#stradivariiius

[infectiiious-blog]

+ stradivariiius

“...That is your car, right?”

”---I wouldn’t leave it parked there, if I were you.”

[tenaciiious-blog]

I ship you with Teej

ship meme

[good because we're getting married]

[hey stradivariiius consuultant lurisms look]

[tenaciiious-blog]

headcanon:

As a teenager, Mason liked to stay in contact with his sister whenever they were separated. At thirteen years old he began to accompany Papa on short business trips: he would often get homesick and call Margot on the phone (mostly to talk at her, about nothing in particular).

He would spend summers at Lake Michigan (from age fifteen he was a chaperone to the younger children): he would write letters home and expect Margot to write back. Due to his dyslexia, Mason's handwriting was a little erratic, but still legible. He had learned her style of handwriting well enough to read it. (she used to try and assist him with comprehension and writing in cursive - often demonstrating the latter for his benefit).

Mason's news from camp would detail his daily activities and thoughts - often written like a stream of consciousness, more akin to a journal than a letter (but then, he didn't see a point in keeping a journal if no one was there to receive the words). He would typically send two letters a week; Margot would answer with one.

After his violence towards her escalated, she was less inclined to continue this charade of normalcy. Her replies became more difficult to write: sparse and abrupt in content. In college, she would read the letters, but refuse to answer.

[tenaciiious-blog]

+ expansiionist

Lacquered lips twist at the sight of her reflection: the dress is ugly, ugly - but it was a gift, from Papa - she has to wear it. Molson hates her dour fashion sense, he wanted to see her in something light. This shade of blue does nothing for Margot. There are needless frills where there shouldn't be, and it looks like a dated prom gown. The shoes are equally hideous.

It's summer break; she just finished up freshman year; it's her (their) nineteenth birthday. None of these are reasons to rejoice. The younger twin hates summer, hates birthdays - she likes college, and she doesn't want to be back home. Her trepidation grows with every passing minute.

There's a sleek line of cars in the courtyard, indicating the arrival of guests. No doubt they're crowding the foyer in their teeming, haughty droves. She'll have to leave her bedroom sometime.

But she's keen on postponing that fate for as long as possible.

[tenaciiious-blog]

come closer now,

and step right into the wide mouth;

the sharp teeth of the one you love.

[tenaciiious-blog]

expansiionist said:

he just found her diary here, i imagine.

[the freakin lil punk]

[tenaciiious-blog]

expansiionist said:

you’re sO CUTE

[ssshhhhhhhhh thank youuuu---]

[tenaciiious-blog]

Dear /Papa/

Send me a “Dear —-” and I will write my honest feelings to them.

Dear Molson—-

I don’t understand, I never have… where it comes from, why you are the way you are. Did Mama ever love you? I wonder, sometimes.  I’m angry that she didn’t leave before it was too late. I judge her.

Or maybe I don’t. Renouncing a monster isn’t as easy as it seems.

I should stick to judging you.

I close my eyes at night and imagine a father who doesn’t hate or hurt and revel in both. What did I do?

God knows you’re a sinner, if he’s there at all. I wake up every morning with the hope that your heart stops beating.

You belong in the fucking ground.