Common sense dictates that I shouldn't even be on the Internet, let alone reading a fanfic right now, given how absolutely swamped-to-the-eyeballs I am. And here I am, also taking time out to leave a review.
Needless to say, Common sense isn't speaking to me anymore. But it's such a wet blanket anyway that I'll take that as a bonus.
Y'know, I'm torn. I'm slowly being tortured o pieces by this story, biting my nails and yelling futilely at the monitor for Clark to come clean with Lois. In fact, I'm convinced I am developing a medical condition due to the sheer amount of nerve-racking tension I have endured through the course of this story. I keep telling myself, if I want to yell futilely at fictional characters about the way they conduct their relationships, I should just rent Smallville Season five and sit down with a bucket of pop corn. At least it has great soundtracks. (Smallville, not the pop-corn.)
But then I think, the sooner the Grande Revelation will take place, the sooner Darkest Dreams will probably end. And a world wherein my days of jumping up and down squeeing whenever I see another update are no more, is too depressing an idea for me to contemplate.
*sigh*
It seems I have unwittingly grabbed a tiger by the tail here.
On a more review-like note, you have no idea how hard I was laughing at this:
“Spit it out, Clark.” She frowned. “You know your problem? You think too much. You need to open your mouth and just say it. Maybe then you wouldn’t trip over your tongue so much, because you won’t be obsessing that whatever you’re going to say won’t come out wrong. It’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.”
Clark’s lip quirked. If there was ever a quote that fit Lois Lane, it certainly was that. But she was watching him—waiting for a response. He bit his lip.
“Clark…”
“I…I don’t know what to say, Lois,” Clark muttered.
“Roll down that window!” Lois snapped. Clark gave her a confused look.
“What?”
“Do it!”
“L-Lois…”
“Now, Clark.”
Lois’s tone was deadly, and so Clark complied, albeit somewhat hesitantly.
“Now, Clark. Roll up the window,” she said, as if talking to a schoolboy.
Clark looked at her as if she were mad, then started to obey.
“NO! Stop. Stop stop stop!” Lois ordered. Clark froze, and consequentially almost hit into a breaking car in front of them, causing Lois to give a short shriek. “Careful! Watch the road! Clark, what’s the matter with you!?”
“S-sorry.”
Lois rolled her eyes, looking to heaven. There was a moment’s pause, then Lois folded her arms and stared at him. “Now Clark. I’m going to tell you to roll up the window. Now, you don’t want to roll up the window, so you’re going to tell me so. Okay? So, say something.”
Clark’s brow furrowed. Uh . . .
What was he supposed to say? The silence lengthened, and he could feel Lois’s eyes on him even while he kept his own on the road.
“Uh. Lois, I . . . Is it all right if we keep the window down?”
“Better. Now try again. Firm, Clark. You can do it. I remember the first time I met you and you had some pretty sly comebacks up those rolled-up farmer sleeves. Now, again.”
“Lois,” Clark exclaimed with a slight chuckle, feeling a bit bemused and amused. “You say close the window. I say, ‘No. Let’s keep it open.’ You say, ‘It’s my car.’ I say, ‘But I want the window open.’ You say, ‘Too bad, Smallville. You want fresh air, get out and walk back to Kansas.’ And if I don’t get out myself, then I end up kung-foo-ed out onto the road, probably in front of an oncoming car, and you take over the driver’s seat. So no matter what I say, the window ends up rolled up.”
Clark closed his mouth with a snap, looking surprised at the sudden rush of words.
“What?!” Lois protested. “I would not—!” She caught sight of Clark’s nervous and quickly-fading half-grin and cut off with a glare, but her lip curled in the slightest smile nonetheless, which she quickly hid. She grunted, but she had a satisfied air about her. “I guess that’s the best you’ve got, Smallville. Now roll up the window.”
Clark lifted his eyebrows innocently, glad she hadn’t exploded on him. “No.”
Lois’s contentment vanished. “Now, Clark,” she said dangerously.
Clark fiddled with the idea of leaving the window down, but even as he hesitated, Lois set her precious burden of food aside and practically dove across him to start rolling up the window herself. She knocked his arm, causing the car to swerve slightly before he quickly adjusted.
“L-Lo-is!”
“C-Cla-ark!” Lois mocked back. It took her a minute to roll up the window, and then she climbed back onto her seat, straightening her work suit as she tightened her seatbelt and picked up the doggy bags of food again. Clark felt flustered from the exchange, but not necessarily in a bad way.
In fact, he felt like laughing. So he did. A slight, soft chuckle, which Lois cut off with a sharp glare as she pulled herself fully back into her seat.
Lois pushed her hair back with a sigh and drew the cartons of food back onto her lap. “There. You’ve got to do it at the right time, Clark. Protesting at the wrong time just sounds…immature.”
Clark’s mouth curled in a tentative smile. He decided it was just not worth the trouble to try to figure out this side of Lois Lane. “Right, Lois,” he agreed. It was safer that way.
Top that, Mary Potts!
I also couldn't help noticing how brilliantly you portrayed how incandescently angry Lois had been through the reactions of the people who'd been around her.
And this:
BANG!
Melinda jumped at the loud, unmistakable pop of a gun firing on the other side of the line.
“What was that!? Why are you shooting?” she screamed, frantic.
“Oh, one of the guns just accidentally went off, I’m afraid. It looks like your husband won’t be walking for some time, my dear.”
Melinda swore, tears breaking onto her cheeks. “Stop! Stop it!”
“How long does it take a man to bleed to death from a gunshot wound like that? Oh, dear. That does not look pleasant. If you want to see your husband alive, Mrs. Helmerson, you’d better start talking. Fast.”
“N-no,” Melinda’s voice quivered.
BANG!
Melinda screamed.
“Stop! Okay! I’ll talk! I’ll talk!” Her legs went weak beneath her, and she sank to the floor, clutching the phone to her ear as she wept. “Don’t hurt him. Please. Please!”
“He’ll be just fine, if you cooperate. Now, tell us what she said.”
Melinda’s hand shook, but she drew her notepad towards her and flipped to her most recent conversation with Lois Lane and with a quavering voice read through them—with everything from the reporter’s rants on her naïve partner, to every single word that slipped out of Lois’s mouth about one Lex Luthor.
Sometimes, I think there should be some sort of law against first-timers writing stuff this brilliant. It doesn't seem fair to the majority of prolific plodders who are stuck in the bland land of persistent mediocrity.
