let me burn the anons

i. the splash of cool water against the
back of your knee. the wooden railing
rough under your fingers. her laughter,
nestled in your throat.  her laughter, a
punch in your stomach. she’s laughing
because of him, not you. you know this.
a girl who loves a straight girl can only
ever  stand on the sidelines.

this is a lesson you have been taught 
all your life.

ii. the back of a movie theatre, her hand
in yours. her skin is warm, and you find
yourself thinking that if the sun were a
person it would feel like her. she leans 
her head on your shoulder and you know
that she won’t ever feel the same way, but
you let yourself pretend anyway.

you pretend, just for that moment, that if
you turned your head and kissed her she
would kiss you back.

iii. your pounding heart. the confession.
i like girls too, you say, and you’re crying,
and she’s got her arms around you, and she’s
saying that this changes nothing, and she’s
telling you that she’s here for you, that
she’ll always be here for  you.

you want to tell her more; you want to tell
her how you feel like you again when she’s 
around, but you hold your tongue.

iv. her voice in your ear saying i love you. 
your voice (disjointed, far away, quiet)
saying it back. you don’t say: you love me,
yes, but not the way i love you. you can’t
say it. you won’t say it.

when she tells you about him you laugh and
listen, you smile and help her, you bite your
tongue until you draw blood and say
yes, he sounds wonderful.

v. a girl who loves a straight girl can only
ever stand on the sidelines, anyway.
you know this, you do.

—  Darshana Suresh, standing on the sidelines (prompt: jealousy)

Time for a Dumb Things I Write When I’m Tired Update! AKA Sorbet Sleepover!

And I know y’all are excited, I am too! But I have some slightly bad news. I have a new semester starting and my further updates are probably going to be a little more delayed. Like, give me until next weekend, kay? Updates take about 3 days to write and I’ve got a full class load to contend with. Believe me, I am REALLY SORRY about this, I wouldn’t test your patience if I didn’t have to. But, y’know… school. It’s a thing.

Anyway, enough stalling, on with the show! (Part I; Part II)


“That smells delicious,” Will said, following his nose back to the kitchen.

Hannibal looked up from his pan of sizzling toast and beamed at Will, noticing how his own undershirt and pants fit him very much correctly, “Come, sit, the cheese is just starting to melt.”

Will obeyed, but continued to curiously crane his neck over at the pan.

“Did you know you had gruyère in your refrigerator, Will?” Hannibal asked pleasantly, gently nudging the bread in the bubbling butter.

“Gruyère, really? I must have made French onion soup at some point…” Will shrugged, “I do sometimes pretend I can cook and frequently try, so it’s entirely possible I did.” He smiled vacantly.

Hannibal resisted clucking his tongue at him, “With the evidence that you knew to buy gruyère to make French onion soup and not the first white cheese you saw, I think you can do more than pretend to cook,” he smiled at Will over his shoulder.

Will found a shy smile crawling over his lips, but he couldn’t hold Hannibal’s gaze. The look gave him a tightness in his chest, a strange swelling. It was unsettling being praised for his hypothetical cooking by a man who could tell you the exact species of a chicken from nugget alone. Not that he could picture Hannibal actually putting a chicken nugget in his mouth; grilled cheese was a bit of a stretch, actually.

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