bakerstreet | The Normal Meme

The Normal Meme

The Brought Down To Normal Meme

You are normal. Utterly normal. There are no superpowers in your life, no magic, no action movie fight scenes, no spaceships or dramatic battles between good and evil. The last exciting thing that happened to you was getting a free coffee with your tenth Starbucks purchase. And yet something seems a little...off.

Mental Status:
1. Taken In Completely: You've never been anything really special, you're sure of it. Anyone who tries to tell you otherwise is obviously a crazy person.
2. A Sense of Unease: You don't feel comfortable in your own life, but you can't figure out why. Maybe you just need to go on vacation and shake that wanderlust off your shoulders--it can't be anything more meaningful.
3. Strong Suspicions: You keep getting flashbacks to a life you once knew and memories you can't completely recover. The picture's not complete, not yet, but somehow you know things aren't how they should be.
4. WTF Is This?: You remember everything about your old life, but nobody around you will believe you. Will you break free of the illusion, or is a peaceful lie better than a harsh reality?

Normal-Inducer:
1. The Matrix Has You: You're locked in a dream machine that's created an alternate reality for you to live in. A boring one.
2. Reality-Warping: Someone's changed the universe to be more to their tastes, and you along with it.
3. Pulled a Brazil: Your real life is so horrific that your mind has retreated into something more banal. The best place to hide is in-sanity.
4. Please Wake Up: You've gotten yourself into a coma and for lack of anything better to do you've made up an entire world for yourself to live in.
5. Laundered Brain: The world's the same, but your mind's been altered to make you think you're nothing but a mere dull mortal.
6. Wildcard

Post your name/canon, write out a brief scenario for your normal character, then RNG or pick an option to see how deep the rabbit hole goes. The other poster can be a part of the illusion, the cause of the illusion, or someone who's been sent in to yank you back out.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Andrew is referred to by his parents as an 'imaginative child', never mind the fact he's in his late twenties. He's a dreamer, nearly sleepwalking through his normal life with his head in a completely different time and place. He works for his uncle as a mechanic, though he's not very good at it, and spends his spare time off in his own little world. His family resignedly puts up with his rambling stories about spies and prison camps and heroic Nazi-fighting, they've long given up trying to break him from his obsession.

But at least they can keep him from trying to blow things up.]

[She'd definitely remember everything; so I'm up for threads toward getting out of whatever is inducing normality]

[Billy's dreams seem to come in two types. In the first he's on a stage, singing to a cheering crowd in green and purple (and it's always green and purple, that's very important). Those are the nice dreams.

In the second there are wires and cold metal restraints. Someone is holding him down and he's screaming but no sound comes out of his mouth and there's the feeling of something drilling right into the back of his head before he wakes up in a cold sweat. Those dreams he could do without.

Out in the real world he's a struggling singer/theater geek squeaking by with the occasional background part while he pays the bills waiting tables at a restaurant. He wants a little glory, sure, but he doesn't expect he'll be a star anytime soon. Billy struggles through life, aimless, chasing that shining carrot constantly dangled but never delivered. He designs costumes that he never sews, and composes songs that he never makes public. It's like something's dragging him down, killing his creativity moments after that first spark.

When his mind wanders on the city bus his hand draws double notes, again and again, stretching crudely across the sketchbook pages and melding together into the letters MM.]

Edited 2013-08-14 14:42 (UTC)

[Always open to everything. Warning: Vaas. Expect crazy, even from a 'normal' one.]

[Soooo many possibilities that I don't know where to begin. The intro would be HUGE. Suffice it to say that an Elissa in a Dragon Age setting could be controlled by blood mages, a pirate AU Elissa could be influenced by magic or a head injury, a modern AU Elissa could be in a coma, etc. If you want to play, tag in and we'll work something out!]

Edited 2013-08-14 22:27 (UTC)

[So many horrible things can happen, here]

[Rolled a 4 and a 3?]

[ he remembers dean first.

it comes back in flashes, all memories involving his brother. then the memories start tumbling back: early ones of dad, his first hunts. jess, his visions, yellow eyes. ruby and lilith. castiel, all the angels. lucifer. and everything that came after, even amelia. clearest of all, though, are the ones of him and dean in the impala: the sleepless nights trying to make it 'cross the country, stretching out in the backseat while dean drove, the smell of the leather and the hum of the AC.

but dean and his baby nowhere to be found. in fact, when sam looks, there's no record of him ever existing. that's what convinces him that whoever's doing this -- trickster, djinn, whatever -- isn't benevolent. he needs to find a way out.

he's walking down the street, reading an article clipping, when he jostles into someone going the opposite direction. ]

Oh -- Sorry. [ as his eyes flicker over the guy's face, an overwhelming sense of deja vu fills him. sam knows better than to ignore a gut reaction like that, especially now. ] Sorry, do I know you?

Edited 2013-08-16 16:47 (UTC)

[He looks like the impala. Reminiscent of the vehicle, at the very least. Black leather jacket, black v-neck, black skinny jeans, and black boots. Sleek and tight in the right places. Almost...painted on, you could say. A shock of inky black hair and bright, blue eyes. Did they have a sort of...glow? Quite possibly.

Those eyes widened when he saw Sam, surprised. Castiel had explained the plan to Dean very clearly but...it was still bizarre to be human. Then again, Baby was what pulled Sam back from the edge when Lucifer was in control. The memories he'd been representative of. Maybe, just maybe...it would work.]

Sam. [Baby reaches out, touching his shoulder, eyes wide.] You need to wake up. Please. I need you to wake up.

[ it's like the other guys's in a different resolution than the rest of the street, the only thing really in focus. the black is so familiar, the color of safety and family and home. ]

You... You know me! [ relief tempers his shock. then suspicion takes over, and he raises a hand to wrap around the guy's wrist. ] Who are you, what --

[ he means to finish his sentence, but the minute sam's fingers touch his skin he gets a full-body jolt. he has to squint against the sudden blinding glare of white as the sun reflects off the man in front of him, just the same as when the impala hit the right beam. that black, gleaming under cloudless sky... he'd been that shade of black, once, thanks to gabriel. and then he notices the rest of it: the painted look, the inhuman stare that kinda reminds him of headlights.

the glare fades, but sam remains slack-jawed. ]

No way.

[Baby blinks, surprised. Well that was...different. Not uncommon for him, though; and he doesn't realize it's uncommon for humans.]

What? Why not? [Baby thinks he's responding to his request, and his eyes widen pleadingly.] Please, Sam. We need you.

[ _{I dig the coma thing considering canon, so there's that. he's a reclusive writer who is famous for his amazing sci-fi books, with detailed character development and complex scientific scenarios and dashes of romance. he doesn't leave often. he lives above a bakery, where Leonard McCoy is a baker; he was legally emanicpated with the help of his dashing young lawyer, Nyota Uhura; his editor//agent combo is Spock.

you can subscribe to his delusions or not =w=} ]

(reply from suspended user)

[Things are pleasant. Well rested, well fed, healthy and happy and free of stress or brain damage. No one is trying to shoot you, or poison you with gas, or crush you with a masher. Everything's so ordinary and pleasant and unexciting.

The Aperture Science Cryogenics Branch has put in special effort, recently, to keep its subjects' brains stimulated while in stasis. If only it weren't such a bloody pain to go in and root them back out, when it's time to wake up. Guess who's come to try and dig you out?]

[ This must be what going mad feels like, he thinks. As though there is a door following you, through which could reveal some murmured revelation of truth. He wakes from a nightmare, from pleasantly burning traceries like veins against his skin, dashes for the door and throws it open. Nothing but pale white hallway beyond. Time stretches, and memories that couldn't be memories float to the murky surface. ]

[ This must be what going mad feels like, he thinks. Rising from bed on a rinse repeat cycle of sickness and misunderstanding. Hiding from parents he sometimes thinks are dead, burned to ashes or worse. He'll slip, he knows, let loose the revelation that he fears. Yet he wonders, what release is there in sweet surrender? ]

(reply from suspended user)

(Elena's been compelled by one of the Originals to forget everything after her parents died in the car crash. So far as Elena's concerned, she's never met a Salvatore, her brother's never died, she has no idea who Alaric is, and most importantly, she is not a vampire. Which is a problem, because she still needs to drink blood...)

This was the third day Elena had spent in her bed. She couldn't remember ever feeling this sick without knowing the cause -- she wasn't coughing, or throwing up, or doing anything that would make it seem as though she were sick, but she was growing weaker and weaker by the day. Her skin was turning pale and a little leathery, beginning to cling to her bones. She was losing fat and muscle far faster than would be strictly normal, but why, she didn't know.

"Jenna," she called weakly, not expecting an answer. Her aunt hadn't been listening to her for the past few days -- or maybe she was just out of town. In her weakened and disoriented state, Elena wasn't sure she would remember if Jenna had told her that she was going to be staying at school for a while.

Stiles would like to state for the record that he didn't normally go into people's homes or rooms or anything. Okay, no, he did that at Scott's house but it's Scott so, you know, it's okay there. Well, not according to his mom or anything, but whatever. Semantics. It wasn't not like she's ever called the cops on him for it - or in other cases his dad.

As he passed by he could vaguely here a small voice and for a moment he thought it was just the wind or his imagination but standing there, he could hear it again. It sounded like a person in distress to him. And it wasn't like his dad was here to stop him from, like, breaking and entering. And this person could be in trouble!

So, with that thought in mind, Stiles very carefully and quietly let himself in. And when he spotted the young woman curled up in bed after looking around he was immediately at her side, knelt down next to her bed.

"Holy crap, hi uh, sorry for like, busting in here and everything. Are you okay? Are you sick? Do you need medical attention? I know CPR, sort of - but you're breathing obviously so you probably don't. Do you need me to take you to the hospital? Oh my god."

Elena wasn't expecting any kind of response, which makes the frantic boy suddenly next to her bed doubly alarming. At first she simply blinks at him, her response time lowered dramatically, and after a few moments, she shuffles back on her bed so her back is pressed -- pressed to the wall? That's not right... Her bed at home is in the middle of the room, she shouldn't hit a wall.

For a few more moments, she sits there on her bed, thinking about that, before she looks back at the boy next to her. He looks vaguely familiar, but she can't place why. Maybe he goes to the high school?

"I'm -- I'm sick. I think? I don't know... I haven't thrown up, or coughed, or sneezed, or done anything, but I can't get out of bed... Why are you in my room? Are you one of Jeremy's friends?"

Stiles watches carefully and keeps any movements he makes slow and careful, like he would a spooked animal. He recognizes her from his Myth class. Elena something or other. The fact she doesn't remember where she is is alarming and he thinks maybe he should take her to the hospital.

"Yeah, you really don't look that good, to be honest, you look like shit. Not something I'd normally say to a pretty girl like you but it's the truth," he says, looking around for a coat or a sweater or something to drape around her shoulders so he can get her to his jeep.

"I'm Stiles and I don't know a Jeremy, sorry. You're in your dorm room? College? We have class together? Doesn't ring a bell?" Stiles asks as he mills around the dorm, trying to think if there's anything he should take with her. ID or health insurance or something. He's ruffling through papers on her desk when he hisses and pulls his hand back, grimacing at the little paper cut on his finger. "Ugh, hate those."

"You called me pretty," she says, turning her face into her pillow to hide her distant smile. She doesn't know this boy -- or at least, she doesn't think she does, even though he looks familiar -- but that was the first time anyone had called her pretty since her parents died, and it was nice.

The smile quickly turns into a frown as he keeps speaking, though, and she tilts her head back up to look at him. "College? I'm sixteen years old, I'm not in college." She looks around, finally taking in the room around her -- definitely a dorm room, with pictures of her and Caroline all around, and a distinctly Caroline-like feel to the other side of the room. But... she shouldn't be in college, she's only sixteen. Her birthday's next month. "What day is it?" she asks groggily, trying to sit up --

And then the boy gets a papercut and Elena's entire existence centers onto that one drop of blood. Without even thinking, or even appearing to move, she's at the boy's side, reaching for his hand. As soon as she realizes what she's done, she stops, confused, but she can't take her eyes off his finger.

"You're bleeding."

Turning back, Stiles grins at Elena and shrugs a little. "Well you are, even if you look like death warmed over right now. Which we'll totally fix, I don't know how, but we will. Possibly with doctors and nurses, because a medical professional I am not."

When Stiles turns around he jerks back at the sight of the young woman standing right next to him, all up in his space. "Oh my god, I didn't even hear you move!" The teen exclaims, then stills as he takes in her appearance. "Whoa, what happened to your face?"

Stiles looks down at his hand and yep, he's still bleeding, blood welling up over the cut and it seems to be a pretty deep one at that. "Gaah, yes I am," he says, tilting his hand in a way so the blood won't drip onto the carpeted floor.

"My face?" she asks absently, her eyes remaining glued to his hand. If he says anything to her, she doesn't catch it, all of her focus on the blood that's started to well over the cut and flow slowly down his finger. This is weird, she's pretty sure. She's never had this reaction to blood before -- she's never been grossed out by it, but she's never been fixated by it either -- and she should... She should be doing something. Right? Getting him a band-aid or something.

Elena remains where she is, but she drags her gaze up to Stiles' face, trying to resist the urge to look back down at his finger. Her jaw feels weird. More sickness, probably. "I think I have band-aids somewhere."

Stiles thinks he should get a goddamn award for not freaking the fuck out right now. Especially when Elena looks up at him. There are faint lines under her eyes - and her eyes, holy god, look like they're filled with blood or something, the red eating up the whites of her eyes. Then she speaks and he can see - oh god are those fangs?!

What the hell!?

He jerks his hand back, away from her, and looks frantically around her room. He finds a table mirror among her things, probably for putting on make up or something and grabbing it he holds it up in front of him, facing Elena.

"Your. Face. You have a lot of fang-y-ness going on. I'm guessing you didn't know this? Because how can you not know this. Oh god, can you even see your own reflection?"

Elena blinks at her own reflection in shock, raising her hand to her eyes and brushing her fingers over the veins under her eyes. The surprise seems to make whatever it was go away for a moment, but when she takes a breath to steady herself there's a metallic, coppery scent in the air that makes it come back, her eyes going red and the veins below her eyes going dark.

"That's never happened before," she says dully, and then opens her mouth wide to see her teeth. They aren't fangs, per se -- not the way she thinks of fangs, anyway. Her canines and outermost incisors on her top teeth are slightly bigger and sharper, and she thinks her bottom canines might be more pointed as well, but she really can't tell.

She should probably be panicking right now. In fact, Elena's not sure why she isn't panicking -- it's just.... For some reason, this doesn't feel like news. Blinking at Stiles, Elena can't keep her eyes from dragging back to his finger, where the blood is still slowly pouring out -- it must already be coagulating, she thinks, with a pang of... something. Something she's not sure she know how to -- or wants to -- define.

He's waiting for her to freak out, because who wouldn't freak out? He's sure as hell freaking out and it's not even happening to him!

Except she's not freaking out.

"Why are you not freaking out?" He asks and he wonders if she knew this about herself but then squashes it because she'd seemed just as surprised by her reflection as he was seeing it. Stiles then glances down at his bloodied finger, then up to her face.

Then back to his finger. And up to her face. He does this several times before it clicks. "The blood. I mean, duh, " he says, wagging his finger around and in any other situation it would be comical watching her watch his hand - finger to be precise. "That's why you're sick," he explains. "You haven't been doing... whatever it is you're supposed to be doing. Feeding? Oh my god, I think you're a vampire."

Edited (how do words) 2013-08-19 05:27 (UTC)

"I'm not sure," Elena replies honestly, shrugging a little bit. By all rights, she should be freaking out. She has fangs and weird eyes and she moved in the blink of an eye and she can't. stop. staring. at his finger. It all feels familiar, though, as if she's had this experience or one like it before, and will have it again. Hard to feel too panicked when something feels normal.

Vampire. She tests the word out in her head, thinking. Ever since she was a little girl, the supernatural has held no interest to her outside of fiction. You can use vampires and werewolves and witches to tell a good story, use them as metaphors for other things in the world, but she's always known there was never any truth to that kind of thing. Still, the word pokes at that familiar feeling in the back of her head.

"Vampires aren't real," Elena responds eventually, though she doesn't quite sound like she believes herself.

Edited (HOW WORDS) 2013-08-19 05:41 (UTC)

"Yeah no, no they're not. Or not supposed to be, at least," he says, sighing. "But if they're not the slightest bit real then please, by all means, explain all.... this." Stiles then waves his hands in her direction, this meaning her and her fangs and blood-shot eyes and the way she keeps staring at his hand.

"Oh my god, here," he exclaims, sounding exasperated as he tugs up the long sleeve of his flannel over shirt and holds out his arm. "Just... do your vampy thing. But no killing, okay? No dead Stiles today. Or any day, really. But you seriously look like you're going to pass out. Or maybe wither. I'm not sure yet."

Edited (omg brain stawp and let me words) 2013-08-19 05:50 (UTC)

There must be a logical explanation for this, she's sure of it. Elena opens her mouth to tell Stiles so, but just ends up staring at his wrist open-mouthed, looking stupid. Her brain sluggishly tries to process what he's offering her, but her body is moving faster than her mind, and before she knows what she's going, she has him pressed up against the wall by her bed. Still her eyes haven't left his hand.

"This is a bad idea," she says, because whether or not she thinks she's really a vampire she knows this is going to end badly. She's just so hungry...

"Holy shit," he gasps out, finding himself suddenly against the wall in a rush of dizziness. It takes his brain a moment to catch up to the fact he's got a pretty girl pressed up against him. A pretty girl with really sharp teeth about to have him for dinner.

This really shouldn't be so hot.

"Yeah, it's probably a horrible idea. The worst idea I've had to date and let me tell you, I've had a lot of them over the years," he babbles, swallowing. "So, you know, just don't kill me and we're good."

Elena doesn't even pay attention to whatever Stiles is saying, just trying to control herself. She shouldn't do this. If she is a vampire -- which she's still not convinced she is, because vampires aren't real -- she could seriously injure Stiles, or kill him, because she hasn't fed in three days and she's starving. If she bites through the tendons in his wrist, she could permanently destroy his ability to use his hand properly. She really, really shouldn't do this.

Even knowing all this, she brings his wrist to her mouth and gently bites down. She'd intended to just lick the blood at first, just to taste it, but the second the first drop hits her lips, she starts drinking in earnest. It tastes so good, unlike anything else she's ever tasted, and as she drinks she can feel her strength returning, her head clearing.

It takes just a minute for her to feel that she's had enough, but she still can't stop. Stiles' blood tastes so good, and she was so hungry, and a little more won't kill him, right?

He's just standing there, waiting for Elena to decided whether or not she wants to take a bite off the Stilinski platter and he opens his mouth to say something, anything, but before he can he feels the sting of those sharp fangs sinking into his skin.

"Oh my god," he replies, voice shaking a little. He can feel the slight pull on his arm, his skin, as she takes the blood from his veins. It's the oddest sensation and the strangest sight. After a few minutes he begins to feel a little lightheaded and the girl hasn't stopped yet.

"Elena, hey, you need to stop. C'mon, dinner's over. Shop's closed. Elena!" Stiles shouts, a little frantic as he feels more and more dizzy as the seconds pass. Lifting his other hand he quickly presses it to her forehead and shoves her off of him, then scoots out from between her and the wall to move more into the middle of the room.

Stiles stumbles a little, bitten arm cradled to his chest. "Okay, so. We definitely need to work on that."

For the first moment after he pushes her off of him, Elena is mindless, her only thought that she wants more blood. She snarls and rushes at him, teeth bared, ready to sink her teeth into his neck or his arm or the closest bit of skin she can get at --

And stops short for several long, tense seconds. Slowly, the tension begins to bleed out of her body, her eyes going the same warm, unmistakably human brown that they had been before Stiles had cut his finger. She closes her mouth, taking a deep breath, and when she next opens her mouth to speak, her teeth are the small, blunted, human teeth of before. The only evidence she'd ever been anything other than human was the blood around her mouth.

"Stiles? Stiles, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to -- I was just so hungry," she says tremulously, taking a step toward him and reaching her wrist to her own mouth without thinking. The move is almost like a reflex, and she refuses to overthink it as she bites into her wrist and holds it out to Stiles. "Here, drink, I think it'll help."

Stiles stumbles back as she approaches in the blink of an eye, so fast it makes him dizzy and he just stands there, heart racing in his chest. He's going to die. Yep, he's gonna die and his dad will be pissed because he came here to get away from all of this supernatural bullshit and his dad is going to kill him for dying.

But, thank god, she doesn't bite him and he sees the moment she changes, the moment the fangs receed and her eyes become normal. He lets out a breath of relief when she sems to return to normal.

"It's... it's okay, I mean not what I expected to happen my first month of school but hey, experiences right? That's what college is for," he babbles, brows going up as she offers her bleeding wrist to him.

"I'm sorry, what now? You want me to... Are you serious? Do you know how unsanitary that is? How the hell is that supposed to help? I mean, seriously?" Stiles stares at it for a few moments, actually thinking about it, about how dizzy he is, how lightheaded he feels and that's probably the reason he does it.

Clearly he's not thinking straight. "Oh my god, this better not turn me or something," he mutters to himself before lowering his head a fraction and pressing his mouth to her bleeding, wounded wrist. His nose scrunches up at the metallic test of the blood in his mouth but forces himself to swallow it.

"You were the one who started this whole blood-sharing thing!" she exclaims at him, her voice going embarrassingly shrieky with her anxiety. "If you think it's so unsanitary, why'd you put your wrist in my face, huh?"

She's about to continue when he actually puts his mouth on her wrist and wow, that's a really weird feeling. There's a sudden burst of sympathy for Stiles, because this is... it's bizarre, and uncomfortable, and just a little bit painful, and he did it for her without even being sure she would be able to stop. After this nightmare is over Elena is going to get the boy some ice cream, or something.

After a moment, she pushes gently at his shoulder. When he lifts his head, Elena reaches out and brushes at the blood at the corner of his lips without even thinking, then blinks as the wound on her wrist closes up almost immediately. "Well, that's... huh," she mutters to herself -- and then her eyes go wide and she grabs Stiles' wrist to see if it does the same thing. Sure enough, within seconds his wrist has healed itself, and she looks to Stiles with a hopeful smile.

"Your wrist healed, are you feeling better? Less dizzy? I'm not sure if it just heals wounds or if it helps your body regenerate blood, too."

After he's pulled away, Stiles licks at his lips and is surprised to find despite the obvious metallic tang of iron associated with blood that it was... bad. He's definitely feeling a lot better, that was for sure. "Unsanitary, yes, but also necessary," he points out in response to her question. "You also probably would have died if I hadn't, so there's that too."

He licks his lips again and looks down at his wist, too. "Huh, so it did. Awesome, so your blood has healing properties. Good to know, filing that away for later." Because there is going to be extensive research when he gets back to his dorm, possibly calls to the Beacon Hills pack to ask if vampires are a thing, which will probably get him hung up on or something.

"I do, actually. Definitely not as dizzy or light headed like I was before," he says as he looks up at her. "You? You feeling better?" He asks though he notices that she doesn't look nearly as sick to death as she had been before, her eyes are more clear, focused. Obviously it had been what she needed.

"Much better," Elena confirms, running her hand through her hair. She doesn't feel like she's dying anymore, but she hasn't gotten out of bed or taken a shower in three days. Dying, no. Gross? Oh, god, so much. "In fact, so much better that I'm becoming aware of how absolutely disgusting I feel. I need to take a shower, like, now."

Turning around in search of a towel, Elena tries to think. What's the last thing she remembers before getting sick? Her parents' funeral had been last month, and Jenna had moved in. Jeremy was out with Vicki all the time... But none of that matched up with where she was now, or --

As she'd been searching for a towel, Elena had passed in front of a mirror without even glancing at it. Now she steps back in front of it, and her hand flies to her mouth as she gasps. "Is that my hair? There's pink in it!" She gapes for a moment before turning to face Stiles again. "What day is it? And what year? Last thing I remember it was June of 2009!"

The teen grins a little and laughs. "Well, I did say you looked like shit earlier," he teases. "But I mostly meant the whole dying to death thing you had going on." Though he sorta thinks she still looks good, is still pretty even if she hasn't done anything but roll over in bed for three days.

His brows shoot up at the questions and he wonders if there's more going on that just Elena being a vampire. "Uhh, it's 2013. We're in college? You don't remember that? I mean I've seen you around a couple times. Maybe we should take you to the hospital, or a doctor or clinic or something if you're not remembering things correctly," Stiles suggests, a little worried.

"Dying to death is redundant," she says absently as she paces across the room, her hand going back through her hair. It's not that she doesn't believe Stiles -- why on earth would he lie to her, after all, what does he have to gain? -- but she also just can't believe it. How could she lose four years' worth of memories without a trace? Elena pats at the pockets of her jeans and gives a small sigh of relief as she finds a vaguely phone-shaped object in it. Grabbing it out of her pocket, Elena turns on the phone, a bit surprised that it doesn't need to be charged, though the battery is dangerously low --

And right there at the top is the date. 2013. Stiles wasn't lying. Taking a deep breath, she sets the phone on her bed, and her hand goes right back to her hair. "I don't think this is something a doctor could fix," she says slowly, turning to face Stiles. "And how would we explain my lack of a heartbeat?" Frustrated, Elena shakes her hand through her hair and huffs out an annoyed breath. "I feel too gross to worry about any of that right now anyway. Once I shower, we'll talk about what we should do."

It's funny how quickly they've become a "we" to Elena, but she doesn't even pause to question her own phrasing before grabbing a towel from beneath a pile of Caroline's laundry -- clearly meant to be washed, but how dirty do towels get, anyway.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The Normal Meme

Andrew Carter | Hogan's Heroes | 3

Toni Stark || MCU || OTA

Music Meister | Batman | 2/1

Vaas Montenegro(Rule!63) | Far Cry 3 | OTA

Elissa Cousland | Dragon Age: Origins - M/F for romance, otherwise OTA

Steve Rogers | MCU | OTA

2014!Castiel | Supernatural | OTA

colette brunel ♛ tales of symphonia

sam winchester | supernatural

Re: sam winchester | supernatural

sure!

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jim kirk // star trek aos // ota

Wheatley | Portal | OTA

Jace Lightwood | The Mortal Instruments | OTA

Elena Gilbert || The Vampire Diaries || 2 & 5

\o/

whoops decided to use this journal instead because yolo

lawl <3

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