#Mirror my malady?

[ragnarokhound]

[carnation-damnation]

Now you're a monster like me

Or, comforting someone who "always has it all together"

[paramountie]

also high school me absolutely popped off by coming up with the idea to do two cherik fanvids (one charles’s pov and one Erik’s) with two different versions of the song wolf like me. Unfortunately my computer died bc the world wasn’t ready for my genius

[savoureuxx]

i don't care that this song has been used in like six different video games the lyrics are so good its like if richard siken wrote a poem about a werewolves as an analogy for the overlap of desire and corruption... can anyone hear me

[praybird]

the first time jack and teddy hookup is the night of her sister gwen's wedding. it also happens to be the same week that teddy turns 30 (because gwen is the sort of person to completely disregard her little sister's birthday and plan a big event around it), so naturally, she's in a destructive mood at the time.

jack has been away from the suburbs for some time, but returns to crash on his brother's couch after getting fired from his last job (that part's not really important). he ends up at the wedding because it's polite thing to do, but also because there's an open bar and he's, well, broke and fucking bored. he's only half expecting to see teddy there, but not thinking too much into it because their previous "friendship" was very loose, very casual, never intimate.

teddy doesn't expect to see him at all, but they find each other outside the venue. she's in a bridesmaid dress, he's in his dad's old suit, smoking a cigarette. he offers her one. (conversation goes like, "i can buy my own now." "sure you can, teds.") they're both a little drunk, and he says something about how she looks pretty. ("i've always been pretty, jack." and he just gives her one of those smiles.)

neither of them are really interested in going back into the party, so they nick a bottle of champagne, and go for a drive in his car. they end up at the playground where they used to smoke weed together, for old time's sake. they fall back into their old rhythm easily, but it's ... different. they both notice it too. it's tension that's been building for so many years, only now coming to the surface. jack kisses her first. teddy tells him she's got a boyfriend, but at the same time, she doesn't stop him. ("we don't have to tell him, teds." because jack's a bastard.) they end up in the back seat of his car and that's ... the start of their messy years long love affair. emphasis on affair.

[connecting-the-stars]

Me when I get bombarded with more ideas for future plot lines in the middle of writing the current plot line that I haven’t finished.

[eclipsedcrystalstar]

So normal about the CJ Special cover totally not imagining animatics to it

[feedingcnfever]

Tag Dump

[jonathanrook]

almost just posted a spotify link on main idk what came over me for a second there

[gaybravado]

Say, say, my playmate / Won't you lay hands on me? / Mirror my malady / Transfer my tragedy 

[captainpingulin]

Say, say, my playmate | won’t you lay hands on me | mirror my malady | transfer my tragedy?

Alternate with a veil for drama

[vuulpecula]

Make a wish. Wait for the disappointment as it again, does not come true. Wonder what it was you did in your life, or before it, that left all those stars, all those coins thrown into wells, all the birthday candles blown out from coming true.

Fox listened, unable to keep her thoughts from drifting to her own childhood. All splintered wood and busted knees. She knew what his little girl had felt like, knew what it was like waiting for a parent to come home. To spend time together. Her own father, he wouldn't shower. He'd sit at the kitchen table, hands still sticky with blood, lighting up a cigarette. Would things have turned out differently if he had hid it? Would she have known anyway?

Then his question that she wasn't sure she could answer. Words swimming around her head like the fish swimming around them in the river. Catching on wisps of Bliss. "--I think you did the hard thing," she settled on, dragging her gaze from the fog back to him. "What's right isn't always easy and what's easy isn't always right." She huffed a laugh. "Strange relationships, fathers and daughters. We always want to be enough, y'know? Make 'em proud. I didn't care that my father hurt people, I only wanted him to love me until I didn't anymore. Sometimes I think it would have better had he left. Let me be my own person without him to look up to." She paused, letting the sounds of the crackling fire and the river bullfrogs swallow up the night once more.

"What was that old saying? If you love someone, you have to let them go." There was something about them making their way back to you, but she couldn't remember it. "You loved your daughter, you still love her, I can't say it was the right thing, but I can't say it wasn't." Maybe the songs had been right all along. Maybe the Bliss was setting him free.

Above them both, at a million miles per hour, something tore into the atmosphere, fire and heat and speeds we could never comprehend acting in ways people smarter than them both ended themselves over, but they both knew the truth. It was all alive. Living, breathing, moving, his hand in hers, it was all connected. It had to be. It had to mean something. All the cruelty, all the pain, it had to be for something.

And maybe, a lifetime ago, he would've told his daughter, look, a shooting star. Make a wish.

"I fucked up the whole parenting thing," callously admitted, slurred, tore his eyes away from the sky, back to the dying embers of the fire. They would dance all night, but the crowd was thinning. He wondered if she cared, that they would notice they were gone soon. None of it was real to him. Divorced from the responsibility of his daughter, it was all just a game. And sure, he would say that he was poison, that he was volatile, and that she was better off without him, and it was all true -- but was he better off without her?

"I used to come home after a couple days, get a shower, and she'd get up before Zoe, she'd always be waiting for me, watching cartoons. We'd play all these games, as if I hadn't killed a man a couple hours ago, as if everything bad that ever happened to me didn't. But it don't last. She sees me now, for what I am."

You're a bad man, Jimmy Hopkins, tearfully echoing in his ear, she was crying, but she wasn't wailing, or screeching, it was hopeless, pitiful sobbing. And Amy confided in him once, that she remembered that, the way her mother sobbed. Jimmy didn't, It was just another Tuesday to him. She was always fucking crying, oh boohoo, grow up.

Cruelty, down to his bones. He had been fashioned into a shiv, didn't matter to him who he cut.

"I was poisonous. I had to let her go." He always seemed so sure of himself, but there was a shake in his voice, a tremor, eyes left the dying fire, settled on her. "Do you think I did the right thing?"

[praybird]

update: the two worst people you know are in love

[connecting-the-stars]

Snippet from upcoming first chapter of my Rocket and Groot backstory work: Mirror My Malady.

[autumnlassitude]

Say, say, my playmate

Won't you lay hands on me

Mirror my malady

Transfer my tragedy?

[cowboyemeritus]

uhhhh I was under the weather recently and it got me thinkin’

You laugh a little as Copia holds the glass of water to your lips. With a shaky hand, you take it from him, acetaminophen tablets clasped in the other. “It’s just the flu, babe.” He pouts as you pop the pills in your mouth, sip the water, and then swallow, grimacing as they go down your inflamed throat. You sniffle, and he instantly reaches for a tissue. “Seriously.” Snatching it away, you can’t help but feel a little guilty at the wounded look on his face. After blowing your nose you crumple the tissue into a ball, chucking it at the wastebasket. It bounces off the rim, landing on the floor. Copia starts to get up but you stop him, placing your hand on his. “I’ll get it later.”

“I am just trying to be useful, amore.” Oh, your darling Copia. He’s been distressed from the moment the headache settled behind your eyes. His Church duties have been… set aside for the time being, him fussing over every stage of your illness. You both know the paperwork is piling up, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. More than a few nights in a row you’ve caught him laying awake just to listen to you breathe. Every time you tell him you’re fine, that you can take care of yourself, but the dark circles under his eyes persist, his body rigid with nervous tension. At this point, he’s suffering more than you.

He can’t help it. You know that. This is just another one of those things, another new tic, that has developed in the wake of his ascension. As a firsthand witness to her decline, he watched helplessly for months as his mother — damn that woman — withered away, unable to do anything about it. In typical Imperator fashion, she kept him in the dark; every attempt to question her wellbeing, her ability to run the church, had been waved off. It was easier to let himself be lured into a false sense of security, to believe that she was invincible. Her death had truly blindsided him, leaving him unanchored and drifting in a sea of upheaval.

Copia. Your poor, sweet Copia. He’s not about to make that same mistake again.

“My love,” you say, brushing a few loose strands of hair away from his face. He leans into your touch like a puppy, eyes wide and watery. “Oh, come here.” Your body protests but you scoot over on the bed, patting the spot you’ve made for him. When Copia hesitates you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into you. You’re not worried about the malady spreading; if he was going to get sick, he would have already.

He comes to lay next to you, head resting on your chest so that his ear is directly over your heart. One of your hands begins to card through his hair, the mousy brown locks looking grayer every day. You know it preoccupies him; he frets over it in the mirror every morning when he thinks you’re still asleep. You tell him it’s handsome, and sometimes that helps. When that doesn’t work, you remind Copia that your love isn’t based on something so superficial. It’s him, just him, that your heart belongs to. And when returns to the mirror the next morning, you swear to yourself that someday he’ll never feel worried or sad or insecure ever again. You’ll do anything, kill anyone, to make that happen.

“I love you,” you whisper, lightly scratching his scalp with your nails. “Thank you for taking care of me.” You get no response and for a moment something sharp, scared, pokes around in your stomach. Then he snores a little and it all melts away. Nothing else matters but you and him, safe and warm and together for good. He makes another quiet noise and you smile, unable to contain your joy that he has found a scrap of peace in this chaos. Carefully, as not to disturb him, you reach over to turn off the bedside lamp, feeling your own eyes begin to droop. You sigh, the last of the pressure in your skull ceding as the room falls into darkness. “‘M not going anywhere, darling. We’re in this thing together.”

Baby steps, you think, just before falling asleep. Tomorrow will be better.