#I am deceased and have ascended because this is pure joy to read and I've read it three times already

[dyradoodles]

Bravo Bravissimo.

EVERYONE READING OUT OF MY HEAD PLEASE READ THIS WONDERFUL OMH AU ONESHOT BY @deluxetrashqueen!!!!!!!!! 

“I realized that my attention span and writing ability is never going to be up to actual writing those one shot ideas I mentioned on your fic so I’m just going to share the one I have that I really like and think about all the time which is:

Eddie, Flash, and Andi hanging out (possibly in the Andi chapter of OMH or later. Flash still has Symby).”

Messing around, Flash loudly and off-key sings “Figaro! Figaro! Figaaaroo!” and

“What does that even mean?” Andi asked, chuckling.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Flash said, with a shrug. “Just, like, a vocal warm up or something.”

Eddie let out an indignant sputter. 

“Vocal warm up?" he spat. "It's Largo al Factotum! ”

“Uh…and that should ring a bell?”

“Figaro’s aria? The Barber of Seville? One of the most famous songs from one of the most famous operas of all time? Based on some of the most famous literature of all time? Yes! I should think so!" 

Eddie huffed and crossed his arms and Flash had to bite back a giggle. Not long ago he would never have been able to picture the huge, imposing man getting so worked up about opera and classic literature. 

"But what does ‘Figaro’ mean?” Andi asked.

“It’s the name of the person singing that song,” Eddie explained, seemingly more willing to accept a high schooler’s ignorance of what he saw as culturally significant works than Flash’s. “Figaro is the eponymous barber of Seville.”

“Wait so it’s just a guy singing his own name over and over?” Flash asked, admittedly playing a bit more dumb than he really was in an attempt to rile the other man up a bit. 

It seemed to work, as Eddie rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. 

“There are more lyrics than just that," he said. "It’s Figaro’s introduction wherein he describes his accomplishments and the merits of his work.”

“So he just comes on stage and starts yelling about how great he is?” Flash smirked at Eddie. “I feel like I know someone like that,”

Eddie’s eye roll this time was more bemused than annoyed.

“You and my old director,” he said with a small grin.

“Huh?" 

At Flash’s confusion, the symbiote provided small glimpses of memories. 

Pouring over pages of lyrics. Practicing pronunciation. Hours of rehearsals. 

"YOU DID OPERA?!” Flash cried, as the pieces fell into place.

“What?!” Andi gasped.

Eddie made a dismissive hand gesture.

“In college.”

“You. Eddie Brock. Sang opera.”

“I did.”

“YOU. Venom. Got all dressed up in foofy costumes and sang in Italian for a million hours straight?”

“I’m not sure why this is so shocking to you two.” Eddie was full on grinning now, seeming to deeply enjoy their confoundment.

“I…I guess it shouldn’t be,” Flash admitted. “It’s just…not what I would have expected. At least…not before I got to know you better." 

"Were you any good?” Andi asked.

Was incredible, the symbiote provided, radiating warmth and adoration for its former host.

“I was…” Eddie shrugged as though he was going to brush the subject off again as he had with his wrestling, but then paused. 

“Yes, actually,” he said, voice becoming more serious. “I was. My director actually…wanted me to switch majors. Maybe even transfer to a theater college.”

The symbiote filled in feelings of pride. Of exhilaration. The joy of memorizing and reciting complicated lines in tricky languages. The almost magical feeling of an orchestra swelling alongside Eddie’s voice. It was incredible.

Eddie’s brow furrowed for a moment. 

“It…wasn’t for me though. I quit after that one performance,” he said. 

“You didn’t like it?” Flash asked. From what he felt in the memories the symbiote was providing, that seemed like the farthest thing from the truth.

“No, I…” Eddie trailed off.

The memories grew colder.

'Don’t look. He won’t be there. He’s on the other end of the country.Why would he be there? He did come to anything when it was in his own town. It doesn’t matter he has a seat reserved why did you even reserve it? Why even invite him? Don’t look. Stop looking. Stop letting your eyes wander to that empty seat every time you come on stage. Idiot. Stop looking. Stop caring. Stop. Stop.’

The director’s beaming face. An offer. A different path. A dream. 

A thousand opening nights. A thousand empty chairs.

A weak smile and a polite refusal. A faked excuse. 

“I just…preferred journalism,” Eddie said. “Written word is…easier.”

Detached. 

Flash felt anger pool in his gut. 

Carl Brock. It felt like every day Flash learned something new and horrible about him. Something new he took from Eddie. Some dream or future he stole from his own son. He hated that man. Hated him in the way he hated his own father. Bastards who couldn’t be bothered to look beyond themselves for even a second long enough to see the damage they caused to others. Who couldn’t be bothered to care even if they did.

The symbiote pressed calming thoughts into Flash’s mind.

The past now. Nothing that can be changed with anger. Just makes it hurt more.

“Do you still know the words?” Andi asked.

Eddie’s smirk returned.

“Trust me, after you memorize an entire 3 hours of Italian, it’s in your brain forever,” he said.

“Sing for us.”

Eddie blinked and turned to Flash, whose sincerity in his voice surprised even himself.

“Please?” Flash added.

“Yeah! Sing!” Andi cried, clapping with excitement. “I’ve gotta hear this!”

“It…I'ts been a long time…” Eddie said.

The symbiote rose from Flash’s shoulder, forming a small head.

“Sing for us, Eddie,” it said.

Eddie paused for a moment, then smiled softly. 

“All right. It seems I’m out numbered.”

—

Ah, bravo Figaro! Bravo, bravissimo;

Ah, bravo Figaro! Bravo, bravissimo;

A te fortuna a te fortuna, a te fortuna

non Manchera.