theatrickill-blog - Tumblr blog

[theatrickill-blog]

no but guys ... 2018 is the year florence welch is going to pull us all out of the deep, dark depressing pit in which we’ve been living the past couple years.

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something I’ve learned :   often the people who most need a pick - me - up are in no mood to ask for it, so we should probably all just be loving  &&  supportive all of the time

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the bricks were stained with soot and grime.  there were only two small windows, which were closed with the shades drawn even though it was a nice day.  rising above the windows was a tall and dirty tower tilted slightly to the left.  the front door needed to be repainted, and carved in the middle of it was an image of an eye.  the entire building sagged to the side, like a crooked tooth.

description of count olaf’s house in lemony snicket’s the bad beginning

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SHAKESPEARE AESTHETICS

Macbeth:

the howl of wolves. moonless nights. dirt under fingernails. stained silk. chattering teeth, voices hoarse and cracked. rotting fruit. echoing drums. dry heaving. hanging cobwebs. stifling humidity. bloodshot eyes. the roughness of rusted steel. wild rosebushes. muscle cramps. the sound of splintering wood.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream:

crackling fire. ivy crawling on stone. the faint music of running water. petrichor. dirty, bare feet. tattered clothing. thistledown. wilted wildflower crowns. late evening birdsong. curling leaves. a symphony of croaking frogs. drifting feathers. the eerie sound of windchimes at night. humming bees. beds of clover.

Romeo and Juliet:

warm golden lamplight. worn shoes. crumbling brick walls. whispered poetry. embroidered satin. cool, hazy mornings. tousled hair. rosewater. flushed cheeks. distant orchestras. unfinished marble statues. cobblestone streets. loose threads. ink smudged on parchment. tapping fingers. dust illuminated by sunlight. poison vials.

Hamlet:

shattered glass. a cluster of fraying ribbons. unanswered knocks on doors. lingering dampness. white noise. inexplicable drafts. migraines. bleeding ears. the taste of metal. reflected mirrors. dry, cracked lips. the sound of tearing paper. fogged windows. memories of dreams. tarnished silver. protruding veins.

TAGGED BY :   @interprcted  &&  @deathreflected

TAGGING :   @stylishkill, @corlapidis, @dokkstjarna, @baugenius, @mutinouscaptain, @ofvaliancy, @prinsessemelodi and anyone else who would like to do it !

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pukwitchy.

❛   what can i say ?? i’ve got a soft spot for orphans.   ❜

when confronted with poison her iciness recedes. her excuse for a smile is february, cold with the promise of spring hidden somewhere in its depths. she hesitates to go near him but gives in. if he’ll be the one to kill her— well, would it really be a surprise ?? queenie’s got a finger on a pressure point made out of dead parents, she knows it. she understands it. 

❛  is that a promise, olaf ??   ❜

               ❛  no one  ...  asked you  ...  for a soft spot !  ❜   olaf snarls, the bitter words coming out in between forced, shallow breaths, as he clings to the last remaining ounce of his restraint like a doomed man clings to a cliff - side above a steep, deadly drop.   ❛  YES, it is a promise !   I promise that, no matter how long I live, I will never have any use for your pity.   I promise that whoever killed my parents  ---  ❜   whoever had stolen that privilege right out of olaf’s filthy, gnarled hands,   ❛  I will see them go UP IN SMOKE !  ❜    

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larcenvie.

                                         EVEN WHEN LIES HAD NO USE,  THEY WERE AT THE VERY LEAST ENTERTAINING.       Takara stood and listened patiently,  hands folded  neatly  behind her back,  an   unreadable  /  dispassionate   expression settled upon her pretty features;  it was absurd and inappropriate that the walls of this museum should have to encase the echoes of his voice,  but it was what it was.   She was in no position to  shoo away  a visitor who,  at most,  seemed only over-enthusiastic.   But at worst…

                                         It was nearly imperceptible,  but the line of her lips tightened as he came closer to the painting;  a small part of her holding its breath in  anticipation  of being  gifted  a reason to rid this man from these halls.   Of all the galleries this man could have waltzed into,  oh  -  how she felt lucky.     “   No auctioneer would begin with the price,   ”     she stated,  her voice flat and monotonous,  not even a brief glance spared at the painting in question  -  it was the strange man that held all her attention.     “   Value of the item is determined by the buyers.  An auctioneer should only concern themselves with the facts in the beginning.   Time period,  maker,  history,  name.   Speaking of which,  you never gave me  your  name.   ”

               ❛  you see ?   I’m learning already !  ❜   olaf returns with exaggerated pleasantness, though he would like nothing more than to scowl.   what was all this fuss about telling him the price ?   when had everyone become so suspicious all the time ?   certainly he had been intending to steal the painting  ---  all these disguises to fool the baudelaires’ guardians aren’t cheap !  ---  but she doesn’t know that !   ❛  this is why I’m always telling my theatre troupe how important it is to research for a role, whether that role should be a murderous research assistant  ...  or a murderous sea captain  ...  or a murderous receptionist  ...  ❜   his eyes glaze over, ever so slightly, the count lost as if in pleasant memories.   

❛  oh, how very rude of me.   I AM COUNT OLAF !  ❜   he proclaims, with all the fanfare one might expect from someone presenting her majesty the queen of england.   ❛ yes, the count olaf.   yes, I’d be happy to sign an autograph.   but first  ---  you said an item’s value is determined by the buyer.  ❜   if you’d listened closely, you might have heard the wheels in olaf’s head turning furiously.   ❛  so the auctioneer can sway buyers into putting a higher price on a lot, based on what he tells them about it ?   or into choosing one lot over another ?  ❜

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FUN FACT :   the one  &&  only time I ever got in trouble in school, it was because I was reading a babysitters club book instead of doing the assignment the teacher had given us

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bbysittr:

❛    for the low price of $3 an hour, this DYNAMIC DUO will turn your world uʍop ǝpᴉsdn !    ❜

                 ind. steve harrington  —  as told by livi        /        ind. wendy moore  —  as told by bree.

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ARCHETYPES QUIZ.

43% Performer:   taking center stage comes naturally to the performer, whether at the water cooler or in front of an audience.   they are magnetic and know how to inspire.

43% Royal :   when the royal walks into a room, they command attention.   they are the one in charge, and they enjoy reaping the rewards of their hard work. .

14% Intellectual:   the Intellectual is the ultimate dinner-party guest.   engaging questions and thoughtful debate are their trademarks. .

TAGGED BY:     @larcenvie ( tysm friend !!!  < 3 ) TAGGING:     @stylishkill, @adellaenchanted, @awaitskiss, @meddlingheels, @praecher, @pukwitchy, @sepulchrebound​ and anyone else who wants to do it !

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What Jerome Squalor doesn't know will most definitely hurt him and I CAN'T WAIT !!!

count olaf, probably

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ALIGNMENT TEST.

Your Result: Neutral Evil  |  82%

You are the more sane evil, at least compared to Lawful Evil zealots and Chaotic Evil morons. You are in it for yourself, and to undermine everyone else. After all, he who strikes first succeeds first. You see both law and anarchy as equally useless, and prefer somewhere in the middle. You are the most likely Evil to change to another alignment.

TAGGED BY:  @murroyilodel ( thank you milove !!! < 3 ) TAGGING: @stylishkill, @deathreflected, @roseloved, @siresnight, @valentinoworn, @dxdger, @firebcrn, @holnds  and anyone else who wants to do it !

[theatrickill-blog]

evilthroned:

she haunted the hallways of her castle with a silent anger, one that eventually would grow into a howling rage. she would conquer with that rage; kings would fall to their knees. she was evil given a kingdom.

EVILTHRONED | EVILQUEEN.CO.VU   /   independent REGINA MILLS from abc’s once upon a time   /   written by queenie   /   est. july of twenty - fifteen.

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               the CONSTELLATION CINEMA, a new york landmark, lies before him in ashes.   olaf stares at the scene, icy blue gaze shining lustfully.   out the corner of his eye, he notices a woman in pink hurry past.   one filthy, gnarled hand reaches out and grabs her by the shoulder.   ❛  you were with her !   the woman who made the statement to the press !  ❜   his tone is almost accusing, but he quickly remembers himself, a slimy smile playing at his lips, his raspy voice, when he speaks, dripping with honey.   ❛  it’s just you  &&  me now, my dear, so you can tell me the truth.  I know fire, and that  --  ❜   a sharp nod toward the ruins of the cinema,  ❛  ---  was not a fire !  ❜                            

《  🎭   █ ██ 〢   @lcgilimens   |   sc

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dxdger.

And isn’t this bloke up to some sort of mischief. Blinking at the man for a second–doesn’t near expect a body to be outside his momentary hidey-hole, does he–he then claps his hand over his nose, breathing through his mouth to try’n keep from inhaling too much of the gasoline. Right strong stuff, it is, and he knows too much of it can make a bloke act right giddy. “Could be asking you the same,” Dodger retorts, lower lip jutting out as he scowls, voice slightly pinched ‘cause he’s still holding his nose. “This is my patch, it is. What’chu doing here?”

               realizing that the figure is nothing more than a street - rat  ---  a little orphan boy !  ---  olaf relaxes, lips twisting into a nightmarish perversion of a smile.   ❛  yours, is it ?   and here I was under the impression that it belonged to FIRST STREET FINANCIAL. ❜     he reaches for the empty gasoline can, brandishing it with a flourish, punctuating each growled syllable.   ❛  forgery !   fraud !   identity theft !   I ask you, how is a man supposed to get anywhere in this world today without bending the rules a little ?  ❜

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               ❛  FOOLS !  ❜   olaf rages to himself, after walking out of a particularly frustrating meeting with his fellow volunteers.   ❛  sanctimonious !   hypocritical !  ❜   worn loafers in black leather, complete with a hole in one toe, connect with a discarded tin can, sending it crashing loudly down the  ( seemingly )  empty street.   ❛  who are they to judge ME ?  ❜   

《  🎭   █ ██ 〢   @igniteher   |   sc

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originallywritten.   

     she doesn’t trust him,  not  one bit.   then  again,   who does she trust at all in this cruel, terrible world ?    (  sometimes,  she doesn’t even trust herself.  )  the finality of his statement;   ‘  you can rest assured that the earrings’ former owner won’t be coming back to claim them anytime soon ’   certainly sounds ominous,  which   isn’t  the  part  that   stirs  wariness within her.   it  is  him.   her gut tells her;   business is  bad  with this man.   all the times that this feeling came up,  she   was   able  to   pull  a  young  girl  out of the wreckage of a   truly  horrific  situation.   one  that she  is  no  stranger to herself.   so,  when the earrings  are confirmed to be  in fact real,   nina   removes her own earrings,  plucks the diamond beauties from their velvet  box  and  fastens them to her ear.   she will go into  business   with this  man   to  discover  what it is  he is hiding.   “  you have yourself a deal,   count olaf.  ”  beckoning for the guard to come forward with the harpoon gun,  she  has it laid on the table.   “   is it to your  liking? ”

               ❛  yes,  ❜   olaf murmurs, one corner of his mouth tugging upward into a satisfied smirk as he lifts the harpoon gun from off the table, luxuriating in the feel of its weight in his arms, already seeing in his mind’s eye the terrible  ( and enjoyable ! )  things he will do with it.   all the pieces of his plan are falling neatly into place, and soon the baudelaires will be his !  ———  and soon after that, so will their FORTUNE !   ❛  yes, this will do nicely.  ❜   still, fiend that he is, having never done a single trustworthy thing in his entire life, olaf can only imagine that everyone he meets is just as trustworthy as he is  ---  which is to say, not at all.   and so, he opts for a quick exit, bowing slightly  &&  making a little flourish with his one free hand.   ❛  a pleasure doing business with you, nina.  ❜   he rasps, before turning for the door.   his fellow thespian  ---  henchman  ---  the one with hooks for hands, waits for him just outside.   all of his earlier, simpering charm gone now, olaf growls,  ❛  I want someone watching her around the clock.   I won’t have another busybody ruining my plans !  ❜       

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I expect a lot, because I deserve a lot.

Jay Crownover, Rome (via thequotejournals)