#not my best work but I've missed these two

[snailchimera]

Speaking as someone who was able and willing to get the fuck out of Florida, it was the right thing to do and I don't regret it, but it fucking hurts. I miss my home. I miss my shitty toxic eutrophic bayou and my lizard neighbors and liveoaks with Spanish moss and palmettos and honeysuckle that is probably invasive and tiny stubborn canebrakes and sandy patches of scrub. I miss bugs, which is not a thing I would have predicted saying, not because I dislike bugs but because it never occurred to me that other places were so bug-deficient. I miss the cluster of left-adjacent people ranging from peace-and-love Unitarians to the serious union folks or the people running a grocery co-op that actually functioned as a grocery store normal people could buy food at to the folks fixed on one specific problem like housing or healthcare to the anarchists and the socialists and the queer community spread through all of the above and That One Communist whose sole purpose in life seemed to be hawking a newspaper, all clustered together because you can't afford to splinter into two billion different factions in a conservative town full of gun nuts, and honestly probably being a more functional group because of it. I miss streets and buildings that used to be fixtures in my life, landmarks that told me exactly where I was. I miss stupid small things like the art on my library card, the sound of a road, an absolutely objectively terrible park that was always full of glass and spent fireworks the day after New Years or the 4th of July. I miss my best friend from middle/high school (though we're still in touch), and at least a couple members of my family, and my dad's weird friend who wrote absolutely godawful political poetry and hand painted beautiful cards for holidays and once tried to steal my pet turtles to turn them loose in the nearby river (which would have been bad as they were a nonnative species).

I have missed multiple funerals I should have been at and I don't think I'm ever really going to get closure for that.

I've been living up north for over a decade now and the air still tastes wrong. The seasonal shifts here are beautiful, but in the way an alien planet is. It is literally physically impossible to acquire a decent orange or orange juice that tastes like it's actually meant to be a consumable foodstuff here, and I didn't even grow up in orange growing country so it's not like my standards are fresh-picked-today high.

And I didn't really leave a community behind the way OP would have to. I was always pretty isolated, all things considered.

I'm out of Florida, and also alive in general, because an internet friend took me in and inexplicably hasn't kicked me out yet. That's not a viable plan for most people. And, although I am spending more money than I can really afford to renew a passport I've never used, it's very unlikely I'd be able to find sanctuary in another country with my disability, spotty work history, and lack of money. Even if I could, there are people I can't leave behind.

I do think you should get a passport if you can. If you have the money, help other people get one too. It's useful documentation, and if it comes down to it... a Hail Mary escape plan is still better than waiting to die. But the people brave enough to keep fighting for their homes aren't stupid, and the places they love are worth fighting for. The people who can't leave are not acceptable losses. And most red states are red because of deeply entrenched systems of disenfranchisement and suppression.

Just care about people.

I see a lot of posts along the lines of, "people stay in Florida because they can't afford to leave," in reference to both climate disasters and Republican politicians.

I don't see enough, "because it's their home, and leaving under such conditions is traumatic, even if they can afford to drop everything and leave."

I wish people would stop telling me "just move" when I talk about the problems I want to fix. I wish people would stop telling me "it's a sunk cost, you should just leave" when I try to encourage political participation and community involvement. I wish people would stop asking me "lmao why" when I say that I love Florida. I wish people would stop asking me if I "need help leaving" when I have never declared any intention to do so, and have been quite vocal about how happy I was to move back to Florida after a long time away.

I know this land, I know this community, I have deep roots here. I'm tired of everyone telling me to rip them up and "just leave" when I'm trying so goddamn fucking hard to try and help make things better.

You might just see a gross swamp full of rednecks, but I see the sides you refuse to. I see the humanity, I see the communities banding together, I see the beauty, I see the hope. I see the climate activists advocating for our people and our environment, engineering new ways to mitigate hurricanes and update our infrastructure. I see the groups fighting for immigrant rights, racial justice and reparations, affordable housing, organized labor, abortion access, and disability justice. I see the queer organizations carving out space and helping trans people access healthcare. I see people fighting DeSantis tooth and goddamn nail at every single opportunity. I see the reasons to keep fighting for this place that everyone else has written off as a cheap punchline.

I wish y'all would stop ignoring us when there isn't a deadly hurricane or a Florida Man headline, and I wish y'all would stop treating Floridians like we're either helpless victims or horrible bigots with zero in-between.

Some of us are doing our damnedest to make things better. Some of us love Florida with every fiber of our being. Some of us think of Florida, and before anything else, we think "that's home."

It feels pretty fucking bad to constantly see people say your home should be abandoned. It feels pretty fucking bad when the entire rest of the world refuses to see your home as anything but a joke or a problem.

Florida is beautiful. Florida is my home. I'm going to fight for it no matter how many people reading this think I should just pack up and abandon it.

[asgardian--angels]

I don't talk about this much but I'm just going to say it now.

there's something uniquely vile about being the daughter of a father who is a trump supporter. and not just a casual supporter, a full drank-the-kool-aid moon-landing-was-fake deep red neonazi maga crackpot. because I had to watch that change happen over the last decade. my father, an intelligent, introspective scientist, whose brain has essentially turned to mush and critical thinking skills shriveled up and died thanks to that orange rapist.

He has always loved me, supported me to be whatever I want to be, given me the most opportunities he could in life. He taught me to be kind, and forgiving, and to remember that we are all in this together. And now, while still claiming to feel that way, he vehemently, and viciously, spews hateful rhetoric and vitriol against women, against climate change, against democrats, against all the things I am, against the field of study I've dedicated my life, my soul to. We can no longer even have a regular conversation because all he does all day is sit online and watch trump rallies, listen to 'patriot' podcasts, and troll people on forums. He has nothing else to talk about, and cannot be negotiated with. Him and I used to love having sparring matches of wit, picking topics to debate in good faith. Now, any hint of a challenge and he becomes enraged, petty, and belittling. He somehow maintains this hypocritic fallacy in his mind that he is a good person, that he does everything to make my life better, and that humankind must come together to make a better future. Just, not *those* people, I guess, not them or them or them who aren't even people to him.

And I must occupy some gray area in his mind, Schrodinger's political prisoner. Because even though he knows I am a democrat, that I am a woman who will be affected by these laws, that I study climate change in the work that he supposedly supports, I must not be to him, one of 'those' people. I'm not like 'those' democrats, 'those' women, 'those' climate change cronies. Except when I am, because if we argue, if we discuss policy at all, I am just a girl, under his roof, and I have no idea what I'm talking about - because I'm young, because women aren't capable of understanding His greatness, because Elite Academia has brainwashed me into being a liberal. That my mom and I are ganging up on him, constantly, to paint him as the villain when he's only the victim. He's going to elect the man who will save us all, whether we want it or not. Our say doesn't matter, because we just don't understand.

I miss the father I knew. He was always petty, always ready to poke and prod - he hurt my feelings plenty, but I could deal with it. But I felt he was genuinely good at his core, that he tried his best. Now, I don't know him. I don't recognize him anymore. I've imagined so many times what I would say to him if I could give a speech, or write a letter, where he could not talk back and just had to listen. I don't know if I'll ever get that chance, or take it. But I know he has truly no idea how hurt and betrayed I am, and he wouldn't believe me if I told him. He knows no shame, and he does not apologize.

I'm not looking forward to spending the winter at home with him every day for two months. I don't see how I can look him in the eye. And how dare he look me in the eye after fucking me over.

I love my father, no matter what, and that's why it hurts me so badly to see him change into a stranger, and wonder if there was anything more I could have done to change his mind before this transformation completed. Knowing that it's not my responsibility to argue with him to try and make him see reason when he's too far gone and all it does is make me feel like shit, and yet.

I'm sorry to everyone who may relate to this within their own families. It's probably going to get worse. These men will feel empowered to speak their minds and force you to hear it. They try to provoke you, just so they can say you're hysterical or overreact as women do, when you get reasonably upset. Know that you're not alone in this, Trump has truly torn families apart in ways that I don't think will ever heal.

[i-messed-up-big-time]

Broken Trust

Xavier x fem!Reader

Hey guys this is my first ever little drabble for the LADS boys, feel free to send in requests about what you would like to see next!

I will be coming up with a list of rules and a masterlist soon to make finding these short fics easier!

Tags: hurt/comfort, angst, reader is not MC, reader is female, swearing, fighting wanderers, violence, blood, reader gets really hurt, slight OOC Xavier (I'm trying my best to make it as accurate as possible 😭), mentions of death

Word count: 3088

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Xavier

Countless days and nights passed by slowly, the walk home is too quiet without your little rambles about your missions or the things you and Tara got up to when you were supposed to be working.

By habit, Xavier presses the floor that leads to your apartment. Shaking his head he presses the number to his floor and silently watches the door slowly open to your floor, missing the time he would spend at your apartment.

He regrets leaving you alone that day to go see MC instead. He doesn't know what came over him but it doesn't excuse him leaving you when you needed him the most.

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It hurt, not seeing him knowing he was just a floor away from me, but what hurt even more was knowing she was on the same floor as me.

Seeing her when I'm leaving or going, the guilty look in her eyes every time she looked my way. It was all so overbearing and annoying.

I hate the way she keeps looking at me every time she sees me. It makes me feel like I'm being rude when I ignore her greetings or when I turn away every time she looks my way.

Every day feels worse without him by my side, but it hurts knowing I wasn't his first priority ever since she came into the picture, the lovable hunter with determination in her eyes that shine brighter than Xavier's evol.

What does she have that I don't? Why was she more important than me, his girlfriend?

"It pisses me off that he hasn't even tried to apologize since that day." I said to myself.

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One week ago

Ever since that new hunter joined the Hunter Association a couple months back I've notice Xavier is barely around anymore, always off somewhere with her under the pretext of Jenna asking him to train her.

"He's supposed to be my partner and helping me out with my missions. Couldn't Jenna assign a different hunter to train MC? Why did it have to be Xavier?" I spoke to myself as I walked down the streets of Linkon in search of something to eat.

I found a nice place with some yummy looking pastries that looked to die for, but before I could even look at the menu my hunter watch beeped with notifications of a mission.

With a heavy sigh I left the little shop and headed to where my mission was located. Luckily Xavier would be joining me on this mission.

It's been a while since we've been on a mission together. I think to myself as I smile.

Who knew I'd would be so wrong.

"It's been two hours why isn't Xavier here yet?!" I say to myself as slash another wanderer. It was getting increasingly harder to keep up with the hoard of wanderers that just kept spawning out of nowhere.

"Fuck! Xavier when I get my hands on you I swear to god!" I yelled out.

I tried contacting him again and it just kept ringing until it went to voicemail again, and in that fleeting moment of distraction I failed to notice the wanderer behind me until it was too late.

The pain was paralyzing, I felt the wanderer remove its weapon from and go in for another attack. Only this time it never connected.

I heard a sharp ringing in my ear as my vision started to go blurry from the blood loss. I heard voices and the sound of footsteps before I collided with ground which sent a searing pain through my head as I passed out.

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At the hospital

Beep..... beep..... beep.....

I flinched at the noise as I started to regain my senses, and that's when the pain hit me tenfold. I groaned while clutching my head,

"Ugh it hurts so much." I cried out.

"I would assume as much considering you were very gravely injured." A familiar calm and cool voice spoke up. I looked to the side to see Zayne standing next to me with a clipboard in hand.

"You woke up right on time, let me ask you a few questions about how you're feeling." He looked down at his clipboard and started asking his questions one by one, diligently noting down everything I said.

"Unfortunately the wound will take a few weeks to heal up completely, I've written a note for your superiors requesting that you be put on leave until you are fully recovered, and I won't take no as an answer." He said as he narrowed his gaze at me noticing my mouth open to refute.

I slouched back into the hospital bed. "Ok I get it" I spoke in a voice that sounded like a toddler who just got scolded for eating dessert before dinner.

"Good, I'm glad we came to this agreement. Do you have anyone to come pick you up or do you need a ride back home?" Zayne asked. I silently shook my head no.

"Wait for me to finish your discharge papers and then I'll take you home." He spoke in that calm and comforting voice he has when he notices something is wrong with me.

I guess nothing can get past this childhood friend of mine, he knows me too well.

"Thank you Zayne, I really appreciate it." He hummed out a response and then left.

That's when everything that happened came crashing down on me.

Xavier left me alone, how could he?

The thought caused my eyes to start welling up with tears, the reality of the situation making my heart feel heavy.

Zayne came by and helped me get into his car and drove me home. The ride to my place was silent, I could tell Zayne wanted to ask me questions but seeing my face he kept it to himself knowing that the questions would only cause more pain.

"Thank you again Zayne, I know I can always trust you." I smiled at him as I got out of his car.

"I'll always be there for you, I'm only a call away if you need anything." Zayne said with a ghost of a smile. He helped me to my apartment and stood next to me as I tried to unlock the door.

I hope I don't see Xavier or MC anytime soon. I don't want to deal with either of them.

Speak of the devil and he appears, the elevators open to reveal MC and Xavier with smiles on their faces and what looked like plushies in their hands. Xavier noticed me and his face dropped in concern over my condition.

Luck was on my side as the door opened and I quickly got inside bidding Zayne farewell and expressing my gratitude for his help once again.

I locked the door and quickly made my way to my bedroom, locking the door behind me.

Not even a minute later I heard my phone going off with calls from Xavier. I ignored them and moved to the bathroom to wash up before getting into bed.

Under the warm water of the shower I let my tears flow and sobbed my heart out, the pain from the wounds, the pain from Xavier leaving me to go to a claw machine arcade with MC.

I risked my life to fight those wanderers and he was out having fun? I can't do this anymore, I can't keep trying to act like everything is fine.

Today was my last straw, as I got out of the shower I sent Xavier a quick message,

Me: Xavier, I can't do this anymore. I don't want to be a second option and I don't want to be left in a situation where my partner can't do their job.

You left me to deal with the mission myself, I don't want to hear from you again.

We're done.

I shut my phone off and slid into bed.

It's gonna be a long few weeks of recovery.

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Xavier

I messed up.

That's all Xavier could think of when he saw the condition you were in. He doesn't know what came over him, but whenever he's with MC it feels like something has taken over him.

"Do you want me to leave Xavier?" He came to his senses when he heard MC's voice next to him.

"Yes I think that would be for the best." Xavier gave her a curt reply and turned towards your door, unlocking the door and getting inside. He made his way to your bedroom only to find the door unlocked, he was about to knock when he heard your sobs.

They were full of pain and it hurt him to know he was the reason for those painful sounds coming from you.

He silently turned away and decided it was best to let you have your space and come to you later.

As he made his way upstairs he decided to check his phone.

10 missed calls from you

3 missed calls from the Hunter Association

Shit

He cursed at himself for missing all of these calls.

What am I gonna do to make it up to her?

He thought to himself.

Its as if the gods above heard him and decided to send him his punishment right away.

He heard the familiar ping of a text message, knowing that tone was the one he set for you.

Y/N: Xavier, I can't do this anymore. I don't want to be a second option and I don't want to be left in a situation where my partner can't do their job.

You left me to deal with the mission myself, I don't want to hear from you again.

We're done.

The silence in the house was deafening, you could almost hear his heart shatter.

Please no. Please don't let this be true.

Xavier started to panic, the weight of everything crashing down on him like a ton of bricks. He went back down to your apartment, letting himself in and knocking on the door of your bedroom, unaware of the fact that you were fast asleep due to the pain.

"Please Y/N, I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me and I know that's not an excuse. Please just let me explain myself." Xavier begged.

His back slid against the door as he sat on the floor, "I'm so sorry." Tears welled up in his eyes but he refused to let them drop. Time passed by and soon Xavier fell asleep in front of your door, waiting in hopes that you would open the door and talk to him.

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The next morning you noticed him sprawled out on the floor in front of your bedroom door. Not having any energy to deal with him, I stepped over him and slowly made my way to the kitchen to get something to eat so that I could take my medication.

"Y/N?" I heard Xavier's worried voice behind

I ignored him and continued to look for some food in my fridge. I ended up making the wrong move and let out a loud shriek of pain. groaning I held my stomach feeling the bandages get a little wet.

Xavier took a step forward to try and help but I held up a hand to stop him. "I don't need your help, you had your chance and made your choice. Please just leave me alone."

I saw his face drop in guilt, it hurt me to see him like that but not as much as the pain in my abdomen and heart.

"I'm sorry, please just let me take care of you." Xavier spoke in that soft tone, the one that I loved to hear the most when he would take care of me whenever I was injured.

"No. Leave, right now." I spat out through gritted teeth, the pain becoming a little more unbearable.

He resigned himself to listen and made his way to the front door, but before leaving he said, "I'll make it up to you, please just give me some time to make things right." With that he left me to ponder over his words in the silent apartment.

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Present

This past week has been nothing but exhausting pain and constant crying.

I took a look at myself in the mirror on my way to my steaming bath.

Oh god, I look horrendous!

The bags under my eyes were dark, my skin looked so dull and my eyes looked puffy and red.

Determined to give myself a well deserved self-care day I started on getting washed up before applying some skin care before relaxing in the bath.

After some time I got out and dried myself down, wearing the fresh pair of PJ's that I had set out earlier on my bed, but before I could get back into bed the doorbell went off.

Groaning, I sluggishly made my way to the front door. When I opened it I was greeted with a face full of my favourite flowers.

What the hell?

Just as I was about to say something I saw the familiar mop of grey-brown hair pop up from behind the flowers. Sad and guilty filled blue eyes staring back at me.

Irritated I moved to close the door when his hand reached out to hold it in place.

"Please wait!" Xavier exclaimed, I don't think I have it in me to face him. This past week I've been fighting myself about dating Xavier again.

He was my best friend before he was my boyfriend, I miss my best friend.

With a small sigh I moved away from the entrance, giving him some space to come in.

I'll hear him out. I know deep down I want to make it work, but I'm not gonna tell him that.

I close the door and made my way to the couch, my movement being a little less restricted than before but there's still that constant dull ache of pain.

Xavier set the flowers down on a nearby table and was on his knees in front of me taking a hold of my hands. He gently ran his thumbs over my knuckles before speaking up.

"I don't want to give you excuses, but I mean it when I say I don't know what came over me and why I ignored all those calls or why I have been pushing you away and spending more time with MC."

Upon closer look I could see the bags under his eyes and the tiredness that he tried to hide but failed to do so.

It looks like he hasn't been sleeping at all.

He dropped his head down and I noticed the slight shake in his shoulders,

"I don't know what I would have done if I lost you because of my foolishness."

It was then I felt the tear drops on my lap, my resolve breaking as my heart couldn't bear to see him so broken.

I cupped his face and turned his face to look at me, the tears running down his face and the guilt in his eyes even more apparent than before.

"You really hurt me Xav."

His eyes widened a bit at the use of the name I had for him, he tried to look away in shame but I kept my grip firm.

"I thought I was going to die. I trusted you with my life the day you became my partner, and you broke that all for another girl."

I could see how my words affected him, and a part of me is glad that they hurt him.

Even if it's only a fraction of the pain I had to endure, I want him to understand my pain.

"I'm not going to ask you to tell me about whatever is going on between you because I don't want to get hurt."

I could feel the sting of tears in my eyes, and soon enough the tears started to drop.

"Please Y/N, I promise there's nothing between MC and I." Xavier says in a hushed voice as he reaches out to wipe away my tears.

"In this life and every other life after, my heart only belongs to you." His declaration made my heart flutter.

"I know you don't want to hear about whatever is going on with MC, but I can promise you that it was merely a distant connection from a past life, nothing more than that."

If there was one thing that I could trust, it was that the eyes are truly the window to the soul and Xavier's eyes told no lies.

I sighed and leaned back onto the couch, letting go of Xavier's face. I closed my eyes to let my brain and emotions process.

I know I shouldn't but just this time, I'll give him another chance.

I opened my eyes and looked at Xavier, patting my lap to signal him to come and lay his head in my lap.

He quickly obliged and made himself comfortable with his arms wrapped carefully around my waist, holding me as if I was just an illusion that would disappear.

I ran my fingers through his hair, the action causing his body to relax and lean into the touch.

"It'll take some time for us to get back to where we used to be. I trust you when you say that there's nothing going on between you two, but my trust in you as my partner is broken."

I spoke softly, feeling myself relax for the first time since the incident.

Xavier got up from his position and knelt beside me on the couch, gingerly taking my face into his hands.

"I promise you, I will spend every moment working on rebuilding that trust and more. You are the only light I need in this life and every life after it."

He whispered before placing a soft kiss on my lips. He then pulled back and got off the couch, lifting me up in his arms.

Surprised, I let out a squeal wrapping my arms around his neck.

"Xavier! Be careful!"

He let out a small laugh and kissed my forehead.

"Let me take care of you, to make up for the week that you've been by yourself. You deserve nothing less than the best."

I smiled up at him, reaching up give him a small peck on the cheek.

"You better be ready to be at my beck and call." I joked,

"I'd do anything for you, even if you want this world to be in ruins."

[3-2-whump]

Purpose Lost, Then Re-gained

Hey everyone,

If you need a timely distraction from spiraling into despair (like me), here is a backstory I've been holding onto for ages. Thanks @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz for beta-reading this!

PS, there is a reference to a previous chapter that you'd might want to brush up on, if you're unfamiliar with it

TW/CW: blood, aftermath of murder, whump aftermath (I guess?), aftermath of (sports) injury, emotional whump (depression), feelings realization (bi panic)

Out, damned spot; out, I say. One, two, —why, then ’tis time to do’t. Hell is murky. Fie, my lord, fie, a soldier and afeard? What need we fear who knows it when none can call our power to account? Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?

Nico scrubbed his hands once, twice, until they were pinkish-red from the effort of cleansing rather than from the blood. Yet he could still feel his boss’ warm blood sticking his palms to the dead man’s body and staining him to his bones. Outside the thin doors of the dock’s restrooms, he could hear Julio instructing Juicio Divino on where to hang up Tom’s body.

Thomas Costa’s body.

Nico thought he was going to be sick.

The door swung open and Julio leisurely sauntered up beside him, taking the sink next to him to wash the blood off his hands. They stood there in silence with nothing but the water running between them and a tension that could be cut with a knife.

Julio glanced over at Nico’s scrubbed-raw hands, frowning a little as he turned off the water to his sink. “You good there, vato?” he asked quietly.

“You know, it’s just kinda fucked, isn’t it?” Nico began, the words tumbling out of his mouth before his brain could make sense of them. “I literally just helped you murder a rapist, an enslaver, and an abuser, among other things. Yet, all I can think about is how that same rapist, enslaver, and abuser cured my depression and gave me a purpose to life again, and we literally just took his-”

Julio cut off his nervous babbling by placing a damp, clean hand on Nico’s. The other hand reached to turn off the sink, and then to turn Nico towards him. Forest green eyes looked down into hazel. Julio frowned, reaching gently to touch one of Nico’s many scrapes he got on his face. The guard flinched under the assassin’s tender touch. Julio withdrew his hand right away, and Nico surprised himself when he found he missed its absence already.

“We need to clean those too so they don’t get infected,” Julio murmured. He gently led Nico into a bathroom stall and prompted him to sit down on the toilet. He then exited for a bit, only to come back with a paper towel he was blotting with alcohol from his jacket flask.

“Um, actually, I don’t think booze is the best thing to sterilize wounds,” Nico tried to say.

Julio hushed him as he began gently dabbing Nico’s split brow with the paper towel. Nico gritted his teeth; that stuff stung. He inhaled a comforting scent on the next painful hiss. Julio smelled…nice… a bit like marijuana and gunpowder and musk, but nice all the same.

Julio worked his way down to the cut below Nico’s left eye, staring intensely at his face in the meantime. Nico bristled under the man’s scrutiny. He wasn’t used to being touched so tenderly, not since-

2014

He was told that the torn ligament would need surgery. That he would need to go to rehab for weeks, if not months, after the fact. That he would miss the rest of the football season.

But that couldn’t be it. That wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Nico Clemenza was supposed to lead St. Drogo’s to victory this season, attract the attention of university recruiters, and be offered a full-ride to Syracuse or something like that. But here he was, at the hospital, sitting between his parents, as the doctor told him his whole future had gone up in smoke.

His father had hugged him. His mother had gently wiped his tears away. That was the first (and last) time they had touched him so tenderly in a while.

-

2015

It was the second semester of his senior year, and Nico was already so sick of people asking him what his future plans were. Even his therapist asked –well, she didn’t ask, but he could sense her concern when he couldn’t come up with an answer. Half the time he just wanted to scream that he had no plan, no future, nothing, and that everything he had pinned his hopes on since he was ten years old was gone. But the most he did was noncommittally shrug and murmur a despondent “I don’t know.”

After graduation, life became a bit of a dull gray monotony. Wake up, sulk, play video games and sulk, eat when his mother insisted he come downstairs for lunch, go to therapy, come home, sulk some more until dinnertime, and then take an hour-long shower before staying up late to sulk until he fell asleep.

Nico stared vacantly at his ceiling, letting the rotation of the fan’s blade lull him into a kind of trance. On the shelves of his bedroom were pictures of his old football team, awards from the debate club, trophies from past athletic competitions–all of them remnants of a boy he used to be. He really thought he should pack them all into a box and stuff them into his closet already, but he hadn’t even had the energy for something as simple as that.

A long-haired brunette leaned over his field of vision, waving her manicured fingernails in his face to get his attention. Her eyes, which looked much like his own, stared down at him in concern. She kept waving her hand in his face. Nico finally acknowledged his sister with a grunt. She stopped waving her hand. “Jeez, you are depressed,” she said with a frown.

“Leave me alone, Jessica,” he moaned.

He was about to turn onto his side, back facing her, when a pair of firm hands with manicured nails pinned him down onto the mattress. “It’s been a whole year now,” she stressed. Nico rolled his eyes; as if he weren’t painfully aware. “Mom and dad are worried about you,” she told him. Then, a little quieter, she admitted, “I’m worried about you.”

He pushed himself up from the Nico-sized divot he made in his bed, getting into a sitting position as he stared up at his older sister. “Yeah, well, maybe once you’ve missed your shot to do the only thing you were ever good for, then you’d be depressed too,” he sniped, though his words had no heat behind them.

Jessica sat on the bed next to her brother, bringing their gazes to the same level. “Come on, you don’t mean that, do you?” she asked. When Nico didn’t answer, she continued. “I mean, you were so much more than just football captain of St. Drogo’s, Nic-Nac! Did ‘president of the debate club’ and ‘honor roll student’ mean nothing to you?”

“Yeah, you don’t really get full-ride scholarships for being the smartest smart-ass in the room, do you?” he mumbled.

“But, you do get degrees,” Jessica argued.

And Nico knew she was right, and that with his grades, he could’ve applied to any university he’d like without a hitch. But, without any true sense of what he wanted to do with his life now, let alone what he’d want to study for four years, he figured it would’ve been a waste of everyone’s time and money for him to go to college without a plan. Surely his sister would’ve remember this; she tried to get him to apply to her college several months ago.

Speaking of which… “What are you even doing home this weekend?” he asked her, changing the subject. “It’s not a holiday, is it?” He was only vaguely aware that it was even October, thanks to the Halloween decorations at his therapist’s office.

Jessica shook her head. “Uncle Mike and the new boss are visiting, so Dad wanted me to come home to sell the whole ‘happy family’ image,” she explained.

“’Happy family’ image?” Nico echoed, cocking his head in confusion. As far as he was aware, their family was perfectly normal, and the only unhappy one was him.

“And you, Mr. Nic-Nac, are the unhappiest of us all and are dragging us down!” she jokingly scolded him, as if she could read his mind. She pulled him by the arm off the bed and out of his room. “Take a shower, shave your face, fix your hair, and please change into something nice,” she instructed him. She shoved him into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him. “They’ll be here in half an hour!”

-

The new boss, Mr. Thomas J. Costa, was nothing like Nico had expected. He was young, like, mid-thirties, with a polite demeanor that slipped into something more personal and friendly when his Uncle Mike was around. He was crass, talking frankly about every minor inconvenience of his day while sprinkling in enough expletives to fill the Clemenza swear jar thrice over. He was relatable; he and Nico shared the same music tastes, and Nico’s jaw dropped in awe as the Boss relayed a tale of meeting Kurt Cobain in person.

And, most of all, he gave Nico’s life direction again.

It was a couple hours after dinner, as his mom and Jessica cleaned up in the kitchen and the men smoked in the back yard. Nico had been allowed to join the men outside, but all he did was stand awkwardly around the periphery as Don Costa regaled his dad and his uncle with the antics of a new puppy he was training (if he overheard that right).

“Yeah, he’s a dense little fucker, but he’ll get it, eventually,” Thomas sighed.

“Not like my Nico over here,” his dad had boasted proudly. Nico fought against the instinct to shrink in on himself as his father waved towards his direction and all three pairs of eyes fell onto him. “Honor roll student, president of the debate club, and former captain of the St. Drogo’s Direwolves.”

Former. He’d hoped that a year later, the word wouldn’t hurt so much. Too bad, it still did.

“That so?” The Boss took a puff of his cigarette, then redirected his attention to Nico. “Hey, kid, what are you doing? You in school, studying anything?”

“Oh, n-no, um, no, I’m not. I’m not, sir,” Nico stuttered, throwing in the honorific at the last minute as he subconsciously straightened his posture.

“Well, do you want to be studying?” Thomas bore down on him, steely gray eyes sharp with ambition and gleaming with promises. “What would you study, if you were in school right now?”

Nico’s mouth opened and closed like a fish as he struggled his way through an answer, eventually landing on a painfully-exhaled “eh…”

Thankfully, the new Boss didn’t laugh, or even sigh disappointedly like his uncle just now. Instead, he looked the young man over carefully, silently appraising him for a worth that Nico could hardly find in himself. “Our company could do with a legal consultant,” he said after a moment’s pause. “Frank himself said he wants to retire by the time he’s sixty-five, which would give you about seven years or so to get a law degree and complete an internship at Costa Insurance, if that’s something you’d want to do.”

Uncle Mike glanced at Don Costa. “Tom, isn’t he a little young to bring into the-”

“No younger than you were when Grandpa Tony brought you into the fold,” Thomas answered. He stuck his palm out to Nico, inviting him to shake on it. “Well, Nico?” he asked.

-

“And after a year of not having any sense of direction or purpose, to finally be thrown that line, to be shown a future I could attain…” Nico continued rambling on, “…I just went for it!”

Julio hummed to let him know he was listening as he applied the Band-Aids to his face.

“I put my whole ass into law school, and the gym, and guard duty, and for what?” Nico asked, hopping from his seat and marching out the bathroom stall as soon as Julio stopped leaning over him. “To find out it was a lie,” he grumbled, “that the man who got me out of my depression was a hopeless, selfish, sexually and physically abusive, manipulative piece of-”

“I get it, I get it,” Julio answered, opening the door of the restroom onto the snowy night. He sighed, closing his eyes as he collected his thoughts before looking up at Nico through his lashes, which were quickly collecting snow. “I looked up to someone who later came to disappoint me, too,” he whispered. “But look, Nico –Nico!”

Nico blinked back the furious stinging in his eyes. Julio was standing close to him, squinting up at him through snow-flake jeweled eyelashes as he enunciated his next words clearly. “He didn’t get you out of your depression. You put in the work, you studied those long hours, you saw your future and you ran at it with everything you had to get it. You did all that, not him. He was just the spark, if you will, but the rest?” His tattooed hand thumped his sternum with every word he uttered next. “That. Was. All. You.”

And, for the first time since he found out the truth about Khaled, Nico felt something warm and fulfilling –pride? –swell in his chest. Julio smiled up at him. “You don’t owe anybody anything, and you should take pride in what you’ve accomplished on your own,” he told him.

Julio’s smile was wide, comforting, even. Nico’s heart pounded. It was unlike any smile he’d received from Khaled. No shy smiles that barely reached his eyes on this one; Julio’s smile was all teeth, fierce, feral, and free in its unabashed expressions. The closest Khaled ever came to smiling that sincerely around Nico was when his favorite team scored a goal, and even then, never this brightly.

Why was he only now realizing how different they were? Khaled and Julio were like the sun and the moon! Where one would quietly slink into a room and blend in with the wall, the other would kick the door open and saunter in with the calm confidence of an alley cat to take the seat at the head of the table, assuming it was not already occupied. Where one would omit information, and divert the subject to avoid talking about the things that mattered, the other would not shut up, especially about the things that mattered (justice, judgment, obligations, etc.). Where one would have to be continuously pressured into giving a half-truth after boldly lying to his face for years, the other was nothing but honest with him from the beginning. He told Nico he’d kill Thomas Costa for what he did to Khaled, and by god, he meant every word. Nico found himself falling in love with him that honesty.

But it’s not like Khaled was in any position to tell me the truth, Nico remembered, not without endangering himself or me. Still, though, it was refreshing to have someone like Julio be their true, authentic selves around him. Dare he say, Julio’s sincerity was even attractive.

But Nico liked women, okay? (Right?) At least, he thought he did. Being raised in a conservative, Italian-American, nominally Catholic organized crime family taught him that liking women was the only acceptable answer. His entire sexual history constituted women. However, Nico knew what he felt in the public restroom of that bar. Temptation. Nobody who exclusively liked women would feel temptation as Khaled stood on his tiptoes and attempted to kiss him. Yet it took everything in his power not to kiss him that night. And he found himself fantasizing about the ‘what-ifs’ ever since.

Nico first fell for Khaled, how he looked up at him with deep, dark brown eyes that a man could easily get lost in. But now, he was losing himself in Julio’s light hazel eyes, glittering a dim golden glow in the darkness of the night. His eyes panned down to Julio’s cheekbones, red from the cold (surely) and dusted lightly with stubbly facial hair. His eyes settled onto Julio’s full, smiling lips. They looked soft. Nico had no idea why he wanted to test that theory.

Is there just something about a murder that brings people together? Nico wondered. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks the longer he stared at Julio’s lips, imagining what those lips would feel like.

“You good, Nico?” Julio waved a hand over Nico’s fixed gaze, jiggling the padlock chain necklace he wore and making the links clink softly against each other. Nico unfroze, remembering why kissing Julio would be a bad idea, among all the other questionable ideas they had that night.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I’m fine,” he lied. “I just zoned out for a minute.”

Julio –Khaled’s boyfriend –opened his mouth halfway, as if he were about to call Nico out on his lie, but whatever thought flashed between those hazel eyes compelled him to shut it again. He trudged away from the restroom and towards Nico’s Jeep.

Nico exhaled a frosty sigh. Of all the times to have a bi awakening, why did it have to be with a compulsive liar and a gun-for-hire? Why couldn’t he have this realization in high school, when the options were much lower stakes? He shook his head and followed.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @defire @phoenixpromptsandstuff @scumashling

[thingsidrawgohere]

I just finished my first run of DA4 and let me say- I probably got my money's worth. If one wants to view the experience via a purely mercantile lens. I found many bits of cheese and touched the insides of many angry creatures. But if one wishes to frame the thing as Art- Hell, if one wants to solely discuss it as the Fourth in a series of lore-dense, narrative RPGs, then, Cousin, We've Got Problems. Three interconnected niggling ideas that kinda all lead to the conclusion- for me, at least- that modern design practices simply do not trust the player. News flash, right?

Anyways, I think I'm going to have some thoughts on this subject to avoid other thoughts, thank you.

Full-Throated Spoilers Beyond. And a lot of them. It's long.

Idea 1: DA2 is my favorite of the series. That's not the problem; it's the setup. I know what I'm about and it's interesting characters interacting over time. Flawed characters. Abrasive, opinionated, STUPID ASS ANDERS characters. The story was scaled well for a handful of total losers and it was political. The most humanly political of all the games, I think. That's a very low bar, particularly for AAA, but it felt better to stand in a street, to be personally effected by events, than to look at a literal map of icons and notes and distant decisions as in DA3. It's important, I think, for DA to be about Being, Getting Dirty. You aren't a king. You shouldn't be.

Side Note 1: DA2 is a fucking miracle. The old gag that FO New Vegas, blessed be, was made in 18 months is trotted out to display Can-Do Attitude and DEEPLY unethical labor practices. DA2 got less time, fewer reusable assets (due to a different art style), and had to rebuild most of the engine. A. Miracle.

DA4, on the other hand, has a series of supportive, well-adapted people who have all worked very hard on themselves in therapy and know all the fucking right words to say. They chat with one another with kindness and sober fondness. In the One Instance of interpersonal friction, it is resolved with grace and speed. I find this Horrid. They fucking forgot to give these people negative traits. It's likability slurry. They experience no hard growth, hold no horseshit ideas, suffer no lingering doubts. It's not only unnatural but it's lifeless. It becomes Written. I can see the fucking author waving at me. I've got a note from my run that reads 'Rook told the man who is forcibly living inside his head "Thank you sharing that" and I want to scream.'

And that would be bad enough except the ideas are there. You've got a reluctant father story. Someone trapped between two cultures. A older man, already terrified of aging, of death, taking a Much Younger lover. That's Fucking Meat. I can see the writers straining against something but what they deliver is still person-shaped missed opportunities that repeat, that repeat, that repeat. It's So Frustrating. There's flashes of Good Writing. Of good character beats. But Also- from my notes, a character had just held her brother as he died, inexplicably for a second time, and Rook gives her a little pep talk that ends with him asking "You good?"

And the fucking woman says "I'm good" in response. She seemed to mean it.

How does one- react to that as a viewer? I told a man who wanted to be a lich more than anything to Not and he was cool with it. He never brought up being a lich again. He wasn't even upset. I let a man's city die and he's like I Get It, Bro. No Harsh Vibes. It rings hollow.

Talking over Solas' memories, collectively pulling out the meaning behind them- that was some of the best characters-interacting writing in the whole thing. And it's HOURS into the game. A shame.

Side Note 2: A lot of a loved-one death as motivation in this old refrigerator. If you get a name and one line, Oh Boy Brother, you are prolly gonna die bad. Lazy.

If I'm going to talk about Emmrich, let's talk about his romance. I honestly thought it was bugged. I Am playing through another run as a comparative but Wow. Larian and BG3 absolutely reconfigured what's acceptable in these types of story beats. This particular romance felt regressive, in a sense. Like a last minute addition. The very definition of love coins. No charisma or honest affection between the characters. Nothing allowed to percolate (more on that in a second). Just- now you are ROMANCED. Which means on the Blue Moon instance he has anything to say regarding being in a relationship, the best you can get is a 'dearest' at the end of a sentence. I was Excited by the idea of Emmrich really struggling with a May/December situation but he Doesn't. He has a few lines implying that he Could but it leads nowhere.

And they fuck in a coffin (???) and it's not even hot (!!!). Unforgivable. Double Unforgivable. I heard there was spice in this game? This is baking soda.

Related, a few lines awkwardly dodged the question of Emmrich's previous relationships and I have an inkling, without experiencing the other romances, that this is the world's largest case of gun-shy after the backlash with DA3's non-playersexual romances. This man can not be confirmed to be Anything but Into Rook, whatever they might be. There was also a throwaway line with Taash how she prefers women and that's as much as I saw of explicit preferences. I don't envy anyone trying to address the rabidity of fandom but it feels like unnecessary acrobatics.

Side Oh No: It's so bad that I'm honestly thinking of doing a fixit fic regarding the romance/character writing. And God, I can't right now. I have to finish my other project first.

Idea 2: The pacing. That's what ruins so much. There was a scene of a gnarled, fucked-up gate, torn from its hinges. And my guy says "Something Big must have torn apart that gate" all ominous, building a sense of- Nope. The very big darkspawn is standing ten feet away on the other side. I hadn't even swung the camera around the hall to see it before my guy goes "That big darkspawn must have torn apart the gate!"

Yes, I know there's an issue in open world games these days wherein devs are allergic to a player's millisecond of not knowing where to go but this feels applicable across the whole game. A problem isn't allowed to fester. It is brought to attention and then swiftly dealt with. If there's a locked door, a difficult decision, a feeling beyond Protestant determination, it will be dealt with, Post Fucking Haste. It's like the game doesn't trust the player to hold tension.

This happens not just in barks or small set pieces. Whole arcs work this way. Like Harding's longterm personal quest. She gets a handful of lines about feeling vaguely angry or perhaps thinking she Should be More angry about Lore Dump Retcon and then at her culmination, she's fighting her own anger. A vicious, hot, searing thing- and it wasn't earned. At all. There was room to telegraph this theme, bury it in the dirt to let grow roots. They didn't. One Line was given about her people pleasing tendencies And she's not really shown to be people pleasing to her own detriment. This is Chekhov's Gun in running shoes. It doesn't work. It feels like it comes out of left field.

Hell, there was a mission that was like SURVIVE IF YOU CAN and it was like- literally a long hallway. The Pacing is all Off.

Idea 3: I don't like that I must do this but DA4 doesn't understand its own flavor. The One Thing you Cannot Do is have Minrathous, the city of slaves and blood mages, seem nice. Particularly in the poor parts of town. You Cannot have the Crows be a lovely dovey band of scamps. You Cannot have the Blight be reversible. You Cannot CANNOT say "elves have it pretty good" as my Elvish Rook said with his face flaps. No. NO. You Cannot side-step the politics of this setting. These are the bones on which these characters are hung. To lessen the world is to lessen, to decomplexify them.

You know what my elf didn't hear in the town that canonically trades in bodies that look his? Knife ear. Eh to fantasy slurs but my point is no one said a cross word to my guy. The Qunari living in the town that had been warring with the Qunari for Centuries seemed totes fine. There were no alienages. There were no proper templars- even from other regions. No Mage Circles. No mage issues at all. Hardly anything whatsoever regarding the Chantry or Andrastianism, even as the game takes place in the Super Anti-Pope town. I had a literal demon-possessed man in my party and the world did not react.

I had a friend describe this Thedas as feeling smoothed out and Yeah. It feels like all the nasty bumps have been deemed undesirable. I don't know what to make of it. Is this simply taking the world in a different direction? Is it a mandate to tone down the unpleasantness, for sales? A shift in design ethos? Is this a sign of a very troubled project as it was with Andromeda?

I don't know. Is this still a Dragon Age game without its politics? There's enough here for me to wonder if Bioware is even Bioware anymore. There's a TREMENDOUS amount of work, of skill in DA4. Just Absurd. The environments are thick, Thicc. But work alone is not a virtue. Have we ship of Theseus'd so far that the people- the real people, not the logos- who have interests aligned with what made DA1 special are no longer there? Something went wrong with this project, narratively. Something I don't know how to fix without addressing basement level assumptions I'm clearly not privy to. I hope they can.

Final Thoughts: Game development is a fucking hole into which one pours one's relationships, time, and health, physical, mental both. It gives satisfaction very rarely. They shipped. In that way, huge success. It's not even, fundamentally, a 'bad game'. But it is a victim of a modern philosophy of pre-chewed ideas and player distrust. VGs are ultimately a business and, in these last few years, there's been a unimaginable devastation to the workers in the industry- even as the money flows ever upward. The desire to sell well has morphed into a NEED to sell well, even among the 'kept' studios. Big studios, Grand Dame Studios sitting on top of past critical and financial successes, been killed by their overlords recently. No one is safe. It's suddenly quite dangerous for large studios to make anything remotely niche, remotely unclear and Bioware has both Andromeda And Anthem under its belt. They're probably feeling the pinch. They needed a hit and hits, these days, are increasingly smooth. And DA4 is very smooth.

That's just my feeling on the matter. I'll see what a second run yields.

Smaller thoughts:

I don't care about the combat but that was- odd. The illusion of depth with all the skill trees and types of damage and subsystems of attack- all boiling down to a one button push. It's odd. I played rogue on PC so perhaps it's different for other classes, on console. But I pressed the button at the man and when I got a halo, I pressed another button and then pressed the first button again. No matter where I was on the skill tree, it never changed, never felt different. I don't know. It felt. Odd?

There was a Honest To God "It's quiet- Too quiet" and it just Happened. I would have pulled out every one of my teeth to avoid that. I get the jokey-okey but fuck, man.

Where's the chest hair? WHERE? Body hair? ANYTHING? Davrin has plastic chest. It's freaky.

Gloom Howler Gloom Howler Gloom Howler. Frankly, that whole storyline had a large gulg of the farcical. I laughed my ass entirely off when, upon her defeat, the Gloom Howler said "I'm sorry" and took a nap so hard that the scene wiped to 'some time later'. That was insane editing. PACING. And- naming. Gloom Howler. Gloom. Howler.

Teeth. Dear God, the teeth.

The devs were in a real pickle here, no doubt. My great sympathies. There's an Overwhelming abundance of world states that DA3 could have left on the board and I understand the balancing act between acknowledging the events of older games and staying generic enough DA4 could apply to All of them. Is Cassandra the White Divine? Or is Leliana? It's a nightmare of choices. Any of the people that Could be Divine can not be mentioned without lore issues. Who's on the throne in Orlais? Ferelden? Where's beloved so-and-so? Dorian canonically did return to Minrathous so he can 'safely' appear in game- but he fucking can't talk about Iron Bull, who may or may not be alive. Isabela canonically goes back to piracy but she can't talk about events in Kirkwall because she may not have been there for them. Oof. That's not a lot you are Allowed to acknowledge. The Poor Bastards.

Watched a braid slip off a person's shoulder, organically, as they were talking. Started at the bottom and look where we're at, technologically. And speaking on the technical, a lot of textures didn't load right. For the entire game, my guy's left shoulder armour thing had a much lower rez texture than the rest. Three hard crashes, which isn't the worst. One Wonderful mission wherein Lucanis' hair and his knives were the only bits of him to render.

I'm not touching the non-binary storyline. It was clunky, for sure, but the greatest sin was using Our words. There is canonical words for NGC/NB people in fiction and to not use them shows a fundamental distrust towards the source material and the players both. It's the linguistic version of the quest marker or the barks telling you where to go.

I still don't know how I feel about the dead Varric twist. Feels goofball but he got to hang out in his little pajamas. I wish I was in little pajamas.

Solas was pretty fucking tight but I think a lot of that was due to his VA. Something about the voice direction, in general, felt- flat? But old Solas was doing it good.

Ending. God, I get it. People are tired and satisfying endings are hard. And DLC exists, more cynically. But Hells Bells, I'm getting to the point wherein even the slideshow is annoying. Give me a fucking Ending to the Choice Game. Don't you fucking 'Spider-Man Will Return' at me, you bastard. I'm a child of fucking god.

Yes, I got the secret ending. I know. That was Also bullshit.

I feel better getting that all out of my system. Thank you for sharing that.

[vhaena]

scheming husband and accomplice wife Lord Hisame and Lady Kiki of House Seiran

[cozylittleartblog]

small PSA: if you shop at craft shows or artist alleys, please bring more than apple pay or a virtual card - especially if you're not comfortable entering your card number manually. not all of us have fancy card readers, so please also bring your physical card or cash, even if it's only as backup 👍

[its-a-beautful-day]

Updating my donation post as it's been a few months. I'm still struggling with being homeless and I recently lost my health insurance (yayy turning 26!)

I've applied for section 8 at a local large city but that can take time. I'm also in the months long process of applying for SNAP/medicaid. I've also applied for financial assistance through my work to help me as well but I'm unsure of the turn around time or how much they can assist me.

Currently with the cost of rent in my local area the best option might be for me to renovate a free mobile home. However I need to move it to a lot/mobile home park with hookups and that can cost alot of money. The current estimate I got is around $8,000.

This doesn't include the lot rent per month or the cost of fixing the mobile home. But I do get to own the trailer after and can sell it once I have my feet under me again and ready to move.

I've been looking into so many different options but I'm struggling with finding something in my budget. Current income restricted housing is at a 1 to 2 year wait list. Others require a $48 per person application before you get to even see the apartment (for a one bedroom no less)

I've already made so many sacrifices during this year including not perusing fighting to get my cat back. Unfortunately with the way I can't find housing there wasn't a hope I could find housing and have it allow pets.

I've anyone has suggestions for finding roomates (that's not Facebook) or housing please feel free to message me

I'm also doing donation doodles for any donation over $10, give me a suggestion or prompt when you donate otherwise you get a bug art lol

[fluffs-n-stuffs]

Finally catching up on the Horizons episodes I missed 👍

[hopeinthebox]

tagged by the tastemaker @cordiallyfuturedwight for the january receipts and would you believe it i'm actually on time

tagging a few favs: @aprylynn @jiminsproof @thvinyl @jimin-gaon @visionsofgideontheninth @btscontentenjoyer @kimchokejin @jihopesjoint @eoieopda @monismochi <333 and you too if you fancy it

[keeps-ache]

gonna keep it shmoovin man

[moping-hours]

My friends don't hate me, they're just busy.

My friends don't hate me, they're just busy.

My-

[flickeringflame216]

🗒

[ybcpatrick]

i don't think i've had a single good day or a good night's sleep in at least two straight weeks 😁😁😁😁😁

[pocket-size-cthulhu]

It's getting to the point where instead of being encouraged, I just get pissed when people tell me their friends' success stories with getting jobs as software devs without formal education.

Everyone is like "oh yeah my friend did it without a degree, you can too!" And I'm like ok how did they get past the auto rejectors that won't even look at you if you don't have a degree? How good were they before they were hired, and who supported them while they educated themselves? Or who agreed to take them under the wing and give them a chance even though they were green?

I know people are trying to be encouraging but it's starting to feel less like "I believe you can do it" and more like "if you haven't done it yet, what's wrong with you?" They'll be like "you don't need a degree to succeed, just a willingness to learn" and I'm like, I know that as well as anyone, but to the people responsible for making budget decisions, I'm too much of a risk. What do I have to show for myself to them?

Like at the end of the day it just feels like either these folks were super lucky or I'm super unlucky and either way, hearing their stories doesn't usually help or encourage me. I'm fighting an uphill battle here trying to convince folks who think we're in an economic downtown, that a US-based junior developer is a good investment. Yuck. If you don't have anything helpful to say then at this point just don't say anything 😭

[monty-glasses-roxy]

For some reason, this round of meds (same dose and everything as last time) is making me have very violent Realisations and Remembering Things moments. And by that I mean the Thing I Forgot and/or the Realisations show up with a bat and see how hard they can make my brain hit the wall. So anyway.

YOU GUYS REMEMBER SPIKE THE WETFLOOR BOT??? YOU GUYS REMEMBER HER??? THE FIRST FAZBEAR ANIMATRONIC TO BE BORN FROM LOVE INSTEAD OF PAIN??? YOU REMEMBER HER???

CAUSE I JUST DID