s eyes roll and you to let out a small laugh.

Techno began to feather through some of the papers on his desk, pulling on his glasses. His t-shirt flexed against his muscular arms. You were surprised to see him in casual clothes in the middle of the week, but you figured he had plans with Sapnap after the meeting. “No, you’re fine, Dream.”

Dream chewed on one of the jelly beans. “Are you sure, because I can’t figure out why I’d be in here. Like, I’m just,” he paused, leaning forward to look at you before snapping his fingers a few times searching for a word. “What do you call it?”

You scoffed. “A floater. Snap at me again and I’ll break your dick off,” you bit, making Punz subtly cover his mouth to conceal his grin.

Dream winked at you. “Sounds like one hell of a handjob,” he quipped back without missing a beat.

“Dream, shut the fuck up,” Sapnap sighed, looking at Techno as if to urge him to continue. Dream snickered at Sapnap.

Techno cleared his throat. “Okay, now that that’s out of our system,” he pulled a page from the stack. “Dream, I’m giving you more matches to take some of the weight off of Punz.”

You tilted your head. “What?” Techno’s gaze shifted to you as if commanding you to elaborate. “Punz makes you the most money out of all of them. You’re losing profit with Dream.” You weren’t going to sit idly by and let your lover get knocked down a peg. Especially, not for Dream to step up in his place.

Techno nodded. “It looks bad on my part if one of my fighters dies in the middle of a match though, doesn’t it?”

“It’s illegal underground fighting. He knows the risks-” Punz reached over to cover your mouth.

He sighed. “That sounds fine. No less than three a week, though.”

Dream let out a low whistle. “Damn, she let you borrow your balls just for this?”

Punz turned his head to him, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. “Hmmm. What does that bracelet say, sweet boy?” Sapnap laughed at Punz’s comment, making Dream punch his arm. Techno shook his head at all of you, settling his glasses on top of his head, pushing his bangs out of his eyes.

“You guys are all simps,” Techno murmured to end the discussion. “Sapnap, I have a new model I want you to test out. Punz, I’m leaving the shop to the two of you while I’m gone.” He gestured between you and Punz before tilting his head to Dream. “I mean this with the utmost respect but, go mutilate your body or something at George’s. I don’t trust you and Punz in the same room for more than ten minutes.”

You snorted and Dream shrugged at his words. As you all stood to leave, Sapnap and Techno began to discuss his new car modifications. “Hey, Dream. Can you get my name?” You teased and he pinched your cheek.

“Right above my ass because I know you’ll be staring at it anyway,” he jested. Punz moved to stand behind Techno’s desk, flipping through his account book. His knuckle tattoos flexed as his fingers searched for a specific tab.

You sighed. “Finally, I’ll have something to look at,” you countered, biting back a smirk. Dream mocked a pained expression before heading out the door. You turned back to Punz, walking behind Techno’s desk as well, your hands running along his black jacket. “You’re quiet today,” you muttered, fingers looping through his thin silver chain to draw it from beneath his shirt. You’d bought it for him for your anniversary a few years prior.

He turned towards you, his deadpan look sending shivers down your spine as his hand wrapped around your wrist. “You think I can’t defend myself?” He dared, eyes flickering with lust and heat as he looked at you. His hand moved to hold your chin, your breath hitching as his lips threatened to brush against yours. “I have half a mind to teach you a lesson for that.” His voice was mellow and low as he spoke to you, making your ears burn red.

His thumb moved to brush against your lip, your mouth opening to take his digit between your teeth almost instinctively. There was no way any of the guys would take you seriously if they knew how whipped you actually were for Punz, which was most of the reason why he let you lead when you were around them.

The other half of him liked when you were scary and in charge.

Punz knocked you against the desk, your torso hitting the wood as you bit back a giggle, gripping onto the edge of the wood as he kicked your legs apart. “Speaking for me like you’re my master,” he jabbed, pushing your skirt further up your waist and grinding against you. He tsked as you moaned, pressing your cheek to the grain, shoving Techno’s pen display to the side.

He gripped the collar of your shirt, snapping a few of your buttons. “Christ, Luke,” you moaned, voice uneven and out of breath. “I’m gonna run out of shirts,” you barely whined.

His lips pressed against your shoulder, nose moving to brush against behind your ear. “Are you complaining, pet?” He hissed, hand settling on the edge beside your own, grinding his hips against yours. You shook your head violently, making him lean off you. The sound of his belt dropping to the floor behind you made your head spin, your knees weak.

His hand brushed over your waistband, dipping below your skirt and smacking the curve of your ass. You whimpered at the impact, heart racing as your body throbbed for his attention. "Filthy slut. You like when I punish you, don't you?" Punz chided, pressing his knee between your legs and knotting his fingers into your hair. You rolled back against his thigh almost as if by instinct, hungry for his antics.

His palm smacked you again, gripping onto the sensitive, burning skin with his strong hand as if it were a trophy for him. Truth be told, you were his trophy, especially when you gave in like you were.

As you heard his zipper, your face flushed, gripping onto the wood as you readied yourself, submitting to Punz's mercy with a grin on your face.

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[stellocchia]

Watching George's lore that I missed now. I've been informed that this is gonna be a wild ride, so let's go!

I thought he wasn't in the copy server from the start, but he actually is:

Which is why all the images don't actually show, does this mean that it's all a dream from the very start?

"This whole Dream smp server, it's empty" then dream up some company George, it ain't that hard!

"'Did you miss me?' I actually don't" Funnily enough, I'm pretty sure Tommy felt the same about that sign

George going "What if there was a village with people around" about L'Manburg, like, yeah I WONDER WHY THAT'S NOT THE CASE ANYMORE. That does go to show though that the loss of L'Manburg and the community that existed around it negatively impacted more than just its members. Like, it nags at George's subconscious even though he wasn't really all that involved with it past the elections

"Nobody even cares to clean the blood off the floor" That's... actually true

The green boy is here!!

"I thought you were meant to be smart, I thought you could have gotten yourself out" To be fair, considering that we know that he planned to get imprisoned in there, you'd think that Dream had some sort of escape plan prepared, AND YET

I actually really like that the Dream in George's mind can't seem to answer things that George doesn't alredy know. He was silent when George asked how long Dream has been in prison, probably because with how much time George spent sleeping he kinda lost the count of time, and he was very vague on how he got the armor answering what George probably already thought, that he had a sapre set on the outside.

"Sapnap told me you were threatening Kinoko or something" "Where is Kinoko?" Glad to know that made up Dream is still as slimey as normal Dream

"Why didn't you come to visit me George?" "I didn't know how! I didn't even know I could" (...) "But you didn't even ask" Is that some subconsious guilt there?

Another one for mind!Dream's vague answers is George asking him what's the logic behind the whole 'destroying Kinoko so that Sapnap gives him his armor back' thing and Dream being unable to explain. Because it doesn't make sense to George so his mind can't provide him with an answer

("That's what you look like right now" "Wait, a clown?" "Yeah" man, George does NOT hold back!)

"Are you with me or are you against me George?" HMMMMMM

Also, love how George's idea of something fun to do is just destroy Tommy's house. That child can't have a moment of peace

So, I'm just assuming that George's death was also part of the Dream, but I did read somewhere that this is where the actual dream starts and everything else was real, so that's also a possibility

I love how "It's not funny" it's George's way of referring to very messed up situations. Like, yeah getting killed by someone who used to be your best friend should be a bit more than "not funny" but I appreciate the energy!

"It's a whole job to destroy myself and I can't even be bothered" that's some c!Wilbur-type thinking right there!

Also, he's back on the destroying Tommy's house mission. Why is he like this? I guess it's like, a way to return to how things were? But that does really go to show that Tommy's punishment "for destroying George's mushroom house" was truly absurd... Also poor dream!Shroud, he did nothing wrong ever! He's just a little emotional support spider. And now he's destroying the Hotel, truly, what does he have against Tommy? What is all of this pent-up aggression?

"Dream did this" suuure. Is that some misdirected anger I sense? Or, well, he's right in being angry at Dream for threatening his community, and I guess attacking Tommy IS a good way to get back at him, but still, you know?

Look at that, a pig and a green blob, confabulating.

"What, I threatened Tommy's spider and house and suddenly it's all over?" Yeah, at this point every single person on the server knows about Dream's obsession with Tommy. Like, George wasn't even awake to see most of their interactions and he immediately assumes that him threatening Tommy is what pissed Dream off

Lmao, that's not something you'd expect to see

God is made of turtle helmets

George asking for rain and rain immediately starting is also another cool detail. It actually happens twice

Why was manatreed there? What is happening right now?

Skeppy's and Bad's mansion was the next victim of George's rampage, and then Ranboo's house, and then Las Nevadas, then the community house, and Eret's castle, and Ponk's Lemon Tree (to be fair that one's a classic)

"Did the dogs do anything wrong?" OH SO NOW THAT'S AN ISSUE, BUT KILLING POOR LITTLE SHROUD WAS PERFECTLY FINE! Also, Edward was alive still in George's dream, while I'm pretty sure he died in the dsmp? Anyway, he kills him with no remorse, BUT THE DOGS OF COURSE GET A CHANCE. Welp, the dogs are dead too

QUACKITY!!!

Dream!Quackity also wants to destroy Kinoko Kingdom so I'm guessing that either Karl or Sapnap told George about Karl's fight with him, and I'm guessing that may be part of the origin of his resentment toward Quackity? Partially it's probably also the fact that Quackity sort of drifted away from the rest of them

Dream!Quackity also somehow materializes an arrow as soon as George asked for it, which is another interesting little detail that's similar to the rain thing

Quackity got killed too, rip

A wild Karl appeared!

Dream!Karl confessed to being a time traveler? I'm guessing George has some suspicions. Also, dream!Karl is apparently friends with DreamXD, just like George used to be...

Aaaand Karl is dead too. And he had SO MANY ender dragon heads

Oh, look at that, he doesn't destroy the prison. The one thing he still has very complicated feelings towards, what a surprise...

Callahan also just so happens to have 2 stacks of flint as soon as George asks for them, similarly to what happened with the rain and the arrow things. He also just so happened to have all the ender eyes George expressed an interest in since the beginning

After killing Callahan again and getting the eyes he goes to the stronghold, which makes DreamXD appear to threaten him, George doesn't seem afraid though

Ooooooh, George using the threat Karl used to try and convince XD not to kill him "If you kill me you'll be a God over a world of Nothing"

He convinces XD to fight him in even terms and actually beats him, acquiring creative mode that way (so basically becoming a god). I'm gonna guess that that wasn't actually DreamXD, even if the guy is known to enter people's dreams and nightmares, 'cause I doubt the guy would actually let himself be beaten. But it is rather interesting still. I do wonder if George has been trying to free himself from XD's influence lately, perhaps to try and stay awake longer

He also manages to go the End and finds the crystals all already destroyed. But when he's about to kill the dragon he actually wakes up. He has all his stuff from before Dream killed him, so honestly I think the whole thing was a dream, initial encounter included, but still

And with that last revelation, the stream ends

#dream smp #georgenotfound lore recap #georgenotfound #dreamwastaken #technoblade #quackity #karl jacobs #callahan #dreamxd #'long post' #'tw animal death'

[lin-nin]

Headcanons for maybe they cause the reader's death? Like in an accident / generally not on purpose. Maybe they're in the middle of a battle and when they try to strike their opponent, their s/o is shoved in front and is the one that they hit instead? I just want angst :DD. Maybe for Techno, Schlatt, Dream, and Bad? Thanks!

heaOOOH ANON, YOU KNOW ME SO WELL. I LOVE WRITING ANGST ITS CHEFS KISS MWAH. I WILL GLADLY WRITE YOU SOME ANGST LOVIE. THESE ALSO CAME OUT MORE LIKE MINI ONE-SHOTS Warnings: Death, Gore, Coerced Suicide (BadBoyHalo)

Techno accidentally killing his S/O

Techno was always so easily caught up in battle. The way the voices chanted and demanded blood, he was quick to give in in the heat of the moment. Doomsday was no different, truly. Hell, he was eager for doomsday, and you had been too. You wanted to cause the chaos. It was only when you were off of the obsidian grid, moving to take down whoever you could with your axe. You and Techno didn’t always keep an eye on each other in the field. You just checked in on one another after, tending to the other as needed. He mainly checked in on you, as you often suffered the worst injuries in battle. You hadn’t heard his rocket launcher fire, ears full of the ringing and chaos and explosions of battle. No, you didn’t realize it until you had moved towards his target, the firework hitting you square in the back.

Techno swore everything was in slow motion then. The way your body flung into Tommy, slipping onto his sword that he had raised in the process to counter you. It impaled you, and he couldn’t see the look on your face. The voices in his head screamed and he was moving without thought, your name spilling from his lips, barely audible over the roar of battle. Tommy looked stunned, letting himself get shoved away once the older man came over, cradling you. You were covered in blood, seeping through your wound and shirt. He didn’t realize he was crying until you shushed him, reaching up to cradle his face.

“Don’t worry,” you had reassured, wiping at his tears and only managing to smear blood over the fur there. “This isn’t my last life. We have plenty of time together, just wait a few days. I’ll be back.” You would cough, making blood spurt from your lips as it bubbled into your throat. Techno could only helplessly watch as the remnants of you life drained from your eyes. This would put you on your final life.

The rest of doomsday was spent relentlessly slaughtering everyone who even looked at him wrong. He was inconsolable. When he returned to his cabin, and you finally came back- with new scars from both the firework and Tommy’s sword, he quickly deteriorated again. He struggled to voice how he felt- that it was his fault that you had been tossed into the blade and killed. He did, however, become fiercely protective of you. He would constantly give you armor and repair it, making sure you were fed and your weapons were the best. For whenever he would allow you back into battle and chaos.

Schlatt accidentally killing his S/O

Schlatt never had many on his side. You, though? You were always there for him. Originally a body guard he had hired, only to find a best friend and lover in you. A confidante. You may not have approved of each of his decisions, but you still protected him. He wasn’t necessarily a fighter, preferring to play the role of puppet master. You acknowledged that when it came to battle, you were a puppet.

It inevitably had already cost you two of your lives. You had no idea if it was intentional or not.

It was when Pogtopia came to attack that you were worried. Schlatt hadn’t been looking good. He had been drinking so much, seeming distant. Withdrawn. Even though you loved him, you struggled to get through to him. You stood at his side as you watched the chaos, gripping the hilt of your sword. Prepared to deflect at any given moment.

Tommy had found the pair of you first, and you easily preoccupied yourself with countering him. Only to feel yourself get whipped around, Schlatt’s hand familiar on your arm. Just for an arrow to lodge itself into your windpipe. You choked and gasped, feeling the blood invade your throat. Had you been warned, you could have put up your shield. Which had clattered to the ground with your sword. You had expected him to be pulling you from danger. Not putting you into it.

“No, no, no, stop it. Don’t you fucking die on me. Don’t you dare!” His voice rung in your ears. It was denial. So full of denial. As if the arrow in your windpipe had sobered him entirely. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. Stop! Fucking stop, you can’t leave. You aren’t allowed!” You gazed up to him with a weak smile, resting one hand on top of his.

“I won’t.... leave without you.... Don’t.... leave me waiting,” Your words were choked, interrupted by bubbling gasps. You would pause to cough up blood, gagging and choking on it with each breath and word. He dropped your body when you stopped breathing, standing up with his jaw set and an ache in his chest he didn’t want to identify. He didn’t keep you waiting, surrendering in the battle before succumbing to his failing health. The afterlife, though cold, was a little warmer and more humorous with him there.

Dream accidentally killing his S/O

Dream loved you with a passion so fierce it felt like the flames from the fire of it would often engulf you. The protection he gave to you, the way he often spoke to you or held you. It wasn’t bad, it was just always much fiercer than you ever anticipated. This translated to everything, too. He fiercely encouraged you to fight with him, but not to the point of getting yourself killed.

You weren’t always too good at following those words.

You had lost your first life fighting against L’Manberg. Not a direct cause from Dream, though. Just carelessness on your behalf. After that, he hovered near you during fights. Making sure you didn’t die. You didn’t mind. It at least showed how much he loved you, right?

Of course, he said all he cared about was the discs. When questioned about you, despite his hesitance, he had insisted you meant nothing to him with the same ferocity as before. It had hurt, cutting deeper than any blade before. You left, with Sapnap and George. You didn’t know where that had left the two of you, but you knew you couldn’t be near him and his delusions.

It’s how you ended up against him on Doomsday, staring him down atop the grid. The wind whipped at you and he pointed his crossbow at you. You didn’t blink, even as it loosed and shot the bolt into your leg. You had lost your balance, tumbling off of the grid with encouragement from the wind. You had narrowly missed the edge of the growing crater, thankful for the protection of your armor.

Only for the explosives raining down to knock the land from beneath you. You were sent tumbling down into the crater, landing on your neck. You had no recollection of it, no understanding of the horror he felt at watching you fall from such a height. He didn’t need to be told it was fatal. He hated himself for it. For what he had caused. Because, despite his words, he did still love you.

It wasn’t until you visited him in the prison, a nervous twitch in your hands as result from the fall, staring him down, it came crashing down on him. He had ruined you. “I wish he killed you. I wish I could kill you.” Your voice was cold, and you raised your hand to demonstrate the constant tremor caused by the neurological damage. You couldn’t kill him if you tried. You could barely hold a sword.

“I would deserve it.”

Bad accidentally killing his S/O

(Warning for suicide coercion)

You absolutely adored Bad. And He, you. That much was obvious. Life with him was fairly good, too. Mostly peaceful, and pleasant. The occasional bits of chaos, but so long as it didn’t directly affect you, you didn’t care. It usually didn’t, and you were content with that. Content to help others and stay neutral as needed. Until the appearance of the egg, of course.

You hated it. It made you uncomfortable, in a way that had your head ringing and chest feeling tight. You would avoid it as much as possible. You only came to dislike it more as it affected Bad. The way he didn’t make himself seem so small anymore, towering to his full height. The way he would kill a person over the egg, if it told him to. It was all so much.

Yet at the end of the day, he always came back to you and seemed almost like your Bad. Almost.

“Cupcake, give it a chance,” Bad had insisted one day, pulling you towards where the egg was. Even if you wanted to fight him on it, you couldn’t. Not physically.

“Bad, I told you. I don’t like it, it makes me feel... wrong.” This hadn’t been the first time the two of you spoke of this. Yet he insisted. The two of you had bickered until he tugged you into the building, unceremoniously pushing you towards the drop. Despite your protests, you fell in. Everything immediately felt wrong as you came close to it, the whispers of it not new. You had heard them before.

Yet it was vile as always, causing you to claw at the room in attempt to leave. Until it was all too much. There was one way out of this that you could see, even if it would cost you dearly. You sought out the vines of the egg, using them to rid yourself of your current life, much to the egg’s encouragement.

When you were free, you were different, the patterning of the vine clearly visible on your neck. You had packed up all of your important things, leaving Bad a note and going as far away from the influence of the egg as possible. Bad was clearly distraught upon finding the note. He looked for you for a long while, but always came back to the egg. At least, if the egg helped him bring peace to the entire place, he could get you back. Right? That was the newest goal. Bring peace and bring you back to him.

#Anonymous #badboyhalo #dream #schlatt #technoblade #technoblade x reader #schlatt x reader #dream x reader #badboyhalo x reader #tw suicide #tw death #tw gore #headcanon