#good to be back........ but at what cost?

[lackadaisycats]

Video essay by Jellybox about what's good and bad about indie animation!

Wanted to share this in case it's helpful to anyone wanting to pursue making animation independently. It's also for fans of indie animation who may want some insight into how an indie studio works, why indie cartoons are always selling merch, why release schedules are often erratic, etc.

I also wanted to clarify the video's context, because it seems to have been somewhat misconstrued in some circles. Not long ago, WGA and SAG strikes, followed by TAG negotiations were very much in the news, shining light on the struggles the artists, writers, and actors in the Hollywood studio system are facing. In response, the words 'just go indie' have been tossed around quite a bit lately.

Gene and Sean at Jellybox approached us a few months back explaining that they were planning to make a video about the realities of running an indie studio/producing indie animation, largely in response to that 'just go indie' attitude. They were curious if we'd be willing to share our experience, including information about actual costs and the various difficulties and complications we've encountered. We said yes! We'd like for people to know what it's like. As much as it might look appealing next to the currently very broken studio system, indie has its own set of problems, and we think it's a good idea to be transparent about that because talking about problems is how you begin to address them.

Of course, while you get creative freedom and you have no shareholders to appease with indie production, the primary struggle you're always going to face is funding…and funding avenues are limited. Banks aren't eager to hand out business loans to freelance artists making cartoons, for instance. Social media algorithms reward frequent updates you can't swing with hand-drawn animated content, so you can't rely much on things like AdSense. You can't really insert sponsored ads into your animated videos without being too obtrusive. You can take on client work, but that interferes with your ability to focus on own animated project. Crowdfunds can be great for seed money, but they're also a ton of work to fulfill, and fulfillment itself will tend to eat up a considerable amount of the funds you've raised. Once your animation is produced, there is no well established way to sell the animated episode itself like there is for, say indie games sold on Steam. So, while we consider ways to try to make the terrain a bit more hospitable to indie creations, if nothing else, let this explain why productions rely a lot on merch drops!

-----------------

And hey, if you're an animation fan, consider supporting the independent productions you enjoy, whether you're tossing a few dollars their way, buying their merch, or just mentioning them to friends:

The Far-Fetched team is launching a crowdfund very soon to help them complete their pilot!

The Monkey Wrench team is killing it lately, and they deserve so much more fanfare than they've gotten!

And of course, thank you to the excellent folks at Jellybox for starting an important conversation!

[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Year - 2024 Edition

Welcome to our special edition newsletter recapping the best news from the past year. I've picked one highlight from each month to give you a snapshot of 2024. No frills, just straightforward news that mattered. Let's relive the good stuff that made our year shine.

1. January - South Korea passes law banning dog meat trade

The slaughter and sale of dogs for their meat is to become illegal in South Korea after MPs backed a new law. The legislation, set to come into force by 2027, aims to end the centuries-old practice of humans eating dog meat.

2. February - Greece legalises same-sex marriage

Greece has become the first Christian Orthodox-majority country to legalise same-sex marriage. Same-sex couples will now also be legally allowed to adopt children after Thursday's 176-76 vote in parliament. Prime Minister Kyriakos Mitsotakis said the new law would "boldly abolish a serious inequality".

3. March - Global child deaths reach historic low in 2022 – UN report

The number of children who died before their fifth birthday has reached a historic low, dropping to 4.9 million in 2022. The report reveals that more children are surviving today than ever before, with the global under-5 mortality rate declining by 51 per cent since 2000.

4. April - Restoring sight is possible now with optogenetics

Max Hodak's startup, Science, is developing gene therapy solutions to restore vision for individuals with macular degeneration and similar conditions. The Science Eye utilizes optogenetics, injecting opsins into the eye to enhance light sensitivity in retinal cells. Clinical trials and advancements in optogenetics are showing promising results, with the potential to significantly improve vision for those affected by retinal diseases.

5. May - Vaccine breakthrough means no more chasing strains

Scientists at UC Riverside have demonstrated a new, RNA-based vaccine strategy that is effective against any strain of a virus and can be used safely even by babies or the immunocompromised.

6. June - Bill Gates-backed startup creates Lego-like brick that can store air pollution for centuries

The Washington Post detailed a "deceptively simple" procedure by Graphyte to store a ton of CO2 for around $100 a ton, a number long considered a milestone for affordably removing carbon dioxide from the air. Direct air capture technologies used in the United States and Iceland cost $600 to $1,200 per ton, per the Post.

7. July - Stem cell therapy cures man with type 2 diabetes

A 59-year-old man had been suffering from diabetes for 25 years, needing more and more insulin every day to avoid slipping into a diabetic coma and was at risk of death. But then Chinese researchers cured his disease for the first time in the world. The patient received a cell transplant in 2021 and has not taken any medication since 2022.

8. August - Chinese drones will fly trash out of Everest slopes

Come autumn, Nepal will deploy heavy lifter drones to transport garbage from the 6,812-metre tall Ama Dablam, south of Everest. This will be the first commercial work an unmanned aerial vehicle does in Nepal’s high-altitude zone.

9. November - Tokyo to make day care free to boost birth rate

Tokyo plans to make day care free for all preschool children starting in September, the city governor has announced as part of efforts to boost Japan's low birth rate.

10. October - FTC Rule Banning Fake Product Reviews Takes Effect With Stiff Penalties

Federal Trade Commission (FTC) Chair Lina Khan announced on Oct. 21 that the agency’s prohibition on fake online reviews was taking effect, imposing fines as high as $50,000 for violations. Khan encouraged followers to report the proscribed practices at reportfraud.ftc.gov.

11. November - Bumblebee population increases 116 times over in 'remarkable' Scotland rewilding project

The bumblebee population has made an impressive comeback in a developed area by increasing to 116 times what it was two years ago thanks to a nature restoration group.

12. December - Spain to enshrine gay marriage and abortion rights into its constitution so 'they cannot be undone in the future'

The left-wing PSOE leader made the announcement at an event marking the 46th anniversary of the Spanish Magna Carta.

“We believe that these are rights that we must protect in the Constitution so that no one can touch them in the future,” Sanchez said in a statement in parliament on Friday.

----------

That's it for last year :)

This newsletter will always be free. If you liked this post you can support me with a small kofi donation here:

Buy me a coffee ❤️

Also don’t forget to share this post with your friends.

[xanofmercia]

lmaoooo the discord situation is so real. like... you're a DISCORD MOD. that's not a high priesthood; you're literally just a volunteer who's there to protect the server owner from headaches. I'm a discord admin; my role is I make sure the server does what it's supposed to and nobody posts the server's big triggers without spoilers. meanwhile I've been in multiple servers where people try this "godmodding" bullshit and it's like. calm your tits. you're not an "authority figure" and you can stop pretending everyone needs to show you The Proper Respect to be a good server citizen. there've been multiple times where I've been like "hey this distinction you're trying to make is legitimately unclear to me. I recognize x is against the rules, but what about y, which is like x but within a context that you've previously said is allowed? does the context make the difference, or is x's behavior prohibited no matter what?" and EVEN FROM OTHER DISABLED FOLKS the NUMBER OF TIMES I get "just read the rules!!!11one" back, or "use your best judgment and don't be a dick" or "this is hair-splitting and I refuse to answer"... like, no, y'all're shite at your volunteer positions actually. meanwhile I explain not just the answer to what they're asking but also the reasoning behind the rules and why they'd apply in the scenarios they're asking about and it does not cost me anything or harm me. there is literally no reason why others cannot do this, unless they do not have the spoons to, in which case maybe they should either say "I'll get back to you on this once I have the spoons" or not be trying to do mod shit on zero spoons in the first place! the position isn't a badge to lord it over other people or LARP as a manager. it's to ACTUALLY HELP THE SERVER.

I saw some snippet of a callout post for an autistic trans woman where they list social faux pas she committed, and I think we allistic people should all feel 100x more ashamed of not telling people in the moment how we feel about what they're doing. I think its extremely evil and cruel to not only lie to an autistic person and blame them for it but also to feel justified shaming them for your behavior. And it's currently the social norm to do that

[cosmosluckycharms]

Bug like angel

You're here, that's the thing

You woke up the next day.

You were on the fancy velvet family couch you were never allowed on.

The couch was where every movie night, every game night, and every family hangout would happen.

The same ones you'd never be invited to.

You looked up to see Bruce and Miguel sitting in the pristine, white dining room arguing over something.

They lowkey looked like a divorced couple fighting over the ustody of their child.

You let out a giggle at that thought.

You got up and tried to stabilize yourself, still healing from the stab wound from yesterday.

You had a runny nose and a slight sore throat from the rain yesterday.

You hated your spidey luck sometimes.

As you got closer to Miguel and Bruce, you could make out some of their argument.

"She's staying with us, it's for the best," Bruce said, crossing his arms.

"Since when do you decide what's good for her?" Miguel argued, standing up from the seat he was sitting on.

"I am her father. I decide what's best for her," Bruce said, still keeping a straight face.

"you haven't been a father to her at all." Bruce flinched slightly at Miguel's words.

Miguel continued, "You were never her father. You were nothing but a sperm donor." Miguel put his hand on his hips, his bold red eyes piercing into Bruce's blue ones.

"When were you when she needed you? Where were you on her birthday? Where were you at her performances and concerts? You don't know anything about her." Miguel slammed the table in front of him, and Bruce's neutral facade faltered.

"I am still her father. we are blood." Bruce raised his voice.

"The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb."

Miguel and Bruce were now full-on arguing.

A full-on screaming match.

You decided to intervene, you just wanted to go home.

"What's going on?" They both couldn't hear you, and you saw Miguel about to flip the expensive dining room table.

You weren't against him breaking anything Bruce owned, but that table cost way more than Miguel could afford.

You ran up to him "Hold on a minute, please won't you listen?"

They both stopped to look at you.

Bruce spoke up "Are you doing better now, sweetie?" You cringed at the nickname he gave you.

"I'm fine. What's going on?"

There was a tense silence for a moment.

"C'mon, spit it out. I wanna go home." You put your hands on your hips, copying Miguel's stance

"You're going to stay with us," Bruce said, his piercing blue eyes glaring at Miguel.

"What?! You can't do that! Dad, tell him he can't do that!" you pulled on Miguel's sleeve like a tall child

Miguel looked and you and looked away guiltily.

"Dad? What's going on? Tell him he can't force me to stay!" You were tearing up.

You didn't want to stay.

You didn't want to be back where everything went wrong.

You didn't want to see everyone play happy family while you sat in a corner sobbing.

"I'm sorry, but you're 16 and can't legally stay with me. I'm so sorry, arañanita." you tried to suppress your tears, only for them to all spill out when he hugged you.

You felt like a child.

"This isn't fair." your lip slightly trembled.

Bruce put a hand on your shoulder which made you flinch and push his hand away.

"Don't touch me." you shrunk into Miguel's arm more.

You hated being here. You just wanted to go home.

"Can't we agree on something else? Like maybe one week each person, or something?" you tried to reason

Bruce raised an eyebrow "What do you mean?"

"I mean like, one week with with Miggy and another with you. Wouldn't that be easier?"

Miguel was about to agree with you when Bruce interrupted "No."

"Why not? Everyone would be happy!" You tried to reason

"Because I'm your father and that's final."

You rolled your eyes at that.

"What?! That's so not fair!"

"life isn't fair." Bruce started practically pushing Miguel out the door.

You started clinging onto Miguel by his leg, you didn't want him to leave.

It took your father and your brothers to separate you and Miguel.As soon as Miguel left, you

ignored your family's offerings to hang out with them.

You were in your room, still sulking about what happened.

You were texting your friends everything.

You heard a knock at the door and tried to ignore it.

You weren't in the mood to talk to any of them.

After a couple of minutes of knocking, Bruce got impatient and let himself in."Why didn't you open the door?"

"I didn't feel like getting up." You kept texting your friends, not even looking at him.

He took a seat on the edge of your bed. "Look, since you're already here, why not go out? We could go to that one, uh, museum you wanted to go to a while ago." You glared at him.

"I asked to go there years ago. My friends already took me there."

"Oh, is there any other place you'd like to go? or anything you'd like to do?"

"I want you to go away. I'm sick and you just pulled me away from my friends." You kept scrolling on your phone

Bruce sighed and left your room.

Next to annoy you was Dick.

You were in the kitchen trying to get a snack when you heard his agitating, grating voice.

"Hey, baby bird!" He was going to ruffle your hair, but you swiftly avoided it due to your spidey senses.

"Don't call me that." You continued to look for your favorite snack.

"Why not?" he playfully pouted

You started giving up hope on finding the snack, it wasn't anywhere! "Because I said so."

He saw you were struggling to find something. "What are you looking for?"

"Nunya." you crossed your arms and started looking in the fridge.

"look, if you're hungry, we can go to that one restaurant you wanted to go to! How does that sound?" he smiled.

"I asked for that years ago. I already went there with Miguel anyway." You walked away into your room not caring how dick was slightly frowning.

You were in your room fixing your belongings.

If you're going to be forced to live here up till you're 18, you might as well make everything look nice.

While you were organizing your closet, your spidey senses went off.

You turned around to see it was warning you about the door, and suddenly Jason barged in.

"Get ready, I'm gonna teach you how to ride a motorcycle."

"No thanks, Jess already taught me." You continued to fold the clothes

"Who's Jess?" Jason raised an eyebrow

"A friend. Look, can you just leave me alone? I want some alone time."

"I'm your older brother, you can't kick me out of your room." He crossed his arms.

"Except I can. Get out." You started pushing him out of your room, your strength surprising him.

Tim was in his room when he remembered about that one time you asked him if he could fix your computer.

You accidentally gave it a virus downloading Sims mods, and it was tweaking.

Tim was the most tech-savvy person you knew, so you asked him.

Unfortunately for you, he was working on a tiring case.

He was in a bad mood and half-asleep, so it wasn't a surprise when he yelled at you to go away.

Sure, it had been 2 years since then, but he still felt bad.

He made his way to your room, noticing how separated it was from the others.

When he got to your room and opened your door (you seriously need to get a lock) he saw you were face timing one of your friends and laughing.

He cleared his throat and your smile fell.

"I'll call you back later, bye Pavi!" you hung up and looked at Tim "What do you want?"

He smirked "Wow, so hostile. Do you still need me to fix your computer? I have time now.

"You rolled your eyes. "it's fine now, peni fixed it for me."

"Are you sure? I could probably add an upgrade or two, or maybe get you a new one?" He put his hand on his neck

"Yes I'm sure, you can leave now." You shooed him away with your hands and started calling Pavitr again.

Tim scoffed and walked away.

Last but not least, Damian.

He was always a headache.

Ever since you were younger, it's like he was out to get you.

He wouldn't ignore you or push you away like the others, instead, he would threaten and berate you.

No matter how much you tried, he'd always go out of his way to push you around.

You learned to stay out of his way.

You assumed he would still hate you, so you continued to avoid him.

It was surprising when he walked up to your room and demanded you to watch him train.

Not wanting to get stabbed by him, you begrudgingly agreed.

You were being escorted into the training room and saw a chance to practice your moves.

While he wasn't looking, you snuck away to practice your tricks.

It was the perfect place to do it as well, huge gymnastics area, rock climbing walls, and hurdles.

You were having the time of your life!

After around 10 minutes you noticed Damian looking for you, with Dick helping him.

You sighed and continued practicing.

Your way of swinging and moving was Heavily inspired by Gwen and Pavitr's, all the spider kids trained together so it wasn't much of a surprise.

After training for a couple more minutes, you noticed Dick and Damian had found you.

Dick was surprised you knew how to be that flexible and have a lot of movement and personality in your tricks.

As soon as you sat down to take a water break, Dick and Damian ran up to you.

"Where did you learn how to move like that? did you do gymnastics?" Dick sat down next to you, only for you to scoot away.

"No. I learned from Pavi." You took another sip of your water

"Was he the one who came to the manor last year? The punk?" He took a sip of his water

"No, that's Hobie." you got up and walked away, ignoring Dicks other questions.

Dick just sighed in defeat and watched as Damian ran after you.

Damian would not leave you alone.

The whole way to your room, he was complaining and berating you.You tried slamming your door in his face, but he fought back.

Suddenly you were trying to push him out of your room like the others and he pushed a bag of yours onto the floor.

After a couple of minutes of you both tumbling around, he finally left.

You let out a sigh of relief and went to pick up the bag.

Once you picked it up you noticed it felt a slight bit heavier, less empty.

You grabbed what was making it so heavy and noticed it was a watch.

The watch you needed to move universes.

Miguel must've snuck it in there while dropping you off.

You put it on, and right as you were about to go back to Miguel's universe, your spidey senses went off yet again.

You quickly turned off the watch and pretended you were playing on your phone again.

This time it was Alfred.

You assumed he was going to scold you for fighting Damian yet again.

You prepared yourself only to be met with something you didn't expect.

"The others are expecting your presence in the theater room."

Movie nights.

The same movie nights you longed to be a part of years ago.

This time, you didn't want to be part of it.

"No thanks, I'm busy." You continued to scroll on your phone.

"You must've misheard me. They're requiring your presence." Alfred walked away before you could argue.

You sighed and put on some slippers.

This was gonna be a long two years.

hi ik rhis chapter is sloppy and rushes BUT THIS TIME I ACTUALLY HAVE EN EXCUSE

i typed all od this at a wedding lmfao

yeah rheyre mareying the love of their life but im updating a fic so whos really winning

anyway

taglist(please lmk if i forgot you!): @bath1lda @mariadvorak @coralaura @tsxukikami @hjgdhghoe @coffeeaddictxd @cxcilla @kaitense1 @star-girl-interlud3 @sukaretto-n @welpthisisboring @itsberrydreemurstuff @lovebug-apple @crazycaoticsimp @bellethesleepypotato @blackhood1229 @jsprien213 @sirenetheblogger @awawage @holybatflapexpert @vanessa-boo @ryuushou @whiskeygirl7 @seemeee3 @inojinieeee @oliviaewl @djpuppy-kittens @w31rd3rg1rl @br33zy-blizzardz @eyeless-kun @strangelymid @twismare @cat-lover-over-9000 @jaemindontberude @galaxypurplerose @paastaboi @senhoritaapple @whiskeygirl7 @chezze-its

[canmom]

you read ML research (e.g. arxiv, state of ai, various summaries), you find an overwhelming blizzard of new techniques, clever new applications and combinations of existing techniques, new benchmarks to refine this or that limitation, relentless jumps in capabilities that seem unstoppable (e.g. AI video generation took off way faster than I ever anticipated). at some point you start to see how Károly Zsolnai-Fehér became such a parody of himself!

you read ed zitron & similar writers and you hear about an incomprehensibly unprofitable industry, an obscene last-gasp con from a cancerous, self-cannibalising tech sector that seems poised to take the rest of the system down with it once the investors realise nobody actually cares to pay for AI anything like what it costs to run. and you think, while perhaps he presents the most negative possible read on what the models are capable of, it's hard to disagree with his analysis of the economics.

you read lesswrong & cousins, and everyone's talking about shoggoths wearing masks and the proper interpretation of next-token-prediction as they probe the LLMs for deceptive behaviour with an atmosphere of paranoid but fascinated fervour. or else compile poetic writing with a mystic air as they celebrate a new form of linguistic life. and sooner or later someone will casually say something really offputting about eugenics. they have fiercely latched onto playing with the new AI models, and some users seem to have better models than most of how they do what they do. but their whole deal from day 1 was conjuring wild fantasies about AI gods taking over the world (written in Java of course) and telling you how rational they are for worrying about this. so... y'know.

you talk to an actual LLM and it produces a surprisingly sharp, playful and erudite conversation about philosophy of mind and an equally surprising ability to carry out specific programming tasks and pull up deep cuts, but you have to be constantly on guard against the inherent tendency to bullshit, to keep in mind what the LLM can't do and learn how to elicit the type of response you want and clean up its output. is it worth the trouble? what costs should be borne to see such a brilliant toy, an art piece that mirrors a slice of the human mind?

you think about the news from a few months ago where israel claimed to be using an AI model to select palestinians in gaza to kill with missiles and drones. an obscene form of statswashing, but they'd probably kill about the same number of people, equally at random, regardless. probably more of that to come. the joke of all the 'constitutional AI', 'helpful harmless assistant' stuff is that the same techniques would work equally well to make the model be anything you want. that twat elon musk already made a racist LLM.

one day the present AI summer and corresponding panics will burn out, and all this noise will cohere into a clear picture of what these new ML techniques are actually good for and what they aren't. we'll have a pile of trained models, probably some work on making them smaller and more efficient to run, and our culture will have absorbed their existence and figured out a suitable set of narratives and habits around using them in this or that context. but i'm damned if I know how it will look by then, and what we'll be left with after the bubble.

if i'm gonna spend all this time reading shit on my computer i should get back to umineko lmao

[sugar-grigri]

CSM 194 : How Asa sacrificed herself to counter Yoru and save Denji

From Asa's point of view, sharing her mind and body with Yoru is dangerous.

Yoru can turn what belongs to her into a weapon, and it's clear that in these final chapters, unlike at the start of part 2, Asa is the one who appears, but no longer the one who manages daily life (taking part in conversations, eating, sleeping) and, above all, who makes decisions.

This is interference, and Yoru can very well turn Asa's body into a weapon. Semantics are also important: personality. This further blurs the barrier between Yoru and Asa.

I think Asa realized that the more she gave in to Yoru, the more she lost control. When she had wanted to oppose her, Yoru had been offended that she was "afraid" of her or didn't trust her. But : there's nothing more normal than being afraid of a devil.

Asa and Yoru may share their feelings and their bodies, but that doesn't change the fact that they don't share their nature. Yoru is a devil.

Asa has become attached to Yoru, and I think that Yoru loves Asa not in a human sense, but in a purely organic, egocentric way: she's her.

Especially when Asa decides to trust Yoru, Yoru betrays her trust

She even monopolizes Asa's story

When in reality: NO, Asa is not Yoru. Yoru is a parasite who considers her body her own, but that doesn't mean she's the same entity as the invaded body and mind.

If there's one thing that shocks fans, it's the way Yoru steals Asa's first experiences: her first kiss, her """first intimate act""", in a violent way.

When Nayuta says thief, it's not necessarily to be understood as the replica of a possessive little sister, it has a double meaning: Yoru steals Denji from Asa, or rather she steals her own life from her since she steals her experiences.

For the sake of a better union, Asa has accepted this "merger", and it's been "productive".

But she now sees the downside, whether it's Yoru haggling with her body, which is a first split because Asa surely doesn't want to haggle her first time around.

Second split: turning Denji into a weapon. Asa wants to save him at all costs.

The way to save Denji lies precisely in disunity. And I imagine that what Asa would like to do / or at least could do is accentuate the differences. She can't do it through feelings, because Yoru and Asa feel the same. But she can do it through actions and, above all, through the perception of others.

This is a theory, but Asa is someone who has good ideas and who has been able to "turn" a power against a devil several times or who has used Yoru's power in an ingenious way.

So :

Basic rule: Yoru can turn anything she thinks belongs to her into a weapon. The devil of war has indeed drawn close to Denji, which allows her to reinforce this feeling of possession. This is also how Asa feels, since she shares the same feeling as Yoru.

But if she creates distance between herself and Denji, creates animosity in order to fuel a feeling of danger on his part that would push him to back off to protect himself (because he already senses danger, hence his questions to Pochita), Denji no longer belongs to the devil of war

But remember, one can't hide anything from the other, so Asa can't think of a plan

However, she can use what she has observed, how did Yoru manage to surprise her? Through her impulsiveness. Through the Bang. All she did was wait to trigger that sudden instinct to oppose Yoru. And how can she prevent Yoru from regaining control? By scaring herself. Fear is what drives them apart.

Asa did not fight against the interference, she used it: the more Yoru took control, the less she mistrusted, the more she became attached to Denji, the more painful the rejection will be and the more effective the disunity will be. Her absence is her weapon. As well as its loneliness.

Bucky is the symbol of this rejection, but also the key to it. When Asa sees all these chickens again, it is also because she is once more truly alone in her dreams, in her unconsciousness. Running for her is a positive symbol for her character. Yuko and Denji are two beacons of hope, and the fact that she runs is a sign of her emancipation. When she runs in her dreams, she breaks free from Yoru.

Her fears, whether it be the perception of others and rejection, which distanced her from others, from people, from humanity. From now on, this is her best means of rediscovering her humanity. By cutting herself off from the one who had given her back her hope in others.

[fishmech]

spinning rust is so obsolete that noone's sold a laptop with it as a standard option in several years (the major manufacturers shipped their last models with spinning rust in 2022, after heavily decreasing their amount of models that weren't ssd since around 2019), cuz it got so low end and un-cost-effective it wasn't even worth using to save a buck in the trashiest ripoff devices. spinning rust is both slow as shit in burst transfer but especially slow as shit in transferring all the little bits that game engines have been designed around for a good decade now - which is why the current generation of game consoles (launched 5-8 years ago even!) all run off solid state devices instead of spinning rust.

this is why we've had games coming out for years now that straight up are gonna be a bad time if you try to play them off spinning rust, because they completely forgo old styles of loading screens for continuous gameplay. you can usually force the ones that say they "require" ssds to run off spinning rust but it's going to generally be buggy as shit, some of them will even just crash once you get into gameplay. you also get some weird shit where games still designed around play on non-ssd systems will have loading screens that take longer to come up and display themselves than the actual transfer does on an SSD which is pretty funny.

also upgrading to a 1 tb or even 2 tb (if there's a good sale on) ssd is going to cost you less than one of those bigass AAA games that wants a bunch of storage space for its giant world and modern graphics and all that anyway. there's no "optimization" in the world that's going to make stuff not be huge when the whole thing is designed to be huge and generally has stuff like extensive straight up video content or whatever let's be real here. like yeah yeah there's repack stuff but just like having dreamcast games stripped down back in the day so you could play a pirate copy off a standard CD-R, that always leads to some noticeable degradation in what you see and what you hear, and people paying full price for brand new showpiece games generally don't want that.

Game studios learn to optimize your fucking games challenge.

Who the fuck do you think you are? You are a toy. A glorified slinky.

[thisisntkt]

hey guys andor really is the best star wars story out there because it finally treats star wars like a serious, mature story—one that isn’t just about good vs. evil, but about people, choices, and the crushing weight of oppression. it strips away the mythic grandeur of the jedi and the sith and replaces it with something more real: a rebellion built on fear, desperation, and sacrifice. every moment feels intentional, every conversation matters, and for once, the empire isn’t just a faceless evil—it’s a system that grinds people down until they have no choice but to fight back.

one of the reasons it’s so immersive is its incredible worldbuilding. like this isn’t just another desert planet or a jungle with star wars dressing. every location, from ferrix to coruscant to narkina 5, feels like a fully realized place, with its own culture, politics, and economy. ferrix, for example, isn’t just a background—it’s a community where people rely on each other, where work and tradition matter. the way they mourn their dead, the way the bells signal the rhythm of their day—it all makes it feel real.

then there’s coruscant, which we’ve seen before, but never like this. instead of just being the shiny capital of the galaxy, andor shows us the bureaucracy, the paranoia, the quiet horror of a system designed to crush dissent before it even begins. mon mothma’s storyline is a masterclass in showing just how difficult and terrifying it is to resist the empire from within.

and then there’s narkina 5! the prison arc is one of the most terrifyingly effective depictions of systemic control in star wars. it’s not just that the prisoners are trapped—it’s that they are tricked into thinking they might have some control. the sterile white floors, the quiet threat of electric punishment, the gamified system of labor—it’s chilling. and it makes their eventual uprising feel even more powerful.

most star wars stories tell us about hope, but andor shows us what it costs. it doesn’t rely on nostalgia, it doesn’t lean on familiar characters to carry it—it builds everything from the ground up. there’s no jedi to swoop in and save the day, no grand space battles with triumphant victories. just people trying to survive, trying to resist, trying to make impossible choices.

the dialogue is sharper, the themes are richer, and the stakes feel personal. it’s not about prophecy or destiny—it’s about rebellion as a necessary act of survival. it’s about the slow, grueling process of organizing, of convincing people to fight, of realizing that the enemy isn’t just stormtroopers with blasters—it’s the very structure of control that keeps them in line.

that’s what makes andor so powerful. it’s the first star wars story that feels like it truly understands what rebellion means—not just as a spectacle, but as something painful, terrifying, and absolutely necessary!

[wendichester]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ not unworthy,

summary. sam doesn't think he's worthy.

pairing. sam winchester x angel!reader

wordcount. 661

The motel room is quiet, save for the occasional scratch of pen against paper. Sam sits hunched over his journal, his brow furrowed in thought, long fingers gripping the edge of the page like he can will the answers to come faster. The dim lamp casts golden light over his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the faint shadows beneath his eyes.

You watch him from across the room, perched on the edge of the bed, hands folded neatly in your lap. There’s something almost sacred about moments like this—Sam, lost in thought, oblivious to the weight he carries, the burden he never truly puts down.

He doesn’t look up when he speaks.

“Cas said you shouldn’t be around me.” His voice is quiet, almost careful, like he’s bracing for an answer he already knows.

Your grace hums at the sorrow in his tone, at the way his shoulders tense, waiting for judgment.

You rise, crossing the short distance between you, the old motel carpet soft beneath your bare feet. The warmth of your presence makes him glance up, his hazel eyes dark with uncertainty.

“Castiel is my brother,” you say, sitting beside him, close enough that your thigh brushes his. “I respect him. I trust him.” You tilt your head, searching his face. “But he’s wrong about you.”

Sam swallows, and for a moment, his gaze drops to his hands. You can see the way his fingers twitch, like he wants to pull away, like he’s used to people keeping their distance.

Used to people being afraid of him.

“I’m not,” he murmurs, hesitating. “I’m not good, not like you.” His voice is rough, self-deprecating. “Cas sees me for what I am. Maybe you should, too.”

Your heart aches at the doubt in his voice, at the way he speaks of himself like he’s already lost.

You reach for his hand—slowly, giving him time to move away. He doesn’t.

Your fingers curl around his, warm, solid. “And what is that, Sam?”

He exhales, shaking his head. “An abomination.” The word is bitter on his tongue. “I drank demon blood. I have darkness in me. Angels like you—you weren’t made to be near something like that.”

You squeeze his hand, and he finally looks at you, really looks at you, like he’s searching for the moment you realize he isn’t worth it.

But that moment never comes.

You reach up, brushing his hair back from his face, your touch light, reverent. “You think I don’t see you?” you whisper. “That I don’t know you?”

His breath stutters, and you lean in, resting your forehead against his.

“I’ve seen the way you fight for others,” you murmur. “The way you tear yourself apart trying to protect people. You take pain that isn’t yours just so no one else has to bear it. You love so much, even when it hurts you.”

Your thumb brushes his cheek, and his eyes flutter shut.

“You have darkness in you, Sam.” You say it softly, without hesitation, without fear. “But that isn’t all you are.”

A shuddering breath escapes him, his fingers tightening around yours.

“If I had to choose between standing beside an angel with no compassion or a man who fights for the people he loves, even when it costs him everything?” Your lips ghost over his forehead, barely a touch. “I would choose you. Every time.”

Silence stretches between you, heavy and fragile. When Sam finally speaks, his voice is rough, barely above a whisper.

“You really mean that?”

You cup his face, tilting his chin up, forcing him to meet your gaze. “With all that I am.”

Something in him breaks—something raw and unspoken, something no one has ever given him without condition.

And when he leans in, pressing his lips to yours, it isn’t desperate or rushed. It’s soft. It’s grateful. It’s everything.

Because for the first time in too long, Sam Winchester isn’t unworthy of an angel’s love.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @mrs-pondwater19 ⋆ @myceliumsunshine ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @bamboobooshark ⋆ @ocelotlist51 ⋆ @lelapine ⋆ @pwin098 ⋆ @lacysretribution ⋆ @i-love-gvf ⋆ @lemonswinchester ⋆ @4k1vrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @szyszoszelest ⋆ @angelicalm3ss ⋆ @writtenbyhollywood ⋆ @larasalii ⋆ @yeehawgiddyup13 ⋆ @xo-zeze ⋆ @jules-pagie ⋆ @freeluigihesbae ⋆ @viarasvogue ⋆ @ladykitana90

[lackadaisycats]

Hello Tracy, I've been a fan of Lackadaisy since the webcomic days and want to ask a quick question regarding Patreon. I'm also an indie creative myself and currently trying to raise funds for a show I'm working on. What are the best ways to market myself online, and what are some ways to obtain money for the production of merchandise that doesn't involve crowdfunding?

Any specific advice I could give about marketing oneself online at this point would be pretty outdated. I started making Lackadaisy years back, when the internet had a rather different geography and culture. DeviantArt was where all the art kids were. That is, of course, no longer the case.

My generalized advice, though, would be to start working on your project, start sharing it in some form, even if it's just concept art or experiments at this phase, and start building an audience. Nothing speaks to the quality and appeal of whatever it is you're making like the thing itself does. Pick your poisons, as far as social media goes, but probably don't focus solely on one. Platforms don't remain useful or pleasant places to be forever. Set up an avenue for viewers to support you (Patreon, Ko-fi, or something like it), but don't expect supporters to come flooding in all at once. The internet is awash with so many creators and shows and influencers and distractions, it's hard to make waves. Tenacity will be your ally, though. You are likely going to be pursuing your project on the side and possibly working at a loss for a while as you build. Keep things small scale, especially if you're working solo, or with a small team of people. Audience growth and support may eventually start allowing you to expand your ambitions. It's important to do the thing you're doing out of love for the art, for the project itself, for the experience of doing it, and not because you're expecting rounds of applause, accolades, and money to come rushing at you. There's no guarantee that last part will happen...so at least make sure you're having fun doing whatever you're doing.

----------------

About merchandise --

You can incur the upfront cost of producing, say, a small run of enamel pins. Sell them on your own shop storefront or offer them to supporters at certain tier levels and see how long it takes to earn back the production cost such that you start earning a little bit of profit. Get a feel for how well you can handle packaging and shipping things yourself. Test the waters before making any large merch orders, and don't order vast amounts of something that you don't have room to 'warehouse' in your own home.

You can go the print on demand route. It's got its drawbacks - like slim returns - but it allows you to offer an assortment of merch items without the huge risk of paying big manufacturing fees upfront. It can also do the fulfillment/shipping part for you. I did pretty okay selling prints this way for a time. (Research and be selective about what services you use here, though. Some have gotten markedly worse over the years.)

I know Patreon offers a subscription level for creators that includes some merch production and fulfillment. I haven't personally used it, though, so I'd ask around to see what other creators' experiences have been like with it.

One thing I would suggest relying more heavily on, especially at first, is digital/downloadable rewards, like PDF ebooks or digital sketchbooks - things like that. Shipping supplies and postage costs are ever-increasing and can easily end up putting you in the red. Also, if you have an international audience, it may be difficult to reach them with tangible merch items.

You might also check out some nearby conventions to see if they'd be a good fit for you and your project. Apply for artist alley space at one of them if that's appropriate, or investigate whether or not it'd be worth it to get a dealer table. You might even find someone willing to share dealer space with you for a trial-run.

At some point, when you have enough of an audience to warrant it, seek out a merch partner. Or, they might come scouting for you if they think you have something going that'd be soundly marketable.

[drtanner]

This is a terrific addition, thank you! Wool and other natural fibres are a marvel and it's high time we got back to them. Did you know that wool stays warm even when it's wet? That's why sailors and lighthouse keepers wear it! Did you know that wool is fire resistant? That's why blacksmiths used to wear wool trousers! Wool is great, and for the sheep, it's just like getting a haircut. It grows back! And the happier and healthier the sheep are, the better quality the wool will be and the more of it they'll grow, so even from a purely profit-seeking standpoint, it's in a farmer's best interest to take the very best care of their animals. Getting blood on the wool ruins it and causes it to lose value, so they won't even nick a sheep during shearing if they can help it.

Even for meat, leather and other products that require the death of an animal, imho what matters is that the animal had a good, happy life and died humanely, which is something that we can fight for as people who buy and use those products. Animals in the wild struggle to survive all day every day and usually die traumatic deaths, still struggling; a well cared for animal that lives a comfortable life and dies a painless death before being processed into things that improve my life, keep me healthy and make me happy is having a much better time, and that is very acceptable to me given the enormous variety of benefits it provides to human society and culture!

Vegan objections to all of this seem very superficially focused on things they can see, e.g., animal death, which in their simplistic view is always wrong regardless of the circumstances, whilst completely disregarding anything that isn't immediately obvious, e.g., the hidden costs of vegan "alternative" crops like quinoa and soy, or literally everything to do with plastics. They're not interested in nuance or material reality. They care about making themselves feel good without thinking very hard about it and very little else - if you ever wanted an actual, real example of virtue signalling, there it is! And all of this is before we get into more indirect benefits, like the ways in which properly managed animals can benefit the land they live on and help us grow crops with fewer chemicals, even!

As it is with most things, the meat industry isn't inherently bad. We just need to find better, more considerate and less wasteful ways to make it work, and if pressing for its reform is important to you, that's something you, personally, can focus on and organise for. 💜

Genuinely delighted to see the real vs. fake leather discourse kicking off in earnest on this fucking website. Too many of the kids on here don't know that fake leather or "vegan leather" or whatever the fuck the grifters try to call it is literally just plastic or that leather is just a byproduct of the meat industry that gets thrown away if it isn't used for anything, and now they're learning about it!

The meat industry certainly has its own problems and needs serious reform, especially in the US, but it isn't going away, and wasting huge amounts of the extremely useful materials it produces is not the fucking solution, especially when you're simultaneously constantly complaining about how everything is cheaply made plastic shit that breaks instantly these days. Leather is what you are looking for! It makes shoes and jackets and hats and handle grips and all kinds of wonderful things that last for fucking decades if you take proper care of them, and that maintenance is not expensive or difficult! You too can have a collection of items that stand a halfway decent chance of outliving you! Isn't that the ideal? Isn't that what you want?

Even from a purely feelings-based moral standpoint, is it not more respectful to the animal that died to feed you (or me) to use every part of its body and to avoid letting any part of it go to waste?

I doubt it was the OP's intention in starting that one stupid poll that saw them getting dragged six ways from Sunday that it should end up with the youth getting educated about every non-animal leather actually being plastic trash that falls apart in 18 months and poisons the earth just by existing, but that is certainly what they did, lmao.

[acynicalsweetheart]

HIII i love ur writing so much !!! if your requests are open (and if they arent, feel free to delete this ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა) may i request curly x fem reader who’s jimmy’s girlfriend, but like curly is head over heeellss for her?

if thats not your style, no worries! you can delete my request for any reason, but thank you so much if you write this!! >_< 😭💗

hai thanku very much anon ♡… sawry it took forever. this is awful omg i had no idea. what direction i wanted to take this in LOL. but here’s your head over HEELS sorry had to… anyway first non dead dove drabble yay

content warning: 18+, infidelity

“Curly, stooppp!” You draw between giggles, playfully slapping his awfully muscular yet plush arm. The kind of plush that makes you want to bite a chunk out of it. 

“What? I’m not doing anything.” Curly flashes you his blindingly white Hollywood smile, fingers tickling your side for the eleventh time in the past five minutes. 

Jimmy glares at Curly. Then at you. His gaze burns holes into your skull like it’s made of lasers. 

You blow a kiss to the scowling face across the couch. 

Frown deepening further than you’ve ever seen before, Jimmy pinches the bridge of his nose. “I need a drink.” 

“Okay, babe,” you speak to Jimmy’s back as he’s leaving the room, returning your attention to Curly to get your revenge by attacking his side for a change. 

His couch squeaks when he squirms away, chuckling and grabbing your wrists. Craning his neck, Curly chimes to the doorway. “Hey, get one for me too!” 

A groan can be heard all the way from the kitchen. 

“Oh,” Curly’s face brightens like he has a revelation, letting go of you to briefly search his pockets to pull out a small velvet box. It looks comically miniature in his hand when he holds it out. “I got this for you.”

“What’s that?” You ask confused and curious, ‘cause it very much looks like he might just propose to you. 

It opens sesame. 

“An anklet.” 

“Oh.” 

Well, thank God. Jimmy would’ve fucking shot Curly if it was a ring. 

“Here, let me…” Curly reaches for your feet, careful in the way he peels off your socks and it’s all oddly romantic. So romantic there’s a slight heartbeat beneath your panties. 

Jimmy would never do that for you and that’s why it’s so wrong. 

“There,” he closes the clasp after a good two minute fumble, adorning your ankle with gold that costs more than your boyfriend’s entire net worth. 

“Oh,” it’s so shiny you can’t help but to blink at it, “wow. You… could’ve just gotten me a bracelet or something, Curly, I mean—“

“I could’ve,” his gentle up-and-down caresses to your calves pause, quickly adding, “but who would’ve gotten you this?”

You both know the answer to that question. 

“It’s not that I—“ 

“Hey, next time, I’ll get you that bracelet.” He pulls out his phone, squinting at the screen as his fingers move. 

“It’s fine, Curly,” you tell him—not wanting to seem ungrateful, “this is more than enough.”

But he’s already typing in his credit card information on the Tiffany & Co website when you look over his shoulder. 

What are you supposed to do? Smack the phone out of his hold? It feels… nice to be appreciated. Jimmy’s never bought you anything—you’re the one buying shit for him. Including his black market drugs. 

“Jim’s not coming,” you note after a long moment of awkward silence, poking your head forward like he’s coming through the doorway any second. 

“I guess not.” Curly says, meeting your eye once you look back at him. 

Almost kind of scary, the tenderness in his gaze. Not like Jimmy’s wolfish one that says he wants to eat you alive. In the cannibal way. 

“You’re gorgeous.”

“Me?” You can’t help but to laugh out loud, it’s so sudden, and Jimmy’s your boyfriend and he doesn’t even think that. “No… no I—“

“You are!” Curly insists, making a motion with his hands towards you. “Doesn’t he tell you that? Doesn’t he…” he pauses again, voice lowering, “show you that?”

“Show me?” 

“Like this,” he leans in closer, like way in-your-personal-bubble type of closer, noses brushing against each other. Curly lifts your chin up like he’s about to do something forbidden. 

You were almost convinced it was a joke till he actually kissed you. 

“Oh!” Lightly pushing on his chest, you stare at him. “Curly, that’s… we can’t.” 

Fisting at Curly’s shirt to pull him closer, you kiss him back. Harder. 

“Stop it,” like you’re not the one sucking on his tongue, tracing the bulge in his pants with your toes. “He’ll kill us!” It’s a half-whisper, half-yell. 

“Nah, I know Jim.” Says Curly, who more than well knows that Jimmy would have both of your heads on each respective stick to then keep as decorations in his trailer, “trust me.”

“Well…” but Jimmy doesn’t seem to be coming back anytime soon—you know him well enough to assume that he’s most likely sulking by now. “Okay then.”

And so you let him lay you down on his couch the way Jimmy did your first time with him. Only Curly is a thousand times more gentle in comparison. You’re a bad person for thinking it, but you almost wish Curly was your first. 

You’re still desperately kissing when his hands trail up your thighs, creeping under the hem of your dress to pull down your panties. Curly gets them about halfway down when you hear the unthinkable and the unmistakable. 

The cock of a gun. 

Jimmy’s holding this pesky little revolver that he probably found in his mom’s bedside drawer—the same one she blew her brains out with—pointing it at Curly and you with an expression resembling a wild animal more than a human face. 

[hellvst]

OFFSEASON – quinn hughes

featuring ; quinn hughes x fmc (sydney gray)

✮⋆˙ warning & content ; swearing

✮⋆˙ word count ; 4.7k

✮⋆˙ previous chapter – series masterlist – next chapter

a/n ; quinn is playing + canucks won yesterday against la? we are soo back! i kinda forgot to give simon a face claim...oops! but, i did have an idea or picture him to look similar to kevin fiala or roman josi, i just can't find a face claim for him. it's up to your imagination as well! happy reading <3

CHAPTER TWO

SYDNEY

My alarm went off multiple times within the past fifteen minutes, and kept hitting the snooze button each time it did. So much for wanting to wake up early this morning.

I fluttered my eyes open, adjusting to the natural light through the window.

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the dull ache in my right leg. It wasn’t a sharp pain–more like a persistent stiffness, reminding me that no matter how much progress I made, and lots of physiotherapy sessions, I wouldn’t always feel one hundred percent.

There was no point in dwelling on it. I had a busy day ahead, and self-pity wasn’t on the agenda. Not today.

I ungracefully got out of bed–did some stretches, single-leg squats, and hopped on one foot.

Nothing some movement wouldn’t fix.

The discomfort usually disappeared once I got my body moving. Truly odd, but if it got me through the day, I was not going to complain.

I moved through my morning routine with muscle memory. A quick shower, skin care, matching black compression set, an oversized hoodie thrown on without much thought, and tied my hair into a ponytail.

By the time I made it to the kitchen, the coffee machine was already doing its magic. As I waited, I flipped the TV on in the living room out of habit as I did every morning. 

The post-game analysis was still running from last night’s Canucks-Oilers’ game. I wasn’t surprised that this was the first thing that popped up on the screen, considering it’s been a while since my hometown, Vancouver, had made a playoff appearance. It was a huge deal for the city.

I caught a whiff of the last few minutes after getting home late from the studio–just in time to witness the whole debacle unfold. 

My brother, Simon, and his teammate.

The miscommunication. The puck hitting the post. The loss.

A blown play that cost them a ticket to conference finals. 

Now, every analyst, reporter, or fan was commenting and dissecting it.

“This was a complete breakdown,” one of the reporters began. “Simon Gray and Quinn Hughes were on totally different pages the entire game. You can’t have your best forward and your top defensemen out of sync in the most important moments–”

I turned the TV off and took a sip of my coffee, already knowing how that played out. My stomach was tightening at the sight of Simon after the buzzer went off.

Before the game, I sent him a short and simple ‘good luck!’, and haven’t heard from him since. Fair enough, given the outcome of the game.

Simon was going to be miserable for days, maybe weeks, more likely the entire summer. My brother was going to be impossible to deal with after that. And if history has taught itself, he was going to blame others for his mistakes. He always did.

I looked at the time, almost choking on my coffee, “Shit.”

I was running late for my first private session of the day, and Phoebe–one of my regular clients–was going to get there before me. Again.

If someone had asked me years ago what I saw myself doing, being a Pilates instructor wouldn’t even make the list. But life has a way of throwing you in places you’d never expect.

It started after the incident, I don’t talk about it much–there was nothing left to say. It happened. It definitely changed things. And for a very long time, I felt lost in my own body, like going through motions without purpose.

Doctors and my physiotherapist gave me exercises, stretches, and a never-ending list of things to “try”. Nothing clicked. Nothing felt right.

Until, I stepped into my first Pilates class. I remembered feeling a bit skeptical at first, convinced it was another trendy workout–the one all the girls tried out. It was the first time in a long time I felt connected to myself again. 

I kept going. I got better. And then I got really good. Good enough that one day, the owner of the studio I’d been training at, pulled me aside and asked if I ever thought about teaching. 

I laughed at the time, but the idea lingered that it stuck. And here I was: an instructor at Lumé Wellness–the top studio branch in Vancouver–fully booked for the summer, doing what I love.

The studio wasn’t that far from my apartment, twenty minutes tops without traffic which most days I was thankful for.

By the time I made it to the studio, sure enough, Phoebe was already inside one of the private rooms, stretching on the mat.

She raised an eyebrow at me as I put my bag down. “Would it kill you to be on time for once?” Phoebe teased, pulling her dark curls into a bun.

I rolled my eyes and started stretching beside her. “It’s five minutes.”

She shrugged and wiggled her brows, “Five minutes that I spent wondering if you were late because a guy kept you up last night.”

“Oh my God,” I groaned with a smile. “Don’t start this again, Phoebe.”

All she did was grin, absolutely delighted at the sight of my suffering. Phoebe was in her late forties, a social butterfly with too much energy for the morning slot, and too much curiosity for her own good. 

Plus the fact she was newly single and thriving in the chaos of her impending divorce, loved to poke at my non-existing dating life. She was a sucker for drama, and if my love life–or lack thereof–could provide her entertainment, she’d without a doubt take it.

“Oh come on, humor me, Syd. There has to be someone,” she said, settling onto the reformer. “You’re giving off the ‘I’m seeing someone new’ glow.”

I scoffed at her. “That ‘glow’ you’re referring to is just the new overhead lighting.”

She snorted then sighed dramatically as I adjusted her stance, “You know, you should really make time for some fun.”

“I have fun.” I argued.

“Pilates and binge-watching The Office at home doesn’t count.”

She got me there.

We continued on with our session. Usually with Phoebe, time flies so fast when all she did was rant about her life–pestering me about mine–but she eventually let it go once we began the harder exercises.

I barely got a moment to breathe before moving on to my bigger group session. To my luck, this group was breeze to get through as they followed my exercises on the reformer with ease. Not to mention, the music blasting through the speakers in the studio allowed them to get into that rhythm which was helpful as well.

Just when the last song ended, the group of ladies’ chests heaved, the room was filled with breaths of exhaustion, and a few went straight for their water bottles.

“Alright, ladies! Great work today! Hope to see you in our next class.”

They all left one by one, saying ‘bye’ on their way out, until I was the only one left.

Two or three classes to teach in the mornings usually had me working around lunch.

And by then, I was starving. 

My routine was pretty much the same, there was not a lot to do with an hour break. But, most days consisted of grabbing a quick meal at the nearest bistro or cafe with my closest friend. As I was about to pick up my things off the floor, my phone in my pocket buzzed.

Speak of the devil herself.

“Hey, Diane,” I answered, tucking my phone in between my ear and shoulder as I packed.

“Are we still on for lunch? I’m already at the café.”

I heard the faint lively sounds of the city of Vancouver in the background. “Yeah, I’m about to leave the studio and make my way–”

“Sydney?”

Right as I was trying to make a beeline to the doors, I turned to see Grace–the owner of the studio–peeking out her office door. My stomach dropped.

“One sec, Di.” I lowered my phone, ending the call. “Everything alright, Grace?”

“Can you step into my office for a minute?”

Fuck. This cannot be good. 

I followed her inside. It was a rare sight to see any of the studio employees in Grace’s office, she usually came to talk to me after my classes, never the other way around.

She never gave off vibes that ever intimidated me. I have never seen her upset with anyone, unless they truly pushed her buttons. The word ‘nervous’ wasn’t enough to express how I was feeling right then and there.

“Have a seat,” she gestured to the empty chair across from her. I gave her a smile, but beneath that was a wave of anxiety washing over me.

I tried to figure out what I might have done wrong. Did someone complain? Did I mix up the schedules or bookings? Did Phoebe finally rat me out for showing up late most of the time? The idea of me getting fired was not on my list of things today.

Grace sat behind her desk, clasping her hands together. “I have some news for you.”

Oh God. This is it. I was getting fired.

“I know your lunch break just started, so I’ll just get straight to it.” Grace had always been forward when she spoke. “There’s an opportunity with the Vancouver Canucks. Their management reached out about a summer cross-training program. They wanted us to coordinate it.”

I blinked at her, “And…?”

“And I told them you’d do it.”

As if my eyes couldn’t get any wider than it was. I stared at her in complete and utter disbelief, waiting for some sort of punchline. “You’re joking.”

Grace smiled, “Nope.”

I would have never imagined she’d say those words. This might be worse than getting fired.

There had been a few occasions when I had worked with soccer clubs, and a few college football players for cross-training. But, I had never done a session with the professional leagues such as the NHL. This was way different.

“Grace, I’m flattered but–” I thought about my words carefully, “I have a full schedule this summer and–”

“I am aware of your busy schedule,” she said, waving a hand. “I already adjusted your schedule accordingly to accommodate for this.”

Of course she did..

I opened my mouth, then closed it. This conversation was already headed towards the direction I dreaded. “There are other instructors here that I think are more qualified–who have worked in this studio for much longer that are more deserving for this job.”

Grace raised a brow at me, “Do you think I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t think you were more than qualified?”

Shit. I had that coming. I basically dug that hole myself. 

I stayed silent for my own good, Grace knew she was right and she sighed. 

“They want you,” she said simply.

“What? Why?”

I answered a bit too quickly, unknowingly raising my voice an octave or two. I shift in my chair, clearing my throat having just panicked in front of my boss.

“Well, given that you have a good background on hockey, I thought you were perfect for the position. Not to mention that their head coach, Rick Tocchet, had also referred to you. And if it helps, it’s not the entire team you will train with. Just two of their players.” Her lips twitched as she leaned in her seat. “One of them being your brother.”

My stomach twisted. I should have seen this from a mile away. Why didn’t I make that connection instantly right when she said ‘Vancouver Canucks’?

After all, my older brother Simon was one of the top forwards for the team.

Although, he may be my family and I would do anything for him–I wouldn’t train him or anyone on his team for that matter. Hockey was Simon’s thing, and I had my own so we stayed out of each other’s lane. And we like to keep it that way.

Plus, I wasn’t all that into men that played hockey. They weren’t my go-to type. But, I would be lying to myself if I didn't think there were some head-turners, but nothing too crazy of the sort. I have never dated a hockey guy.

I blinked, tapping out of my short trance. My brain was processing the fact that I was going to spend all summer with my brother and his teammate. 

Which led me to another question for Grace. 

“So, if I’m training my brother–” I said, dragging out the last word. “–who is the other?”

She took a moment before she replied, “Quinn Hughes.”

That brought me to a full stop. What?

My eyes were nothing but bloodshot, “Quinn Hughes?” There was absolutely no hiding my distraught expression, even if I tried my hardest to contain it. “That’s asking for the impossible, Grace. It would take a miracle for those two to work together.”

Shocked doesn’t even begin to cover what I was feeling.

Simon hated Quinn Hughes. I have spent the last few years listening to him ranting about how Quinn came in a year after he was drafted and ‘ruined’ everything–climbing the ranks, breaking franchise records as a defensemen, and taking the spotlight. 

I never truly understood the obsession. Simon had never acted this way growing up, especially towards another teammate. Now, he’s spent years resenting Quinn, blaming him for everything that has gone wrong in his career. I have asked multiple times specifically why he hated him so much, all I got was some half-assed answer.

And I’ve never met the guy, but from what I’ve seen, he seems alright.

“Your job is to make sure they don’t kill each other,” Grace continued. “I told Rick Tocchet you’d do it. And of course, you will be paid. More importantly, the Canucks’ are willing to invest in our studio. We’re growing and this would help fund more studios to expand, Sydney.”

Wow. It would be a great deal for Lumé Wellness now that I think about it. After adding the brand new Pilates reformers and more intensive sessions, our class attendances shot through the roof. The space in our studio was limited and we were growing in numbers as waitlists were piling up. 

What kind of Pilates instructor would I be if I didn’t want that for the studio?

I exhaled a sigh, “What about the media? They will be a problem–”

“We will handle it,” Grace cut me off. “After what happened last night, there’s no doubt that the press will track two of their star players’ moves throughout the summer. That’s why Rick, the Canuck’s team, and I will ensure that we will keep the training sessions on the down-low to prevent the media from talking.” 

That reassured me to an extent, but I was still skeptical. This was a bad idea.

It was easy to figure out why this arrangement was set in the first place. Those two, especially my brother, needed to stop acting like children and start acting like grown adults. Play like real professional hockey players. 

After the loss last night, it was only a matter of time when their team did something about it. I was surprised that it took them long enough. A few years ago, I wondered why they hadn't forced them to be stranded on an island together. Maybe surviving off an island together surely would have allowed them to work together at least.

The look in Grace’s eyes were telling me that there was no way out of this. Even if I came up with more excuses or tried to find a replacement, her (and apparently Rick Tocchet) mind was already made up.

I leaned back in my chair, my head was spinning in constant circles. “Is there any way for me to get out of this?”

“No.”

Damn. A complete shut down.

“Of course not,” I mumbled.

She gave me a knowing look, “Everything will be fine, that I can assure you, Sydney. Sessions will begin in two weeks.”

And just like that, my fate was sealed. Great.

I nodded my head as Grace dismissed me out of her office, gave her a small wave. I stepped out of the studio, took a deep breath trying to process what just happened in the last few minutes. I still couldn’t believe it.

My phone went off. Four missed calls and numerous text messages from Diane.

I called her back, and the second she picked up, she was already yelling. “Where the hell are you?”

A dull throb in my temple ached. “I got held up, I’ll be there in ten.”

“What happened?”

I sighed and began walking down the sidewalk. “You’re never going to believe me if I told you.”

The café was already packed by the time I got there, the low hum of conversation blending with the clinking of cups and the hiss of the espresso machine.

I spotted Diane almost immediately, she sat by the window, with a half-eaten bagel and small bits of crumbs on the table. She glanced up just as I approached her and instantly raised a brow.

“You’re late,” she said, pointing at me with her bagel in hand. “Again.”

“Sorry, I got held up.” I told her as I dropped into the chair across from her.

She playfully scoffed and held up her now empty cup, “Enough that I already finished one latte.” She smirked before setting it down. “Alright, spill. What was so important that you hung up on me and left me hanging here?”

“Grace.”

Diane’s eyes widened at that. She knew how rare it was for me–or anyone in the studio– to get caught up in Grace’s hair to get sent to her office. There were only good things I have told Diane about my boss over the years. Like the time she gave all the studio employees a gift certificate to the infamous spa in the north side of the city. It was generous of her, but it was quite expensive.

I took a deep breath before explaining to my friend of my new summer plans. Having to say it all out loud made me realize how real this was. It was going to happen and I wasn’t just dreaming in that office.

“Wait. I’m sorry, what?” Diane nearly choked on her coffee.

“Yep,” I popped the ‘p’, and nodded at her. “You heard me.”

For a split second, there was silence. 

Her face lit up accompanied with a squeal. Oh no. Here we go.

Diane’s expression was something between shock and excitement, “Syd, are you serious? That’s freaking nuts!” Unaware of her volume, she earned the glances of other customers in the café. We were both quick to give them apologetic nods. She leaned closer across the table, her voice quieter this time, “That’s huge, Syd!”

I scoffed, “I wouldn’t call it that.”

Diane grinned, “Are you kidding? You get to train professional athletes. NHL players. Do you know how many people would kill for that opportunity?”

She was right. It’s not everyday that you get to work with athletes in the big leagues. Anyone in the studio could have easily taken this job and taken the news a lot more lightly and professionally than I did. But no, oddly enough I didn’t have any other choice or say in the decision.

I shook my head at her, slumping into my seat. “It’s not that simple.”

Diane tilted her head as if I grew another pair of eyes, “What’s not simple about that? You get to train with your brother and I don’t think that’s all too difficult, right? Shouldn’t it be easier since he is your brother?”

As much as I loved my brother, we liked keeping our lives separate from each other. He had his career, and I had mine. Not saying that I wasn’t proud of him or embarrassed that my brother was one of the hockey stars in the league. I was very proud that he achieved his dreams, why wouldn’t I be? I just liked supporting him from the sidelines. 

“Me and Simon are close but–” I paused, tracing the rim of my coffee cup with my finger. “We don’t mix our careers or get involved in each other’s business. Now, I’m being thrown right into it and it just…complicates things.”

Diane watched me carefully, “Is that really a bad thing?”

I hesitated before answering her. “I’ve never really been a part of his hockey world, this was totally unexpected. Hell, I don’t even know if he knows about it. He hasn’t texted me since yesterday before the game.” 

“Okay, so you’re only training your brother. Big deal. It’s not like you’re training with the whole team.” She waved a hand, acting like that was the only issue I was dealing with.

I shot her a look, I accidentally left out a big piece of information while explaining to her.

“And Quinn Hughes,” I added flatly.

Diane’s jaw dropped to the floor, “Wait–Quinn Hughes? As in, the captain of the team and the best defensemen in the league ‘Quinn Hughes’?”

As far as hockey goes for Diane, she had no interest in the sport, unless there was eye-candy on the team. When it came down to the NHL, the only names she was familiar with were the ‘good-looking’ guys, my brother, and Quinn Hughes. 

I nodded, then took a quick sip of my coffee, “Apparently, my job is to make sure they don’t kill each other during the summer.”

“Wow. That’s definitely…something.”

“Exactly.” I crossed my arms. “I barely know Quinn. But, Simon? He’s been going off about the guy for years. And now I’m supposed to train them. Together? That’s a shitshow waiting to happen.”

Diane shrugged her shoulders, looking at me thoughtfully. “Or maybe it’s an opportunity.”

My brow raised at that, “To do what? Watch my brother have a meltdown? Yeah, no thanks.” 

“But–”

I groaned, “Diane.”

She was teasing, and she never fails to get away with it. “I’m just saying, maybe this isn’t the worst thing. You’ll be challenged. You’ll make new connections. And–” She paused. “Who knows, this might just be the most interesting thing going for you right now since the accident–nevermind, sorry.”

Ouch. That stung.

But, Diane was right. As much as I’d like to think that my life was perfect and everything was going the right places, deep down, I knew it wasn’t. Ever since I got hurt and went through months of recovering, the course of direction my life was heading towards took a hard turn.

Now, I have ended up here. But, I wasn’t not grateful as things could have been worse, very worse. Over the years, I had to learn how to go with the flow and accept it.

I knew she didn’t mean to say that with bad intentions. Diane always wanted what was best for me, and I was glad that she felt that way since I would do the same with her. She was my longest friend for as long as I could remember.

She gave me an apologetic smile, “If anything, maybe your brother can introduce you to his teammates or–”

I playfully shook my head, then stood up with my empty cup in my hands. “I’m getting more coffee.”

She laughed, “Fine. But, I am not done talking about this.”

I gave her a look over my shoulder before heading over to the front counter. The café was even busier now, and I had to squeeze past a few people waiting for their orders. I handed my cup to the barista, tapping my fingers against the counter as I waited.

Diane’s words lingered in my head. Maybe this was a big opportunity, Maybe I was overreacting. But there was still that anxious feeling in my stomach, my subconscious telling me that I was not ready for this.

The barista handed me the the refilled cup, and I turned back towards our table–

Only to be met with a sudden, solid force.

The next thing I knew, the warmth of hot coffee spilled down the front of my hoodie. I sucked in a sharp breath as the heat seared against my skin right through the fabric. “Fuck!”

The impact rattled me, as I staggered back, barely managing to keep hold of the cup and maintaining my balance. I looked down at the damage, dark brown stains spread across the pale gray fabric.

I clenched my jaw. Just perfect. 

“Shit, I–”

I glanced up, ready to give whoever it was a piece of my fucking mind and–

I froze. No, it can’t be.

Quinn fucking Hughes.

Stood right in front of me, low and behold, looked just as surprised as I did.

Up close, he was taller than I expected–maybe I was just short– lean but solid, his broad shoulders filling out his fitted black hoodie effortlessly. His dark hair was slightly tousled under his hat; damp at the ends like he’d just finished practice or a workout, and completely blended with the crowd of people as if he wasn’t one of the biggest NHL players in the league.

I blinked, my brain lagging for a second. I’ve seen him on TV, many times before, in clips that Simon had angrily sent me after a few bad games, but seeing him up close was different. Very different.

He had his own unique attractiveness, I won’t lie. He had the light scruffy stubble around his jaw–sharp jawline, and piercing greenish blue eyes that made him look intense, but there was a softness in the way that he blinked at me, momentarily thrown off.

What was he doing here of all places?

He didn’t seem to realize that I wasn’t saying anything and ran a hand through his hair, looking somewhat embarrassed. “I, uh–” He hesitated, looking vaguely horrified at the sight of my hoodie. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t paying attention.”

I exhaled through my nose, forcing myself to calm down despite the feeling of coffee soaking into my hoodie. “Yeah, no kidding.”

 He pulled a handful of napkins from the counter and offered them to me, “Here.”

“Thanks.” I took them from his grasp and attempted to clean the stain, knowing it wouldn’t do much but tried anyway. 

“I can buy you another one,” Quinn offered, nodding towards the counter. “Or, at least a new hoodie?

I shook my head, frustrated that the napkins were making my hoodie worse. “I don’t need anything from an NHL player, alright–”

Oh shit. My eyes widened as soon as the words slipped from my mouth. 

That caught him off guard, and so had I.

Quinn’s expression lit up and brows furrowed instantly at that, curiosity flashing in his eyes. “So, you know who I am?”

“Yes, I do.” I said in a tone indicating that it wasn’t a good thing. 

He studied me for a moment. Probably thinking that I was a hockey fan or whatnot.

“Can I at least get your name or number?” He paused, scrambling to rephrase what his intentions were behind that question. “To replace your hoodie or pay for dry cleaning, anything to fix what I caused.”

He sounded pretty genuine and his intentions were nothing but pure, hopefully.

I gave him a look, “I’m not making you buy me a hoodie. I can take care of this–” I looked down at the mess. “–myself. So, I think I’ll respectfully pass up on that offer of yours.”

As I was about to turn my back on him, his fingers found the material of my sleeve, and swiftly pulled me back. “Hey look, I’d feel really bad if I left here without making it up to you.”

“Oh, really?” 

He only nodded, which amused me.

“I think I can survive without your help, but thanks.”

Quinn’s lips twitched like he wanted to smile, but thought the better of it before I turned around.

I felt his eyes linger on me as soon as I made my way back to Diane. She watched the whole thing and she looked like she was about to lose her damn mind once I sat down.

I glanced over my shoulder back to where Quinn stood. I was so lost in that interaction that I hadn’t noticed two other of his Canuck buddies were standing behind him. I watched them laughing–most likely teasing him–about what they witnessed. Great, that was just great.

“What the actual fuck just happened, Syd?” 

I wish I knew.

all rights reserved © 2025 hellvst. please do not copy, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

[tinylilacbun]

hii if your requests are open could you please do one with daddy!rafe calming down little!reader after she has a nasty fight with her father? like her father always acts disappointed in her and she thinks rafe might feel the same thank you so much 💕💕

What on earth did you do to deserve being treated like this? You've always been good at school, never acted out, not once have you touched any drugs or got into fights.

So why, why is your father still treating you like a disappointment? You can never seem to do something right in his eyes and it sits heavy on your heart, always just trying to get his approval even though he treats you the way he does.

Today's meet up and having some dinner at a restaurant had ended like every other, in a fight. He tried yet again to get you to take over the family business, which was never your dream to begin with.

When you said that out loud he started spewing insults at how you should start to get your life under control instead of living out of your boyfriends wallet.

Before he could continue his rant you simply stood up and stormed out of the restaurant, trying to push back the tears to not give him the satisfaction of seeing you so distraught.

You promised to call Rafe after your dinner, so he could come and pick you up, but you couldn't think of that right now and continue walking all the way back to his house, your arms wrapped around yourself as you replay the conversation with your father in your head over and over.

Maybe he's right. No, he's in the wrong. Why should you stress over something as taking over a business you never wanted in the first place? Just because your father built it doesn't mean you're forced to manage it one day.

But you do live on Rafe's costs. He pays everything for you, food, clothes, any toys your little self desires, your spa appointments, and he does it with a smile on his face because you're his girl that deserves anything you could want.

What if Rafe starts thinking like your father? That you're just a burden for him and should find a job. You could never live with it if he thinks too that you're a disappointment.

Soon you're unlocking the front door to the condo, closing it behind you with a long exhale, taking off your shoes and shrugging off your jacket.

"Baby? That you? I thought I was supposed to pick you up." Rafe questions, coming down the staircase, his eyes fixated on his phone as he makes his way over to you.

When you didn't answer he pockets the device, lifting his head and furrows his brows at the look on your face. "Hey, you okay?"

At that question you instantly start to tear up, your vision blurring and before you can start talking you feel him pulling you into his arms.

You grab the back of his shirt in your fists tightly, sobbing into his chest as all the anger and sadness pours out.

Rafe doesn't say anything, simply holding you and letting you get everything out, swaying you both a little until you calm down again.

"Your dad?" He asks and you nod against him, your grip getting firmer on him. "Shh, it's okay, I got you."

In one swift movement he lifts you up, carrying you upstairs to your shared bedroom, carefully sitting down with you comfortably on his lap.

He should have gone with you. He knows how your dad is, hell he knows exactly how you feel given how his relationship with his father was. It always infuriates him how someone can treat a person as wonderful as you this bad.

"You wanna tell daddy what happened?" He asks softly, reaching for your stuffed bunny that's neatly placed on your pillow to place it in your arms.

You shake your head, not wanting to talk at all at the moment, even less about your father. You're in the arms of your favorite person and that's all you need in this moment.

"That's fine." He assures you, lifting his hand to wipe the remaining tears from your cheek with his thumb, pressing a long kiss to your forehead. "Just know that I'm really proud of you, yea? I always am, and always will be."

Your body heats up at his praise, feeling safe and appreciated, something you wish you would feel from your father.

Screw him. As long as you have Rafe, who never fails to reassure you that he loves you and will take care of everything for you, you'll be okay.

"I luv you, daddy..." You mumble, nuzzling your face into his neck to inhale his scent, sighing out in relief.

"I love you too, bunny. So much." He whispers, resting his cheek on top of your hair as he adjusts his hold on you.

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

So what exactly happened? That's a good question because I have no idea what Zelensky was thinking. This was not a situation where President Donald Trump was beating him over the head or demanding he submit to a specific narrative surrounding the war in Ukraine. On the contrary, the meeting was essentially over when Zelensky decided it'd be a great idea to try to publicly embarrass Trump and Vice President JD Vance in front of the press. The sticking point appeared to be Vance, who was wrapping up the press conference, mentioning diplomacy being a means to end the war. Zelensky, for whatever reason, took great offense at that suggestion and asked the vice president if he could ask him a question. The Ukrainian president then leaned forward and began to dismiss the idea of a ceasefire, citing deals that Russia has broken in the past. That's when things touched off, with Zelensky and Vance going back and forth. 

...

This was a colossal miscalculation by Zelensky. Trump has never accepted the idea that Ukraine is doing the United States a favor by fighting Russia as a way of justifying unlimited aid. Perhaps Joe Biden found that argument persuasive, but Joe Biden is not in office anymore. Russia is not going to invade the United States or any NATO country (if for no other reason than a lack of capability), and using that as a type of blackmail for support was never going to play.  Here's the deal. Fairness or being "right" doesn't factor into a situation like this. Zelensky is in a desperate spot, and Trump had largely acquiesced to a very Ukraine-friendly deal over the last few days (including lowering the repayment amount to just $90 billion). The negotiations were over. All the Ukrainian president had to do was show up, shake hands, smile for the cameras, and sign the deal. His attempt to lecture Trump and Vance for the cameras was an ego move that he didn't have the leverage to pull off.  Trump does not care about the press. You aren't going to bully him into a certain point of view by appealing to CNN or any other legacy news outlet. Whether that's fair or not is irrelevant. What's relevant is the reality of the moment, and Zelensky chose to pick a fight with Vance when it was completely unnecessary. Liz Cheney and David Frum may do performative outrage online, but they are not going to cut a check to Ukraine. Zelensky needed this deal and chose to blow it up for no good reason. What was the point of him even coming to the White House if he was going to publicly denounce any possible ceasefire?  What this really comes down to is how Zelensky handled this. If he has issues with Trump negotiating a deal with Putin, then he should express those behind closed doors, which is something Vance pointed out during the exchange. By trying to embarrass and undermine the U.S. president in public, he destroyed an already frayed relationship. In doing so, he might have cost his country its war. 

Zelensky is a fucking idiot. He doesn't realize he's not dealing with Biden's interns anymore. Trump and Vance aren't going to be awed by his faux-combat gear aesthetic and his tough guy posturing while he play acts as a war general. They don't see Russia as an invincible Sauron-esque boogeyman being held back from world domination by the brave stalwart forces of Gondor Ukraine. They understand that Putin is bankrupting his country failing to fully conquer Ukraine. They know that Russia is having to recommission museum tanks and send them to the frontlines because they're in dire need of armor. Russia is no threat to anyone outside of small, non-NATO countries like Ukraine, and even those countries can put up a good fight. War with Russia is never coming to US shores. The only way American soldiers and Russian soldiers exchange fire is if the US sends troops overseas to fight in another foreign war that has nothing to do with us. Zelensky is so used to western leaders falling over themselves to cozy up to him in the media that he stupidly thought calling Trump out in front of cameras would get him to play nice and take his scolding like a good little Eurotard weakling. But Trump has never played nice for the media. And he's never pulled his punches when it comes to European leaders and the bullshit games they play. If you want to temper Trump, you do it behind closed doors. That's where Trump negotiates. You call him out in public, he's going to Little Rocket Man your ass until you come crawling to him on hands and knees begging for him to stop.

Zelensky is a theater kid playing at being a wartime leader. He's squandered so many chances to end this war and save his people from continued death and he passes them all up because he wants to be the brave leader who beat Putin and conquered Russia. He's a comedian who has no idea what it means to actually be a leader. And when he comes crawling back to Trump, because he will come crawling back, he's going to be lucky if all he has to pay is the $500 billion in mineral rights Trump originally wanted.

[clickityweasel]

my job is not an arty job, but my manager is capitalising on the fact that i can draw, and i am an enjoyer of drawing-based work because it's not something i normally get paid for, so the task of "draw like 30 different animals for a card game" is a win win situation.

what i have learned, however, is that i cannot draw animals. they come out Bad. the proportions are off, they're stiff and weird, sometimes they don't even look like the right animal. drawing people? great sign me up! animals? apparently? no can do boss. i was sending over sketches and my manager was so greatly Not A Fan of my terrible animals that she very gently suggested just printing off some random pngs from canva. other coworkers were less gentle with my sweet delicate feelings.

however i have whatever the opposite of imposter syndrome is, and after a long and painful struggle discovered the secret hack to become instantly Pretty Decent at drawing animals. out of nowhere, i was able to produce many pictures of animals that ranged from Passable to Not Even That Bad, Actually. my confidence was unfaltering. but this hack comes with a cost.

i can only draw animals while listening to ABBA.

now i enjoy a bit of ABBA! but a man has limits. and that limit was crossed somewhere during the second full day of nonstop ABBA during which time i began to develop some form of swedish disco stockholm syndrome. two more days in and i was singing some real deep cuts, word for word. i tried other artists but none could evoke my latent animal drawing abilities like ABBA could, so i was trapped. i tried many times to break free of my disco placebo, but it was no use. i was trapped in a hell of my own hubristic making.

now i would share with you some of my improved animals, the good shit, the ones drawn using the performance enhancing drug that is ABBA's discography, but when someone inevitably reverse image searches one and finds out exactly where i work, i'll feel a bit silly, so you're going to have to trust me that they're worlds apart from..... these.

(unkind, if wholly accurate commentary from my beloved manager)

anyway, this post is actually a success story. after a number of days (i don't care to mention how many) and a slow descent into an ABBA-induced break with reality, i finished all the animals. every single one. i had done it. they were printed, and i was free. my manager was delighted. she said they looked great.

so great, in fact, that she wants me to make a second set. with different animals. so it is back to square one with my good friends and companions agnetha, björn, benny, and anni-frid.

all this is to say that, boss, if you change your mind, im the first in line, honey im still free, take a ch