#most exist only as rambles about my disappointments either on here or directly to long suffering friends | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

adrenaline-roulette · 4 years ago

Text

Four Eighths

Pairing: Four x Eight (Reader) Word Count: 5.5K+ Warnings: Language *Disclaimer, Hi everybody. I first of all would like to apologise to those who have been waiting for months for a new chapter, this chapter has been partially written since September, however in that time, my aunt passed away. It has hit me very hard, and during this time, I needed to take a step away from writing, to be with my family, and also to take time to look after myself and my mental health. I’m doing better now, and with that means I am slowly updating my works which have been neglected as of late. So for those who are returning viewers of this series, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for coming back and waiting with me. And for those new to this series, welcome and I hope you stay with us. Much love to you all!

Chapters One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, and Nine can be found here! (That’s right baby, we’ve officially reached double digits for chapters!)

Chapter Ten: Darkest paradise I’ve ever seen

Flying into Noumea, your headphones pressed snuggly against your ears, you watch as miles upon miles of crystal blue ocean spans ahead of you. From just about every direction you look through the small aeroplane window, all you can see is blue. That is aside from the tiny speck on the horizon, which you can only assume is in fact, your destination. It seems awfully far away, and a part of you has managed to convince the less logical section of your brain, that you still have plenty of time before you arrive. Before the plan takes motion. Before shit goes down. Or you have months to continue planning your take down of the Lushnick’s…. But as you gaze out the window once more, the tiny speck growing ever larger, your rational mind takes over, reminding you that in less than two weeks, provided everything went according to plan, the Lushnick’s would be yours.

As the plane touches down at La Tontouta international airport, you await the captain’s departure announcement before standing up and stretching your cramping legs, feeling your joints pop, and muscles ache from having spent too long in one position. Once the initial rush of passengers have passed you, you reach up into the overhead compartments and retrieve the navy blue rucksack you had stowed up there. With the bag flung over your shoulder, you disembark the plane, and head towards the baggage carousel within the terminal. Within your rucksack, along with a few emergency items on the off chance your bags were lost, included five various ID cards, all hand made for you by One’s slightly shady yet reliable connection; a wad of Pacific Franc, the currency of New Caledonia, and of course your laptop. One had assured you that the apartment you would be using as a base had all the setup you required, however you felt more confident with your own computer, even just as a backup for an emergency. As you cross the tarmac, you recall the burner phone One had given you upon your departure, the only contacts held within were those of the Ghost’s, though knowing that you still have the ability to communicate with your team before their arrival helped alleviate some of your nerves. Switching the phone off flight mode, you held it firmly in your sweaty palm, half expecting it to buzz to life with missed notifications, as it would if it were your true phone. The influx of notifications never come, there is however one which does buzz through. ‘Are you safe?’

You scan over the message again and again, reading just about every possible subtext into it within a matter of seconds, before finally, you take a deep breath in, hold it for ten seconds, then release. ‘It’s Four, don’t be so dramatic. He actually cares about you.’ You remind yourself, just as your thumbs tap against the phone keyboard. ‘Just landed. Collecting bags then heading to the apartment. Should be there within the hour.’ You reply, pocketing the phone again and keeping your eyes peeled for you luggage.

The phone vibrates again, but this time you ignore it, opting instead to find the Taxi rank now that you had procured your bags. On you way through the airport, you discard you boarding pass into a trashcan, saying a mental goodbye to the alias of Ginevra Connelly. Of course you still kept the ID card with Ginevra’s details in your bag just in case, but the aim was to only use each alias once. One for flying, one for working, and one for personal business. The others were just there if any unexpected events should arise. Once outside, you only need wait a few minutes before a taxi pulls up, the driver popping the trunk of the car for you to deposit your bags. Once the trunk is closed, you slide into the back seat, sitting directly behind the driver. “Bonjour.” The driver offers with a small smile, meeting your eyes in the rear-view mirror.

You smile gently back. “Bonjour.” You greet, before reciting off the address to the apartment in Noumea which One had insisted you memorise.

With a nod of his head, the taxi driver speeds off, either ignoring or simply disregarding all speed signs which he passed. As he drove like a bat out of hell, you check your phone once more. ‘That’s good. Glad you’re alright.’ Four had replied, earning a small smile to creep over your lips.

‘Well, the flight didn’t kill me. Can’t say the same about my driver though….’

‘Axe murderer?’

‘Nothing quite as exciting. Or at least, I didn’t notice an axe when I checked the trunk…. Just a crazy driver is all. You’ll see when you get here. It looks to be a trend.’

‘Can’t wait!’ Before a rapid second response of. ‘Stay out of trouble until I get there please?’

‘I promise.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Love yo-‘ You begin typing, before frantically deleting the characters. As much as you wanted to send the message, you just couldn’t quite bring yourself to do it. Something about sending those words, via a burner phone while you’re in a totally different country, just felt wrong. Perhaps that was the nerves of the mission talking? No matter, you would saver the phrase for when you saw Four in person.

You put your phone away after that, not trusting yourself to continue the conversation with the direction it was headed. You knew Four was still, not necessarily mad at you, but disappointed that you hadn’t told him of your early departure. You were also acutely aware of his fear for you being in a foreign country all alone. You were positive that if it hadn’t been for the sudden announcement of your leaving, then he would have tried much harder to convince you and One to let him arrive with you. Of course, deep down you knew that despite Four’s protective nature, he understood why he was unable to arrive with you, or with the others. But it didn’t stop him from disliking the plan any less.

The driver watches as you put your phone away and takes this time to engage you in the typical taxi, passenger chit chat. “Parlez-vous français?” He enquires, and it takes you a moment to comprehend what he had asked. You had a slight knowledge of the French language, but it was very, very basic.

“No sorry, I don’t speak French.” You offer with a half smile, shrugging lightly as you turn your attention to the scenery blurring past you.

“Ah, a tourist then. Here for a vacation, are you? He continues, drumming his fingers along the steering wheel as he changes lanes in what would be considered a highly illegal maneuver literally anywhere else in the World.

Deciding that if you looked out the window any longer you may become motion sick, you turn your focus to staring directly at the back of the drivers head. “Mhm, I’ve always wanted to visit, go snorkelling, maybe go for a ride on one of those glass bottom boats? Who knows!” You ramble on, though nothing you say is quite a lie. In truth, you had always wanted to visit Noumea, and were supposed to when you were thirteen. You were supposed to go on a cruise to the South Pacific Islands as a birthday present, however that never quite happened. You suppose in the long run, it’s a good thing you never came here as a child, if you had, then this mission may not be going ahead. Or at least not with you at the helm.

“My cousin owns a glass bottom boat, he runs tours every day. Here, take this card, it has his details.” He pulls a crinkled business card out of his shirt pocket, and passes it back to you. You take it graciously, taking a moment to read over it before stowing it away in your bag.

“Thank you.”

As you drive through the city, the driver points out the occasional tourist attraction, to which you nod and play along with the façade you had created. Most things he says go in one ear then out the other, but there is one which catches your attention. “Over the is the hospital. Might be good to know where that is just in case.” He offers with a grin, gesturing to the large building on your left.

Your head whips around to face that direction in an instant, eyes growing wide as you drink in the sight. “That’s the hospital…” You whisper, mouth going dry as you watch the building disappear into the distance behind you.

The rest of the drive is kept in relative silence, mostly on your part. Having finally seen your destination for this mission, it all suddenly felt so real. Inside that building, which should be used for good, were two of the most vile and wicked people you know to exist. They had nearly two weeks left before they met they’re match however, and that thought alone set a chilling grin on your lips.

*****

Once you arrived at the apartment you were faced with a serious problem, a lack of keys to the front door. Surely One should’ve thought of this, he owned the fucking place! “Well that’s just great. Now what?” You hiss to yourself, glaring daggers at the wooden door that currently separated you from your new, temporary home and work space.

Reaching behind, you fish around in your bag in search of your phone. Muttering swears beneath your breath, until finally your fingers clasp onto the cool, smooth device. Scowling at the screen as you scroll through the limited contacts, you press call against One. Standing with your back leaning against the front door, one arm folded across your chest, and your left foot tapping the ground impatiently.

“Don’t tell me you’re already in trouble.” One grumbles after the sixth ring. His words causing your sour mood to only worsen.

“No I am not.” You hiss, lowering your voice to a whisper as you hear voices out on the street.

“What do you need Eight?”

“I want to know how I’m supposed to get into the bloody apartment! There’s not fucking keys!”

There’s a pause on the line for a minute or two, and for the first time ever, you realise that you’ve rendered One, the fearless leader, utterly speechless. “The keys are on the table.” His voice is mumbled, and you barely catch what he says.

“I’m sorry, what was that now?”

One groans, and you can almost picture his frustrated face, perhaps he would even be pinching the bridge of his nose… “I said, the keys are on the table, inside the apartment.”

He sounds disappointed in himself, and rightly so. “Well, that’s helpful isn’t it?”

“Don’t get sassy with me missy.”

“Why not? This is your house isn’t it? Shouldn’t you have a set of keys with you?”

“It’s one of my houses..”

“That doesn’t make this any better.”

“Did you bring your lock pick?”

“Of course I did. The question is, which bag is it in….” You mumble, gazing around at the bags you had discarded by the door.

“I think you know what to do. Good luck kid.” There’s a grin to One’s voice now, and you have half a mind to tell him off for his stupidity, however before you get the chance, the line goes dead.

With a deep sigh, you resign yourself to do the only thing you can, break in. Well technically it wasn’t breaking in, not when you were supposed to be living here, though you imagine that logic may not stand up in court if someone were to catch you in the act.

Withing ten minutes, all of your bags lay open on the ground, items of clothing strewn about the place, as you had frantically searched the brown leather pouch which housed your lockpick tools. Upon finding it, you groan at the mess you had made, stuffing everything back in the bags haphazardly, you would deal with the unorganised mess later.

Gazing around, you double then triple check that there is no one around to see you. The voices on the street had long since faded away, leaving only the sounds of birds chirping, and the distant crash of waves. Confident you’re alone, you bow over the door handle, and begin picking the lock. It occurs to you that perhaps this was One’s plan all along. After all, he was the one to provide you with said lock picking kit. You brush that thought off, and return to the task at hand, fiddling with the handle for roughly fifteen minutes until finally you hear a click. “Eureka!” You declare quietly yet triumphantly. The door swings open, and dusty air breezes out past you, causing you to cough and sneeze. Blimey, this place must’ve been closed up for months!

Inside the apartment, you don’t take too long looking around, you’ll have time for that later. You take note of where the master bedroom is, and claim that as yours by dumping your bags atop the bed, and seek out the bathroom. With everything in order as far as you could see, you take your laptop and bring it out into the main living area where what you can only assume is your area has been set up. There are three monitors set up on a large oak desk, which looked wildly out of place in the otherwise, holiday home themed house. The largest sitting in the middle of the desk, with two smaller screens on either side. It’s not a perfect set up, but it will work for what you need, and that’s all that really matters, especially considering most of your work would be done from inside the hospital.

Settling down at the makeshift study desk, you take a final moment to glance around the apartment, spotting a set of what you presume is house keys sitting on the dining table. “Well, at least One was right about where you were.” You mutter quietly, glaring at the object in question.

*****

Infiltrating the hospital database took far longer than you had initially expected. Over the past few weeks, you had made practice runs of worming your way into other systems for different hospitals around the world, however at no point had you thought to test your access to the hospital you actually needed entrance to. “It can’t be any different to any of the others.” You surmise, squinting at the screen before you, elbows propped up on the desk, and chin resting on your interlocked fingers. Truth be told it wasn’t that much different, not in the scheme of things, however someone, and goodness knows who, had made the entire system nearly impenetrable! Key word being nearly. However, if there was one thing you had learned after years of sneaking your way into systems you shouldn’t, it was that no matter how tricky a program may first appear, there is always a way in! And this system was no different.

One pizza delivery and three energy drinks later, the start of a migraine -which was either caused by your frustration, or the copious amounts of caffeine- and you were finally in! The hospital was, in every sense of the word, yours. The possibilities, oh the possibilities! Your first task only took a few moments, scanning through encrypted lists until you came across the one which housed the contact details for all members of staff. The list consisted of the staff members name, followed by their position of work, contact number and email, and finally a next of kin. Truly, this list looked to have been composed specifically for you and your needs. Copying the details you required for a one Mister Frank Sea, and pasting them momentarily into a word document, you move onto your second task. Page upon page you read through, jumping between links and praying that perhaps this time you had found the correct page, you finally make it to the hospital security system. You blame your caffeinated jittery hands for how long it took you to find. Once in the system, you begin changing over a few simple details, nothing too extreme that could potentially be cause for concern if anyone were to see, but the changes you made were imperative to the mission. The contact name for the security recruitment agency remained the same, however you now deleted out the previous phone number, adding in One’s phone number as planned. Finally came task three, which you had been dreading since you woke up this morning. The guilt of what you were about to do had been gnawing at you all week. You weren’t a bad person, not really; you kept telling yourself, hoping that perhaps if you said so enough, it would be true. You feared sending this email would ruin Frank, that it would destroy him… ‘It’s just business.’ You can hear One telling you, his exact words after you had both come up with this plan. “It’s just business, I’m just doing my job. It’s for the greater good.” You whisper, your voice catching in your throat. You don’t give yourself another moment to dwell on things, and instead quickly write up your email on the address you had created specifically for the mission. The email informs Frank of his urgent presence being required in Scotland to discuss the legalities of his and his wife’s separation, and custody of his children. Holding your breath, you hit send, watching impatiently until the message had left your outbox. By the time Frank would arrive in Scotland, the company you had pretended to work for would be closed for three weeks due to renovations. He would have no way of contacting them to find out why his presence was required, and of course try as he might, there was no chance he would receive a reply to any of his emails to you. So for three weeks, he would stick it out at home, arguing with his wife, all while you take over for him at the hospital.

*****

Soft pinks and oranges had begun to coat the evening sky as dusk rolled in, and for the first time in years, Four found himself staring up at the sky, envisioning a future. A future which didn’t involve hurting or killing people, no matter how evil and vile they were. Just a plain, normal future. He didn’t quite know what had brought these thoughts upon him, they were the types of thoughts he had managed to banish into the deepest parts of his mind. In fact, the last time he had thought about a normal life, was shortly after Six had died. They all mourned him of course, but the reality of losing Six had weighed down on him greatly. And for close to three months, Four had seriously considered abandoning the Ghosts, and starting a fresh life far away from them. At the time though, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t leave the team. And besides, he had no where to go, and no one to run to. But now? Now was different, he had you. The two of you could run away together, leave the Ghosts, leave this life behind. Start over wherever in the world you wanted you, far away from One and his plans of revenge against those who had wronged the world….

He shook his head, the images of normalcy which had formed in his minds eye, fading away, just as the sun was. He couldn’t leave, not when this was the closest thing to a family he had had since he was a toddler. If there was one thing he knew for sure, you don’t abandon your family. His own parents had taught him that the hard way.

Carefully, Four pushed himself up from where he had been relaxing atop his trailer. His back was stiff after having been laid down for what felt like too long, but he paid it little mind. As he leapt down to the ground, a loud yell echoed throughout base.

“Will somebody answer my phone? I can’t get to it right now!” It was One, yelling at the top of his lungs from god knows where, his voice sounded muffled though.

Next came Five’s screamed reply. “Where are you then?”

“Garage!” One yelled back.

“Coming, I’ll get it!” Four watched as Five went darting across base, kicking up red dust in her haste.

For interests sake, Four made his meandering way towards the garage, just to see what was so urgent about this phone call, and why One couldn’t get it. He strolled in, hands in his pants pockets, and hood drawn over his head. His eyes darting between Five, who was reading from a script scribbled in an old notebook while on the phone, to One who’s feet were sticking out from beneath a silver Audi R8.

“Good afternoon, leader security how may I help you?” Five recited in what was either the worst or perhaps best Dolly Parton imitation Four had ever heard. “Oh sure, you need a new head of security? How soon do you need them to start?” There was a pause, and Four stepped further over to the Audi, titling his head to the left as he lifted a quizzical brow. “Asap? Well where are y’all located?... Oh I see, let me transfer you.”

“You alright down there mate?” Four smirked giving One’s foot a gentle kick.

“Yep, never better. Why do you ask?”

“Well it’s just, you’re only like, ten steps away from your phone… Not sure why you couldn’t get it yourself is all.” He shrugged, folding his arms across his chest, and rocking back on his heels.

One pauses for a few moments, selecting his next words carefully. “I just didn’t want to stop what I was doing midway through.”

Four crouched slightly, peering at the floor creeper One was reclined on beneath the car. One of the wheels had popped off entirely, while another on the same side was horrendously bent out of shape. “You’re stuck aren’t ya?”

“Yes I’m stuck.”

*****

Two hours later, your mobile rings with One’s caller ID flashing, grinning you answer with a bright smile. “Good afternoon, Leader security recruitment how may I help you?” You recite in an overly practiced voice, not that the person on the other end of the line could tell, but it sure made you feel better, knowing you weren’t about to trip over your own words. One had done just as was planned, and upon playing receptionist for the security company, had transferred the call directly to you, and now it was time to get yourself employed.

The female voice on the other end of the line begins speaking frantically, telling you about how the current head of security for her hospital had just left unexpectedly, and that they needed someone to fill in for him until they could find out when he would return.

“Ma’am, it will all be fine, I assure you. Now can you please tell me your company code?” You smile, while typing aimlessly into a word document. So long as the woman on the phone could hear you typing, you would not raise any suspicion, even if all you were typing was smiley faces. “I see, and this is a hospital based in Noumea New Caledonia, is that correct? – Mhm no problems at all. How soon do you require someone to commence?” You type out the few details she tells you which are actually important to you, before returning to the faces. “I will have to see who I have in area who may be able to assist you. One of contractors recently moved to the area I believe for a change of scenery. May I put you on hold and see if I am able to call her?” The moment the woman agrees, you place the call on hold and laugh to yourself. The temptation to have an actual conversation with yourself just to keep the charade up is there, however considering as it had only been a few hours of you living alone, you felt you should at least attempt to keep the bouts of insanity to a minimum for now. “Hello, are you still there?” You ask a few minutes later. “Anastasia Breaker will be available as of tomorrow morning, if you could please forward all details regarding her employment to the following email address, then she will see you in the morning.” The woman is nearly in tears as she thanks you, promising she would send the information within minutes. “Of course, no problems. Have a lovely evening, and once again, thank you for choosing leader security.”

As the phone goes silent, you stand up and stretch, raising your arms above your head. You’d done it, you were in. Or rather Anastasia was in, but no matter who’s name was on the contract, you were the one who would be doing all the work.

*****

For the next few hours, you read through the multiple emails which arrived for Anastasia Breaker, advising you of where to go tomorrow morning, and who you would be meeting upon your arrival. It was nothing too unusual, or anything unexpected, the only downside was that you had been requested to arrive at 6 am. To some that may be ok, normal even. But to you, a perpetual night owl, it felt like torture. After laying out your clothing for the following morning, to allow for a slight sleep in, you lay down in the double bed you had claimed as yours. You knew it would likely end up being shared once the others arrived, but for now, it was all yours. The lights had all been turned out, leaving you in near complete darkness. The only light was that of the shining silver moon, peering down on you through a forest of thick trees. Try as you might however, sleep seemed to escape you. Perhaps it was nerves of tomorrow and your new ‘job’, or maybe it was just the fact you were sleeping in a new bed. No matter the cause, after tossing and turning for nearly an hour, you eventually gave up. Sitting upright, you grab the burner phone off the nightstand, having left it beside you with an alarm on for the morning.

You stare down at the bare screen, so used to your own which was filled with various apps. On this phone however, there was nothing of interest to do. Your thumb hovered over your contacts, and you bite your lower lip in thought. You knew One would be furious if he found out you were using the phone as anything but emergency contacts and an alarm, but at the same time, you found yourself having a rather difficult time caring about him and what he thought while he was so far away. Finally, you press down on the contact, and listen to the phone ring on loudspeaker.

“Hello?” Four’s distinct voice carries through, and you feel a wave of comfort roll over you. His voice alone felt like home, and it almost frightened you to think that, especially considering how brief your relationship had been so far.

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Oh, Oh! I’m sorry love I had no idea. This number isn’t programmed into my phone, I genuinely thought it was a telemarketer or something!” He was rambling, and you could almost see the pale crimson blush which would be creeping up his neck and cheeks, as he too realised, he was rambling.

“It’s totally fine, I’m not really supposed to be calling you. But I needed to hear a friendly voice.”

“Who says you’re not supposed to call?”

“One.”

“Fuck him and his stupid rules!”

“I would really rather not.”

“You know what I mean, you idiot.” You can practically hear his eye roll through his words, and you can’t help but smile at that. At how well you know his mannerisms these days. “How has day one gone? Everything going according to plan?”

You nod, before recalling that he can’t see you. “Yep, things seem to be rather smooth sailing for now. I’ll be starting at the hospital tomorrow morning, and from there I can get everything else set in motion.”

“That’s brilliant, at this rate it’ll all be over before we know it!”

You pause for a moment, resting the phone on the pillow beside your head. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

“What’s wrong hm? You don’t sound convinced?”

Rolling over, you lay flat on your back, staring up at the ceiling. “I suppose I’m just trying to come to terms with how quickly this is all happening, you know? Like, I feel it was just yesterday One announced who the targets were, and now suddenly I’m here? It’s all happening so fast.”

“I know exactly what you mean, I can’t quite wrap my head around it all either. But look at how far we’ve come. How far you’ve come! Remember that day when the targets were announced-“

“You mean the day I ran out of the briefing and nearly killed us both?” You interrupt, smirking slightly at the memory.

“Yes, that day. But look at you now, look at where you are! You’ve changed so much in such a short period of time. You’re far more prepared than any of us here at base are, and for us, this is either our second or third mission! For you, this is your first, and you’re already doing better than any of us could’ve imagined.”

“Do you mean that, or are you just saying it so I stop panicking?”

“I’ve never meant anything more in my life Eight, I promise.”

“Thank you, I – thank you.” You whisper, rolling to your side and looking down at the phone. You sigh deeply, closing your eyes tight before allowing them to slowly open. “Tell me something that no one else in the Ghosts knows about you.”

You hear him chuckle, a deep rumble which you wish you could wrap your arms around him and feel as it flowed through you. “Do you want something to laugh at?”

“Yes, I don’t want to cry tonight. Make it funny.”

Four hums to himself, and you curl around your pillow, cradling the phone near your chest. “Right, here’s one. Bet you didn’t know I have a criminal record as an arsonist!”

He sounds proud of himself, and for the life of you, you can’t fathom why. “You what now?”

“It was my first charge, long before the cops ever figured out I was stealing, which I had been doing for years before this occurred.”

“How long have you been a thief, Four?”

“A long while… But that’s a story for another time. This is about fire lord me!”

You groan, rolling your eyes at the nickname he had given himself, while leaving a mental note to ask him about his past one day, when you weren’t in the middle of a mission.

“I was maybe 15 or 16, and was with this girl who I thought was made of pure heaven. I practically worshiped the ground she walked on, and daydreamed about her all day every day. To her though, I was a kid who was a year or two younger than her, and she just loved the attention, not matter who it came from. I knew she only spent a month with each of her boyfriends, but naive young me thought that maybe I could convince her to be with me forever. Spoiler alert, that didn’t work out. One night I decided to surprise her when she came home from dance lessons, her parents were out of town for the week, and I figured I would make a romantic evening for the two of us, and would allow her to be my first.” He pauses for a moment, as if wanting to see if you wanted to hear where this was going.

“It’s fine Four, just keep telling the story.” You giggle, shaking your head softly at where this was all going.

“Well I got super fancy, ordered takeout because heaven knows I cannot cook, even managed to nick a bottle of champagne from the local liquor store. It was cheap nasty stuff now that I think about it, but at the time, I felt very grown up. I lit candles all over her townhouse, there were some in the kitchen, bathroom, bedrooms and even the kitchen. I think I went through an entire matchbook that night. So finally she gets home, and I’m nervous as hell. Legs jittery, forehead sweaty, and look the exact opposite of sexy like I had hoped for. She’s all smiles, and even thanks me for setting up a lovely evening. After we eat, she steps outside to have a smoke, and I clean up in the kitchen. The next thing I know, she’s shouting from the front door, and then the smoke alarming is blaring throughout the house. I run outside, and find her staring up at the second floor at her bedroom window, where billows of dark smoke are seeping out. Turns out, she had a cat I didn’t know about, and the fucker knocked down one of the candles, it landed near her bedroom curtains, and the flames engulfed pretty much the entire room. Cops and firemen came, shockingly they didn’t believe me when I said it was the cat. And the fact that I had been in her home without her for so long didn’t help my argument either….”

“Oh my goodness, so you were actually innocent? The cat got you a record?” You laugh, pressing your palm to your forehead.

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up. That cat is the reason I don’t do romantic anymore.” He grumbled playfully.

“Aw, and why’s that? Cat got your tongue?!” You chortle, you were definitely borderline tired now, because to you, that was officially the funniest pun in the world.

“Oh dear, oh no…. Eight that was terrible, please never say anything like that again.”

“Aww, come on! It was funny!”

“No love, no it wasn’t.”

There’s no use in arguing the point, you knew you were funny and that was all that mattered. “Fine, I’ll stop with the cat puns especially seeing as you’re not feline it…”

‘You are very annoying, you know that right?”

“Of course, but it’s part of my appeal!”

“Whatever you say. But I do think You need some sleep, because you sound hella tired right now.”

As if on que, a yawn slips from your lips, giving away just how tired you now were. “You may be right.”

“Good night love, good luck tomorrow. I know you’ll be amazing.”

You smile at his words, tracing your finger along the edge of the phone. “Thank you. I’ll see you soon, ok?”

“Ok.”

You end the call, and place the phone back on the nightstand. As you allowed your eyes to drift shut, you can’t help but feel just that little bit more confident that things were going just as they were planned.

Four Eights taglist: (If you would like to be added, please let me know!) @sj-thefan @not-the-cleavers @jinxfirebolt18902 @softnorris @dear-vista @mixer2b @rintheemolion @shane-isa-shame @keithseabrook27 @tammykelly @himarisolace @buckingpeterparker @cailin-lefantasy @riddikuluslysirius @vivalakatee @pxroxide-prinxcesss

Check out my masterlist for all my other writings

Chapter Eleven here!

#four x reader #billy/four #four x you #four x eight #ben hardy/ billy x reader #ben hardy/ four #ben hardy/ billy #6 underground fanfiction #ben hardy fanfic #6 underground

51 notes · View notes

wolftheidioticfan · 5 years ago

Text

THROWS fanfic at Count Lucanor tag before running away in fear of being seen.

I wrote this at like 9-10 am after staying up all night long and I do not know how to write and this is rooted so deep in headcanon that I will die of sheer embarrassment from having interests and writing. Also kinda rushed because I started getting way too self conscious midway through oop. B nice to me ok bye Ahhhh-

Nights without much going on in terms of the trial were nice enough, he supposed. Quiet, calm, and no unnecessary death at the hands of some blasted old man’s curse. Usually, peaceful nights like this were spent in his room, conversing with his closest friend and most trusted castle official, but tonight had been...a little off for the kobold. He was much more lost in his own head, leaned back against the bed as he stared blankly at the ceiling above.

He could hear The Camerlengo speaking, rambling about whatever was on the very strange man’s mind that day, but for the love of it all Patronio could not make out a single word of it, too focused on his own mind. Tonight’s worry was just how much the world had changed since this awful, awful curse had befallen the castle. The jester sighed softly to himself. This was never how he had imagined things would end up, cast aside by the rest of the world and put in-charge of some horrid ‘tests’ that did little more than dismember anyone who would dare take part in them.

It just wasn’t fair. He was in a time period far, far from his own, and completely unable to even take part in a single activity, nor know a single soul outside of the castle. Just how much had passed by? Advanced? While he was here to rot away, forgotten.

The sudden quiet of the room caught his attention, causing Patronio to let out a confused hum in response.

“You are not listening!” The Camerlengo’s loud, boisterous voice sounded out in the small room, “You know one person cannot have a reasonable conversation with themselves!”

The kobold chuckled, keeping his eyes steady at the dusty ceiling, “Sorry...I’m sorry, really. I’m listening now.”

“You are not!” The tall monster of a man snapped back, pointing a finger into the jester’s side, “The Camerlengo would like to know why you are ignoring him!”

Patronio squealed from the clawed jab to his ribs, squirming away, “I’m just- a little lost in thought is all. I’m sorry my dear friend, truly, it was not my intention.”

“Oh!”

And then it was quiet again. Uncomfortably so for the jester, causing him to sit up and see just what exactly his friend was doing. He blinked once or twice when he noticed the other’s eyes directly on him.

“Well! What is it you are thinking about?” The Camerlengo grinned, “That could be a good conversation piece!”

Patronio sighed heavily, pressing his fingers down into the soft paw-like pad in the middle of his palm, waving his other hand dismissively, “No, no, it’s really nothing interesting. What were you trying to tell me again, something about the garden?”

His friend’s eyes narrowed slightly, placing his hands on his hips in a disappointed manner as he spoke, “Well! He thinks you keep far too much to yourself lately! Very unlike you, Jester.”

Rolling his eyes – though with a lack of pupils, the action was mostly pointless- the kobold sighed heavily. He knew how this would go, this was a common pattern the two had gone through many times before. If The Camerlengo was set on something, it was rare for him to ever give up on the subject. Something he could admire in the tall man’s work, but something he’d utterly loathe when it came to things he’d much rather keep to himself.

“I don’t have a choice here, do I?” Patronio half hissed, flopping onto his back once more, resting his hand on his cheek with a puff.

“Not if you are going to be so gloomy and distant, no!”

He groaned in response.

“Besides, it is not a good idea to hide things! You know this. What else would friends be for?”

He hated when the other was right like that.

“...Fine,” the jester huffed, “You win.”

Quiet for a moment. Then two.

“Well?” The Camerlengo prodded, “Are you to talk or not, Jester?”

Nope, no getting out of this. Patronio loathed the serious conversations about emotions and fear...They were never any fun at all and only reminded him of the harshness of the situation the castle had been tossed in. With another annoyed groan, he began with the first thing on his mind.

“...A lot of time has passed, you know,” He blinked at the ceiling. When had he last dusted up there?, “The towns and world we once knew is now….very different. Yet, we are still stuck in the same days as before this wretched curse.”

He expected a quip or two, or something stupid and unrelated to be uttered from his friend, but for once found disappointment when no words were spoken. Great, he was simply listening. Why did he have to be quiet now, of all times? Discussions like this were not the kobold’s favorite! He knew this, right?

Of course he did, Patronio realized. That was exactly why he was silent, knowing the small blue creature would leap at any small opportunity to push this awkward conversation aside and change the subject. Blasted.

He gripped his cloak tight, thumb running across the slightly worn fabric as he continued, “I’m unsure how much has changed, what with being bound to this castle and forest. It is frightening to know that I-...That all of us have been forgotten to time. We have nothing to bind us to this timeline, no one to...remember who we were.”

Balling his fist, he fought back the crack he felt coming in his voice, “Is it not cruel, to be cursed to forever roam in a world that does not need you? Only to exist as a pawn for a game that no one, not even the one ‘in control’ can win? Isn’t it cruel to have caught all the innocents in it as well, forcing them to look to a lonely, foolish court jester for their guidance?”

“Jester-”

“And isn’t it just awful? Awful to know that after being forced into this terrible leadership, that everyone who has died blames you? And that-...if you really think about it, it is all true after all? But what are you supposed to do then, let down everyone else whom wishes not to be apart of this curse? Doom them to an enteral prison because you don’t want to be blamed? Selfish! Selfish to become so cowardly! Perhaps you are deserving of your shame then!” His voice had raised without realizing it, hissing and spitting his self-anger freely, “Yes! Cower away dear fool, cower away and let others die as you lie to their faces about these trials!”

Was he crying? Patronio felt like he was crying. It hurt.

“Jester! Jester...” He simply whined when The Camerlengo’s thumb brushed his face, wiping off the cascade of tears he was now very, very aware of, “What has gotten into you?”

“...I...I never asked for this,” the kobold murmured, shoving the other’s hand off himself, “I never wanted this! I am merely a jester-….How could one ask me to just let others die? I only wanted-...I wanted to bring joy.”

“...He knows, Jester,” It was always strange when the tall man was quiet, soft spoken even, “The Camerlengo knows you are not to blame for this curse.”

“Yes, I know you understand that,” He grumbled, shoving the hand away once more, “Knowing so many people’s blood is on your hands however-...”

“But it is not! You know that. You did not….cause this.”

“But I continue to go along with it.”

“For the sake of the castle, yes? The Jester is no coward, he is only doing what has been forced on him!”

“...Hm,” Patronio sighed in half acknowledgment, “Yes, this is…for everyone...”

“Then why blame yourself so harshly? He...does not see the reason to.”

“I know, I know my friend,” He hummed, “Not much ever makes sense, does it?”

“No, not often.”

“...I’m aware this is no fault of my own. I suppose it’s just morphed into guilt due to well...I am the “face” of this entire operation now, since The Count’s death.”

“Ah...He sees, then.”

Quietness took over again, mixed with the heavy breathing of the previously sobbing kobold. Why had it gotten quiet again? He didn’t like it. Would he just speak already? This-

“Augh!” Patronio hissed, feeling himself quickly lifted from his very comfortable spot, “Let me go!”

The small male thrashed wildly from being so suddenly grabbed, slowly turning into small squirms as he was firmly pressed against his friend’s chest in a hug. A half growl escaped him, dying off in his throat as a hand gently rubbed the back of his head.

“...Do you still want to be let go, Jester?”

He puffed a bit, gripping The Camerlengo’s coat in his hands tightly, “...No. But do warn me before you do that! I don’t appreciate being grabbed like that.”

“Well! You looked like you needed a hug, so The Camerlengo decided to help with that!” The tall man smugly smiled.

Settling further in his friend’s arms, the kobold just let out a soft ‘eugh’ in response, squinting when he was met with a loud laugh. Whatever, this was fine.

“You worry of being forgotten?”

“...We already have been, my friend. There is not a soul left to remember any of us here.”

“Hm, well that certainly can’t be right!”

Patronio arched his eyebrow in confusion, “What do you mean by that? Years- Centuries have passed.”

“We are still here, are we not?”

“...Yes?”

“Simple! We remember eachother, yes? He remembers you, you remember The Camerlengo! We are not forgotten then.”

“Hah...” The kobold snickered once, slowly elevating into a full laugh, “Yes, yes...Of course we remember each other, you strange man! We’re friends, after all.”

“Well then! Someone remembers you, then! And therefore, someone does not blame you either!”

His giggling continued, rubbing his face further against his friend’s coat, realizing perhaps he truly did need this conversation after all. The other’s laughter joining in only heightened the strange joy the silly words had brought the kobold.

“See, you see? The Jester is very good at bringing joy!”

He snorted, squeezing just a little harder, “Stop, you’re going to make me cry again...You goof...”

#saltie fics #the count lucanor #OK TIME TO IMMEDIATELY BURY THIS IN A BUNCH OF REBLOGS #YOU ALL SAW NOTHING I NEVER WROTE ANYTHING BYE #I HAVE BEEN HOVERING BY THE POST BUTTON FOR LIKE 6 MINUTES LORD HELP ME #AHHHHHHH-#I love writing but the mortifying ordeal of being known online kills me

7 notes · View notes

octerminal · 5 years ago

Note

this might be a silly ask, but what are some trivial things about nadia? things like, favourite colour, animal, smell, touch, taste, things like that?

It’s not silly at all, I love any excuse to talk about my Shepard lol. Thank you so much for the ask!

Favorite Color

To be terribly predictable: black. I don’t think it’s something she’s conscious of, though. She just gravitates toward it without realizing, until one day on the SR-1 Ashley is like, “do you own anything that has color to it? Dress blues don’t count.” And she just hands Ashley one of her N7 color schemed items, and Ashley’s just like, “That doesn’t count either.”

I think part of it is a comfort thing—it’s easier to blend in when she wears darker colors (if not black, then she favors grays; if she’s absolutely forced to wear something more color than not, she goes for dark hues like maroon, lilac, etc.). There’s also something to be said about how it reminds her of space, too. But…it’s also for practical reasons, lmao. Blood isn’t as noticeable.

Over the years I think she grows fond of certain shades of blue because she starts associating it with Kaidan. (Which is funny to think about, because who even knows what Kaidan’s favorite color is? But all of a sudden, whenever Shepard buys him something she’s always buying it in blue and he’s just like, I Guess This Is My Life Now. He does strike me as the type who’d like blue, though.)

Favorite Animal

I don’t really think she’s much of an animal person. She didn’t have pets growing up (unless you count the strays in her neighborhood, but after a certain point trying to bond with them served no purpose because they’d always go missing sooner or later) and as an Alliance marine who spends most of the year deployed in deep space doing Suspicious, Super Classified Shit even before the tours on the Normandy, she doesn’t have the time nor living space to take care of any as an adult.

I think Joker is the one who first gives her a pet fish aboard the SR-2¹, and she’s just kind of like, “…uh, okay” and proceeds to let it die because looking after a fish is not particularly high on her list of priorities. But afterward, when she’s cleaning it up, she feels a weird pang of something², and the next time she visits the Citadel she impulse buys a replacement. Then it kind of grows from there, with the rest of the crew sometimes chipping in. (I feel like this is something Kasumi would absolutely delight in.) Grunt gets her a hamster instead of a fish because “it’s basically the same thing, right?”

She’s actually secretly pretty disappointed no one took care of her fish while she was under house arrest, because she was also secretly pretty proud of herself for keeping them all alive after the first one died.

Anyway, that doesn’t really answer your question, though, does it? I think she discovers she’s a dog person after the war when she gets a therapy one. Kaidan thinks it’s funny, because her personality is way more like a cat’s.

Favorite Smell

This is an interesting one. I feel like she’s probably grown accustomed to the artificial smells of space stations and ships, but she prefers, in James’ words, “real air.” I think she really likes going planetside and being able to take off her hardsuit’s helmet and just smell the air. Especially when it’s uncharted worlds like the ones you explore in the first game—that’s really exciting to her.

As far as specific scents go, I associate her with spices and woods, though in reality she really only smells like sweat and the Alliance issued soap she uses, because she’s certainly not the type to bother with fancy versions of things like that. She definitely likes how Kaidan smells (though she’d never admit that out loud, at least not during the trilogy) even though I imagine he smells much the same with the added bonus of eezo…if that even has a scent, lmao.

The other scent might be something like cinnamon, since she has very few intact memories of whatever family she had at birth, but she does remember a woman who always smelled like cinnamon.³

Favorite Touch

She definitely likes textured things. Smoothness unnerves her. This is actually a big reason why she never bothered healing any of her pre-Lazarus scars, even though the technology to do so definitely exists.⁴ She liked herself better with them; it felt more honest. She’s relieved when she starts accruing new scars not associated with her cybernetics after Cerberus brings her back.

As far as specific objects go, I think her equipment? Taking apart her guns and hardsuit to clean and feeling all their grooves frequently calms her.

Beyond that, honestly, Nadia is never going to be much of a words person, so physical touch is really her main language. It’s unfortunate for herself and everyone around her she’s not very good at it.⁵

Favorite Taste

I have a headcanon that one of the first things she does when she visits a new place (and has the time) is to make a beeline for any food joints. Since food was scarce growing up, I feel like it’s one of the few things she allows herself to indulge in without much guilt (within reason, anyway). She definitely spent a lot of time on the Citadel in the first two games checking out the various wards for hidden gems.

I have another headcanon⁶ that during her house arrest, she ditches James one night and sneaks off the compound partially because she’s getting stir crazy, partially because she’s just sick of the slop they serve in the cafeteria and she knows from her time on shore leave that wherever there’s an amassing of marines, there’s also going to be vendors nearby to take advantage. So, James has a heart attack thinking he’s lost track of The Very High Profile Commander Shepard, Who Very Much Needs To Stay Within The Alliance Headquarters Because (Political) Reasons, and Oh God, What Is Alliance Brass Going To Do To Me When They Find Out? What Is Anderson??? and then he gets pinged on his omni-tool that his credit chit has been flagged for suspicious activity at a location not too far from the compound and he heads over to find The Great Commander Shepard sitting on a bench near a food truck digging into a takeout container full of some, like, fusion, hipster-y food you’d find in most big cities. And she’s just like, “oh, you finally caught up, took you long enough, anyway here’s your share” and James can’t get over the fact The Great Commander Shepard robbed him and bought him food with his own money and then acted like she was the one treating him.

Anyway, to actually answer your question…she’ll try anything at least once but she prefers savory over sweet, and especially spicy foods. But she does have a (guilty pleasure) sweet tooth for those delicate and pretty pastries, again because it’s definitely a luxury she never got growing up.

Favorite Hobby

You didn't ask about this one, but I think it fits with the general theme, so hopefully you don't mind lol.

I think before and during the trilogy, she didn't have a lot of time for hobbies that didn't also directly correlate with or benefit her work (e.g., exercising, tinkering with her equipment, programming), but she does have a couple. She likes taking pictures⁷, particularly of scenic views since "exploring space" was one of the biggest reasons why she signed up with the Alliance even though she knew she was trading one cage for another and was under no illusion she'd actually ever be doing good work for the Alliance. (The fact she ultimately does during the trilogy is...unexpected.) She just has this sense of wonder about the galaxy that never goes away, even when she's forced to repress every other emotion. So she likes to document it. (Sometimes she shares them, and I think it becomes something of an extranet meme because it's just so completely at odds with the rest of her social media presence—which is negligible—and also how she appears in interviews—which is not very complimentary—so everyone just kind of thinks it's funny.)

There's also the model ships, but like with the fish, I think someone else gets her started on those first. In my mind it's Miranda, who takes one look at how Shepard is coping in the second game and is like, "Why don't you [assemble some toy ships] and maybe you'll calm down.png" and well, to be fair...it does help, lmao. It's similar to when Shepard takes apart her guns or the like to clean them, only the end result is toy ships. Usually, her favorites are, funnily enough, enemy ships because they're more complicated to put together. (But she does have a soft spot for the SR-1, of course. And the Mako, even though that one doesn't exist in trilogy canon because BioWare exists to spite me.)

Post-war, she has a lot more downtime than she's comfortable with and to prevent herself from going stir crazy she picks up a few more. The main ones I've thought of center around restoration, like restoring obsolete tech or objects to make them functional again. I think she also picks up tinkering on cars and shuttles, partially due to Cortez' influence, partially due to the fact it was one of the jobs she had before she joined the Reds, partially due to her previous experience repairing her beloved Mako, and partially just because I imagine most of her recovery happens on Kaidan's family's orchard, and there's not a hell of a lot to do there.

So, basically: most of her favorite things to do generally involve taking things apart and putting them back together.

Thanks again for the ask! Sorry if this is way more than you anticipated and/or wanted, lmao. If it's not obvious by now, I have a tendency to ramble.

¹It’s because he feels guilty over and responsible for her death and subsequent “employment” with Cerberus, and he read somewhere fish are supposed to be relaxing or something, right? Maybe if he gets her a fish her face will stop doing that creepy glowing thing it’s doing. Not that he says any of that. He pretends it’s a joke gift. (EDI sees through it, obviously.)

²[Narrator voice] That feeling was loneliness.

³I envision this person being her grandmother.

⁴The other reason is because she thinks it’s a frivolous waste of resources, which is also the reason she doesn’t erase the renegade scars despite the fact she does actually hate those.

⁵Like, she gets better (marginally—she’s still never going to be touchy-feely with a lot of people, but at least she’ll one day be willing to sometimes hug her friends), but she definitely does not like touching most other people, and she does not like most other people touching her (even though she simultaneously craves it). Kaidan is really the only exception to this, but even he takes until the third game to really get to that point with her. Anderson is also something of an exception, but to a much lesser extent.

⁶This is actually a scene from a fic, if I could ever finish one of those anyway

⁷This is how I justify how many screenshots I take in game.

#elhresvelg #replies #ch: nadia shepard #*#sorry for being a little tardy in my reply!#i worked on this before and after (mostly after lmao) work the past couple days #it was a great de-stressor and i had a lot of fun #thank you!!!

4 notes · View notes

wackygoofball · 6 years ago

Note

Can you tell us why you’re so positive? I’m having a hard time imagining any positive scenario with Jaime being dead now but I wasn’t wondering what you’re hoping for in the last episode that we can hope for

Well, my positivity comes from the very fact that no matter what, I have an awesome fandom experience. I made the most amazing friends with whom I now share connections reaching beyond the shipping material of my choice, JB. I’ve had and continue to have illuminating and interesting discussions, share in crazy theories, make fun edits and enjoy my wacky life. I never had that until I was guided to the beacon of hope of the JB fandom, and now that I am a part of it, I wouldn’t want to miss a single thing.

So I don’t really see why I would be feeling negatively? Why I would lose all hope, fall into despair, curl in on myself ino a tiny wacky ball, and never dip my toes into the JB fandom again… I can’t see it because I have those things and literally no one other than myself can take them away from me again.

It’s actually the exact opposite for me. I may have come to the fandom because of JB, but I stayed for the whole package. I stayed for the social and emotional connections I made with fellow shippers. I stayed for the debates, not just about JB but all kinds of things. I stayed for the fun and the fanfic, for the gift challenges and roundrobins, for the fanvids and latenight chats.

And so I continue to stay for my friends, I continue to stay for what we canonically have and what can otherwise be explored within the realms of fanon, fanfiction, fanart, and the like.

Because, to me, being part of the JB fandom grew to be so much more than being a fan of Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth, it was becoming a part of a community I don’t want to lose ever again.

But now, I guess your question is more aimed towards what gives me hope for show *canon* turning out satisfactory for JB in any so such way, considering the current… brick odds. Since that post turned out longer than it should (it’s currently 3.00 a.m. and I should be sleeping… so please excuse additonal rambling), I will put this below the cut:

I mean… let’s go through the scenarios from worst case to best case (at least some, there are too many variants to list, really), but for the sake of the argument, let’s roll with the following selection:

1) Even if show canon now ends with Jaime having died last episode and that being the end of it, I have all the opportunity in the world to read and write fix it fanfic and theorize about those what ifs canon would then have left unexplored. So I don’t see why I would be angsting about it. I’ve been to other fandoms before, I shipped pairings I either knew would never become canon or was iffed about when they did not. However, that then leaves me with the sometimes hard but productive task of going back over my earlier theories and see where I went wrong, perhaps, in my analyses to draw the wrong conclusions, where I may have led my shipper goggles distort the source material too much. That can be a kind of painful experience, but it can also be greatly rewarding as it can help me sharpen my views for future analyses of other source materials I may come to enjoy. However, even if we stick to the in-canon expectations here. JB have made love to each other, more than once. They had a beautiful journey together and unless Bran sets it all back in time and we start over somewhere else, no one can take that away from us ever again. And that is amazing.

2) A more hopeful scenario: Jaime still stays dead but either through Tyrion or Bran we at least get the in-canon acknowledgement that Jaime *was* in love with Brienne and also went off to King’s Landing to protect her. Imagine, for instance, a scenario whereby he was being told that Brienne bears his child now. Jaime may have felt like he was a danger to that child (considering the Bronn situation) and/or may have found himself unworthy of that kind of life and may have wished to remove himself from the equation. He may even have been pushed into it by Bran in a number of ways. That would at least give us some kind of closure. It may stil hurt as hell, but the one thing that lies in the air in the narrative at present is that neither Jaime nor Tyrion, in any fashion, addressed his relationship with Brienne. Tyrion didn’t even bring it up during their conversation in the tent, which I would have fully expected as the show bothered to have Tyrion in the know about Jaime’s relationship with Brienne. Why didn’t he ask him something along the lines of “Why do you want to die with Cersei now? You had something good there with Brienne, it made you happy. Why did you just leave that behind?” But no such conversaion took place. Why? I don’t know. I remain puzzled about it. And that is where I am curious to know whether there is something else to that other than “we didn’t have the time to address that” or “we forgot/didn’t bother” storytelling-wise.

3) Jaime may still die but he is not dead as per status of episode 5. He will die of the injuries, but not until Brienne held him in her arms (”to die in the arms of the woman I love” as opposed to holding his sister in what I truly found a way of him acting like a brother to her who was trying to console a hysteric woman who knew she was close to dying and became younger and younger inside her mind the deeper they went). Still all the more tragic, still would suck ass for Brienne as she would have the Renly scenario almost exactly as before, but she held Jaime before he died. They made love before that. So this may at least be the acknowledgement that by the end of the day, Jaime and she had something true, but that circumstances kept them apart and that Jaime would have liked to stay with her in another life, if only life hadn’t made him make certain choices that led down this road.

Now we dig into the really more hopeful scenarios that suggest he is not dead. There are reasons that support this thesis (I don’t call authority to them as, per Occam’s razor, the simplest solutions are ofentimes those that hold the greatest truth). So again, I am not holding my breath for any of those options, all that is to say is that the options *exist*. That is not to fall into hopeful hyping, only to be disappointed if it does not come around, but plainly pointing out arguments that support the thesis.

Reasons that may be used in support of the hypothesis:

a) the show’s really outdone itself to stick a letter to Jaime’s back reading “dead man walking”: Brienne assumed he’d ride to KL to die with his sister, Tyrion said he’d die, Jaime said he’d die, Euron said he’s the one who killed Jaime Lannister, Cersei saw his wounds and kind of implied “you ded”, and then bricks ex machina. Like. Say it one time, foreshadowing, perhaps. Say it two times to make sure. But 4 fuckin’ times is like beating us with a stick.

b) This show has had characters survive despite greater injuries, and now I am not even pointing to Jonesus or Daenerys being fireproof in the show. Remember how Arya got stabbed repeatedly, fell into the water and bled out fast and still she did fine and later on did parkour with the Waif and killed her? Good times. Jon, even after the Julius Caesar stabbination, had it a lot of times when he he should have been dead of injuries and/or pneumonia (see Suicide Squad Beyond the Wall). Arya had buildings drop on her and fire spew at her the whole episode and she got the pale horse showing he the way out (I still hope the horse is Jaqen H’ghar). Tyrion had a ship’s mast drop on him and he did not die. List goes on and on and on. Also, Euron brought a long ice pick to a sword fight. Dude may have missed some major arteries, is all I’m saying.

c) Speaking of injuries, what was the point of having him gravely injured, for what looked and sounded like at least 1 collapsed lung and his kidneys likely looking like a pincushion? The guy still made it all the way up to the map room and then all the way down again without breaking down just once. While Cersei had a sudden unexpected surge of caring for the dude she sent an assassin after not long ago (seriously, let’s never forget that tidbit), the blood on his shirt was not as much as I would have expected from the injuries he’s received. But more to the point: Why have him so gravely injured if the upshot was, all along, he gets there, they get trapped, and then they die together. Why go through the lengths of having Jaime so greatly injured if there is no pay off for him dying of those injuries? Why is it then death by bricks? Why the overkill? I find it odd, is all.

d) There was no single verbal or otherwise recognition by either Jaime or Tyrion about the JB relationship. There was no “tell her I am sorry” or “Could you send her a raven on my behalf?” Nothing. They didn’t even mention her.

e) Jaime seemed awfully jumpy with his reasoning for being there. First he says the odds are even and Cersei may win, implying that he’d want to support Cersei against Daenerys in some way, or rather, keep damage at a minimum by trying to ensure his sister doesn’t pull anything that puts the people in danger. Then Tyrion goes on about how Daenerys will win and Cersei will die. Jaime switches back to Tyrion’s (and Brienne’s) suggestion of him wanting to die by Cersei’s side, which is contrary to his first statement. Then Tyrion points to the people. He says he doesn’t care. Which directly contradicts what he did to save the people of King’s Landing when he slew Aerys. For the sake of that argument, let’s just never forget that Jaime Lannister is one of those characters who builds on “say one thing, mean the other” many, many times. Why am I to assume that there is no hint of that in this cryptic converstaion he’s having with his brother?

f) Why does Tyrion try to get a promise out of Jaime to get Cersei and himself out of KL with the boat? Why does he make him swear? Shouldn’t pointing out the opportunity be enough to convince Jaime to go with it?

g) Others have theorized about it before, I also came back to it. There still is the BATB trope that JB have been following *a lot*. And by that I mean their trajectories were largely reliant on it. Now of course, just because characters are inspired by a trope doesn’t mean the author/writer is obligated to continue it till the very end, but it’s odd how we’ve been following almost all beats, only to stop at what would now be the fakeout death of Beast for Beast to be reborn.

h) Outside of what’s going on within the show’s narrative - NCW’s been all kinds of excited about his arc in season 8, and he’s expressed frustration before, which nearly always related to Jaime staying with his sister for longer than is necessary. This scenario, as it stands right now… does that sound like something NCW would be totally hyped about? I don’t really know. Also, the guy’s been seemingly gagged by HBO in some basement full of free T-shirts since there are no goodbye interviews as we have seen them for Conleth, Pilou and Lena. We only got a couple of instagram posts, but other than that? Am I the only one getting the “Jon Snow is totally dead, guys!” vibes? Perhaps to throw us off, but again, it is something that would support the hypothesis.

i) While we now got a MUCH darker Daenerys *ahem*, and it may well be that she will be wiped off the slate next episode, but that’s another topic… isn’t it AWFULLY neat how that basically removed “all the bad guys” from the narrative? Gregor dead, Euron dead, Qyburn dead, Cersei dead (furthermore, look at all the other baddies we put in the ground, and even those with redemption like Theon are now biting the dust). And then we have Jaime. A character who’s been hated by most for what he did to Bran and for the incesting, a character who continued to be hated by many parts of the viewership based on that, no matter the deeds he did thereafter. The point being, it seems awfully convenient if all the “good guys” lived and all the “bad guys” of varying degrees were to die. GRRM aimed for that bit of dramatic fantasy realism where we have morally gray characters, some grayer than others. Odd enough that this would leave much of the so-perceived morally more or less sound members of the clan right where they are. If I were writing such a thing, I’d keep some of those ambivalent characters, if only to show that the good vs. bad dichotomy does not hold in the real world and that in the real world, sometimes, do not only good guys die but also not-always-good-guys live.

j) What was Jaime’s plan? While he came back to “I am the stupidest Lannister”, Jaime is… not. He outsmarted Tyrion in terms of battle tactics. He is a gifted commander. He certainly is not as dumb as Cersei claimed him to be as she herself was not always the brightest pebble with an evil T’Pol haircut. He’s covered his hand with the glove when he rode away from King’s Landing at the end of season 7. He covered it again until he came back into King’s Landing and then took it off, for what it seems in the hope to use it as a VIP card to get the soldiers’ attention and thus entry into the Red Keep. That means he was in possession of the glove by the time he was captured by Daenerys’s forces. Why would he not wear it, then? Did he want to be caught? Why would he? Was he told by someone with the power of foresight that he needed to be there, that he needed to learn what signal was to be given (the bells) in order to give order to have them ring? We don’t know if he gave the order, but it’s not unlikely. Did he have a plan he didn’t let on even in front of his brother? Was there information Jaime protected and was that the reason why he seemed somewhat off? Who knows. Only the next episode will tell.

k) We are still due some kind of a reaction from Brienne.

l) Where the fuck is Widow’s Wail?

m) Why did the show bother giving us JB making love and playing house if the entire idea was to have him run back to his sister and just die by bricks? Why wait with this till the very last episode, to make it, for all it seems, the literal FINAL big bang of the series?

n) There is something to be said about how realism is not just “everyone dies and all is terrible”. Right now… everything is. We are in worst case scenario land for basically everyone. Jon became complicit in a mass murder, he could not prevent what Jaime did when he slew Aerys before he could nuke the city. Daenerys… committed a mass murder (she lost everyone safe for angry Greyworm and and is now a Queen of the Ashes). Cersei was cast down. Jaime coudln’t make his happiness with Brienne, for all it seems. Varys, for now, it seems, is proven right in that he hoped to be proven wrong and that shit would not go down like it did. Tormund won’t ever get his Emobear back. Bran is an emotional vegetable. Arya just had houses drop on her. Sandor died in fire, aka his worst enemy. Sansa may just have helped put Jon and/or Arya in danger if Daenerys continues to be crazypants. Hundreds and thousands of people got burned, injured, raped, murdered, kabloomed. Tyrion may just have lost his entire family, may still face the wrath of his Queen and continues to be kind of a stupid idiot. This is not some balanced kind of scenario of good and bad, this is just… bad.

o) If we only consider POV characters from the books, there are only three pairings where they are both major POV characters, the three Jays: JC, JD, and JB. And of those two… two are varying degrees of incest, as Varys would otherwise point out to you, and the other barely left the ground before bricks came raining from the sky. The point being… am I to believe that no single 2-POV-romance has any kind of a future? I find it odd.

The list could probably be longer but I am getting tired here. Suffice to say there are a number of reasons that *support* such a hypothesis.

Back on target of scenarios that give me hope - the Jaime lives somehow edition:

4) We may still be in for a Branception. He may pull back time and try to right things (he may also turn out the ultimate villain whose only goal, from the beginning, was to obtain the IT for all we know). He may have seen the worst case scenario unfold as we saw it now, and we may go back to him trying to make it right this time. But those are scenarios that involve a kind of mojo that continues to leave me far too baffled to dive into further. Suffice to say, he may have his hands in that somehow.

5) Suppose both of them survive somehow. Further imagine a scene of someone waking up on a boat, blinded for a moment, only to come around and look at a very scowling Brienne of Tarth, only to realize that yup, we are seeing things through Jaime’s eyes. And as he turns around he sees a dishevelled but alive sister in the boat, and a very pissed off sellsword turned assassin who complains about how he did not sign up for nearly getting buried alive in those tunnels if not for that warrior woman forcing him to wait out there and pull Jaime and Cersei to safety in the skulls or whatever else when it mattered. Evidently, this would have to be followed by some kind of trial for Cersei as she remains a shitshow of a person who held a city hostage, kabloomed a sept because she could and smirkily drank wine while doing so and gettting helluva murderboners over this. AKA her ending with Jaime still sounds to me as far too nice for a woman who’s done so much horrible when there was no need for it and did nothing really other than supposedly being pregnant with a child (will continue to believe that it is/was a tumor until I’m proven otherwise… even then I will stick to it because history parallels are awesome!) to deserve a “nice” and somewhat comforting exit with her brother by her side, without a single sign of acknowledgement of her being a shitshow of a person. Anyway, that leads too far astray. The point remains on the idea that I wouldn’t even exclude Cersei living at least for a longer while (end of episode 6), but ultimately proving that Jiame will outlive her (as was kind of hinted at by the book’s weirwood dream).

6) Since we have Davos and Tyrion in place as well as a body that conveniently is deposited near the Red Keep now and maches in height and so and such, and since Daenerys would not want to see Jaime Lannister alive right now… how about the good old switch game? Demolish Euron’s dead face a bit more, cut off a hand, stick the golden one on, maybe crispy him a bit more and present that to Daenerys. Would she ask questions beyond that? The point being, I can perfectly see a scenario whereby Jaime will emerge from the rubble (either by sheer luck or by having dived or been pulled into one of the dragon skulls) or will be pulled ou of it, and everyone has to be quick to get rid of him to hide him from Daenerys’s wrath. Off into a boat and let him be brought somewhere to heal and live a silent life where nobody knows what became of him. Tarth is supposed to be beautiful around the season, hm?

7) Brienne pulls Jaime from the rubble. He explains himself to her, believing he is about to die, just that he isn’t. Maybe he will ogle at her, going on about how Bran even told him how he was destined to die and how there was no future beyond (for him). Only for Brienne to drop it on him that there is, if he decides to live at last because sure as hell she won’t be taking care of a kid they both made and have responsibility to. Perhaps Jaime recognizing that Bran hinted at that the baby he was referring to was not Cersei’s (if there is) but Brienne’s. And that all that needed to happen so he could be reborn.

8) Jaime being the one to ring the bells becoming some kind of unsung hero alongside Brienne if she has any part in getting rid of the current usurper. Imagine Brienne badass-single-handedly getting rid of the living nuke aka dragon.

9) In a scneario whereby Jon offs Daenerys or Daenerys offs off to Essos and Jon does not push the claim… and if we hopefully overlook Gendry because the guy should not be assigned manager jobs he does no have the expertise for (*eye roll*) - I mean, don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against Gendry but he is by no means a politician or anything close to it… just briefly imagine of the reborn Jaime Lannister, the former Kingslayer, suddenly being confronted with the reality that he is heir to the Iron Throne. Just for funsies. Hm?

10) All ends with Jaime waking up next to Brienne, dozing in bed with their ten kids sleeping in the other rooms of Evenfall Hall, going like “Brienne, honey, I just had the shittiest dream ever.” And then the two cuddle.

Yeah no, for real now though. I can spin myself more scenarios than that, all of which bear hope in some capacity, both within the canon as well as how I have set up my shipping habits. Which means I basically feel invincible right now. The worst that can happen is that I am dissatisfied with how their arcs will conclude, in which case I still have my community and fanfic to fix it. If it ends tragically but at least with recognition of feelings for one another, I will be sad but satisfied. If Jaime survives at least long enough to see Brienne one more time, I will cry like a baby but I will be okay because it will make clear where his heart was at last. and how it will always be hers. If it’s one of the more and most positive scenarios, I will be a happy customer and may gloat more than I should.

My most basic hope is that we get coherence where I currently find myself confused as to where the narrative is heading. There are things I don’t understand or can’t currently, based on the limited information we have, make sense of. I would hope for the show to clear up that much.

My more elaborate hope is that we get the confirmation of their mutual feelings for one another. That can go a multitude of ways, as outlined above, but that’s something I would really want/need to feel like their arcs came full circle, even if Jaime winds up dead.

My HYPE hopes are of course the rebirth scenarios. I don’ find them unlikely, but I don’t hold my breath for them to happen. If they do, I am happy. If they don’t, I won’t be disappointed enough to be sadder than I ought to be. I will try my best to use it as inspiration for fanart, fanfic, and editing.

So yeah… how can I go wrong? How can I be anything but hopeful? I hope for the best, accept the worst if it comes, and simply go on with my fandom life because that is the important aspect about it for me personally. I have amazing friends in this fandom and I can look back on years of one of the best shipping rides I ever undertook. We are canon in every sense of the term and that can’t be taken away from us (as someone once said so elegantly: you can’t unfuck someone). So my hopes are that I simply get to go on enjoying my fandom life in this fandom, then waiting for the books and taking the liberty to dissect the narrative in the light of its full context instead of only ever theorizing based on limited information. My hope is to continue to have awesome, inspiring, and productive discussions and theories and headcanons.

Those are my hopes, and I don’t see how they will ever be disappointed, no matter what may happen in the show next week, or in the infinity and beyond it will take for GRRM to finish those books. And I think that’s not just wishful thinking because the power to remain hopeful actually lies with me. I am the master of my shipping experience, of my fandom life, and as such, I can have all the positivity no matter the canon outcomes.

So yeah, I am a happy Wacky right now and I will continue to be.

And I do hope that some of that positivity will reach you, anon, and anyone else currently feeling like… a bunch of bricks are raining down on them. Sorry, I have to cut back on those puns, I know.

Anyway. To close now.

I am hopeful because I put my hope in my fandom experience, and in that way I cannot possibly lose - and anyone who decides to follow down the same path, you can’t lose either! So how about we continue to win together? I’d very much like that.

#jaime x brienne #Jaime Lannister #brienne of tarth #game of thrones #got spoilers #got theories #wacky rambles #anon #thanks anon #got speculation #headcanons #fandom happiness #wacky hopes #jb positivity #got positivity

33 notes · View notes

hopeishappinessff · 6 years ago

Text

Holding Onto Hope: Chapter 36

Narrator:

Embarrassed. Humiliated. A laughing stock perhaps? No… no one was laughing. Final conclusion… an utter disappointment. He prayed for an escape… prayed that maybe he could somehow melt away into the cushioned chair he occupied. Or disappear into thin air, if at all possible. He wanted to simply spontaneously combust, because this was entirely too much to bear. Sure, he was aware that a day would come that someone would actually explain to him… him. He was a complex mixture of a human, he knew that. But now that the day had arrived for him to better understand just how complex… he couldn’t believe he hadn’t thrown up yet.

Through pursed, paper thin, pink lips, she sighed and kept her eyes trained on the healthy stack of papers splayed atop her shiny desk. His eyes were cast downward, but he wasn’t looking at anything in particular. He just knew he didn’t have the guts to look at either of them. Dr. Stevenson… or Dr. Yates. She was visiting him on a flat screen today, but for the first time in a long time… he couldn’t look her in the eye. No… not while they were both attempting to apparently ruin his life, yet again.

“Manic-depressive illness or manic depression… commonly known as, bipolar disorder. This disorder is characterized by extreme mood swings that include emotional highs, or mania and hypomania, and lows… depression. During the mania or hypomania phases, the patient will endure extreme euphoria, you will feel full of energy or unusually irritable. Hypersexuality, also referred to as compulsive sexual behavior or sexual addition, can also exist as a sign of the disorder and is described as a dysfunctional preoccupation with sexual fantasies, urges, or behaviors that are difficult to control. Episodes of mood swings may occur rarely, or in your particular case, multiple times a year and they will affect your sleep pattern, energy, activity, judgment, behavior, and ability to think clearly.” Dr. Stevenson read from one of the papers, now held captive between the tips of her fingers. She continued to pause occasionally between paragraphs, as if waiting for him to say something. But, what was he supposed to say? What could he say? What words could be said to make anything about this situation better? Yes, he was aware of his diagnosed mental illnesses. What he was not aware of was an ‘explanation session’… a dual therapy session with the sole purpose of explaining to him exactly what it was that he would be living with for the rest of his life.

“Dissociative identity disorder or DID… a severe condition in which two or more distinct identities, or personality states, are present in – or alternately take control of – an individual… often described by some, as an experience of possession. One can also experience memory loss that is too extensive to be explained by ordinary forgetfulness. DID reflects a failure to integrate various aspects of identity, memory, and consciousness into a single multidimensional self. Usually, a primary identity carries the individual’s given name and is passive, dependent, guilty, and depressed. The alters’ characteristics – including name, reported age and gender, vocabulary, general knowledge, and predominant mood – contrast with those of the primary identity. Certain circumstances or stressors can cause a particular alter to emerge. The various identities may deny knowledge of one another, be critical of one another or appear to be in open conflict. Possession-form identities often manifest as behaviors that appear as if a spirit or other supernatural being has taken control of the person.”

His chest was heaving, he was desperate for air… and for her to stop talking. Though his eyes were squeezed shut, he could feel the emotion brewing behind his lids… burning the corners of his eyes… itching to be released. He wasn’t even sure if she was still reading from that damned paper or if his desperation to stop hearing her truths was loud enough to drown her out, but he certainly could not hear her anymore.

“Dr. Stevenson…”

She tilted her head upward only a centimeter, but her eyes raised completely and her brows bent in the corners when she noticed Christopher sitting there, hyperventilating. It was the stern voice of Dr. Yates who finally shut her up and her heart rate immediately catapulted when she realized her patient was nearly on the verge of passing out.

“Christopher!” She half yelped, half gasped… because now his face was as red as the shiny polish on her fingertips.

“Dr. Stevenson, please…” Again, the melodic, firm sound of Dr. Yates voice was what planted Dr. Stevenson’s bottom in her chair, because she was well on her way to fleeing from the room to call on Richard and perhaps a few other security guards. She’d been on edge with this particular patient, ever since the failed observation therapy session that almost landed Dr. Yates in a hospital last year in December.

Dr. Stevenson cut her eyes sharply in the direction of the flat television screen and her lips pursed in an almost non-existent manner as she waited for further instruction from Dr. Yates. She sighed delicately and removed the glasses from the bridge of her nose, staring at the young man through the screen as he continued to struggle to compose himself.

“Christopher…” He tensed at the sound of her voice and held his breath completely until she diffused him, “Open your eyes.”

It was magical almost, the way she so easily delivered a polite command and his body responded before his mind could fully comprehend what she’d said. His eyes parted and blurred in an instant, because the tears were prepped and ready to fall, but just that easily… she’d soothed him into opening his eyes. Like the expert she was.

“Lift your head.”

Like a pained old man, he gradually lifted his head and eventually, his blurred vision had no choice but to lock eyes with her. She wore a smile on her gracefully aging face and when he saw it, he temporarily forgot that Dr. Stevenson was still in the room… staring at him cautiously.

“How are you feeling today?”

He went to drop his head, a natural reaction he’d inherited lately under the… circumstances. But Dr. Yates was quick to lift a question brow to accompany her smirk, catching his attention before he could confide in the back of his eye lids again.

Clearing his throat, he sniffled and sighed, not even bothering to acknowledge the tears rolling casually down his flushed cheeks “I’m… alright.”

With a sudden look of confusion, Dr. Yates tilted her head curiously and blinked a few times “You’re… alright? Are you sure?”

Nodding, he finally surrendered to the overwhelming urge to drop his head, but this time he kept his eyes open and simply watched the tears trickle into his lap.

“Well, if you are alright… are those happy tears that you’re crying?” She asked, confusion lacing her words.

Suddenly he became unnecessarily mesmerized by the tears he shed, but really he was just too ashamed to acknowledge the real reason Dr. Yates was questioning him… she knew he wasn’t alright. He constantly internally praised her for being so incredibly intelligent and vigilant, so he knew she knew… he was not alright. But he was embarrassed by that thought… embarrassed to admit that the response he’d just given her was really just a cover for the truth. He felt like a complete and utter failure. Here this woman was, reading directly from his personal file and dropping the truth on him in a way he could have never been prepared for. Dr. Stevenson always seemed a bit rough around the edges to him and she never seemed to be one to have much sympathy for a person like him… but in this case, could he really blame her? She was simply doing her job, explaining to him in detail exactly how fucked up he was.

“Chris, if you’ll just let me finish…” Dr. Stevenson began to ramble, but Dr. Yates was always one step ahead.

“Sara,” She cut her off quickly and politely, like a car in traffic with a driver kind enough to toss a hand up to acknowledge they had indeed just cut someone off, “If I may?”

Dr. Stevenson look peeved, annoyed that someone was doing her the courtesy of shutting her up and stopping her from sounding like a heartless witch. She sighed firmly through her nose, but obliged to Dr. Yates request by slowly lowering the piece of paper back onto her desk.

“Christopher… if I may?” She was asking for his permission now… permission to continue on with the dauting task of verbalizing just how much he sucked as a human being. With a quick glance up at the screen, he sniffled once more and nodded his head… okaying her to continue on with the torture.

“Now, from my observation Christopher, I’m not so sure if you are indeed ‘alright.’”

He didn’t bother to respond… didn’t even bother to raise his head in her direction again. She was about to call him on his bluff and he had no energy to deny it… he simply was not alright.

“Like most of us, you’ve got a story. And if you’re curious to hear it, from my perspective anyway… your story is quite remarkable,” That certainly got his attention and whether he desired to or not, his head lifted on its own accord and he frowned at her… because surely she was mocking him, “There was once a young boy who, due to a series of awfully unfortunate events, lived a very angry and not so happy childhood. He witnessed turmoil beyond his control… turmoil that no human, let alone a child, should ever have to witness. And often he felt compelled to step forth to take action against the turmoil… because it involved his family, his mother. He would do anything to protect her, even at such a tender age.”

“Christopher, I want you to understand something… that young boy, filled with anger and not so happy feelings, who was undeservingly stripped of his happiness and forced to endure a life style that some fully matured men have never experienced… that is your story. And sometimes, in order to protect itself… the human mind will create its own chapters in order to ensure you are able to stay on the path of your story. Your mind created its very own protection against the chaos around you, because it was all it could do to survive. Thus, your altered personality was born.”

Born. The way she spoke of it, of Kin… the way she explained him and his ‘birth’ was rather relieving to him. Somehow, she made it make sense. Because she was indeed an expert.

“This entity became a safe haven for you, but in turn… he would often wreak unnecessary havoc on those around you, because the sole purpose of his existence has always been to protect you… which allowed you, so you thought, to protect those around you. Even as a child, your alter existed namelessly. He became your strength, your courage, your ability to stand against anyone you believed to be a threat against you and your family. But then… one day… a small bundle of happiness pulled into the driveway next door. She stepped foot from that car and swarmed you with an almost foreign feeling of peace… of genuine joy. That’s a feeling that we all crave, isn’t it? Joy? But for you, that feeling had become so foreign and forgotten… the moment you recognized it for the first time in your childhood, it became addicting. Overwhelmingly so. Sy’Diyah… Hope… she charmed her way into your life by simply moving in next door and from that day on, you couldn’t get enough of her, the way she made you feel whenever in her presence, the pure love that you could identify with that seemingly only she could fill you with, the peace… oh the peace and the solace. It was truly an addiction.”

Addiction was right. His eyes shut again and this time he managed to conjure up an entire image of her perfect face, perfect skin, perfect eyes, perfect smile, perfect hair. He imagined her right there in front of him, her sweet smell wafting around him, as addicting as it was. Her stare twinkling as she smiled lovingly at him. Her bump… the baby bump, protruding directly at him to remind him of the love they shared. He missed her, incredibly so.

“Even now, as you sit and delve into the many memories and images you’ve got stored solely in her heart for her… you feel it don’t you, the peace?”

He nodded finally and sniffled hard, because he could feel the tears brewing again “Dr. Yates I… I miss her.”

“Understandably so Christopher. Please, open your eyes,” He obeyed, parting his lids to her magical charm, “You are here, in this facility, away from your loved ones and away from the one true love of your life… because you deserve to be the greatest version of you that you can be. For them, but most importantly for you. You are not to blame for the misfortunes of your childhood or for your minds natural response to the turmoil in your young life. Had your remedy, your altered personality, not been born… I am honestly not sure that you would have flourished to be the young man who sits before us today… I’m not sure that you would have survived.”

Chris had never thought of it that way. He stared at her through burning eyes thoughtfully, pondering the thought she’d just ignited in his mind. Had his altered personality not been born from his real-life chaos, would he have survived? Was he really too weak to stand on his own as a man… was Kin seriously all of his strength?

“But Dr. Yates, his file clearly discusses in detail his lifestyle before moving off to Georgia for school. It doesn’t make much sense to me that you don’t believe he would have survived in a lifestyle that he willingly chose to live.” Dr. Stevenson finally managed to find her voice after she too became deeply enthralled in the sultry sound of Dr. Yates explanation.

“Who said it was done willingly Sara? Who said any of it was done willingly? The violent habits and the entire lifestyle created solely by the alter, the excessive desire for multiple women and sex, which as you just read is a direct characteristic of the bipolar disorder… combined with the DID… these occurrences are not done willingly. Even the slightest hint of vulnerability and weakness from Christopher, and Kin has always been the direct result. I’ve examined Christopher’s case from top to bottom, inside and out. His diagnosis is simple enough, but once closely observed, more complex than I’ve ever studied. Christopher and his alter are nearly two separate beings, if not for the fact that they indeed share one physical form,” Swiftly turning to face him, she wore a grave expression that nearly startled him, “The most interesting observation during this process… your alter doesn’t even respond accordingly to your dosages. The only reason you’ve been able to avoid blacking out in your recent sessions is because of the months of intense psychotherapy that has been forcing you to focus. You see, the top priority in your case is not to necessarily treat any symptoms, because truthfully that is nearly impossible… but rather educate you in the art of focus.”

Dr. Yates was indeed correct, Chris had been on a daily regimen with the psychotherapy sessions since his last black out and truth be told, he’d been doing an outstanding job. In every way that he could, he’d been non-stop focusing. Whether lying flat on his back on the sterile cot in his room, counting the small specks decorating the tiled ceiling. Or sitting in a corner in the recreation room, tuning in only to the faint sound of the clock ticking on the opposite side of the room… even over the chaotic sounds of the other patients sharing the space with him… he always made sure to focus. And it helped, it truly did help. The tactic, surprisingly instilled by Dr. Stevenson, aided him in his quest to control his thoughts, which allowed him to keep control of his own emotions… and more importantly, it allowed him to remain in control of himself.

“And, of course, the additional dosages of Zoloft. Synced with the focusing strategy, I believe it’s been a big help…” Dr. Stevenson muttered.

“You are correct, to a certain degree,” Dr. Yates noted, “However, the medication is only used to address the depression, anxiety, and it suppresses any anger. Unfortunately, we have to remember that the alter may not always respond to it.”

Eventually, Chris noticed that his tears had completely subsided, though he was left with an aggravating afterburn along the brims of his eyes. What was really the point in crying? It was upsetting to hear such negative truths about yourself, but he mustn’t forget the focus and dedication he’d put into this entire process in the span of a few months. Several of his psychotherapy sessions had been much more intense than others, some often brewing emotions within him that he often felt as if he could not control. But, as Dr. Yates had mentioned, he had been in control because he had mastered the art of focus. In fact, he’d been so consistently focused and if he had nothing else to be proud of in this precise moment in his life, it was that small fact. It was quite a huge accomplishment for him because for the first time since he could remember, he was absolutely in control. He smiled at the thought.

Chris

I may have been crazier than I thought, I wasn’t quite sure. But I tried not to dwell on that because then I would really start to believe it and I felt like that would completely change me as a person. I didn’t want to change… I just didn’t want to deal with these illnesses anymore. But if they continued to set me up in these sessions with not only one doctor physically sitting in front of me, but one on the flat plasma screen TV right beside her as well… I would have no choice but to know that I was insane. I was pretty positive no other patient in this institution had to endure their therapy sessions quite like this, but this is what they thought it took to get through to me.

Shifting my gaze from Dr. Stevenson to Dr. Yates, who’s bright and beaming face sat perfectly aligned in the center of the flat screen television, I sighed softly and shifted awkwardly in my seat. They were both watching me curiously, waiting for me to tell them why I thought I should be released from this sterile prison. I fiddled with my fingers and looked past the flat screen and out the window on the other side of the office. In all honesty, I didn’t know why I should be released or… if I should. I mean, I felt like I was making progress… no, I was sure that I was making progress. I was putting forth a serious effort to get myself together because I did really want out of this place. But the real world… everyday life… the place right outside of the hidden barriers of this building… it scared me. Petrified might have actually been a better term. Yes… it petrified me…

“Christopher…” Dr. Yates was speaking now and the sound of her voice alone never failed to capture my attention, so without further ado I turned my head slowly to face her… or the screen that she was presented to me on, “Are you afraid to leave?”

Lord where did this woman come from? She wasn’t even technically in the same room as me, yet she sat there and read right through me like her office was located in the middle of my mind. I could feel Dr. Stevenson staring at me, just waiting for me to give her something to write in that little yellow notepad. But, as usual, I trained my vision onto Dr. Yates and readied myself to respond to her and I even kind of pretended that Dr. Stevenson wasn’t even there. She wasn’t who I wanted to talk to… she never was. I’m sure she knew it too, thus the extravagant television set up with my therapist on it.

“In a way… yes.” I muttered.

“Why? Why are you afraid to leave the institute?” Tearing my eyes away from the screen, I peered at Dr. Stevenson from the corner of my eye and refrained from frowning at her question. I hated the way she spoke to me so… so… typically. I mean, sure it was her job to ask me questions and understand the gist of me and all that jazz… but in my opinion, she didn’t know what she was doing. She didn’t know how to be in tune with her patients like Dr. Yates… she didn’t know how to do anything like Dr. Yates.

“I just am.” I turned to look back out of the window and decided at that moment that I would no longer be addressing that woman. This was a session between Dr. Yates and I and she… she was just filling space in the room.

“You’ll be leaving on a fresh slate… and you know that, you’re okay with that… aren’t you? The fear here… lies in the prospect that your fresh slate will be tainted by the horrors of the outside world… please, shut me up at any time and tell me that I’m wrong Christopher… you know not to be afraid to correct me.” She said, laughter mixed softly in her last statement. Smiling to myself, I slowly shook my head to not only indicate to her that I would not stop her because she was not wrong… but also because I could almost feel Dr. Stevenson tensing in her seat. In reality, she sucked and the more Dr. Yates took over these sessions with me virtually, I’m sure she was beginning to understand that more and more.

“So essentially, you’re not afraid to leave… you are afraid to come back.” Dr. Yates finished her observation and I glanced from her to the other occupant of the room, because at this time I didn’t feel as though she deserved the title of doctor, and nodded my head. “I just… I don’t wanna mess up again.”

They were both writing, jotting down whatever it was that they concluded from what I’d said. I could never understand the purpose of the notebooks and I never much cared for them. I was focused on the hand across the table from me writing quickly like I’d just said a mouthful and almost didn’t hear Dr. Yates speaking through the television.

“Would you mind, Dr. Stevenson, if I had just a moment of time with Christopher?” She asked. Her question surprised us both and while I sat still in my seat with raised brows, Dr. Stevenson turned to face the TV before glancing back over her shoulder at me and smiling tightly.

“Sure… take your time.” She didn’t even bother to look back at Dr. Yates. She simply rose swiftly from her seat and glided quickly out of the room. My eyes remained glued to the shut door for a moment as I absorbed what’d just happened… she was in her feelings, because a woman miles away from us just gave her the boot from her own office. I almost snickered aloud, but Dr. Yates cleared her throat and got my attention before I could.

“Christopher…”

“Yes ma’am?”

“No formalities now,” She chuckled, “How have you really been?”

“I’ve been good… better. How have you been?” I smiled.

She smiled in return “Why haven’t I thought to excuse that woman long ago?”

We both laughed, but softly because I really didn’t know how far Dr. Stevenson had ventured away from the door.

“I have been very well, thank you for asking. I haven’t had a successful opportunity to speak to you one on one since your very last session here at the school with me. I wanted to pick your brain a little off record, if you don’t mind.”

“No… I don’t.” She sat there smiling for a while in her signature pose with her hands crossed onto the surface of her desk. It didn’t really look like she even had the notebook in front of her anymore and for that, I was thankful. She really was only interested in having a completely off the record conversation with me… and in a way, I was kind of excited about that.

“I’m sorry that I could not actually be there with you, but you seem to be doing exceptionally well. Communicating comfortably and more frequently… that is phenomenal.”

“I guess.”

“You guess…”

“I don’t really like it here… the people.” I explained slowly.

“It’s not a comfort zone for you. That’s understandable. But you are doing wonderfully during your time with Dr. Stevenson. I must commend you there.” She beamed.

“Thank you.” I smirked.

There was a moment of silence that left me with my head down, unable to face her piercing stare, and I thought maybe she was waiting for me to speak again… so I did.

“Dr. Yates… I-I never got to apologize to you for what happened when you were here…”

“I cannot accept that apology.”

Quickly raising my head, I eyed her with furrowed brows and opened my mouth to speak, but… no words came out. What? Did she really just say that?

“You cannot apologize for something completely out of your control. What happened that day in our therapy session… that was something that you could not prevent, even if you tried. I don’t want you to feel remorseful in any way for actions that were not yours.”

I felt myself nodding as she spoke and though she was right, I couldn’t ignore the regret for what I did that day… but it did also feel a bit strange apologizing on behalf of that other side of me. I didn’t even know what’d happened… until they forced me to watch the footage. And as I sat there staring at the gray image of myself stalking around the room at her, eventually corning her and threatening her in a way that made my stomach churn, I knew I had to offer her an apology as soon as I got the opportunity to.

“I wanted to give you an update, about Hope.”

All the sadness and memories of that last therapy session with Dr. Yates went right out the window the moment I heard that name. Hope… my Hope… my heart.

“What’s wrong with her?” I blurted.

She laughed softly and shook her head as she watched me visibly flinch in my seat, nerves clearly on end “Nothing at all. She’s doing wonderfully… very focused on her studies now. Perhaps a bit too focused, but she’s doing well non-the-less.”

“That’s good…” My voice drifted off for a moment as I thought briefly about her face. Her beautiful face and her pink and always pouted lips and her cute baby hairs that wisped with even the slightest wind and her wild mane of hair that cascaded all over her head like a golden waterfall…

“She’s about eighteen weeks along… and she glows like a ray of sunshine every time I see her.” My heart sank… I hadn’t expected her to discuss the pregnancy. As I said before, I knew she knew that Hope was pregnant, but I guess I completely forgot that she was there with her and I was not and there was a high possibility that they were still in contact in my absence.

“How is the baby? Does she even know what she’s… we… does she know what we’re having?” I didn’t even know I was capable of speaking this fast again because everything I did in life now seemed to be done leisurely.

Dr. Yates seemed to catch onto that because I caught the smile on her face that almost looked like a proud mother watching her child take its first steps.

“The baby is fine… and healthy. She does not know the sex… because she prefers to wait for you to find out.” That right there… those words right there, lit me up from the inside out. I felt like the sun itself would consume my entire body and beam right through my chest. She wanted to wait for me to find out what the gender of our baby was… she wanted to wait for me for something in life period? That made me feel like… the proudest man on earth. It made me feel like standing up and running through the rest of this treatment program so I could get the hell out and run all the way to Georgia to her. She was waiting for me… she was still thinking of me… she hadn’t left me behind.

“Christopher,” Her voice snapped me out of my frantic and joyous thoughts and I blinked rapidly as I turned my attention to her, “My goal here is to help you. You being in this institution will not benefit you… you being out there, in the real world, with your loved ones will.”

The rapid blinking stopped abruptly and I damn near stopped blinking altogether as my heart began to race while I waited almost impatiently for her to go on.

“There is a deal in the works at this time and nothing has been finalized, but… I am working very frivolously to have you released into the care of your mother. There is an entire case pending and I’ve been preparing all things necessary to present to the board of the institute to prove that home treatment would better suit you.”

My eyes shut while she continued to speak. I’m not even sure what she was talking about, something to do with this case that was pending against me, but the only thing my mind could focus on was what she’d said about me being released. I had to repeat a mantra in my head… don’t get your hopes up… don’t get your hopes up… only for these people to let you right back down. But I would simply be lying if I said my heart didn’t flutter with anticipation.

“I cannot make any promises, but I can guarantee you that if you do your part… if you continue to excel in your sessions and you continue to maintain your cooperation with Dr. Stevenson and with whatever regulations they implement for you… I will do everything in my power to get you home.”

Mentally I tattooed those words on my brain and held onto them dearly… there was no doubt in my mind that I would hold up my end of that deal no matter what.

#chrisbrown #chrisbrownff #chrisbrownfanfic #jasminesanders #chrisbrownfanfiction #jasminesandersff #teambreezy #teambreezyff #fanfiction #fanfic

15 notes · View notes

antialiasis · 7 years ago

Text

Dear Evan Hansen

So I developed an interest in this musical during my semi-recent Groundhog Day obsession, when thanks to following everything posted about GhD on Tumblr, I ended up on the periphery of the general Broadway/Tony discourse. Everyone was talking about Dear Evan Hansen, either how good it was or how overrated it was, and I stumbled across some post suggesting it involved teens with issues and suicide, at which of course my ears perked up because I am me.

I listened to the soundtrack and read a basic plot summary on Wikipedia. The songs weren't amazingly up my personal musical alley for the most part, but still pretty good, and I was quite intrigued by the character work in them - the increasingly obvious wish-fulfillment of Evan's story in For Forever, culminating in the choked-up repetition of "He's coming to get me", suggesting without having to say directly that actually no one came to get him; the repeated "falling in a forest" motif never quite saying he let go but making it clear this moment was more meaningful than one would expect long before the plot summary indicated we'd find out he'd been suicidal; Zoe's subtle denial in Requiem; the tragic irony of Evan inspiring everyone with a speech about how you will be found when he knows better than anyone that sometimes you won't. This was good shit! I wanted to try to see it on the same trip as Groundhog Day, but the tickets were all well sold out, and ultimately I more or less gave up on the possibility. (I'd actually missed that there was a lottery for the show, but we tried it when we were in New York and didn't win.)

It just wouldn't quite leave me alone, though, so with no prospects for being able to see it legitimately at any point in the foreseeable future, I ended up giving up and watching a bootleg.

(Excessive overcritical rambling about characterization, subtlety, etc. under the cut! It is very critical, so by all means scroll on by if that’s not your jam.)

After all the mental buildup, I ended up sort of underwhelmed by the actual show, unfortunately. When I listened to the soundtrack I'd filled in blanks, imagining all the rich development that might be happening in between the songs - Evan slowly growing closer to Connor's dad before To Break In a Glove, say. But actually watching it, it felt like there was a lot less development than I'd imagined. There isn't really anything about Evan growing closer to Connor's dad other than the song itself, or a lot of development for Connor's dad at all outside of it. Zoe's conflicted feelings about Connor, legitimate fear and hatred coupled with a strange, paradoxical longing for him to really have had a better side to him that actually loved her, are fascinating, but aren't really explored outside of what I'd already heard in Requiem and If I Could Tell Her - Zoe's role ends up being mostly about being the target of Evan's dubiously ethical romantic interest, without really tackling the things about her that were actually interesting.

When I first listened to the soundtrack, I didn't actually pick up on Jared or Alana existing as characters. I'm not great at discerning voices on a first listen, so while for example Sincerely, Me was a bit confusing, I parsed it just as a dialogue between Evan and the imaginary Connor in his head, with "Connor" making the sardonic suggestions to ridicule Evan's pathetic efforts in between theatrically reading out what Evan was typing. They were in the plot summary, though, so I figured it out eventually, and the Tumblr fandom was full of posts about Jared and Alana - how complex they were, how much people related to them, everyone shipping Evan with Jared (of course). So I looked forward to seeing more of these characters that the soundtrack didn't really show off.

As it turned out, though, they weren't much in the way of characters, really. There are a couple of lines about Alana's anxiety and how she also feels like she's alone and doesn't matter - but they're ultimately throwaways. Alana is mostly just a plot point, as the person who's invested enough in the Connor Project to care but still detached enough to start to notice and question the discrepancies in Evan's story. Her dialogue is almost entirely either pure plot advancement or jokes; she may be secretly troubled and anxious, and eventually she spells out that she originally latched onto the Connor Project because of that, but the show just keeps kind of making fun of her - the most prominent characterization she gets is the running gag where she acts like she was so totally close to Connor while making it obvious she actually barely knew he existed - and she doesn't really get to act out the complexity the show wants to imply. We never see the Connor Project affecting her life, or get a real sense that it's giving her meaning that she was lacking before; it's told and not shown. That makes sense for a minor character who's mostly there to play a role in the plot, but the fandom had made me expect a lot more, and I really think she could have been done a lot more interestingly if they'd just spent less time making jokes about her.

And Jared... is desperately unlikeable. A lot of people on Tumblr were criticizing the play for not punishing Evan enough for his actions - but at the same time everyone was in love with Jared. This is baffling, because as far as I can see, it's pretty much Jared who ropes Evan into this in the first place. Evan originally tries to tell the Murphys that Connor didn't actually write the 'suicide note', but they dismiss him and Cynthia acts extremely upset, and Evan is too timid to try to be firm and argue with these grieving parents in order to explain to them that actually their dead son had no friends. After this he's panicking and anxious about having to clear up the misunderstanding, but it's Jared who convinces him he absolutely can't tell them the truth and has to just smile and nod and keep up the pretense. After this, Jared relentlessly mocks and bullies Evan as the lie spirals out of control, makes a silly attempt to insert himself into it, gets mad when Evan says they must stick to the established story where Jared necessarily wasn't involved, then gets hurt and complains when Evan stops hanging out with him once he's got something else to do and other people who like him. Obviously Evan is in no way an innocent party here - he does start to latch onto the fantasy of this imaginary friendship with Connor and this doting family that wants and likes him, and soon he's clearly keeping up the charade for himself and not to make Connor's family feel better. But none of this would have happened if it weren't for Jared convincing him he absolutely needed to keep up the lie, yet what Jared says when it's all gotten out of hand isn't "Look, I'm sorry, this is wrong, I was wrong, you should have told them the truth from the start", but "You should remember who your friends are." Maybe Evan would remember who his friends are if you'd ever been anything resembling an actual friend to him, Jared! I gather stage directions and cut songs and so on show that Jared actually has a very low self-esteem and is covering up his insecurities with sarcasm and bullying behaviour, which is great, but I wish any of that really got through in the actual play, because in the actual play Jared is just intensely unsympathetic. As it stands, his narrative function is to show how friendless Evan is (the best he's got is this guy, who freely tells him he only hangs out with him because he's literally being paid for it) and to be the person who's callous enough to think lying to a grieving family about being friends with their dead son to save face is okay, because Evan is actually better than that and wouldn't have done it otherwise. Like with Alana, I'm sure there's something interesting there, in theory, that the actor taps into while playing him. But within the actual show, the way he acts by and large isn't interestingly informed by his insecurity; he's just being a mean-spirited, bullying, opportunistic asshole. He has no real redeeming qualities and then just kind of vanishes abruptly from the story towards the end, before he gets the chance to even react to the lie being (partly) exposed (which could have been a nice opportunity to show him being a non-dick for once).

I was also sad to discover that in the actual play, things that were subtle and interesting on the soundtrack are just spelled out. Evan explains in so many words near the very beginning, before we even hear For Forever, that he broke his arm because he fell out of a tree and the funny thing is nobody came to get him so he was just lying on the ground alone for a while. That beautiful, emotional repetition in the song - And I see him coming to get me. He's coming to get me. And everything's okay. - isn't using Evan's emotion as he makes up a false wish-fulfillment narrative to implicitly tell you about something that really happened; it's just a straightforward lie contradicting something established explicitly earlier on. There's nothing wrong with that, but man, I thought it was something sublime. Even stuff like To Break In a Glove - on the soundtrack, Evan says, "Connor was really lucky to have a dad who... who cared so much, about... taking care of stuff," and it establishes nicely, implicitly, that Evan's own dad never cared and never played baseball with him, which Connor's dad clearly understands in the pause that follows even though he doesn't remark on it directly and just reiterates his instructions about the glove. But in the actual thing, they spell it out. A moment that wasn't a big crowning moment of subtlety or anything but still nicely understated, trusting the listener to get the implied meaning without stating it outright, isn't even that. That's a bit disappointing.

I wonder if in some previous iteration of the story it used to be subtler, but they later made it more explicit to make it easier to follow. That or, you know, I extrapolated subtlety simply from having incomplete information. One of the two. (If it's the latter, though, I'm amused at how coincidentally good that incomplete information is.)

I was also surprised by just how little we learn about the actual Connor, even after seeing Tumblr jokes about Mike Faist being nominated for a Tony for spending fifteen minutes onstage. I expected fifteen minutes meant we'd see just enough of Connor to be able to form a reasonably complete picture along with the stuff we'd learn second-hand - but we don't really get to form any clear picture of Connor at all. We see that he smokes weed, that he suffers from severe paranoia, that he has violent episodes. There's, I think, pretty much exactly one scene giving real, subtle, humanizing insight into his character - the one in the computer lab, where Connor talks to Evan and signs his cast despite his outburst earlier (showing that he awkwardly wants to make up for shoving Evan but is still unwilling to directly apologize or address it), and he jokes about how they can both pretend they're friends (implying he too might be lonely and wishes he had friends, and if things had gone differently perhaps they could have become friends for real), but then when he sees Evan's letter referring to Zoe, he lashes out with sudden intense paranoia again and pushes him away (implying he does care about his sister on some level, as well as showing just how bad his mental health issues are and giving an idea of why he's not exactly popular). This one scene really is very good and exactly the sort of thing I wanted from this musical! But this is his last scene before he dies, and the majority of Connor's time onstage is as the imaginary version of him in Evan's head, which isn't very well developed and doesn't have very much to do with the real Connor. Moreover, we don't end up learning very much from Connor's family after his suicide at all. They used to have picnics at an apple orchard; Connor once had an episode where he screamed he was going to kill Zoe; that's pretty much about it. I was expecting imaginary Connor to kind of be developed as a character in his own right, based on Evan's perception of what the actual Connor was like at school, but imaginary Connor doesn't end up getting much in the way of characterization, instead serving more as a mouthpiece to manifest some of Evan's inner monologue as it pertains to how he relates to Connor and projects his own feelings and experiences onto him. That kind of makes sense, since Evan knows basically nothing about Connor, but just the same, it feels like a missed opportunity to flesh out Connor's character in general. When Connor and the made-up fantasy of him that Evan creates are such a huge part of the story, it seems natural to make use of the real Connor to compare and contrast Evan's fantasy Connor, but the show ultimately doesn't really go there, and Connor remains kind of just the potential to be a character more than a real character. I think that's a shame; it'd be fascinating to get a good look into the mind of someone with Connor's kind of severe mental health issues (as opposed to Evan's anxiety, which is much easier for an average person to grasp and relate to), and I think it'd strengthen the show's commentary on teen suicide if the kid who took his own life were a real, developed character that we can properly understand and empathize with.

All that having been said, though, it's still a good show. I might have appreciated it more if I hadn't spent weeks making up my own version in my head before I gave in and watched the bootleg, but there are still a lot of things it does do really, really well. Evan's anxiety and general self-hatred and character progression is well portrayed; he's relatable and sympathetic while making hugely misguided, horrible choices, with real, intriguing psychological depth actually driving the things he does. And some things really are good and subtle in the final product, like Evan relating to Connor and projecting onto him because he'd been suicidal himself, the general hints at that fact before it actually comes to light. So Big / So Small is genuinely one of the best-done tearjerker songs I've ever heard; the truck story is kind of cheesy but it's so cute and childlike and tragic and spaced out in the perfect way with Heidi's feelings of being helpless and overwhelmed. Heidi in general is such a good character; she's trying so hard, and loves him so much, but she has to get by and just doesn't have the ability to be there for him as consistently as someone like Cynthia. And with how hard she works, and how much she loves him, of course it hurts her to learn her son has found this second family behind her back, a family of rich strangers that feel sorry for her and want to give her handouts. She's so flawed and I love her.

(After Anybody Have a Map?, where Cynthia and Heidi's experiences of trying their hardest for their sons when they don't really know how are compared, I was hoping they'd both be getting similar levels of development, but alas, Cynthia definitely gets the short end of the stick. She gets more development than Connor's dad, and the way she unlike the rest of her family unreservedly loved her son in spite of everything is interesting, but again, without actually getting much insight into Connor, it's hard to gain a complete understanding of why she feels that way, or of her mental state in general.)

Requiem is a really beautiful song and my favorite in the show, although the aforementioned So Big / So Small kind of needs its own scale because damn. Sincerely, Me is very catchy. The "To disappear, disappear" chorus of Disappear was one of the first bits that stuck with me on the soundtrack, particularly the way the quiet abruptness of the latter "disappear" actually conveys the feeling of disappearing. Good for You and Anybody Have a Map? are both good.

And the performances are very good in general. Rachel Bay Jones as Heidi may actually be my favorite because as I explained above I really like Heidi, and Ben Platt's anxiety as Evan is palpable and believable. I may not like Jared the character, but Will Roland does nail the role, I think. And of course, I'm sure the show is much better live than watching a bootleg. Live theater is a whole different experience, and if I ever do get a good chance to see it properly, I'll go for it.

(But I liked Groundhog Day better.)

#dear evan hansen #review #ramble #characters #incredibly long overanalytical rambling about characterization in a musical involving suicide: the most Me thing(tm)#suicide

6 notes · View notes

tessatechaitea · 6 years ago

Text

New Titans #110

DC has been "unleashing" characters for over twenty-five years!

Twitter might be a smoking rectum of a filth and despair but let me tell you what it's given to me. I signed up to Twitter nearly ten years ago, mostly to secure the name Grunion Guy. I think my first tweet was "Why are they called Sixlets when there are only five colors?" Fucking insightful stuff, that. Anyway, at some point, a junior high school girl from Missouri followed me on Twitter. I followed her back and she lost her fucking mind because Grunion Guy started following her. It turned out, her and two of her best friends loved A Really Scary Story and some of Grunion Guy's other stories that were online (I say "Grunion Guy's other stories" and not "my other stories" because some of them (some of the best of them and certainly the first of them!) were not written by me. I just sort of took over the persona). Apparently the stories had been something fun they shared and they were excited to be acknowledged by Grunion Guy. They were funny and clever and I enjoyed reading their tweets and following their lives. Since then, I've watched them grow into compassionate, hilarious college students. I'm proud of them like I would be proud of my actual nieces if they were the kind of people to make me proud (ha ha! Just kidding, actual nieces! Whatever your names are!). But there's a dark side to this other aspect of Twitter, this allowing instant access between writers and their audience. For the most part, it's what makes Twitter truly terrible. But long before Twitter, fans already felt entitled to the stories they expected. But if they didn't get them, they actually had to write a letter that would almost certainly only be read by some person whose job was to act as a firewall to the creator. Now when Tom King writes Batman stories where Batman actually has to deal with the existential ramifications of taking on the role as sole arbiter of justice to the universe, Batman fans can tweet directly at him saying, "You suck! Batman is about punching things, idiot!" I would like to believe that most creators ignore what the audience claims they want and just continue to express what they feel they need to express. Art isn't about feeding the masses what they want; obviously it's about stroking one's ego as if it were a massive cock that just needed orgasmic release. Mostly when people scream at me for writing shit they don't agree with, it doesn't bother me. On the other hand, there's a part of me that feels proud that when those three young kids from Missouri found something they enjoyed in my writing and subsequently followed me on Twitter, they were able to find that the person behind those stories was somebody they actually enjoyed interacting with, somebody whose beliefs they could respect and agree with. I can't imagine how disappointing it must be for, say, a Dilbert fan to get online and follow the douche that does that comic book only to be greeted by his terrible politics and inane philosophies. Actually, I can't even imagine somebody being a Dilbert fan so that was probably a poor analogy. Ultimately I know that who I am doesn't matter when somebody reads A Really Scary Story (a story which, might I add, was once read out loud (by Daniel Heath Justice, no less!) before an audience that contained Connie Willis. So I'm practically a Hugo Award winner myself!). But I'd rather be seen as a somewhat enlightened, mostly compassionate moron than a selfish asshole who thinks they're the smartest fucker in the room. While I'm rambling on about Twitter, here's a little free advice for debating online: only respond to the person angrily responding to something you've written if your response makes you laugh. And never respond more than twice (only once if at all possible. I just say twice for a little bit of latitude). I generally don't engage in "discussion" on the Internet. I "write" posts. If somebody responds angrily, I'll either ignore it, say something whimsically stupid in response, or will clarify once and leave it at that. Most people having debates on the Internet seem to think that they're arguing their side and that they really have to make sure their point is understood. But that's a huge mistake! Because nearly 100% of the time, the angry respondent has intentionally misunderstood what you've written, and will continue to believe that what they said you said is what you said. So even one clarification is probably too much but I like to give people the benefit of the doubt. Very occasionally, the misunderstanding isn't intentional and we can part on good terms. Anyway, Dick is traveling through the rain forest looking for Kory this issue.

Dick seems shocked by the acrobatic oral sex customs of these indigenous peoples.

Dick finds Kory in the jungle telling stories of her homeworld to this Amazonian tribe. If Dick doesn't stop her, Starfire's stories will soon usurp the stories of the native tribe, being that they're far more exciting and filled with more aliens and space lasers. She's going to destroy this entire culture nearly as fast as a white Christian missionary! Before Starfire can supplant the basis of the village's cultural understanding of their place in the universe by telling space operas, the stars of one of her space operas attacks the village! And just as the story begins to get exciting, the scene changes to the bureaucracy of Checkmate running the Titans. Now that the Titans need the government's help to battle lawsuits brought against them for their familial disputes causing citywide destruction (which the Titans deny but, I mean, have they been reading their own comic book? Eighty percent of their battles are against family members and the other twenty percent are against villains who have a grudge against the Titans themselves), they're being given political missions by the government. On one hand, it's despicable that they're going to be used as pawns for political and corporate interests. On the other hand, there's at least a 50% chance they'll actually be helping to make the world a better place for once.

What a surprise. There first mission is against a guy who wants to make the world a better place by saving the environment! I wonder if the Titans uniforms will have Shell, Mobile, and Exxon patches added to them.

How do I not remember this guy? That was a rhetorical question that means "I love this guy! Why didn't I have a shirt with him on it?! Why did I spill so much semen over Lobo when this guy existed?!" What I really meant to say was "Terraist? No wonder nobody remembers this guy!" You know when something clever goes a bit too far into clever so that it becomes fucking idiotic instead? That's the name "Terraist." But he's cradling a cat and a rose and he's battling for the environment! How is this guy the bad guy?! Just because he lives in Zandia? Fucking racist, man. Oh wait. Maybe I should have listened to the rest of The Terraist's rant. He plans on destroying the world quickly unless government's stop all pollution immediately. That doesn't seem insane and unreasonable at all! But I don't think his cat is into it. The cat just wants a few nice chin scritches and a plate of fancy food. The lasers that hit the rain forest were part of The Terraist's attack to save the world by destroying it. Maybe I was wrong about judging the people of Zandia. Maybe they are all fucking assholes.

"We know you can't get into space but we need the Titans to stop Terraist and his death satellite!" "You know there are heroes that can fly into space?" "WE NEED YOU!"

Red Planet declares that they will help and Arsenal is all, "Are you fucking nuts?! I don't have a rocket arrow!" But Flash is all, "I used to hate you because you were a Communist and Russian, Leonid. I just wanted you to know!" Fucking Wally. Although in Wally's defense, I once said this same kind of bullshit. I once told Mistina La Fave of The Prids how I didn't really like their music the first time I heard them but that I loved the show I had just watched before saying that horrible thing to her. Now in my defense during Wally's defense, the first time I saw The Prids (way back in like 2000 or 2001, I think? Yeesh), I also saw The Faint for the first time (touring for Danse Macabre) and I can't be responsible for comparing everything else poorly in relation to that glorious spectacle. But I still suck for saying that thing. The Titans decide to accept help from Alexander Luthor since he's the only private citizen with a ship that can get them into space so they can stop an eco-terrorist from saving the environment in completely the wrong way. This was twenty five years ago. It's like nothing ever changes! Why does anything we do matter if we're just repeating the same shit over and over again?! Oh God, I'm so tired! New Titans #110 Rating: B-. If you were paying attention to the cover, you might be wondering when Baby unleashed his beest. It happened over one panel where he attacked Steve Dayton but Dayton instantly downed him with some neuro-laser. I'm not sure why Checkmate didn't hire Steve Dayton to take down The Terraist since, using the transitive property, if Dayton can defeat the Titans, he should also be able to defeat The Terraist. Also, he probably has a ship that he's not letting the Titans use because he's tired of being used by them. Also he might still be insane seeing as how he's working on another Mento Helmet. Maybe going insane is the cure for being insane? So a second Mento Helmet is the cure for a first Mento Helmet! Man, no wonder I'm not a genius. When I break my arm, I rarely ever think the cure is breaking it again! But then, I know I've heard doctors talking about rebreaking arms to help fix broken arms! So I really am stupider than I thought!

#New Titans #Teen Titans #DC Comics #DC #Comic Book Review

0 notes