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♋
ｂａｓｉｃｓ:
WHO OF US IS:
Older? yours/mineTaller? yours/mineRicher? yours/mineNeater? yours/mineNicer? yours/mineSmarter? yours/mineFunnier? yours/mine
ａｄｖａｎｃｅｄ:
Who is a better friend? yours/mineWho lies the most? yours/mineWho swears the most? yours/mineWho reads more? yours/mineWho is more creative? yours/mineWho is more troubled? yours/mineWho has better morals? yours/mine
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♋
ｂａｓｉｃｓ:
WHO OF US IS:
Older? yours/mineTaller? yours/mineRicher? yours/mineNeater? yours/mineNicer? yours/mineSmarter? yours/mineFunnier? yours/mine
ａｄｖａｎｃｅｄ:
Who is a better friend? yours/mineWho lies the most? yours/mineWho swears the most? yours/mineWho reads more? yours/mineWho is more creative? yours/mineWho is more troubled? yours/mineWho has better morals? yours/mine
Hm?
Humans– they were soft. She was soft. And, yeah, Joy loathed that, she loathed the tenderness of it, the inherent vulnerability of their bodies, their ripe flesh, easy to bruise, to puncture– but this? This was soft in the kind of way she had never felt, had not expected from it– and she liked it. She really almost liked it. It was every bit as sudden to like it as it had been to initiate it.
Maybe it was the kind born of affection, platonic– she wouldn’t put it under Noelle to do such a thing: to kiss for the fun of it, the feeling of it, the ease of it, to leave the connotations somewhere in her hands, ( stuck at her sides ), but Joy felt them all just behind her teeth and she knew if she opened her mouth to this, she wouldn’t be able to close it again, to hide or stop and did she want to? She had this opportunity and did it have to mean something after? This was soft; extending the kind of gentleness she had worked hard to distance herself from, all light, and she wanted to loathe it, to loathe it but there was nothing but love.
Take Me
Like devil like daughter.
It’d been all too easy, really, to get Noelle here in the first place; maybe she’d had her fair share in a kidnapping scheme or two, maybe it was just part of being who she was, inheriting what she had.
It was an afterthought, more than anything, to take Noelle with her.
She was going and she was angry and she didn’t want to be alone, god, she hated that, (and she blamed it on this body, too, on this new frame and all its weird needs, she blamed needing companionship on the psych she’d inherited alongside five bony fingers and a hidden-from-sight spine), she hated being alone then and she didn’t want to go and she was right there, five feet away, and of course she wanted to talk, of course she’d be willing to let Joy open up to her, it’d be an honor, really,
and all she had to do was place her five bony fingers around her throat, (a makeshift noose, a temporary one, too), until Noelle passed out and
then she could drag her along, zip tie her hands with some chord she’d been keeping under her bed, buckle her in the back and
go.
And she was conscious now, but not screaming like she had been. Not begging, either, although she’d tried. Joy’s hands tightened on the wheel, leather and white.
She was crying and Noelle was crying but neither of them were talking and neither of them knew what to say but Joy, she knew, she knew she’d do what it took to keep her in that back seat.
She wasn’t going to say that.
