hello, you.

dan here just wanted to say i hate you. but that would be an understatement. but if one knows the whole story, then they'll probably say fuck off, too. like the audacity when they started the drama then act like the victim. like gosh, walk the hell off if you can't handle it. thank you.

no one wanted to play with him as a little kid so he have been scheming like a criminal ever since to make them love him and make it seem effortless. even now he's a sort of a loner with all the girls he loved leaving him behind. and he don't know if he's the problem or not. but he's adjusting. and it's not like he mind being the villain in the story when they're the clown in his.

they said he abandoned this ship of tinted bullshit but he's going down with it. his white-knuckle dying grip holding tight to that shaken bottle of pepsi resentment like he's some tipped cleaner to wipe the jazz off the bedsheets of hardwork and gaslighting. like he couldn't just xoxo, gossip girl this shit.

and the worse thing is, his twin here— you— who was the eye of his hate, conned him. kidnapped him. shat his life. bloody mary-ed the shit out of anyone he liked. used gossip girl blog like some damn kill bill list to kill. and dan is just near on smauging the shit out you for leaving him no choice but to do some cover— like hiding a damn glass cage.

he's just milliseconds away from tearing his hair off at how he was trembling in near explosion, his fingers curling stiffly up the air like he just wants to grab you and choke the sense back to him or grab the books around them and smack his twin with it.

"fuck—you can't just keep killing people!" he sharply whispers, his voice breaking, like soil cracking under intense heat of it all. "like— i'm living here, okay? you already killed vanessa, for god's sake and you have my face to parade around the other side of new york!"