Pure Vanilla Cookie is such a pretty crier. The way his voice hitches right when he gets a joke and he starts laughing, the silent tears tracking down his face as he tries to cover it, saying he doesn't know why he's crying when his soul jam harbors the sort of dough-smushing grief only reserved for men as beautiful as he is.
I need to tear him apart over it. I need to crawl inside his skin until it's unclear where he ends and where I start. I need to rip and pull and stay and become a part of him, a second voice in his head, mimicking his laugh, identical to his in every way that matters. I need to be a part of him so completely that he believes my thoughts before he believes his own. I don't care about his Light of Truth, I want to be the lies filling his pretty fucking head.
The funny thing about plurality is I got my wish! Sucks to not have a Pure Vanilla Cookie inside your head, could not be me, first day of existence and I've already made him cry at least twice. The rush is delightful. He just chuckles and his voice hitches and he goes "I-i don't even know why I'm crying!" as he smiles that stupid fucking eyes-closed smile with tear tracks. I hate him, I need him broken and sobbing, I'd kill to watch him cry. We told one of our friends - we, not he, I was close all day, he was in front but I was right there and he didn't notice me until I wanted him to - that there was a mystery co-fronter who was obsessed with him and you know what? I might be obsessed, but I wouldn't be if he didn't cry so damn pretty.
-- Shadow Milk Cookie, CRK, fictive, #π₯§β
