↠ free for all.

[buries]

free for all: open rp post.

❧ comment with one or more of your muses. it can be empty, contain a scenario, or a prompt for a scenario (image, lyric, quote, etc). for the best way to get something that isn't complete bullshit, please either leave a scenario yourself or an image (i work best with images, but can make do with lyrics).

❧ in the subject line, request one of the muses that you would like me to tag you with. no one is off limits. if you know i play someone who i haven't listed, feel fee to request them. however, i cannot guarantee you will get exactly who you choose (especially if they're inactive/a character i don't play a lot.) even if they have a post in this community, i don't mind doing anything with anyone.

❧ if you want a specific style, action or prose, please let me know. default is action spam.

❧ rp with me so we can psl and i can eat your soul. ♥ i would love to turn these into personal storylines.

❧ you can also use this as a space to write with characters that do not have an inbox post. this is primarily what this post is for. permanent open rp post.


( information | musebox | open rpbox | private storylines )

Comments

cold day in gotham in the bat cave chilling;

[neogotham]

There was something different about the mansion this morning, and it wasn't the way the furniture was arranged or how the place looked oddly lived in, when the old man didn't usually inhabit any of the rooms he passed through to get down into the sub-levels of the building that housed things people shouldn't see. Things the public didn't know about and wouldn't know about, if he had anything to say about it. Especially since the things down in this basement now had as much to do with him as they did Mr. Wayne. Now, about that thing that was off...

"Ace?" Usually the dog was waiting at the steps, eager to greet him, but the beast was nowhere to be found. "Ace! Here boy!"

Huh. Well, that was weird. As was the sudden layout change down here, too. What in the world was going on?

cold day in gotham in the bat cave chilling;

[botmon]

After the events with Harvey Dent and The Joker, Bruce had become a recluse. Contrary to what Alfred tended to believe these days, it was by accident. When Batman had taken the fall for Harvey's crimes, Bruce had meant to hang up his Batsuit and parade all over Gotham like there was nothing wrong. It was an insult to believe the people of Gotham weren't observant; if both Batman and Bruce Wayne happened to disappear, he was sure someone would connect the dots. With his luck, this someone would be loud. Bruce had tried to keep up appearances, but his footsteps always faltered, or his fingers always pressed the phone to cancel appearances. When he hadn't been looking, Batman and Bruce Wayne had merged; he wasn't sure where the playboy he used to be began and where the vigilante everyone refused to call a hero ended.

Being a shut-in meant he lacked the usual company he'd come to be known for. Hearing a voice in a room near the one he was in was something unexpected. Bruce didn't open his house up to strangers, not unless there was an appointment, and even then, he seemed to embody more disinterest than he did previously when it came to his business and social life. On instinct, and possibly stupidity as he was unarmed and therefore vulnerable, he followed the voice as it called out for something.

"I'm afraid whoever you're calling won't be able to hear you," he said, walking into the room. He gestured around. It was only him and Alfred, as far as he knew. "If there's a frisbee out the back, I have a doorbell for a reason." Not that he knew how to answer the door. Alfred did everything for him these days.

<33333 I L Y

[deductions]

post-sh2 or w/e. this is going to hurt my heart so you better have gladstone nurse it.

[winking]

[ irene falls in an empty restaurant. but the one thing professor moriarty never counted on was her to possess the strength to pick herself up again. poison her tea with something that makes her knees buckle underneath her, but irene adler has never been one to break because of a man. she's done many stupid things because of them, but never has one lead to her demise.

a few months after it all, at a time where she thinks he's about to move on (and forget her face), she finds herself in 221b baker street. it's abandoned, just like it always is when she passes by, and she finds her photograph she remembers from years prior lying face down on the top of the table. some things linger on top of it, but she has the feeling the photograph is not forgotten. she lifts it up and slips the edges of a small postcard in the frame, covering her face. on the postcard is a design of a carousel, of nowhere specific, but sherlock holmes has always been a man to know the details when it comes to irene adler; from the men she likes to marry to the men she divorces moments after she says i do, to the kinds of hotel rooms she enjoys. he'll know the types of places she likes to visit to lose herself in, to become a stranger even to her own reflection, because sometimes she thinks he knows her better than she knows herself.

it's evening when she decides to linger by an old carousel, one that moves a little too slowly for the enjoyment of any child, and lingers around it. she's in slacks, rather than in one of her loud and feminine dresses that feel heavier than her own baggage, with her hands clasped behind her back as she waits. her hair is neat, though it bears some semblance to how it was on that bridge where he'd managed to slip her hands in cuffs and slip away with her heart in the palm of his hand.

she may buckle under the pressure at times, but irene always returns to him. ]

GIVE ME JOHANNA

[explosible]

I DON'T THINK THIS IS WHAT YOU HAD IN MIND BUT W/E GALE/JO FTW.

[pert]

[ you know, after the games, johanna's not quite sure why katniss cuts one of the only people who know her inside out out. she gets losing people sucks. she's lost so many people she doesn't know how to react or sympathise anymore. but gale ... mistakes are made. johanna's not someone who understands the inner workings of katniss everdeen - because, fuck, that'd drive her right back to the morphling - but she knows that, as a victor, it's a fucking lonely road ahead of you. even though katniss is the mockingjay, or was, or always will be, it's a lonely road that she's about to take, and she kind of needs everyone, even that blonde with the cakes and crumbs all over his face, to be at her side.

maybe she's biased, because she's been leaning on gale without really understanding what she's doing. the only person who got her was finnick, and look where the fuck he is. annie doesn't get her, even if she tries to be a friend, and katniss never will, even though they're buddies now, but gale ... there's something about gale that makes johanna gravitate towards him. maybe it's how hard he is, how sharp he's become after he dropped those bombs. maybe it's because he doesn't get what being a victor really means, aside from the shit he's seen on the television, but the fact that he's lived the experience of a victor - slaughtering friends and faces that will always be etched into his brain - without really knowing it is a pull. maybe it's because he doesn't look at her and think she's a poor little girl terrified of water.

whatever it is, she sticks to gale like glue because he doesn't treat her like anyone but johanna. she's not johanna mason from district seven, the girl who fooled the world; she's just a girl with rough palms and blood on her hands, who is sometimes too lonely for it.

it's why she goes to district twelve and gets him to show her the woods he used to go into with katniss. she's sure it hurts him to, but johanna likes to lose herself in other people - rather than morphling - and gale is kind of her favourite person. she also thinks he likes the company, by teaching her what he does, by feeling that there's someone out there in the world who doesn't look at him and think of him as a killer. maybe he likes someone who leans on him; johanna's gone so long without anyone that having someone around is addictive.

gale is someone who johanna slips with. she is meant to be a victor, a victim, a girl who is too lost to be saved, who has no one and never had anyone. but with gale, she's johanna who is a sister, a daughter, a niece, an aunt. they're walking out in the tall grass, johanna's admiring the trees, wondering what they'd feel like under her hands with an axe. it's this moment where she has a classical johanna slip. ]

The trees out here are beautiful - My brother would be drawing them if he saw them.

GIVE ME EMMA.

[heorte]

AJKDLS OMG HOW DID YOU KNOW I LOVE THESE TWO? prepare for depressing textwalls.

[snaring]

[ emma struggles. it's not something new; fitting into this town is like trying to fit a puzzle piece that doesn't belong. she tries and she tries, but unless she snaps the corners, no one is going to break. there's henry, with his metaphorical pom poms, cheering her on and believing in her like no one else has ever in her life. her own flesh and blood is more successful in life without even realising it; he takes it and he holds it tightly to him, always questioning, always fighting. she didn't realise there was another member on her team, also oblivious to who she was at her core, always cheering her on but in a subtle way. graham was one of her first friends here; she figures he'll be among her last.

there are large shoes to fill with being sheriff. she doesn't know the town like she knows the back of her own hand. her usual methods are unorthodox. the mayor breathes down her back like she's waiting for the perfect opportunity to push her hand into her chest cavity and rip her heart out. she knows there's a hole in her chest she refuses to acknowledge as it cripples her, but it's where graham's memory is. he takes up so much space, even when he's no longer here, that she sometimes feels like she's suffocated in his scent and in the notion of him being in the same room. she misses him like a heartbeat.

she has her head on her desk - or his, as it's never really truly been hers, has it? it never will be and she knows she'll never properly claim it - and her hands grip her hair so tightly she wants to tear it out. he haunts everything; from the smell that lingers to the prison cell she temporarily called home to every little crook and cranny in this office. she cannot stop thinking about graham, about the huntsman without a heart, and that stupid fairytale that doesn't quite fit her in it. sometimes henry says he'll come back; graham is dead, his fake counterpart, but the huntsman still lives. emma doesn't think so, though. life isn't a fairytale. it doesn't abide by any rules, fictional or otherwise, and the universe still spins on while good people are taken too soon and those with rotten cores still keep going. ]

Ugh. I don't know how anyone does this job without wanting to shoot themselves.

[ she's thinking too much tonight, about what ifs, fairytales, and alternate realities where she's a princess of the palest but most beautiful princess in all the land and there's a huntsman who means more to her than anyone could possibly understand. she thinks if she stays like this and ignores the real world that it'll go away. considering she goes around pretending she still has a heart, she thinks it's possible. it stopped caring about anything that wasn't henry's happiness when graham collapsed in her arms.

life lesson learnt, world; happiness is unattainable. ]

GIVE ME GWAINE.

[sweeping]

this will be incredibly bad and by that i mean flawless / s4 but au bc i haven't seen it

[tavern]

[ gwen's an outcast because arthur pendragon is the king of idiocy. gwaine's allowed to say that. he's a knight. he's allowed to say mean things about his king. he's also allowed to go behind his king's back and right his wrongs - or maybe not quite like that. gwaine's never really done anything by the book, after all.

he's abandoned his post in favour of going after gwen at the persistence of her brother - and his own conscious. if lancelot's not going to be man enough for her, gwaine's going to fill in his rather abnormally large shoes and do so. he's never been one to love a damsel in distress, but he's always been one to be there for his friends.

he finds her out in the fields, wearing black that almost swallows her whole. he almost rides passed her, his horse moving at a speed that's so slow he's sure arthur's mind works at this pace sometimes. she's beautiful in black, just as she is in any colour, but he doesn't recognise her. her colour is gone; he's used to her lilacs and violets, her royal purples and golds. gwen's strength is what pulls him towards her, and even though it's blanketed in the thickest and possibly heaviest of dark cloths, he can still see it - if he does what arthur never really did and look.

gwaine dismounts his horse and walks slowly towards her. he doesn't wish to spook her, nor overwhelm her with anything he could possibly to do make this go badly - which is anything. gwaine's for dramatic entrances; these quiet moments are more of merlin's. ]

My lady. [ he bends down and picks a flower from the ground. it's not as pretty as the one he gave her in camelot, but he feels the familiar sentiment might be of comfort to her. ] We really must stop meeting like this.

[ it's destiny. ... at least it isn't chicken, okay. ]

CAROLIIIIINE, ALL THE GUYS WOULD SAY SHE'S MIGHTY FINE

[siring]

i want my future things, so i'm forcing you rn into giving it to me.

[disparage]

[ caroline finds it hard to let things go. her humanity sticks to her like a bad smell, just like her memories and her old habits of ensuring everyone's okay before she looks after herself or sacrificing herself for the good of everyone who really doesn't deserve it. maybe it's a part of her personality being amplified, her selfnessness and stupidity, as damon would call it, but caroline's never been able to let it go, despite trying to trick herself into thinking so.

things with klaus aren't easy. she never expected it to be anything like in the movies; bad boy and good girl somehow collide with redemption on one side and growth on the other. klaus doesn't redeem himself just like caroline doesn't grow into the bad girl he tries to get her to be. she can't let go of her restraint on who she is; she'll always want to be that human girl who doesn't want to rip out the jugular of anyone who looks at her - or even klaus - the wrong way. but she finds that klaus accepts her for who she is, maybe not exactly one hundred and ten percent as he tries to rid the human side of her more and more with the encouragement to dig into the flesh of someone's neck, but it's close enough.

nothing's really perfect.

her mother's almost eighty when she ends up killed. hunters, werewolves, other vampires; it's one or the other. she's never been intent on spilling blood before, but after losing the one last piece of who she sometimes desperately holds onto, caroline's stopped resisting the urge to rip into skin like it's dinner.

and it's why she's in the women's bathroom of a bar, doing just that. if only it was bon temps would she be making a feast of everyone on the bar itself. she's got the man's neck exposed and bent in such a way she's not sure how he's still managing to gasp for breath. compelling him to be a doll beneath her fingers doesn't let her have any fun. ]

bro

[siring]

best little bro ever, admit it.

[smartarse]

[ kol decides to take klaus out to the baseball batting cages that were once his kingdom. kol hadn't liked the idea of going to denver to spy on the most boring kid known to mankind, but these cages, with these fine, well-made bats, made it worth his while. it's a few decades after the doppelganger fiasco, something kol likes to linger on repeatedly whenever in his half-brother's presence. they've all managed to survive it, save finn and his stupidity, while the gilbert girl rots in her little one-pony town with a few scars he made sure would never heal. breaking damon into a pulp being one of them, of course.

he knows his brother has residual anger over the whole debacle. he lost, technically, but kol sees it as a win; he's forever in his little brother's presence, what with all the daggers klaus liked to put in his back having been burned thanks to the bennett witch. he always knew she had a thing for him. but he takes him to the batting cages - by talking non-stop in his ear until he caved - to release his anger and get over his little sensitive issues.

he has a bat, one that feels like home in his hands, and he holds a safety helmet for his brother. klaus might be the original hybrid, and kol might hold his title of an original with his other siblings, but no one can take away his well-earnt title of the original batsman.

stepping into a cage, he holds the helmet out for klaus to take. ] Now, when the ball comes at you, you swing. [ he does a little swing with his bat, something very uncharacteristic for a guy who enjoys beating the shit out of things. ] It helps to imagine one of the Salvatores' heads. But that's my personal preference.

Caroline please!

[hypospraying]

Christine hadn't remembered Abax when she'd been returned home, and had gone back to life as normal, or as normal as one could get on a spaceship with a crew whose mission was to explore new worlds and new lifeforms.

Then everything changed. A call came from Mr. Scott in the transporter room that she was to come right away, and when she arrived, slightly out of breath from jogging the whole way, she came face to face with her doppelganger. And what's more, all her memories of Abax came back to her, slamming into her like a ton of bricks and causing her to stumble back, Mr. Scott needing to hold out an arm to assist her.

"Caroline! Is it really you?"

"Caroline?" Mr. Scott asked, glancing between the two. "I thought it was a transporter malfunction and it had spit out two of ye!"

Christine waved him off and reached for Caroline. "It'll be all right," she said, giving Caroline a smile tinged with sadness. "Come with me."

Then she took a deep breath to steady herself. This was going to be hard to explain to everybody.

[disparage]

Fortunately for Caroline, her memories of Abax weren't emptied from her skull. She thought they'd be, since that's how it was when she'd returned for her birthday. Her mind hadn't even thought of the place. Looking back over her time in Mystic Falls, she knew something would've triggered a memory; a glance in the mirror, a smell, the smile of a kind nurse in the hospital. She wasn't new to magic existing, but she didn't think that there was a spell as powerful was that to keep her memories at bay.

Finding herself in another strange place was jarring. Caroline felt every nerve in her body jump at the new sights and smells and sounds. With a new face she couldn't quite place, with an accent she hadn't heard at home or at Abax, Caroline kept hoping that by clicking her heels or pinching herself would bring her back to Abax or Mystic Falls.

Neither action worked, but it happened to bring Christine Chapel to her.

She let Christine lead her away, not resisting in the slightest. She was too startled and out of her element to properly react, to be on guard and attack those she didn't quite know. The fact that her first instinct was to stand there startled was worrying for her. Belatedly, she said rather loudly to Christine, "Malfunction?" She looked over her shoulder, but it was effortless. She kept her eyes on the ground, on the walls and the sights around her to log into her memory for any possible future reference. Caroline frowned. "I'm not a malfunction!"

best broship times? aka come rescue him faith!

[thatsmyniche]

"You have got to be kiddin' me." Hardison was standing on a dark street in LA watching some grown ass dude named Angel beat the shot out of some white dudes with fugly faces. They were on something. Had to be. How was it he got stuck walking back with Angel? Eliot should have been there. Eliot liked to kick ugly butt.

While he was thinking how sour his luck was, someone -- or thing -- grabbed him and tossed him into a Dumpster like he was a ragdoll. Hardison went crash. He immediately tried to sit up and shake it off, but the thing came at him, ugly teeth showing.

"What the hell did they get me into?!" He tried to kick, but he was still a bit shocked from the crash. And let's face it, he's the hacker not the hitter. The vampire, though he didn't know it was one, grabbed him up off his feet and pinned him back to the Dumpster, then began to move in on his neck. "Hey man hey!"

YES. I HAVE MISSED THESE TWO.

[cinq]

Faith had been trying to take down another demon, one that was most likely the brains to the one that was currently kicking Hardison's ass brawn. "Hey, Boss," she managed to throw a punch out at the demon, making him stumble some, and she quickly gestured for Angel to beat this one into a pulp while Faith quickly picked up the piece of rebar she had dropped during her fight. If anything happened to Hardison while on her watch, she'd never forgive herself. His team would never forgive her, either (not that she cared so much about them, but losing a member of their crew would hit them hard, regardless).

She kicked the back of the beast, making sure to move him away from Hardison before she slid the piece of rebar through his back. With it's howl in pain, she gave it another kick, where it collapsed on the ground. She kept an eye on it, ready to pull that weapon out of its back and aim straight for it's heart if it didn't take the cue to be dead.

A part of her felt compelled to ensure that her friend was okay. This was not the usual way she went about things. You save the damsel in distress, Angel or Buffy would calm them down while she cleaned up the crime scene. Heart to hearts were a little out of her jurisdiction.

"Hey, Princess. You okay? You're screaming your lungs out like a little girl," she said with a smile. Humour and Hardison kind of went hand in hand. She knew this was a situation where it probably didn't, but it was the only way she knew how to comfort him ... besides slapping him on the back and doing a fist-bump.

GIMME KOL

[easily]

is it horrible i know what movie this is from? also, BEST PROMPT EVER.

[smartarse]

[ kol is hopeless. this is what happens when you spend years feeling like you're underwater, barely able to skim the surface because you're half-twit of a brother daggered you in the back. and ruined his best suit, too. he honestly liked that coat.

being on ice means he's missed out on a variety things; being a madonna groupie, meeting marilyn monroe, dancing the night away in the 1920s, and meeting britney spears back in her prime. he's also lacking the various social skills, such as facebooking, myspace photograph angles, turning dishwashers on, preparing bubble baths. compulsion goes a long way, but sometimes kol likes to take matters into his own hands.

like today. rebekah's pouting - or so she is in his opinion - over something he imagines nik has done. he hurts her too easily, cuts her too deep, and even though he's the brother who doesn't give a shit about anyone other than himself, there's a need to protect his family. klaus is his family, regardless of his bloodline, but he sometimes thinks his brother doesn't understand how actions and words cut right to the bone. kol's still healing from his own klaus-inflicted wounds.

he's washing clothes - klaus', mind you - where he puts way too much soap in the washing machine. he does this on purpose, despite the fact he'll play it off when confronted. while the washing machine is going, he keeps his eye on it until clouds of bubbles start pouring out of it. is it his fault he doesn't know how to lock the lid? or that he happened to slip it open before he fetched rebekah? ]

Rebekah! There's a machine with your name on it that calls for you!

[ and he'll wait for her to come to the laundry room, right by the door, watching as even more bubbles froth from the mouth of the washing machine. if he's smiling, well, it's clearly because these are niklaus' clothes, and maybe he threw in his best jackets and pants to go for a spin.

kol might be hopeless, but when it puts a smile on his sister's face, it's worth it.. ]

carolineeeee of course

[lockwood]

[disparage]

[ based on this promo but obviously with a good twist.




it's caroline's turn to drive, which means no good can really come from this. caroline driving means they pack up their bags and leave, or sometimes they return to where they're staying with even more bags. it's better than the baggage they already have, though, and maybe that's why she buys all the things she can. maybe their baggage can be stored there, a weight being lifted from their shoulders, so they can stop living with fear and start simply living. klaus is dead - or temporarily on ice - and tyler's alive. she can't help but want to splurge, spoiling them both with goodies and memories she's determined to take home to both of their mothers when this blows over.

for a girl who never thought to live her life outside of her small town home, she's living it large and big. maybe it's going to bite them in the ass later, how over the top and loud she's being, because the council have eyes and ears everywhere. their scents are unique; a vampire and werewolf travelling on the road all over the united states isn't something that passes the council daily news every day.

they're on foot, the car parked almost an hour away from where they are now, in the heart of the woods. finding locations similar to mystic falls makes caroline ache for home, but it also brings her some peace when she can find something that's almost a replica of somewhere she loves. her hand grips tyler's a little firmly, maybe a bit too tightly for a normal teenage girl, but she's leading him through the tall grass and over some logs and branches to their destination. ]

You still with me back there? [ she laughs, glancing over her shoulder at him. ]

snuffleupagus please

[feeltheburn]

This was one of the last things Michael wanted to do, but he had no choice. Despite Maddie's protests, he got in his car and drove all night.

He had made a mistake; one he wasn't ready to fess up to. He and Sam were working a job that got dicey. They needed Fiona. They had needed her from the get go, but she wasn't around. And I'm her absence the job unraveled and Sam got shot.

Mike stayed in town until Sam was out of the hospital and recouperating on Maddie's couch before he left to solve his problem.

He needed Fi. The problem with that? She had gotten annoyed with him and his lack of answers about their relationship and taken off on a trip with her new best friend, Tara. A grifter and a thief. Someone who knew how to stay hidden. Both women did, so them as a team was just impossible. He had no idea where Fi was or how to find her, and she wasn't returning her calls. He wasn't even sure she knew Sam had been shot.

So he took the last option he had left. He parked after the long drive and went up to the front door. He thought about turning away, but knocked instead. When the door opened he took a very deep breath. This was so hard for him to say.

"Lois, I need your help."

i have missed these two like burning.

[typoing]

Lois lived a very busy life of paper cuts, ink cartridges running out, chasing stories, and wanting to throw her nameplate at Smallville. She happened to be at home, a rare occasion in itself, with one of her stories in her lap as she tried her best to figure out the best route to getting the answers she wanted.

Knocking at the door pulled her out of her working zone, making her lose her train of thought (that was successfully guiding her to a really good angle of this story) and pushing her mood into aggravation territory. She glared at the door. "What now, Smallville?" she sighed. Clark Kent was one needy guy, from needing a necessary wardrobe makeover to someone who couldn't stand being alone from her. Perhaps the latter was a lie, but Lois liked to think of herself as irresistible.

Whens he reached the door, she pulled it open, ready to tell Smallville - or Chloe - off for interrupting her genius when she spotted a familiar face she kind of never thought she'd see again.

With an arched eyebrow, she looked him up and down, "And you couldn't just pick up the phone?"

I will take anyone do your worst

[judgy]

i tried my hardest. set anywhere in s3 or an au of s4 idc idc.

[smartarse]

[ this one-trick pony town does not understand the meaning of reasonable. elena, who has the face of a woman kol loathes, tries to make peace with him. kol doesn't understand the meaning of that word, but he likes to pretend he does. after all, he knows the definition of piece. "damon salvatore in pieces" is one of his favourite sentences. but she insists, with that face of hers that does nothing to him, that she meet with the most reasonable person of their band of merry little soon-to-be-six-feet-under misfits. he agrees, since elijah forces him to. reacting to damon running his hand through his hair like he's a child or his brother had set kol off a few days prior. unfortunately for damon, kol didn't quite have his bat in hand. he made do with breaking the leg of a chair while elijah tried to negotiate peace between niklaus and the salvatore brothers.

he meets with her at the place where the witches burned. it's not exactly a safe, mutual spot, since kol's been locked in a box for years and hasn't really made friends with the local bars just yet, but it's one where bonnie's threatened just as much as he is. if what he hears is correct, which he imagines it isn't. he's come to learn to expect the worst from everyone, from family to friends to mortal enemies. with him is his bat, who he's quite fond of finding the most appropriate name for, and he waltzes into the joint like he owns the place.

it's darker than he expects, smelling of dust and smoke. he expects the witches to smite him down the minute his foot crosses the threshold, the moment they bring him closer to their descendent. ]

Miss Bonnie.

[ it shows on his face that he's a bit surprised to find her by herself; he glances around, eyebrows raised, and makes a point of gesturing wide, the bat merely an extension of his arm. he does grin, since the shit-eating grin is permanently stuck to his face these days. ]

A little dead for a party, isn't it?

seriously anyone idc

[wewrite_destiny]

I love surprises; though maybe I could blackmail you into Matt Donovan for this one

[tastedlikegold]

i do not know melissa's canon so please forgive me for the wiki research. set somewhere in late s3.

[disappointed]

[ all matt donovan does is worry. he worries about football, he worries about the bills, he worries about dropping plates, he worries about elena, he worries about caroline, he worries about tyler, he worries about jeremy, he worries about worrying. he doesn't worry about the stress wrinkles, however. he knows they're already there, thanks mom.

it's weird being behind a table rather than waiting on it. he feels like he's been working non-stop, like breathing, at the grill, but melissa's forced him to chillax for a little and take a breath. melissa doesn't quite understand the shit he has to deal with, or that what he thinks, anyway, despite anything she's happened to reveal to him, but she's kind of the only person who sees him these days. he's the human to his friends, the one who is a liability because he can see dead people and he's susceptible to making stupid, uninformed decisions because he, much like anyone not in the doppelganger threesome, doesn't know anything. matt does not feel like a person, and when he does, he feels bad that he's just that - a person who cannot take on a vampire or a werewolf, who has to hide behind a rifle or hide behind fear.

so a nice little outing with a friend, who is also extraordinary to his ordinary, is kind of helping him forget that he's just a pawn on someone else's chessboard. except, his mind keeps flipping to it. matt donovan is a worry wart.

he's also a man of a few words. whatever melissa's saying, he does engage in, but sometimes he trails off and disappears a little. after gaining closure with vicki, despite how confusing it is, he's still feeling a little disconnected with everyone.

and maybe it shows. ]

Uh, yeah.

[ he knows what she said. he's just being dumb. and is limited to three words or less per breath. ]

Damon would LOVE a Lana; his writer would love for you to ruin his life some more

[throwadollar]