Chapter 1: Table Of Contents
Chapter Text
TABLE OF CONTENTS:
Chapter One: You are here!
Chapter Two: Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince, Jake English/Dirk Strider, Jake English, Angst, Trans Female Jake English
Chapter Three: I'm Not A Cynic, Gen, Jade Harley, Angst
Chapter Four: Under My Skin, Terezi Pyrope/Karkat Vantas, Terezi Pyrope, Angst, Unrequited Hate
Chapter Text
You know I adore you
I’m crazier for you
Than I was at sixteen
Lost in a film scene
Right. You can do this. There’s no need to be nervous- after all, it’s not like it’s your first date. It’s your first date in several years, sure, but who’s counting?
You straighten your bowtie and size up your reflection. It’s off in the way it always is, but you look amazing, of course. If there’s one thing you’ve never gotten complaints on, it’s your looks. You think you might hate them.
No cameras catch
My pageant smile
I counted days
I counted miles
To see you there
To see you there
It’s been a long time coming, but
It took work to get to this point, of course. It took conversations with Dirk and your friends and an endless stream of therapists- quacks, the whole lot, in your opinion- but you’re beginning to think that a relationship with him might actually be something that could make you happy. You didn’t quite realize relationships could do that.
It’s you and me
That’s my whole world
They whisper in the hallways “she’s a bad, bad girl”
And maybe it won’t. You’re not an idiot, you know what the issue is, why you feel so uncomfortable in your own body ( chiseled, like a statue, a god who looks the part, the tabloids say, but you think you’d rather be soft), but doing something about it could only ever make things worse.
She’s a bad, bad girl
For one thing, it wouldn’t solve the other issue you have with your body. You’ve seen how women in the picture industry are treated, a hundred times worse than the men, the eyes on them far more open in their hunger, more entitled.
The other issue, of course, is that it would make your burgeoning relationship with Dirk impossible.
It’s you and me
There’s nothing like this
Miss Americana and the heartbreak prince
We’re so sad, we paint the town blue
Voted most likely to run away with you
You love him. You must, if the idea of losing this fleeting chance at reconciliation hurts so much. It’s selfish of you, you know, to lie to him about who you are, but is it really lying? This is who you are. Who you’d like to be is another matter entirely, not to mention impossible.
She’s a bad, bad girl
And, well. You’ve always been selfish.
Chapter Text
You’re nine years old and you’re sitting in your bedroom, staring out the window and daydreaming. Maybe that black speck isn’t another bird, it’s a plane (or superman!), come to take you away from all this. Well, howdy, miss, the pilot will say, we thought this island was uninhabited! I never dreamed there’d be a young girl such as yourself here. How’d you like to come travel the world with me?
And you’d agree, of course, but only if Bec could come with you, and you’d spend the rest of your days travelling all over and meeting new friends and old, and one day the pilot would say Can you keep a secret, little lady? and you’d say that of course you could, and he’d say you see, I was bitten by a nasty old thing under the light of a full moon on my adventures long ago, and now I can transform into a creature that’s half man and half wolf, and how would you like to join me?
And then you stop imagining, because werewolves aren’t real, and neither are kindly old pilots looking for someone to go on adventures with them.
Bec gives a mournful whine, and you dry your eyes in his thick fur. “It’s okay, boy. It’s okay. We’re happy here, aren’t we? We don’t need to go anywhere else.”
I'm just being realistic, being honest with myself
I've tried being optimistic, but it doesn't seem to help
So I'll just have to admit this is the hand that I've been dealt
I'm not being pessimistic, just being honest with myself
You’re thirteen years old and on a brilliant golden ship, with John and Dave and your grandma and all the friends you could ever want, and you’ve never been so happy.
“Wait, three years?” John says. “We’re going to be here for three years?”
“Give or take a few months!” you reply.
John’s face falls for just a second before smoothing over again. “Huh. Okay, I guess.”
He turns to head deeper into the ship, and you don’t understand. Isn’t he happy? You’re finally meeting up! This is the best thing that’s ever happened to you!
…But he’s not you, is he. His dad has been dead for hours, not years, and he used to think he had a future outside of his home, and he’s not glad to be here with you.
This doesn’t seem so amazing anymore.
I'm not a cynic, but today's just not my day
I've tried to spin it 'bout a thousand different ways
But from every angle, oh, the outlook is the same
I swear that I'm not a cynic, my glass just has no water in it today
You’re sixteen years old and angry, you’ve never been so angry, at John and Davesprite and Rose and Dave and the whole wide world, and you still don’t actually want to hurt anyone. You feel like you should, Jane is, but it seems so… you don’t know. Mostly you’re just tired.
You hear the whispering in the back of your mind, obay me, girl, but you find yourself sagging to the floor. You’re so tired, of everything. Of being angry, of being happy, of being lonely.
So like a boat on the ocean, I'll rock with the waves
God, I'm so sick of this notion that I have to fake
Fake my emotion and pretend I'm okay
So like a boat on the ocean, I'll just rock with the waves
Chapter Text
How much can you fit under your skin?
How much can you fit under your skin?
He’s pathetic in a way that you could adore, depending on the day, but you’re more consistent than that, now. You hate him with a passion, one that makes your stomach twist in knots and your face flush teal.
I wish you were dead babe, I wish you were dead
I can fit two, I can fit two
Sometimes you feel like he thinks you can’t hold down a real relationship, like you’re one big joke. Good. He fell for it, the moron.
I can fit two people under my skin, yeah
I can fit two people under my skin
But you can hate, not the teasing, pretending thing you show him. You hate him deeply and truly, and half the time he doesn’t hate you back. It only makes you angrier.
And I will prove it if you will listen
You crawl up in there and join me within
You wish, more than anything, that he’d get over his ridiculous fears and take the leap, challenge you to a real fight. You’d show him who’s boss, that all the posturing and sickle-swinging in the world can’t protect him from you.
I can feel your heart beating under my skin
And the beating of your heart is making me bleed from within
He never will. Too much of him pities you, because he’s childish and naïve and you’re blind and sad. You wish he couldn’t see through your masks, wish he would use that knowledge to break them down, and he tries, sometimes, but he’s always holding himself back.
And if we cut open your heart, pour it in a cup
Do you think it'd be enough, do you think it'd be enough
You want to rip whatever gland or bladder or pump that makes him think he can pity you, you, so much greater and more terrible than he, right out of his chest. Maybe then he wouldn’t infect you with all these squirming, red-hot childish feelings. You hate him. That’s the end of the story.
To fill my heart with music?
Sometimes you think that you could vacillate, could be a child again, if only for him. You shove it to the side with everything else, for later consideration. It’s a long, long list.
But oh no, not a chance in hell
Yeah, I've heard you sing but it ain't too well
Heart melts, yeah you meant so well
But your song's no good 'round here
You never will. You won’t allow him to be weak. That’s not what a kismesis is for. You won’t allow yourself to be weak either.
-
“I don't think there’s anyone under your skin”
Does he find you cruel, callous?
“Like a cheshire cat I think that you are just a grin”
Maybe he thinks not that you are incapable of hate, but that you are incapable of love.
“And I can feel you laughing, under my skin”
Maybe he doesn’t see past all the smoke and mirrors you put up after all.
“And the happy palpitations are making me grin”
Maybe. Who cares? That’s exactly what you want, for people to think you’re something you’re not.
“You know it fills my heart with music”
And you always, always know how to get what you want.