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drawbauchery · 4 years

Text

The Second Session

fic by cartoons-tothemoon

“So, let’s review, last session, we broke you down to many of your core traits and neuroses.”

“Thanks for reminding me, it’s not like I have the capacity to remember last week.” Skipper muttered.

“Well, now we’re here to build you back up, and work from that onwards.” Hans said. He had his hands folded plainly in his lap, and he’d changed the lighting in the office. Skipper hated it. He hated having to sit across from a smug as shit Hans as he waited calmly and quietly for Skipper to begin talking, with that terrible, blinding light that gave off a strangely clinical feel that makes him more uneasy than anything else. He wonders if Hans would let him sleep for the hour he was meant to spend here. Sure, he’d be paying $35 for a nap, which was crazy in of itself, but he knows from experience that sometimes all you need is a good nap to be a functioning person again.

“I’m not in the position to really diagnose you with anything, and even if I was, I’d still need more time to get to know your mind before I could really prescribe anything for your current conditions.”

“Conditions?”

“Plural. Like children trying to sneak into a cineplex in a trench coat, what was once one turned out to be two or more disorders standing on top of one another’s shoulders. Bouts of aggression and insomnia tied to intense paranoia, a complex that comes from being a leader, and a fear of depending on others. Abandonment issues, repression-“

Skipper waved his hands in a forceful sort of wave, “yes, thank you. Just tell me what to do about it already.”

“What?”

“Just fix me already.” Skipper seemed frustrated. “You’re the one who thinks I’m broken in the first place, the only reason I’m here in the first place is to prevent any future surprise tea parties.”

Hans sighed. They were barely even 5 minutes in, and Hans just knew he was going to be spending the rest of the session constructing arguments for statements Skipper constructed in seconds.

“If this was only to prevent any more…surprise visits from moi, then I would’ve been fine with just the first session. And I think you know that.”

He did. He did know that. Hans suggested the idea of a second session, and so did Skipper, in the way that you do when you’re bonding with people you have a rather hostile history with. No commitment was really stated, which left the ball in Skipper’s court, but what was he supposed to do after that thorough deconstruction, let it simmer in his soul for the rest of his known life?

He couldn’t even let it simmer for a whole week at this point, after all, he was already considering asking RICO of all people if he was too arrogant a leader and intentionally pushing people away.

RICO.

It made sense at the time, Kowalski would question where he was learning such jargon and be able to draw conclusions based on his recent absence, and Private would do nothing but validate him. Because he was just that nice, he supposed.

“Second, it’s not about being “broken” or “fixed” or what have you, the fact of the matter is that you have the most high-stress job in your already high-stress career. As much as I enjoyed our battles in the fish markets of Denmark, it’s not like the experience hasn’t done something to me, or you for that matter.”

Hans sighed, he was already just so exhausted by this…session. He’d even revealed that he too shared in mental health struggles if Skipper was willing to pick up the scraps left behind for him. Skipper looked a little surprised, sure, but fell back into an understood complacency sooner than later.

Was this the closest they were ever going to get to a true understanding of the other?

He supposed he’d have to take it.

“And lastly, I can’t tell you how to “fix” yourself. I’m a therapist, not a life coach. I’m not here to give advice, I’m here to examine your trauma, and give you a better perspective on how to move forward. However, I can’t take those steps for you. You kinda have to figure out a lot of those things on your own.”

Skipper looked positively moody about this, but less in a spoiled, petulant five-year-old sort of way, and more…accepting of it. He looked tired, and less because it was barely just a quarter past 1. It was an abstract tiredness, one not born of resting or restlessness, but a thing all its own.

Skipper sighed. “Then what am I supposed to do?”

“This is a timely process for a reason, Skipper. Many people can spend years in therapy trying to handle these exact issues.”

“I didn’t realize this was a life sentence in the making.” Skipper muttered.

God, this was already such a process. Hans could tell that Skipper couldn’t stand the vagueness of this all. He was an action guy, he wanted an easy solution of doing task A to accomplish thing B, and achieve reward C, and go on with his life.

No, not even an easy solution. A clear solution. Skipper was a problem solver. All of this was already so abstract, and he didn’t even know if he was so vehemently against this whole process just because it was him, or just because it was therapy at all. He even had a client who after a bad experience with a therapist in middle school decided to turn her sessions into stand-up, just because she was already so familiar and so bored with the process.

Maybe that’s what he needed to channel. Therapy in of itself was at the best of times uncomfortable and at the worst of times boring. He was already dealing with a high energy, high stress client, who was uncomfortable as all hell with being there. If he put him back into a comfortable situation, he may or may not get something out of him, and if he doesn’t, at the very least make him more comfortable with spending time with him at all, off the clock, at least.

“What do you like to do, Skipper? In your free-time?”

Skipper eyed him suspiciously. “Uh, why?”

“I’m trying something. Trust me here.”

That could’ve been phrased SO much better, from nemesis to nemesis, but Skipper seemed willing in the moment to run with that trust. “I like working on my combat capabilities, driving around, sometimes I watch TV and movies, I help Private bake when he feels like it, I nap, I gamble…”

Skipper seemed to be drawing a blank for whatever reason. Surely, he had things he did in his free time, right? It wasn’t like he was ALWAYS on the clock, he just never really thought of certain periods of time as…free. What even counted as free-time anyhow? Was it just time that wasn’t spent doing other things? Under that definition, no time was free.

“Can I say this to you as both a friend, an enemy, and somebody who’s known you for quite a few years at this point?”

Skipper nodded hesitantly.

“Jesus Christ, you need some hobbies.” Hans stated, matter of factly. “Working on your “combat capabilities,” as you put it, seems to be a literal constant considering your job as…however your job is defined, so it’s less play and more work than anything else. You mentioned helping Private bake “when he feels like it,” and I wouldn’t exactly call napping a hobby, or gambling a healthy one.”

Skipper shrugged. It’s not like “Stomp the Wombat” ever left the confines of the lair, anyhow.

“It just feels like you don’t have a lot of things you do just for yourself, you know? Driving around and watching TV are the only hobbies that feel wholly your own, something you don’t do for work or for others. Keep in mind that you can keep doing these things you enjoy, but perhaps you should find other things for yourself. Like an instrument, or a cooking class.”

“I told the boys that I joined a bowling league just to be here.”

“And did that seem believable enough for you to do to be here?”

His silence told Hans everything, but not the literal everything of Skipper “going to bed” at 8 just to climb through his window at 12:30, shimmy down the fire escape, and walk to Hans’s office.

But he probably could tell anyhow.

Of course, this kind of put a blight on Hans’s plans to make Skipper more comfortable while being here, and as he told him such, Skipper proceeded to lay down on the couch. Hans couldn’t tell the exact reason for the action, but it did seem to be a point of exasperation for him.

“Well, damn, sorry I “foiled your plot” to make myself comfortable in the den of the beast.”

“Skipper, you insult me. You really think I’d decorate my den with wooden sailboats? Absolutely criminal.”

“You seem to forget that.” He muttered. Hans ignored it.

“Although the hobby talk didn’t exactly lead where I thought it could…It did lead me elsewhere.”

“Goddamn it.”

“What skill have you always wanted to learn? What’s something that you’ve wanted to try for just, so long, and never got the chance to?”

Skipper began to pick at his lip. This whole talk already made him nervous, but now what was he supposed to say? That he figured he’d be in the back of a truck with is hand hanging out the taillight since he was 14, for whatever reason, so he didn’t even bother considering his top 3 colleges, let alone any future ambitions?

Still, if he was quiet for too long, either Hans would judge him, or he’d render his lips a bloody mess, and that’d be a whole different thing to deal with.

“…Archery sounds fun.” He said. Hans nodded.

“That’s interesting. It’s closely related to your pre-established interests but it’s closer to a sport now than something to be used in an actual combat situation, which sort of allows it to be separated from your work.”

Skipper nodded as well, allowing Hans to believe that that was his thought process from the start, and more of just curious to see if he could shoot a flame off a candle like Annie Oakley.

“You mentioned you liked baking with Private. Do you like the idea of baking itself, or just doing it with another person?”

“Food is meant to be shared?” Skipper seemed to be asking, but also stated in a very definitive way. “It’s a process. It’d be weird not to help in the process.”

Hans pulled his hand away from Skipper’s mouth, where a few small cuts were beginning to form. “If you’d like to have a session where we did a low-stress activity you wanted to do, and we talked while doing so, I think it’d put you in the best conductive environment possible to actually combat the problems that seem so visible to me. This was a good first development, though. I just don’t know if I can expect on accidental issues to identify and attack every time.”

Hans sighed and got up from his chair to stare out the window. Skipper didn’t know why he did this, outside of being a dramatic bitch, but it got him to look anyhow.

“It’s so incidental, many people struggle with balancing work and life as is, but this could easily be one of the main causes of your paranoia, as well as causing a level of detachment and depersonalization, which relates to how you relate to others.”

And well, damn. What was Skipper supposed to say to that?

“Our time’s almost up.” Hans said, checking his watch. Skipper was coming to realize how strange time in therapy was. It simultaneously felt like hours and seconds passing all at once. Perhaps it was because there were no clocks, like a casino. Or maybe it was because going to therapy at 1 in the morning didn’t exactly give you a sun to follow in terms of time. Hans handed Skipper a weird sort of rack with string on it, along with some tissues.

“It’s a loom. Fidget with something that won’t bleed for the next five minutes, if you would.”

Skipper glared at him for the snide comment, but Skipper didn’t exactly put it back where Hans had stored it originally. Picking at the strings inanely didn’t feel as satisfying as his usual fidgets, but it would work until he lost focus and the skin had time to heal.

“I’m giving you three assignments until our next session.” Skipper would’ve originally rolled his eyes at the idea of homework, but there was something that felt already strange about this session. Last session, he was so thoroughly antagonized and owned in such a way that his entire psychological history had been exposed, but this made last session feel like…a misstep. It was almost like Hans was trying to give the rug back to Skipper after it had already been so unceremoniously swept away from him.

He seemed as unsure about this as he was, he even confided about the state of his own mental health, something he probably wasn’t supposed to do. Which, honestly, made Skipper feel better about the whole thing. He didn’t like being guided, and as much as he detested having to do this whole thing with Hans in particular, the idea of having to figure out a stranger at the same time they were trying to figure out him sounded like a nightmare. More than this already was.

The whole session felt off, sure, but it wasn’t as off as it could’ve been, and he knows it could only be worse.

“I want you to begin researching archery, if you really want to pursue it as a hobby, you should try to learn what you can about it before jumping in and figuring out it isn’t what you thought it was.”

“I want you to pay a compliment to each of your team members in a casual way, this’ll strengthen your bonds with them, in a way that allows you to affirm that you appreciate them, as much as they appreciate you.”

Okay, that sounded like hippie nonsense, but who was he to judge at this point.

“And finally, I want you to pick out a recipe to prepare during our next session.”

“Wait, what?”

“A recipe. Something that’ll take less than an hour. I have a friend who’d give me access to their kitchen in the middle of the night, so we’ll be on neutral ground, and I’m sure it’ll be more believable to your “boys” that if you really are doing something in the middle of the night, that you have physical proof of it. Considering how weirdly secretive you are already, the idea you covered up secret cooking lessons with a bowling league doesn’t sound too far-fetched.” Hans was muttering at this point. All these things answered questions he figured he’d have, but nothing that helped with where he was NOW.

“I know it’s a weird idea, but the clients who have had the chance to do different, vaguely active things during our sessions tend to be more open and honest with me about things that they’re worried about, things that they struggle with, and they can make for more engaging sessions where you actually take in what I’m telling you, and makes it less of a lecture.” Hans sighed. “If you hate it, we never have to try anything like that again, but, I do really want you to give it a try. This is a two-way street, I can only give as much as I myself get. I just got lucky this week.”

Skipper stopped strumming the loom.

“Text me the address.” He said, and Hans would have burst with joy if such a thing was appropriate in present company, until he realized.

“I…don’t have your number?”

“Oh, no, session’s over! Wow, how did the time fly? Guess you’ll just have to figure that out for yourself, what a swell talk we had, doc,” Skipper yelled as he headed out the door.

“Pay at the front desk!” Hans yelled back before relaxing into his chair. Skipper was never going to be an easy client to deal with. Maybe he wouldn’t ALWAYS dance around the issues at hand, but he was never going to REALLY come clean about it. There may be things they never talk about, the same way Hans did.

And that was fine. Maybe it made what little he did learn all the more rewarding. Maybe it made what little he learned all the more meaningless if Skipper ever reached a point of complete and utter honesty with him, a fantasy he knew would never see come to light.

But who was to say, really?

It was all a matter of time.

After all, this was only the second session.

(Ahh! I can’t believe I didn’t post another fic for a whole! Month! I think it’s just because I didn’t really know what to do for the second session, and I think you can kinda tell, considering it’s not like Hans knows what to do either. Do you guys really want a whole fic series about Skipper going to therapy? I have no idea. It’s pretty fun, though. I don’t know how Hans became a therapist, either, but I guess that’s just what the dude does now. By the way, the client who turned her therapy sessions into stand-up comedy? That was just me in high school with my mandated therapist. I once gave a funeral to a squeaky toy I broke in the middle of the session. It was simultaneously so sad and so funny at the exact same time.

This fic will be up on my ao3, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tadstrangerthings, as soon as @drawbauchery posts it!)

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himbowelsh · 4 years

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You can totally ignore this if you want but I could I request some sad headcanons about the guys. Like how they deal with ptsd or insecurities or traumatic childhood incidents.

Richard Winters

dick isn’t emotionally open in general. he keeps things in. that’s how he was raised, how he’s grown up, and the only way he really knows how to cope with things. talking about his feelings... is uncomfortable.

that said, he processes them well. dick doesn’t let negative emotions fester. he finds releases for them, either through doing things he enjoys or spending time around his loved ones. he’s not the sort of person to linger on things.

will definitely overwork himself when his mind is in a troubled place. being productive helps him so much. focusing on things he can control, things that need to get done... sure, he’s going to bed at 3am, but it’s not because he’s upset, it’s because he was working.

doesn’t... like being alone when things are on his mind. it’s too easy to get sucked in, for those loud thoughts to drown everything else out. being around other people... not sharing, but just not being alone... it helps.

Lewis Nixon

*summon the folger’s theme song* the best part of waking up... is an obscene amount of high-shelf liquor in your cup!!

hey, it’s nine o’clock... in the morning.

literally. nix is of the opinion that if you can’t drink the bad thoughts away, then they’re not worth thinking at all. the thing is, his brain summons them anyways, because brains are awful like that.

he’s got a lot of trauma!! so much trauma!! his childhood was miserable, his family’s the worst, he feels like a disappointment and has no desire to try to prove himself to parents whose love was questionable from the day he was born...

lots of insecurities too. can you tell?

he won’t talk about any of it unless he’s really, really drunk, with someone he counts among his closest friends. then sometimes the negativity just rushes out. he can’t help it, and it gets ugly.

otherwise, he broods, he holds it all in, and he drinks. would he benefit from therapy? yes, absolutely, but alcoholism tastes so much better.

Carwood Lipton

this is a healthy man right here

he copes with things. lip has interests, outlets he can channel his frustrations into, and the ability to rationalize things internally and get them off his chest. most things don’t weigh on him for long, because he’s got those sweet coping skills.

this isn’t even angsty. he doesn’t have a lot of emotional angst. he works through things, mostly by processing them on his own --- but if something’s really weighing on him, lip will turn to his most trusted person (his mother gives great advice) for an outlet.

Ron Speirs

heh heh. ohhhh boy.

he’s... he’s speirs, okay. he’s not gonna open up and talk about what’s bothering him, because that’s his business, and no one else needs to know.

ron... gets impulsive. reckless. places less regard on his own life. he’ll do obscenely risky things because he’s kind of an adrenaline junkie; that burst of danger actually helps him cope with what’s bothering him. at least, it gives him a good reason to keep going.

he retreats into himself when it comes to anything emotional. broods a little, but if anyone asks what’s on his mind, he won’t say a word.

“well, we’re all on a steady march towards death anyways, does anything really matter? no. i’m already dead so nothing has any consequences. yeet.”

jesus christ, get this man some therapy.

Harry Welsh

talks it out. literally, he’s just... gonna share things. he’ll literally just do that.

harry sometimes can be an oversharer, but he never really learned to put a filter on his emotions. it helps that he’s sort of the “water off a duck’s back” type of person; he doesn’t take a lot of things personally, so when he does need to rant about something, it’s usually big. he turns to his loved ones, because he trusts them, and usually they can help.

but it is kind of weird for guys like nixon and winters, whose life mottos are “i’ll keep all of my emotions right here and then someday i’ll die”, to hear harry be like “I’M UPSET TODAY AND HERE’S WHY”. like... he really doesn’t care who knows what’s going on in his soul, huh? he’s really able to open up like that.

(harry is the most emotionally healthy man here, good for him)

Buck Compton

it’s called impostor syndrome, and buck has it.

he’s a confident guy, but under the surface, has insecurity in spades --- he feels like he has a lot to live up to, and doesn’t believe he’s doing everything well enough. he’s supposed to be exceptional, and that’s a heavy burden to bear. there’ll be a part of him that’s always going to feel like he’s not good enough.

like... he seriously doesn’t know quite where to begin when processing negative emotions, because he feels like he should be able to deal with them himself. his first instinct isn’t to talk it out, or seek out positive outlets; he keeps it all inside because he feels he can handle it.

don’t get me wrong, buck handles things well --- he’s resilient. but every so often, the emotions just get so overwhelming, and boil up like a toxic spill inside of him; it can get overwhelming.

Eugene Roe

conceal don’t feel buddy

look, gene... never acquired coping skills growing up. it wasn’t anyone’s first priority, and he had too many sisters monopolizing his mother’s time. as a kid, gene had genuine anger issues, and would get into trouble often, because he just... didn’t know how to deal with what he was feeling.

his grandmother was the one who stepped in and taught him how to pray. that’s the closest thing gene has to comfort; he is quietly devout, and turns to god in his darkest moments when desperate for some guidance. if he can’t talk to anyone else about what he’s feeling --- and he usually prefers not to --- he can speak freely to god.

but god can’t help him shoulder his burdens. genuinely, gene just needs to learn to open up and share. keeping everything bottled up... is not good for him.

George Luz

laugh the pain away, until you no longer can.

people assume george luz processes his emotions in a healthy way. these people are incorrect. his “fake it til you make it approach” isn’t the worst, but 9/10 therapists would not recommend. (the 10th is luz, doing his best impression of a therapist.)

he laughs things off. it’s easier than to do that than to let people in. george hates burdening others with his feelings. he’s got a natural talent for keeping peoples’ spirits up, so bringing them down with him is... a frightening idea. it feels like failure.

for the most part, george is good at keeping things in and processing them internally. if something’s really bothering him, people close can tell --- he hardly smiles, and his jokes aren’t as funny as they are dark --- but he’s usually able to recover without any help. he’s good at dealing with things on his own.

he tries not to drink too much, because if he gets really really drunk, he loses his grip. then it can all come spilling out, in a big messy wave of feelings, and he’d prefer to avoid that at all costs.

oh gosh, there’s this amazing fic that actually centers around babe and roe dealing with their problems, but there’s this one scene with luz, and it breaks me

Joe Toye

in a word? not well.

joe dealing with things... is not a pretty picture. he prefers to not deal with things, to be honest, because it’s easier to pretend all the emotional shit doesn’t exist and just push it down until he can’t feel it anymore. sometimes it even works.

truth is, joe has a lot of insecurities, and really struggles to deal with them. they plague him]... and while he can channel some of it into anger (there’s a reason my modern!toye takes up kickboxing) a lot of it just gets sent straight to depression central.

it’s not something he talks about easily, either. he wasn’t raised in an environment that encouraged men talking about their feelings; joe comes from a tough irish family where everyone, especially the men, are supposed to keep a stern face and power through. he’s only able to opens up to a few trusted people (malarkey, maybe guarnere, maybe luz). when the emotions reach a boiling point... they don’t have anywhere to go. they feel like they’re going to consume him.

he’s contemplated some dark things before, and it’s not something he’s proud of.

Bill Guarnere

what the hell is this man even made of???

bill takes all his negative emotions and converts them into fuel. every tear his body forces him to shed adds an extra year to his life.

he’s incredibly resilient, and can power through pretty much anything. losing his leg didn’t take him out for long; sure, it was a blow, but he bounced back from it as strong as ever. losing his brother was agonizing (worse than the leg, honestly) and it made bill furious --- but that fury kept him going, and kept him alive. he reacts to grief by turning it into anger, and once that anger dulls it’s just raw energy keeping him moving.

bill copes by being around people. honestly --- just put him in a room with his best friends and his problems gradually fade out. it’s not like he bares his soul to them; he just needs to be around friends, enjoying life. their presence helps him work through things better than any therapist.

(peak extrovert energy omg)

Babe Heffron

just like bill, babe also recovers by being around his favorite people.

he draws energy from them; it’s like he’s low on cash, so he asks his buddies for a few dollars, but in this case it’s emotional stability. babe just copes better around other people.

left alone with his own thoughts... things can get messy.

this man doesn’t do well with being alone in general --- he feels isolated, almost forgotten, and will seek out the nearest person just to chase those dark feelings away. when babe’s struggling with something, he also struggles with how to deal with it. the emotions are like a pot bubbling over inside of him, and he’s fighting to make sense of them all. he can’t do that alone.

he has to express himself to someone. ideally someone he trusts, but it might just end up being whoever’s available, or whoever’s nearby. his dark emotions are very potent, and very painful; it takes a while for him to be free of them completely, but having someone else help make sense of them (or just offer reassurance) helps.

he’s a crier. he’s not proud of it, but when babe’s really at his brink, he cries. it’s an ugly sight.

Shifty Powers

just freaking... goes off into the wilderness.

no, literally. shifty needs some quiet time. when he’s struggling, he’ll take his gun, take his car, and vanish for a while. (that sounds... worse than it is. shifty’s not the kind of person to consider hurting himself.) he just disappears into the woods.

the longest he’s ever been gone was two whole days... but he always returns with a clear head, willing to talk things out.

Joe Liebgott

he just... straight up doesn’t, man. he doesn’t deal with shit. he pushes it aside, forces it back --- it’s not exactly repression, because the Bad Stuff is always there on the outskirts of his mind at all times, lieb just actively chooses not to deal with it.

(he’ll pick any fight except the ones in his own head.)

you’ve got to understand, he’s had his share of trauma. he didn’t have an easy go of it before the war, and definitely not during. liebgott collects emotional baggage like baseball cards, and at this point he’s got a full set.

if he can run from the emotions, he will. this leads him to self-isolate, cutting himself off from the people who might be able to help; he doesn’t want to share all the negative emotions, because he doesn’t know how. at his worst, he also tends to lash out, and... other people don’t have to deal with that, okay?

joe will put off dealing with things for as long as possible, and never truly deal with them at all.

David Kenyon Webster

writing is literally his therapy. putting his emotions down on paper helps. formulating them into words is like a release, and having them laid out in front of him, where he can analyze it all lets him look at the problem objectively. webster writes just to get things out... sometimes because he can’t bear to hold it all inside any longer.

he also loves sailing, partly because of how freeing it is to be out on the open water. he’s completely in control of his boat, and can go anywhere, anywhere in the world --- if he wanted, he could leave everything behind. the notion is tantalizing.

webster really isn’t open about his negative feelings with others. when it’s something personal... it takes a lot for him to open up, and he’d have to trust that person implicitly. a part of him feels that baring his emotions is just an invitation to be mocked, so he’s hesitant.

at least he processes them. he’s not tormented by things, because he’s got his releases --- writing, and sailing. if the mind is a prison, they set him free.

Donald Malarkey

catch malarkey right there in that kickboxing class with joe toye

look. don feels things deeply, and takes things personally. he can’t help it. he doesn’t let go of things; if he’s been hurt badly, it’s an open wound on his soul forever, and it never heals.

he’s never a wreck. like, he’s perfectly able to function, and has a unique ability to power through even in the darkest moments... but those shadows are always there, and they weigh on him. they smother him. he can never really escape.

tends to avoid the topics which hurt him; when they come up, he can get testy --- or worse, teary!! --- and that’s not something he wants to burden anyone else with. his greatest hurts are very private things to him, and he doesn’t want the people he cares about affected by them.

Skip Muck

skip channels his bad feelings into energy, and that energy needs to find its way out.

he’ll play guitar and sing along really aggressively. he’ll deep-clean the entire house. he’ll run just to feel the burn in his lungs, the ache in his limbs, until he’s too worn out to feel anything but exhaustion.

honestly, he gets a little manic when something’s bothering him. he needs to chill.

skip is... more willing than most to talk things out, so long as he has someone he trusts. it’s not too hard for him to open up, he just needs to be able to open up to the right people. his sister is a frequent confidant, as are malarkey and penkala. skip doesn’t like many people seeing the darker side of him, but being able to talk about his feelings helps immensely.

Ralph Spina

genuinely... doesn’t have any baggage.

no childhood trauma. no agonizing breakup story or betrayals. no emotional damage whatsoever. and when something is bothering him, his instinct is to just talk it out, and then it’s done. this man sleeps like a baby.

it’s freaky.

#eat up that sweet sweet emotional trauma #band of brothers #headcanons #tw depression #tw self-harm

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buckysforeverprincess · 4 years

Text

Can Our Love Survive Ch. 7

Steve Rogers x Sister Reader, Bucky x Reader, OFC Brittany

Words: 1520

Warnings: Language, a smack to the face

A/N: We’re now moving on from the panic attack and it’s aftermath. So will things start to heat up with the reader and Bucky? Only time will tell. Hope you enjoy this chapter. Thanks for reading!

**TAG LIST IS OPEN UNTIL CH 15. PLEASE SEND ME AN ASK**

Monday morning came way too soon, and you weren’t ready to show your face at school. You’d spent most of Sunday in bed recovering from your blackout Saturday night knowing just how much they drained you and needed rest. It wasn’t the first time it’d happened. The blackouts started right after the anxiety kicked in. Therapy and meds have been helping and you hadn't had a blackout in a while, so you hoped they wouldn't become a regular occurrence in your life.

Walking into kitchen for breakfast, you were greeted with smiles by your mom and twin.

“Good morning baby, how ya feeling today?” Sarah handed you your morning meds.

Shrugging, you took he offered meds and gave her your very best pretend smile. “Still have a headache, but I'll survive.”

“If you have any issues, call me. I have to work late at the hospital tonight, but you are my priority, okay?”

“I will. Thank you, mom. I-I… love you,” you try to hold back the tears.

Sarah moves to stand in front of you and gently grabs your face. “I love you more than you'll ever know. We're in this together, and I'll move heaven and earth if you need me too.” She pulls you in for a hug and you can feel the tears start to fall. “Gotta go, love you both!”

“Bye mom!” Steve and you both holler in unison and hear the door shut signaling Sarah had taken her leave.

“So, we should probably talk,” Steve starts in not wasting any time, “I think there’s some things we need to get out before we go.”

Sighing heavily, you nod in agreement as you wiped the tears from your eyes. You didn't want to talk about what happened, but knew you were going to have to face your friends and their looks of pity when you saw them today.

“How upset was everyone that I ruined movie night?”

Steve looks at you, his brows furrowed, eyes questioning your logic. “No one’s upset with you, Y/N, it wasn't your fault!” He yells, his emotions already getting the better of him.

“Wasn't it?!” You yell back, matching your twin’s fury. “I can't control my shit! My brain is so fucked up and I can't control the anxiety. Someone finally shows me a slight bit of attention and I freak the fuck out and blackout, all because I made a stupid choice a year ago! Please Steve, tell me again how none of this is my fault!” The tears have begun again and are streaking down your cheeks.

“Fine…,” Steve calms himself when he sees just how worked up and upset you’ve become, “…I won't tell you because I've done so many times before. You gotta get over your fear and believe what I say. Yes, you chose to date Brock, but what he did was not your fault. There was no consent-”

“Stop!” You interrupt, your face morphing into anger. “Don’t say another word! I have spent every day for the past year trying to forget that night and everything that followed. I don’t need any reminders, especially not from you!”

Steve moves in closer and hold out his arms. “I'm sorry. Come here, please?” He says softly, looking like a small boy and not the sculpted masterpiece he’s become. You hesitantly comply and move into his arms, melting into his warm embrace. “I love you and I’m sorry for what I said. I just wish you’d believe me and trust that I want you to get back to the person you were before.”

“But I'm not that person anymore, Steve. I'll never be… but I'll always be your sister and I love you too,” you look up at him with a broken smile. “So, no one’s mad?” You bring the conversation back to where it began.

“No, they weren't mad. Concerned, yes, but never mad. They all worry about you…,” Steve pauses, “…think this could set you back?”

You shake your head and shrug, “I don't know? I may keep my distance, at least until I see my therapist. Appointments tomorrow, can you take me?”

“Like you even have to ask,” Steve moves away, heading to the fridge and grabbing your lunches.

“Thanks,” you smile, taking the offered bag and start to walk away.

“Wait!”

You stop and turn around to look at Steve, your brother appearing conflicted about something.

“I have a request,” his voice deepens, and you recognize it as his warning tone.

“I'm listening.”

“It's about Bucky. Do you think you could maybe stay away from him?”

You head back towards your brother, arms crossed to your chest. “What happened?” Noting the change in your twin.

“I just think it's better if you forgot about him. I…I think I made a mistake.”

“You won't tell me, huh?” Steve shakes his head making you roll your eyes at his guarded secret. “Ok. I'll honor your request, for now,” you concede. “Damn it,Steve! You're ruining my plans to elope with him and have lots of babies!” You joke with a smile.

“There's my sunshine,” Steve smiles back at you.

“Let's go. Gotta get our education or we'll end up selling our bodies just to keep mom out of the nursing home.”

Steve laughs and grabs his things, the two of you heading out of the house and to the car, destination high school.

Things start out like any other day. You’d made your way to your locker before first period to grab the necessary items for morning classes.

“Hey, Y/N… how's it going?” A voice pulls you from your task, making you turn and lay your eyes on him. Bucky. Damn, he looks good today in tight black jeans and a blue Henley that showed off his toned chest. Man boobs?! Fucking Christ…forgive me father, for I have sinned, it's been 6 months since my last confession, you recited in your head like a prayer.

“I'm-uh… um-uh... about-uh, about Saturday…,” God spit it out already! You internally screamed. Inhaling a deep breath and letting it out, you decide to go for broke and just let out what’s on your mind. “Why did you almost kiss me?” There. It was out and you had asked him, that wasn't so bad.

Bucky smiles and Jesus, his face warms your heart, making you crumble inside. “Well… I like you and I kinda thought you might like me too?”

You begin to blush and bite your bottom lip. You did like him, but he is so far out of your league. He could have anyone else, but he confessed to liking you. God, why couldn’t life be simple and let you have this one thing?

“My brother asked me to stay away from you,” you blurted out, hoping Bucky would fill you in on the missing pieces.

“Maybe he doesn't think I'm good enough?”

It's possible. Steve has become overly protective and only wants the best for you, but you sense there's something he's not telling you.

“I don't always listen to my brother,” you smirk. “I do like you, but….”

“James!”

The voice belts out making you cringe. The one female you can't stand and loathe with every fiber of your being. Brittany. Brock’s loyal bitch. She was his side piece and spent her time between Jack and Brock. You’d heard she’d just broke up with Jack, and you were pretty sure that was on Brock's order. He liked to play mind games and gave no fucks about anyone’s feelings.

Brittany approaches your locker, her eyes locked on Bucky. “You never called me about our date. I waited all day and you never showed. I hope you’re planning on making it up to me?” She sticks out her bottom lip in a fake pout.

“Date?” You look at Bucky stunned. “You were planning a date?”

“We were supposed to go out on Sunday,” she doesn’t give Bucky a chance to explain, “I was looking forward to getting his lips on me again. He's such a good kisser!” Brittany grins like the devil.

What the fuck, you think, glaring at Bucky with murder eyes. Of course, he didn't really like you. He kissed her and was playing some elaborate game that smelled of Brock.

Out of nowhere, you felt your right hand connect with Bucky's face, making it sting. “Fuck you!” you yelled, most likely drawing attention from the people in the hallway. “I'm not someone to play games with, you lying sack of shit! I've had enough assholes to last me an entire lifetime! Leave me alone and go shit yourself!” You slammed your locker and stormed off, not daring to look back and see what was going on behind you.

What did you do to deserve this? He just told you he liked you, but yet, was planning a date with that she devil. Why? You should have listened to Steve, but instead you gave in and could now feel your heart breaking, tears starting to form. You needed to leave. Fuck school and fuck this life! You were going back home and never leaving your room again.

COLS Tags:

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itsclydebitches · 5 years

Link

A fifth of the way through! Who’s proud of me? :D

Noisy - After a certain seance Aziraphale is feeling insecure about how much he talks.

Aziraphale was speaking.

Had been for the majority of their meal, pausing only to take bites of the Norfolk crab with ossetra caviar, veal fillet with asparagus in a wild garlic sauce, chocolate and hazelnut mousse for dessert with a second order of the fruit sorbet because he hadn’t been able to decide and really, why not both?

Why not both?, Crowley agreed. He adored watching Aziraphale eat. All those quirky mannerisms that positively screamed his personality for all to see. The way he would slide each fork-full from his mouth with agonizing slowness, ensuring that he’d picked up every morsel from between the tongs. Raising his napkin after every fourth or fifth bite, whether there was a mess to clean up or not. Aziraphale went deathly still when he ate, as if he couldn’t bear to distract from the taste with any unnecessary movement. Except when he’d taste something new or unexpected and then it was all wide-eyed surprise; that absurd little wiggle. Aziraphale flipped his spoon before taking a bite because, “The mousse should hit my tongue, dear, not the roof of my mouth. Obviously.”

Obviously. On nights like this Crowley was grateful they hadn’t had to keep up their ruse any longer. One look at Aziraphale-as-him digging into that popsicle and the whole jig would have been up.

And Crowley could never hope to re-create this.

So yes, he loved watching Aziraphale eat. He loved hearing him speak more though.

Why not have both?

“So I told the dear girl—quite firmly, I should say—that we would have to undergo a true apocalypse before I gave her those sigils. Hell would need to freeze over and such. Though I suppose you could manage that if you put your mind to it.” Aziraphale took another bite of his sorbet and dropped a wink that sent a flush rising up Crowley’s neck. “Anathema is a brilliant young woman but really? Giving her access to Enochian symbols? I can only imagine the horrors that would produce! And trust me, dear boy, I have quite the active imagination.” Another bite; another flipped spoon. “She swore she only wanted to study them, but if any mortal is capable of sketching out a true celestial circle it would be that witch. Then where would she be? Accidentally killed, that’s what. Or worse, getting through to them! Can you imagine Anathema summoning Metatron into that little cottage? No, no, no. We’ve had quite enough upheaval for one millennium, thank you.”

Crowley had long ceased trying to get a word in edgewise. In truth he didn’t want to. Six-thousand years together, but so little of it spent together. They’d meet randomly or clandestinely and it would never matter which because they knew it could only be for a brief moment or two. One side could always be watching them. Both, even. And it took Crowley decades to realize how much of that precious time was just spent posturing. Aziraphale feigning shock at their latest arrangement. Crowley pretending like that actually annoyed him. They had their routines down, a script they read from, and though Crowley had learned to love that for its familiarity, he hadn’t realized just how much he’d been missing. Hearing Aziraphale wax on about oysters or give summary accounts of Hamlet couldn’t compare to this: hours upon hours of meandering, casual thoughts.

Crowley settled his chin further into his hand. Beneath the table his free fingers circled in a clockwise motion, a bit of extra energy spent on slowing down time. Nothing terribly noticeable. It wouldn’t even affect the humans. Much. Just a devilish little miracle that would give Aziraphale more time than what the real world had to offer.

Because they’d been sitting here four hours now and Crowley was fully prepared to sit another four.

“What do you think?” Aziraphale asked. He downed the rest of his La Grande Année and smiled over the rim of the glass. Like he somehow knew that, whatever Crowley’s answer, it would be well worth knowing.

Problem was, Crowley hadn’t the faintest idea what Aziraphale had just said.

Hmm. Distraction via flipped spoon. It happened. Not that there was much danger here. Aziraphale had the distinct talent of being able to talk about a single topic for hours—if not days—on end. Always easy to slide into.

“Really, angel? Giving me a say?” Crowley pushed his own, untouched tart across the table. “I thought you’d already made up your mind about the witch?”

He’d meant it as a bit of light teasing. Poking fun, making jokes, being a nuisance and all that. So watching Aziraphale’s expression fall took the breath right out of Crowley’s lungs.

“Oh,” he said, voice suddenly soft. “Yes. I have been prattling on, haven’t I?”

And Crowley, in a moment of incredible insight and sensitivity said,

“What?”

Aziraphale had been reaching for the tart but now drew his hand back, beginning to fiddle with the edge of his vest instead. “I’m terribly sorry. Rather rude, isn’t it? All things considered. I promise to make more of an effort in the future and you must stop me if I suddenly start rambling once again. You deserve to—” Aziraphale’s mouth suddenly clicked shut, eyes popping wide as he realized what was happening. Crowley could see his jaw working for a long moment. “I want to hear what you have to say too,” he said. Simply.

Meanwhile, Crowley’s elbow had slipped off the table and he nearly took the rest of the food with him. When he came back up there were splashes of champagne on his sleeve.

“I—why—?” Crowley tugged his glasses just low enough to take a good, long look. “I haven’t got anything to say.” Which wasn’t true exactly. Plenty of ribbing to indulge in when it actually managed to land, but right now Crowley had bigger fish to fry. Flay ‘em, cook ‘em, and serve 'em up with lemon butter so his angel would actually smile again. “What precisely are you on about?”

Aziraphale shrugged. He never shrugged. “Just thought I might be...”

“Be?”

“...talking too much.”

Crowley slipped off the table a second time.

“It’s just—”Aziraphale said, clearly trying to explain without continuing to talk. Which most people will realize is rather the lost cause. “Madame Tracy. Or rather, her friend. Or perhaps not a friend exactly. A client? Follower?” Aziraphale scowled when Crowley just went on blinking at him from halfway out of his seat. “A woman asked to speak to her dead husband and being an angel currently existing between planes I accommodated her and he told her to shut up.” He exhaled after all that, lips trembling. “Separated for who knows how long and the only words he had for her were ‘shut up.’ Because she’d never let him have his say. I... I would never want you to feel the same way, dear boy. I couldn't stand it. ”

Jesus-H-Bloody-Fucking-Are-You-Kidding-Me-Christ.

If Aziraphale wanted him to talk more he was shit out of luck because Crowley’s voice had died a mangled, embarrassing death. Giving up the ghost via shock was like that. And oh sure, sure, plenty of things he could say if his vocal cords kicked back in. Like how Aziraphale was stupid for thinking he could compare them to some random human couple who clearly needed therapy. Or ask if Aziraphale had ever paid one ounce of attention these last six thousand years because if Crowley wanted to say something? He’d damn well say it. No fussy angel was going to stand in his way.

(Not unless he asked really nicely. Or looked at Crowley in that particular way of his. Or so much as thought about wanting him to shut up. Because those were all entirely different situations.)

Speech seemed to be the enemy now. Which was all kinds of horrible since Crowley liked Aziraphale speaking and had hoped to soak up another couple hours of it before the night was over. Who could put something like that into words though? Even when words were an option? Not Crowley.

So instead he summoned up a small black book and slid it across the table.

Aziraphale blinked. "What's this?"

"Read it."

Just a small, ironically innocent notebook. Every demon had one. Standard issue for the bastards lucky enough to go topside. Recounting your deeds was all well and good provided you actually remembered what evil deeds you’d been up to each day. Too often demons melted back into hell having forgotten half of what they’d done. They might not be good at record keeping down there, but there was something like an effort. So, yeah. Write it all down like a good little worker bee.

“Go on,” Crowley said, keeping his voice at a whisper. Aziraphale hesitantly took the book in hand. “Out loud.”

Crowley hadn’t written a deed down for thousands of years.

“June—” Aziraphale paused, having opened to a recent date. He swallowed hard. “June 3rd. Angel went on about gilding again all through lunch. Improper heating techniques and wet vs. depletion. I currently know more about pretty books than any decent demon ever should. Good thing I’ve never been decent.

“June 4th. Got reamed out for going over 90mph again today. Wonder how many times I can get Zira to squeak like that? Half-hour lecture to follow. Gonna start just as soon as he gets back with the shawarma. In three... two... one...

“June 5th. Talked a lot about knitting today. Thinking of picking it back up before winter. Zira had a whole pro/con list for crocheted vs. knitwear but honestly? If it’s warm?? Who cares??? Angel, apparently. There were many thoughts on socks.

“June 6th. Some bugger on the bus had his music blasting while I was trying to hear Zira’s latest Gabriel impression. The kid is gonna end up with wet jeans one way or another for the next week.

“June 7th. Right. Zira might have been onto something with the whole crocheted socks rant. Pretty sure this is one of Beelzebub’s inventions—Crowley.”

Aziraphale finally looked up, his eyes wet in a way that made Crowley shift uncomfortably in his seat. “You keep a diary.”

He winced. “It’s not a diary!”

“It most certainly is,” Aziraphale crowed, flipping through some of the older entries. “I'm astounded at what a faithful record this is—especially since Armageddon—and so many of them are about me. They're...” The impact of that last bit seemed to hit Aziraphale all at once, stilling his hands. “Oh. They’re all about me.”

Talking.

Crowley shrugged. Because he was the one who shrugged in this relationship. He pressed the little book back into Aziraphale’s hand when he tried to pass it back. Crowley’s fingers ran over his knuckles then, soft and slow.

“Keep it awhile,” he said. “For the next time you get some ridiculous idea stuck in your head. Now, what were you saying about the witch girl? My memory’s worse than a goldfish’s, angel. You know that. Best you start from the beginning."

Aziraphale wasn’t much for public displays of affection, but he did bring their still-intwined hands up to his lips, resting them there for a moment.

When he started speaking again Crowley’s skin was gifted with the very first words.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #air conditioning #good omens fic

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pxiao · 5 years

Text

Reasons I’m glad V///R is dead and gone forever

So V//R is dead and cancelled and my only reaction is FINALLY. Since VR is gone and we can finish forgetting the forgettable show and get rid of all our salt. You’re free to add to the post but there are rules.

1. DO NOT TAG IT SO THE FANS CAN SEE. As much as I hate the show and the fandom even they don’t deserve to see people bashing the show in their tag.

2. Don’t write the name of the show or the characters. Use /// or ---- in the character’s name like Yu///saku so the tumblr search can’t pull them up

ok good? Good.

Everyone but Yu///saku is worthless.

Seriously when have any of the characters actually progressed the story? Potentially only SB have done anything truly worthwhile. Everyone else was just to die to build tension for Yu//saku. And if you’re asking for RE///volver. OHHH I have a section just for him, don’t you worry.

Sto//rm Acc/ess aka Yu//saku is such a shitty duelist that the MINORITY of his duels has him not cheating.

SERIOUSLY it’s written that Yu//saku can get a random extra deck monster with his skill BUT the issue is despite it being “random” Yu//saku ALWAYS gets the monster he needs to win. NOT ONCE IN THE 100+ EPISODE HAS HE GOTTEN A USELESS CARD. ALWAYS THE ONE HE NEEDS. Totally doesn’t seem like plot armor. And you know it wouldn’t be as big of an issue IF HE DIDN’T USE IT FOR EVERY SPE///ED DUEL!!!!!!!! For a character that the show likes to say is “invincible” he sure isn’t good enough to win with the deck he built. It got ridiculous with his duel with G/oo in season 2 where G//o countered his skill BUT A//i revealed it had a secondary effect that let him draw a card AND still get a new extra deck monster.

Plot twists:

They fall into two camps, “we already knew you dumbasses” or “THE HELL WERE YOU GUYS SMOKING!” Essentially the twists are obvious like A///i was based off of Yu//saku’s data as why wouldn’t he be. Or the dumb ones like Spec///tre beating A///oi or somehow Spec//tre had CONSCIOUS TREE AS A MOTHER. There have been a few twists that I can count that surprised me but they lead to other twists that fall back into stupid.

the “Plot” just plain doesn’t exist.

It’s just things happening with some connecting plot lines BUT they rarely lead into each other. Light///ning revealed that his plan was happening THE EXACT SAME TIME as season 1′s finale. A//i being the villain is more due to Light//ning’s simulation somehow proving that A///i will destroy humanity than the fact that A/i’s the only Ig//nis left. And each season’s arc has no connecting plot either. Season 1 can be broken down to Yu//saku gets A//i which has him meet the “main cast” and then Yu///saku go to S//OL for info that was TOTALLY pointless. Which is isolated from Re//volver setting a virus that traps you on the internet which leads to Re//volver learning Yusa//ku’s face AND MEETING HIM but does jack shit with that info. And then Re///volver’s final plan happens that was based on timing than anything else.

Does that seem disjointed? YEP because there is no narrative at all, things are just happening. There is a vague connection at best but none of the characters’ actions actually affect how the story goes. THE FRUSTRATING PART IS THEY SET UP MOMENTS WHERE THEY COULD HAVE BUT THEY DIDN’T. SEASON 2 AND 3 IS THE SAME THINGS JUST HAPPEN AND THEN YU//SAKU HAS TO SAVE THE FUCKING DAY. V/R has no rhyme or reason why things happen, they just do and let me tell you, that’s fucking boring.

The Yu//saku praise

My fucking god. Look the protagonist getting praised isn’t new, it happens with each series BUT the issue is the volume that Yu//saku gets and how early he gets it. Most protagonists have to wait till at least the second series before the population love them. Yu///saku got it by the THIRD EPISODE. BY. BEAT. A. MOOK. He was called a hero, people were saying he was hot, people were copying his avatar. AND IT NEVER STOPPED. EVERY OTHER EPISODE HAS SOMEONE SAY HE’S AMAZING, STRONG AND SOOO IMPORTANT.

An A//oi episode in season 1 has a less than five minute section just to show that a kid HERO WORSHIPS YU//SAKU AND WAS IT. The kid appears with an avatar based on PM, PM saves him and tells the kid to trust him to save and then the kid logs out. AND THIS HAPPENS CONSTANTLY. “YU//SAKU IS INVINCIBLE”, “YU//SAKU IS MY HERO!”, “EVERYONE DEPENDS ON YOU YU//SAKU”. IT’S BEEN AN ENTIRE SHOW OF PEOPLE SINGING YU///SAKU’S PRAISES AND THE WORST PART OF IT IS, HE DESERVES NONE OF IT.

The setting.

Let me ask ... THE FUCK IS IT. What even is Link Vr//ains? Is it a game, a site, a program? WHY IS IT ONLY IN DE///N CITY? WHY IS DESTROYING IT WILL LEAD TO THE ENTIRE INTERNET CRASHING???????? Link Vr///ains is something that NEEDS to be explained but the show NEVER DOES. HELL IT NEVER EVEN TRIES.

The girls

Jesus christ ... the girls are .... just sad. A///oi ... my fucking god A//oi. A///oi’s personality starts and ends with “onii-sama”. NEARLY EVERY MOTIVE OF HER’S IS I WANT TO DO SOMETHING FOR MY STEPBROTHER. Everything else is a passing fancy. Mi///yu? Yeah nice motivation but that’s why her two duels as BM in season 2 is more about her relationship with Ak//ira than her “friend”.

Em//ma’s backstory was absorbed into BS’ despite the fact he was a new addition when Em//ma was around since season 1.

Vir//ya is just a bit character meant to fill out the remain KOH, since their return in season 2, she haven’t done anything of value.

Qu///een ... why is she there? I mean she appeared in a Bikini ... in virtual reality. seriously there is no point in that shit, and then did nothing besides watch over Ear//th’s death and then lost to A//i when her skill was named honey trap.

Mi////yu is so unimportant we haven’t gotten a scene of her out of flashback despite being a lost chi//ld.

Back to A//oi, it’s not even that A//oi isn’t important,sadly that’s not uncommon in YGO, it’s the fact EACH TIME SHE TRIES TO DO SOMETHING, THE SHOW PUNISHES HER FOR IT. She tries to be a symbol for people, it’s stupid why she trying but still, Spec///tre reveals he was toying with her the entire time and she had no chance. She tries to get stronger in season 2, SB beats cause she doesn’t have an Ig//nis and then she does nothing for half the season. She tries to save her “childhood friend”, Bow//man beats her and takes her consciousness so Yu//saku has to save her ... again. She tries to protected Ak//ira, A//i beats them and only takes A//oi to taunt her over her failure. THROUGHOUT THE ENTIRE SHOW, ANYTIME A//OI TRIES TO DO ANYTHING, THE SHOW BEAT HER UP AS IF TO SAY, YOU SHOULDN’T DO ANYTHING EVER. Great message there.

Simulations

You know as people there are plenty of reasons that conflict starts, greed, hate, anger, lust, desperation to survive, hunger. And how does conflict start in V/r? FUCKING SIMULATIONS. EVERY SINGLE CONFLICT IN THIS SHOW IS BECAUSE OF A SIMULATION. K//OH are a thing cause Kog///ami did a simulation that showed that the Ig//nis are learning TOO FAST AND WILL CAUSE THE END OF HUMANITY. Ligh///tning turned evil because he learned no matter what he can NEVER BE FRIENDS WITH HUMANITY CAUSE OF A SIMULATION. A///i turning “evil” because he’s doom to end the world cause of you guessed it a SIMULATION. Simulations are just tools and are NEVER THE FINAL RESULT. There are too many variables to truly make an 100% accurate simulation BUT HERE THEY ACT AS IF SIMULATIONS ARE A FUCKING GOSPEL. IT’S STUPID AND INCREDIBLY LAZY THAT THE CAUSE OF ALL the conflict in this show is because of independent simulations.

Mental illness

As a person with a mental illness and went to therapy I can say this, VR doesn’t deserve any brown points for covering mental illness. If anything VR touching mentally illness takes points away. I have already said my piece on how poorly VR tackles mental illness. But my take away is this when it comes to mental illness VR is a absolutely horrible.

Rev///ovler

Re//voler is in all honestly a shitty character despite what his fans think. He’s an asshole that has no drive of his own. He admit he does this all BECAUSE OF HIS DAD. The one time he did do something of his own accord, turn his dad in, he later regretted so much that he refuses to do it again. LOOK I can understand missing your father despite the fact he’s trash, human relationships are complex BUT RE///VOLVER BEING “FATHER I WILL NEVER EVER GO AGAINST YOU AGAIN DESPITE THE FACT YOU KIDNAPPED KIDS AND THEN TORTURED THEM BECAUSE YOU FELT SAD HUMAN WILL EVENTUALLY GO EXTINCT ONLY TO TURN ON YOUR CREATIONS” IS FUCKING STUPID. And then he goes the EXTRA MILE OF ASS and says to Yu//saku’s face that he REGRETS SAVING HIS LIFE TWICE. And he never apologized either.

Also his “development” is forced as shit, Revo//lver never develops onscreen or shows signs of changing, just the show and characters say OH YES RE//VOLVER CHANGED.... IN A SHORT PERIOD OF TIME. Honestly after his return in season 2 where he showed he DIDN’T CHANGE, then he tries to help Hom//ura despite telling Yu//saku he regrets saving him. WHY THE CHANGE. HE HAS SEEN NOTHING THAT MADE HE FEEL SYMPATHY FOR THE LOST KI//DS. BUT HE’S ALL OF A SUDDEN KIND TO HO///MURA. AND THEN AFTER HE LOSES TO LIGH//TNING AND SAY’S A/I NAME, ONLY TO SNAP BACK IN SEASON 3 AND WANTS TO KILL A///I. What I’m saying is, he has no real character development, you can tell what the show WANTED him to become but my god they were too lazy to actually show him changing.

Yu//saku

OH BOY this is going to be long. Yu//saku is by far the WORST WRITTEN PROTAGONIST IN YGO HISTORY. He has no personality and no real background besides HE WAS TORTURED, POOR HIM!!!!! Seriously what was his life like before the Lo//st Incident. What did he like to do, did he have friends, where the fuck are his parents. There is no information about him, past or present. Like his current “personality”, WHAT IS IT besides he’s stoic/emotionless. He’s not nice or even mean anymore. He has no likes or even dislikes. All we know is he’s determined ... and that’s it. Yu//saku is a blank slate for the viewers to project on. Yu//saku is honestly NOTHING.

Honestly, Yu///saku isn’t strong as he cheats the MAJORITY of his duels, he isn’t smart as rarely does he do anything that’s smart, wanting to brutal force the solution and he doesn’t follow his own advice.

Yu//saku: Bonds are important and the only thing that are absolutes

Yu//saku then fucks off for 3 MONTHS NOT TELLING ANYONE

And like Re//volver, his “development” is forced as hell. He just says things that make no sense for him to say. Yu//saku shouldn’t say revenge doesn’t help WHEN IT OBVIOUSLY DID. The show was supporting him and he got the guy that kidnapped him killed and then he got better. HELL JI//N WAS SAID TO GET BETTER ONCE THE K//OH WERE BEAT.

#vr damn it

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iabsolutelyresentthiswebsite · 5 years

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David Archuleta Did Not Win American Idol

I don't know why I'm thinking about this, but here's what happened.

For no reason at all, I felt like I needed to listen to David's original performance from the American Idol finale of “In This Moment”. Of course, I remembered me watching that on TV and freaking out as a little 10/11-year-old, but I was more shocked by how much he has grown up and how much his voice has matured. I just saw him in concert a little over a week ago, on December 18th, and his voice is so powerful and amazing. Not that it wasn’t on Idol- but the quality, the control, the pitch, the everything has just improved so much. I was just floored that I was around for this whole transformation because that’s what it was. (Sorry, as a songwriter-singer myself, it’s hard to not talk about the singing itself!)

But, what I started thinking about as I was watching this little 17-year-old David Archuleta was how vulnerable he was at that age...starting so young in the entertainment business is so dangerous, especially for someone of that age.

Recently, as many of y’all know, David has been incredibly forthcoming and vulnerable about the time after American Idol; how he was being pushed in all different directions, how the labels wanted him to be “the white Chris Brown”, and how the publicity and rumors about his family caused him to not be able to trust anyone in his life. He has also opened up more fully about his struggles with self-esteem and has admitted to seeking therapy for his mental struggles.

And all of this happened to him and he didn’t even win American Idol.

Imagine if he did.

As much as many of us like to say that David will always be David...a 17-year-old David with self-esteem issues, who couldn’t even trust his own family may have fallen prey to what the label wanted. This isn’t just David either. Anyone under those same stressors could have given into the pressure easily. David did say that when he just got off of Idol, he assumed that the record label knew what they were doing and would be doing things in his best interests. A naïve 17-year-old kid who didn’t have much faith in themselves or a strong family supporting them is perfect meat for all the molding and sculpting by music industry executives that they could possibly want.

David, without his father reminding him to “remember who you are”- as David says his father did-, as the reigning American Idol champion...could have become “the white Chris Brown”.

Jive didn’t do as much as they should have to promote David as the American Idol Runner-Up, but if he was the Champion...a 17-year-old cute, clean boy from Utah, who never kissed anyone before, they would have pushed him harder, farther, and farther away from his family. That’s what manipulators do and music industry executives are all manipulators.

But David Archuleta did NOT win American Idol.

And we have the David Archuleta we all know and love today in 2018, almost 2019.

As a singer, he is amazing. His voice is stunning. I needn’t say more.

As a songwriter, his personality, vulnerability, and talent shines through more than it ever could have under a record label. The entirety of “Postcards In The Sky” is absolutely breathtaking; I cried more times than I care to admit listening to that album. He is so raw and vulnerable. He talks about depression, hope, lack of hope, and so many other things that are just so beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time. You feel what he feels and you know that he actually feels what he’s saying. I remember listening to that album the first time and saying, “Oh...my...gosh...he is so unapologetically David now and I am so proud of him.”

Imagine if we never got this David.

Imagine if David never chose to go serve a full-time mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

His mission changed him and did so much good for him and for others. Bringing people closer to Christ not only helps them, but it helps you, too. After David was honest about his struggles with addiction on Instagram a few months ago, I realized that his mission quite literally saved him from himself. He got away from the limelight and the loneliness of it; he got away from everyone telling him what to do; he got away from himself. Instead, he focused on growing closer to Christ, he only let Heavenly Father tell him what to do, and he got immersed in others and the Gospel. It saved him. Had it not been for his mission, “Postcards In The Sky” wouldn’t exist and he probably would have gotten messed up with a few things.

I am so thankful that he chose to serve a mission.

I am also so thankful that he didn’t win American Idol because had he, he wouldn’t have had the opportunity to go and serve a mission. Had he won, he would have been pushed so much further that he was liable to lose himself in fame with his naïve, young, and innocent he was. He probably wouldn’t have had all the opportunities to go to these foreign countries and do all the charity work his heart desires because the label would have been pushing him to do other things.

So now when I see people say, “David Archuleta should have won Idol!” I cringe because I can definitively say that him coming in as runner-up saved him and put him on the path he is on right now...what I believe is the right path. He has himself, he has his relationship with Heavenly Father stronger than it ever was, he is healing from the PTSD American Idol caused him, he is growing comfortable with being vulnerable and comfortable with being himself. He has grown into such an amazing man that no, I don’t actually know personally, but I would love to befriend any day of the week. He is gentle, kind, caring, spiritual, philanthropic, talented, and so, so genuine, above-all.

I don’t know about you, but I feel blessed that David Archuleta didn’t win American Idol.

#david archuleta #american idol #virginia speaks #virginia thinks

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raemots · 4 years

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14 February 2020

Well well well look who’s back at her tumblr diary. I’m not sure if this is a good or bad thing because the last time I started this diary was when I was 21, about to go through a pretty serious break up, starting to get out of a pretty serious depression, going through a solid 7 months of being a glorified alcoholic, and then graduating college. You could say there was a lot going on.

First off, I just read my previous most from nearly FIVE YEARS AGO!!! And the frightening thing was.... not a lot has changed. I still kinda feel the same way it sounds like I did in that post. A lot of my friends here in Syracuse are also really busy and have a lot going on and are too busy for me. I don’t really feel as bad about it now as I used to be because we’re all adults now going through adult stuff and it’s hard to make time for people.

I should do a little summary as it’s been a minute. So since I last posted on here, I graduated college (!!!) and then started studying for the CPA exam for the better part of 2 years but I finally got it done. Brodie and I got an apartment together and spent a year there having a FUCKING BLAST until he unfortunately lost his job in Cuse and moved down to DC. After B left, our friend Tristan took over his lease which ended up being fate or destiny or whatever because he ended up meeting my friend Liz from HS and those two crazy kids hit it off and almost 3 years later they’re engaged!! Life man. About 1 year and a half after Tristan moved in, we both moved out of the legendary apartment 4K to get our own places. Since then I’ve had a cute little studio apartment downtown. I also ended up getting a cat who I found in the parking garage across the street from my place. I started my job at a local accounting firm the December after graduating college and have now been with them for over 4 years and I still love it. The work is tiring and never ending but the people keep me going. My bosses continue to be awesome badass women and I really like it.

As for love life, boys have come and gone. There was a run in with Brian #1 that ended up with me finding out he had a girlfriend after we slept together and me pouring a drink on his head in a public place. Its probably the most bad ass thing I’ve done. There was also Brian #2 who I think was the closest I’ve come to actually dating someone and I’ve blocked a lot of that out of my memory because he basically ghosted me to get back with his ex and then 6 months later I found out he gave me chlamydia. I’m just starting to realize that both of those guys have left me with some trust issues that I’m trying to get over. There’s been hook ups here and there but those are the main two to know about. Stay away from brians.

Well my dear ex mike and I did stay friends for a while until he met his new fiance K (I dont want to include her name here as I dont know her and have nothing against her). Mike basically stopped talking to me after he and K started dating. Then I Iowkey crashed Johanna’s wedding with Terry (Terry and Jo got married btw!!!!!) where Mike was forced to say I couldnt crash with him and Mike and keenan bc MIKE AND K ARE ENGAGED!!!! which is the story of how johannah had to deal with mike and my 5 year old relationship baggage the night before her wedding. But the weekend made me realize how fucking condescending Mike can be. So I made it so he doesnt show up in my social media feed and its been a lot better for me but still messed me up a bit.

Other random highlights are going to france with geneseo alumni (fucking AWESOME!!! and WES WAS THERE!!!) oh and I went to ireland the summer after graduation!!! again!! fucking awesome!!

Well that p much gets us to today. Today is valentines day. Well technically there’s 13 minutes left. I go through phases where I feel perfectly content with my life. I like living by myself, just me and bean. living downtown and going out to grab drinks with friends. the occasional late summer night where you close the bars and grab pizza and stay at a friends apartment until 4am. Then there are times where I just feel so dreadfully alone. I feel like the only people who understand me live hours away (brodie, erin, jen, amanda). journal, I’m going to six weddings next year. S I X. and 5 of them are people my age. I never expected to marry thing young, let alone meet ~the one~ but when this many of your friends are either dating or engaged or living together, you start to feel like there;s something wrong with you. celeste often gives me shit for lamenting about how single i am and puts herself in the same boat. But she had guys FALLING OVERTHEMSELVES for her. like i just thought of 4 or 5 in the brief 10 seconds i sat here. Even n**l is so obsessed with her that he ruined their friendship bc she kissed a random guy on NYE (full disclosure, he’s trash and sexist and we dont like him this isnt me being jealous) it is just me pointing out that she tends to always be the one being pursued. and I am the faithful hype man. giving her advice on what to say to them. If her outfit looks good. if she should go over. Celeste does all the same help for me, don;t get me wrong. but it usually ends up working out for her and she’ll get a date or two out of it. i rarely even get a text back. It really put it into perspective when she was livid that a guy wouldnt respond to her in a timely manner. Meanwhile Im here like “wait.... you get texts back?? regularly?!?!?!?! jesus fuckign christ whats THAT like”

Am i that much of a sadsack, journal? brodie says its because im very independent and strong and i give off this “i dont fuckin need you” vibe. which is cool if im lucy liu or angelina jolie however i do not look like the sex symbols that are those iconic women. don’t get me wrong, i have a lovely figure, especially after going to the gym. But I just don’t really think many/any men would see me as so hot that they’d talk to me despite being intimidating. Idk, maybe I’m feeling too sorry fro myself. Jesus it’s 20 fucking 20 and I’m still feeling lesser than and comparing myself to Celeste. It’s not just her, I’ve always felt iike the sidekick. alexis, andrea, mollie, tori, celeste, jen. They were always the pretty, likeable, charismatic one. I’ve always felt like the funny friend who hypes up the main characters storyline. I’m the Judy fucking Greer of life.

I just need to commit and make a therapy appointment. I’ll email one tomorrow. It’s been my main 2020 goal and fuckin A im gonna make it happen. its been a long one but a good one. hey it just turned midnight, its no longer valentines day. thank fuckin god.

#february 14 #february

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