If I think about cTubbo for too long I implode because he was only 17!!!!! He was 17 and the president of a nation that wasn’t even his!!!!! He was protecting a dream to the death, a dream that wasn’t his dream. He gave up everything EVERYTHING for the dream of a man who only saw him as his sidekicks sidekick. He was never himself, he was always part of something, l’manburg, Tommy’s best friend, a spy for the rebellion, and the one time he was chosen was because it’s didn’t matter who was chosen bc the place was going up in flames anyway. He had a target on his back and became the face of evil to protect a dream that he gave his life for TWICE with zero recognition. No one listened to him and he sat alone in his big cold office as others told him how he should think and what he should do and that he was an idiot, a tyrant and called him the name of the most hated man ever just because he wanted peace, something he never had before. No one listened to him, but even his best friend who said he would be at his side but blatantly ignored him and told him that he’s just like the man that murdered him. The man that executed him at 16 years old after making him decorate his own public execution.
He was only 17 and became Atlas. he became the face of what everyone hated. People destroyed the dream that didn’t belong to him yet he gave his life, his happiness, his friends, his childhood for just to say it’s his fault that governments are corrupt af that the world would have been better if he had never been given the role. A role he didn’t ask for. A role he was thrown into just for someone else to pull the rug from under him. He was only 17
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Found Some More Hatchetfield Lore!
I remembered that one of the Lang brothers said that Wiggly is based off of Cthulhu, so I decided to do something digging on a piece of shit author, H.P. Lovecraft and y’all… Okay, I don’t know if it counts as lore, but Hatchetfield is right under our noses.
CW: H.P. Lovecraft’s writing is full of bigotry, and if you plan on reading it, prepare yourself. For example, there is an evil entity named Shub-Niggurath. Yeah.
I don’t like H.P. Lovecraft, nor do I enjoy his writing in general, so here are some things that people should look up if you want to find out Hatchetfield’s inspiration. More thoughts on why I cannot write about him are at the bottom.
Also! I do not look down or dislike people who enjoy H.P. Lovecraft’s writing and his creations, and would really love for people to continue to look into things I cannot. I hope my little notes help!
(I’ve linked the stories in pink!)
SPOILERS: Hatchetfield? I guess? The Cthulhu Mythos & The Dream Cycle.
Cthulhu Mythos:
Just read ‘The Call of Cthulhu’. Everything makes sense.
Miss Holloway is based off of a character named Horvath Blayne from ‘The Black Island, Being the Narrative of Horvath Blayne’.
Duke Keane is also taken from ‘The Black Island’.
The narrator of ‘The Call of Cthulhu’ is named Francis Wayland Thurston.
Professor Hidgens is based off of an art student named Henry who is known for being eccentric and living in solitude. (The Call of Cthulhu)
Emma Perkins is named after a ship called the Emma. The crew got into a battle with Cthulhu’s cult members, which resulted in the Emma having one survivor. (The Call of Cthulhu)
John MacNamara is based off of the police officer John Legrasse. (The Call of Cthulhu)
Willabella Muckwab resembles Lavinia Whateley, from ‘The Dunwich Horror’. She has a son, Wilbur Whateley (Wilbur Cross), whose father is the cosmic entity Yog-Sothoth (Wiggog Y’rath). Lavinia went missing on Halloween, and the assumption is that Wilbur killed her. 👀
The Black Book is the Necremonium.
There’s always professors somewhere.
The Dream Cycle:
LOL. The Dream Cycle is a collection of short stories surrounding dream cities. I honestly haven’t read anything about this other than brief stuff from the Wiki, but the connections are painfully obvious.
The word ‘oblivion’ is written in the Black Book. H.P. Lovecraft has a poem titled Ex Oblivione. The narrator sees a gate in his dreams and wants to get past it, but he can’t access it. He eventually does, though. Yikes. Read this post, picture Willabella Muckwab as the narrator for Ex Oblivione, and enjoy.
Bonus: Some of the covers of the magazine that published H.P. Lovecraft’s work (Weird Tales) are sprinkled throughout Hatchetfield.
“Pete, get behind me! I’ve got a gun.”
“Steph… it’s a ghost. I don’t think that’s gonna do any good.”
Rosary? Killer Track, much? Also, the art style for the Black Book kind of resembles this… huh.
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Note: I had planned to read all of H.P. Lovecraft and the associated work, but the racism is too much for me. I can’t “separate the art from the artists”, especially when everything evil is so obviously and horrendously based on Black people, as well as other races. Again— Shub-Niggurath. Like, seriously?
It’s a huge bummer, because I have so many thoughts— like the implications behind Willabella Muckwab associated with Lavinia Whateley, and Wilbur Cross also being associated with Wilbur Whateley. So much is at our finger tips.
I’m still going to be writing other things, though!
I have more of the Black Book deciphered, so that’s exciting, especially since I actually got some stuff right in my first post. (It was looked at through a more religious lenses rather than an H.P. Lovecraft lenses, though.) BUT STILL. MY EYES HURTING FROM INTENSE SQUINTING SESSIONS WAS NOT FOR NAUGHT! And I know I state some of these things as if they’re facts, but they’re ‘probably based on’ stuff.
Alright. I’m off to read about physics, the concept of nothingness, and the æther in the name of theatre kid.
tldr; the Lang bros made a the TTRPG Call of Cthulhu homebrew and turned it into musicals.
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Wilbur opens his eyes. He knows that knock; quiet, light, taps more than anything. It’s Phil. Tommy always pounds his bloody fist against the wood, and Technoblade uses the doorbell. Phil knocks softly, like he’s afraid the door will collapse if he uses an ounce more of force. It’s Phil at the door.
~~~
Wilbur breathes a whistlely sigh. The dirt floor falls away, and the dancing light of the torch leaves his eyelids, and his feet are touching nothing but air. For the first time, he begins to reckon with the idea—the knowledge, the fact—that his eyes may never open again. He feels weightless. He doesn’t feel free, because he’s not dead, and that makes him desperately sad.
~~~
Wilbur laughs again. “You’re funny sometimes, y’know.”
Ghostbur’s face lights up. “Really?”
~~~
Techno swallows. His eyes trail over Ghostbur, catching on every single pulsing wound that won’t heal. He doesn’t say anything.
~~~
Every couple steps, one of them stumbles, but the other holds on and makes sure they don’t fall, so none of them fall. It’s really hard to think; with every step on the broken ground, thoughts of Dream fall away, until all that’s left is Tommy, and Ghostbur, and walking, and trying not to fall, and breathing.
“We’re almost there,” Tommy whispers, not looking up. “Please, please, we’re almost there.”
~~~
“I really like yogurt,” Ghostbur whispers. His eyes brighten even more, and he turns back to Wilbur with an expression so utterly touched that it makes Wilbur’s brow furrow. “Thank you for getting me this.”
“No problem,” Wilbur answers uncertainly. He clears his throat. “Next time, um, next time we go to a store we’ll have to get some yogurt. For uh, for you.”
Ghostbur gasps a second time. “Really?”
“Yeah?” Wilbur narrows his eyes. “Why not? It’s what you like, right?”
Ghostbur nods, staring down at his little yogurt container with eyes so wide it’s almost comical.
~~~
Snow crumbles as Techno rises to a stand. He becomes a silhouette against the snow-bright sky. “This… this isn’t going to affect our friendship, is it? You’re not gonna hold a grudge because of this?”
~~~
“Why are you in here? With me? You don’t have to be. You can go, if you want.” Wilbur nods his head towards her. “I know that chair must suck.”
“I don’t mind it.” Niki’s voice sounds genuine, but her continued restless shifting gives her away. “And I’m in here because I want to be.”
“Why?”
Her voice gets softer. “So you won’t be lonely.”
Wilbur’s jaw tightens. He looks away. “I don’t care.”
“Yes you do. You’re scared to be alone.”
~~~
“I don’t want an apple.” Tommy sighs again. “I want you to stop being weird.”
“Weird people make the world go round.”
Tommy wrinkles his nose. “No they don’t. Rich billionaires do.”
Ghostbur stares at him. “Try the apple.”
“I’m gonna be one someday, y’know.”
“An apple?”
“No. A billionaire. Then I’ll make the world go round, and I’ll flaunt my money like nobody’s business. All the girls will love me.”
Ghostbur offers his hand forward. “Try the apple.”
~~~
“With pickles?”
“Yes.”
“And mustard?”
“Yes, my love.”
Sally’s eyes widen. “And extra cheese?”
Wilbur smiles, just a touch exasperated, but mainly endeared. “Of course. I know how you like your burgers. What sort of married man would I be if I didn’t?”
~~~
Wilbur curls up, pressing that arm close to his chest. “Tommy? I don’t wanna forget how to love you. I don’t wanna love you not-right. That’d make me feel awful.” Quieter, he adds, “Mum feels awful when she realizes she forgot. That’s why she’s crying now, I think. She didn’t mean to not love me right. She didn’t mean to.”
~~~
“Every Jedi except me.” Ranboo closes his eyes, silently praying that no one other than Tommy is listening to this conversation. He should have faith, he knows, but he doesn’t think he has any. And that feels wrong.
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