When you're a mind reader, life isn't as easy or fun as people might think it to be.
When you see it on TV, they make it sound either impossible to live with, or something fun to mess about with. And it isn't really like that at all. It isn't some burden or curse, it's just a massive pain in the ass. And it sucks.
The headaches, are probably a big reason for how much they suck. Every now and then, and always more frequent than what you'd like, you're hit with migraines of the 100th degree, if that's even a thing. You suppose it isn't. But then you decide that it is now, and it hurts like 50 trillion kicks to 50 trillion simultaneous ball sacks. Ouch.
Better be careful. You always try and be careful of what you think. For the simple reason of there could be other mind readers out there, if you're here, why wouldn't there be more? Or others with different "powers" or "Abilities", or whatever you call this.
Your name is Dave Strider. And today you're going to your new, fancy, Washington college, to meet your roommate and settle in, get your room just how you like it and your school stuff sorted, and try not to read the probably hundreds of minds that you will be in range of.
You only succeeded the arduous task that is high-school by being aloof, isolated, and in a constant state of mental concentration. Don't read their minds.
"How do you find x?! I forgot! Fuck! Does Stacy know?"
Don't read their minds.
"Why did I get this job? Maybe I should retire."
Don't read their minds!
It certainly wasn't fun.
But that's over now. And as you approach the large building, nervousness builds, and whispers of thoughts start to become more apparent by the second. Shit.
Stifling your powers makes you woozy. Clinging to the nearest solid object, which so happens to be your Bro's polo. He drops your things and puts a hand on each shoulder. Face pulled slightly in concern.
"You okay 'lil man?" he asks you this quietly, and you aren't really sure how to talk for a second. But you nod. He nods back, and you let yourself take a second to chill the fuck out, and then you release the vice grip on the white polo shirt.
Your Bro knows about your power. When you answered his thoughts without even realising, when people were scared to go near the kid who answered questions that had yet to be asked aloud. The kid with the red eyes, the demon child.
Sure your childhood wasn't the best, but who can say they had a perfect childhood?
"Just calm down, then you should be okay." He says, he's gone back to carrying your bag (and laptop bag! Your sheathed sword is slung over his shoulder) and dragging your red suitcase toward your dorm. Whoever you were sharing with better not have weird thoughts, at least not too often. Because you can't deal with that shit 24/7.
Upon arrival, he dumps your things (one red suitcase with matching travel bag, one sword in it's fancy as fuck sheath your Bro bought so you don't accidently slice your roommate, and one laptop bag) and turns to get the rest. You begin unpacking.
When you were younger, your Bro thought you had something wrong with your head. Maybe you were hallucinating? Maybe it was a phase, an imaginary friend. Or maybe his brother literally could read minds.
How he figured this out was the douchiest thing ever.
"Bro! Stop thinking about those puppets like that dammit! No! Bro stop. Bro. no."
He didn't stop until he was sure that you were reading his mind. And then an extra hour because he's an asshole.
And so you let your power roam. Like opening a tied bag full of pure energy bursting to get out. Thoughts hit you. But not as many as you thought. A guy was yelling two doors down, in his mind, about "Dumbass juggolo clowns" and his roommate was high as fuck and his thoughts were fucking bullshit about miracles.
And soon enough, Bro was grumbling about what a lazy shit you are for not carrying this shit yourself. You snicker. Stopping before he even reaches your door.
Your room has two beds, you'd asked for as few roommates as possible, which thankfully turns out to be one. He seems to have already arrived. His bed is made with –was that ghost bed sheets? Yes they are. Holy shit. What a dork.
He didn't seem to be around. At least you don't think so? You don't really know what he sounds like yet. Or looks like. Yeah.
He has a shelf of CD's and DVD's too. They look shit, so that's going to be awkward. But the keyboard in the corner looks promising. You walk across the room back to Bro, who's taking a second before getting your turntables, because you aren't leaving home without them in any way. No. Fuck that.
You nod to him. He clearly is still pissed you aren't helping. He raises an eyebrow. Yeah he is.
Oh well.
"Do I even need to say it, or do you already know what a lazy asshole you are?" he crosses his arms, he's smirking, so he isn't actually that mad at you.
"I've heard. Never realised you could get so creative in your own mind, Bro." your smirking now, you realise.
"You don't know the half of it. I'm going to get your tables. Don't destroy the place while I'm gone." An eye roll that your brother could probably feel coming from you and a chuckle later, he's out the door and heading back to the Strider-mobile. Otherwise known as a rusty red-but-orange-with-rust truck that is kept for ironic reasons.
After your tables are set up, you feel the overwhelming urge to do something fond and brotherly to say goodbye to your brother before he walks out the door.
It seems, ironically enough, that your brother is the mind reader in that moment. That moment where you are letting childhood go completely, and living on your own, your brother miles away. If you were a weaker man, you would feel your eyes welling with tears, but you don't.
"C'mere" is all your brother says. You share a slightly ironic tender bro embrace. He pats your back, and his thoughts are screaming at him not to get as emotional as he is, and it brings a smile to your face. He doesn't need to be as worked up and emotional as he is. Even though he looks stone cold emotionless. You learned from the best.
"Don't worry Bro, I'm visiting in a few months. I'm not leaving you alone just yet man." He smiles.
You better not bro. believe or not I'll miss you and your mind reading bullshit, and general tomfuckery. So look forward to me crashing campus to embarrass the shit out of you and whatever girlfriend/boyfriend you have or want to have at the time. I fucking breathe for that moment. I might even bring Lil' Cal.
The rather long train of thought you tuned in from your brother made you shake your head, because fuck that puppet. And fuck that guy for reminding you that you're going to miss him too.
"I'll miss your various types of bullshit too. But don't fucking do that or I will say every thought you fucking think for the rest of your life." Smooth. You class it as a decent threat.
"Fair enough, no Lil'Cal." You nod. It's close enough.
After Bro goes far enough away his thoughts blend with the others in your range and fade away, you set to work unpacking and arranging you things.
You also block out the various thoughts chatting within range of you. Your range isn't very far, less than ear-shoot.
It doesn't take as long as you thought. Your Bro set up your tables (since he's a master of all things machine-related and you would've probably broken something) and your four-suits bedcovers are on the single bed. Good luck getting laid, you think, single beds suck for that shit.
You think.
The fact you're a giant virgin prohibits you from knowing.
You trace the hearts suit on the bedcovers. Then a diamond, a spade and a club. Love is confusing. Even though you can read the minds of others, it never gave you a better insight on love. Because people view it differently, and you had to crack out the good ole' brain bleach after poking in the minds of some jocks, they were treating it like a sport.
You want to get laid as much as the next guy, but it deals with real emotions and real people. It isn't a game.
Okay. You got a little deep there. How about no.
You have a few of your dead things on a nearby wooden shelf. There are only a few from your collection as you decided to travel light, and buy new things when possible, which probably won't be very often but whatever. You put the three preserved dead things on the bottom shelf, hidden if you were to look at the shelves from the door, by the wood joining the three shelves together, it looked like a box, honestly. With three shelves going through it.
Your CD's and few DVD's (which may or may not save you from your roommates apparent bad taste) are also put on a shelf, the middle one. The rest of the bottom shelf is filled with empty, partially and fully filled notebooks, books for studying, reading, and a diary in case you want to, for irony, of course.
It seems the two of you will be sharing one bathroom, attached to your roommate's side of the room. You haven't checked it out yet, but you will in a minute. But even though you are sharing a bathroom, each of you are blessed with a desk. You open the top drawer of the simple wooden desk, and walk over to your now open and half emptied case, pulling out your "Stash" of painkillers, you shove them in the drawer.
After putting the rest of your clothes in your wardrobe (another thing you seem to have been blessed with to yourself) you change your mind and put them in the bottom drawer. You fill the top drawer with the study material you bothered to bring.
You wrestle with your now empty suitcase under the bed, with a few curses and grunts, it is under your bed. Your large red travelling bag still has toiletries, headphones, chargers, and the ever important DS (with charger) and your beloved camera (which you need to be more careful with) for those days when you are bored as fuck, and for filming and taking pictures. It's a simple camera, that videos and takes pictures and has an annoying beeping sound when you do basically anything. And thankfully for your wallet it has rechargeable batteries, and it's charger is seated next to it in the drawer.
The orange, shaded smuppets you find in the side pocket of your bag, makes you laugh, and shove it into the bottom of your wardrobe. If you miss your Bro, you guess you can bear with the puppet for a few minutes on those homesick nights you're bound to experience now and then.
You placed your textbooks and schedule on your bed when you originally received it, and you then decided to move it onto your desk.
Emptying the bag of its remaining contents, you shove it under the bed with the case, definitely much less trouble.
The middle drawer is then filled with your various wires. Chargers (phone, DS, camera, laptop), handheld consoles, headphones (except your prime pair, beats, you have those around your neck right now. Just a couple pairs of cheap wire earphones are in your drawer. In case you need some spares. Always have spares. Always.) You place your razor, aftershave, shampoo, (conditioner too, green apple for both.) and body wash. The shower looks good, and seems easy enough to work, making the trauma of "this shower isn't fucking mine how the ever loving fuck do I work this little bitch oh sweet Jesus no this is too hot fucking balls now I'm freezing what the ever loving balls do I do" less likely. Because everyone knows a shower that isn't yours is a minefield, a no-man's land where one wrong move can embarrass you and burn you. Then probably freeze you.
So you might be saved from embarrassment.
Returning to the main room, you suddenly realise you don't know what to do with your time. You see your roommate bought himself a cheap TV, and it's still in its box, looking between the space on his desk and the large (rather shitty looking) DVD collection, so you know exactly what it's for.
You guess you could go on your laptop? It's been long forgotten about in the corner of your bed. As you pull it towards you from where Bro dumped it, you stop and move your sword.
You stuff in the bottom of the wardrobe, and the move to sit back down and begin unzipping the bag.
Before you can even open the bag, your mental safeguard ripples within your mind, signalling a new voice. New thoughts that are approaching closer, if the footsteps you hear go with the thoughts your thinking of.
The door opens.
"Oh! Hello! I'm John! I was wondering when you'd get here!" he sits on his ghost bed sheets, and smiles at you. Well shit.
You set down the laptop bag, and shuffle to the edge of the bed, "sup, I'm Dave. I was wondering when I'd get to meet you too." John nods to you. You allow yourself to read his thoughts, and see what he's thinking about you.
"Wow, he seems cool! Except for the shades, he's indoors, it's kinda dumb, but whatever, I hope we get along. Since we're living together and stuff. Okay. He's staring at me. Have I got something on my face?"
Oh shit. You gather your power back in, the thoughts that were muttering in the background, fading into silence, shortly followed by John's thoughts, since you long ago figured out how to read only one mind at a time.
"So, what are you studying?" you ask, hoping the staring could be passed off as thinking. And that you can feel a little less awkward, and that tinge of embarrassment can maybe just, y'know, fuck off.
"Well, I had a tough choice actually! I was gonna major in Music, but I decided it would be best if I left it as a hobby, and I had a few other ideas that were kinda boring honestly, So I'm studying Marine Biology! Which is pretty cool I guess." You nod, not bad.
"I was gonna major in Music too actually. But I opted for Film and Photography. I could be a director or some shit." John smiles. He seems to do that a lot. Or maybe he never stopped? Fuck knows.
"Well it's been great meeting you Dave! I came in here to grab my schedule, I met a girl studying the same thing as me! So I want to see if everyone who takes the course gets classes at the same time or what!" you nod again, he's making friends already? Damn. You get the feeling your attempts at friendship will involve questions about your shitty pointy anime shades your Bro's let you wear from the age of about 7. When you moved from one part of Texas to another. Good times, all those forges notes from doctors your Bro helped you make, and notes from him to the school, and all those-
Okay no they weren't good times. Point is people are going to question the shades, and then you're going to be classes as the school asshole and forever alone. Except for apparently John? But he did question the shades.
Whatever.
"Maybe you could introduce me to all these great friends you've been making? Since I just got here?" you weren't too hopeful, but John seems like a nice enough guy.
"Sure!" by this point he'd rooted through his desk drawers, (he doesn't seem to be too terribly organised) and found a slightly crumpled piece of paper you can only assume is his schedule.
"Thanks man." Is all you say, as you brace yourself for some mega-important (and probably awkward) socialising.
A new story, with an old pairing, a new writing style, using an old setting. I know Blissful Distraction needs to be updated, but my moirail went "MIA" for a while, and the last chapter was purely me, and I have run out of steam. In the sense of I am unsure of where to take it, as it is in such a delicate place, so I hope I can appease you with a new story I am unsure what to do with. Basically I don't have a plot set out. But I have made a start, and I can assure you I will attempt to continue it and improve my skills of story-telling even more.