ik some people don’t understand exactly how much anxiety can irrationally prevent you from doing things, even easy things, or how much it can completely stunt your life… it’s garbage tbh and it’s not the same as being nervous, it’s not something you can necessarily just push through, you can be confident in some ways and terrified of other things for reasons that might not even make sense to you, and telling someone to “get over it” is practically a guarantee you’re making them feel even worse, so… yeah

anonymous asked:

Just imagine FFXV!KC collecting those cactuar figurines with little Talcott

A/N: I should do some sads with FFXV!KC tbh. She’s sad on the inside a lot for awhile before she gets it together. 

Maybe I should just write some sads in general.


It wasn’t often that KC visited Cape Caem. Her visits were usually determined by when Maria or Dustin wanted reports on hunt activities. Dave would send the bespectacled communications officer in lieu of any actual hunters as they were needed to complete actual hunts and not run messages.

Keep reading

The Gents all had lives before crime, weren’t necessarily any less morally grey, but were at least fully formed people before they committed to this. The Lads though? They all got into this world so young, so new and malleable, and that’s going to shape you right? Thats gotta fuck you up.

It’s not that they’re uneducated, though most didn’t make it all the way through schooling, couldn’t name all the presidents or power through unnecessarily complicated mathematical equations, they’re all perfectly intelligent where it matters. They’d have to be, the FAHC has no time for idiots, will not accommodate those who drag their feet or fall behind; not even fond familiarity would tempt Geoff if someone wasn’t pulling their weight, not when it could cost everyone their lives.

So it’s not that a life of crime has them lacking intellectually - more, morally. It’s not always evident, the rest of the crew are hardly a shining beacon of good behaviour after all, but every now and then it’s blindingly apparent that the Lads aren’t guided by even the most basic degree of normal societal values.

They have a hardness, maybe it was once self-interest and maybe now it’s hard-won devotion to the crew but either way it’s something callous and greedy where their empathy should be. An absence of any inclination to put themselves in anyone else’s shoes, to care about anyone at all outside their very limited circle. Geoff’s little pack of miscreants who’ve learnt loyalty as bared fangs and body counts, as us before them and together till the bitter bloody end.

It would be lying to say it didn’t appeal to the darkest parts of Geoff, a perverse kind of pleasure in knowing that all that wild potential bowed only to him. That they were his, caring for none other and loyal to no greater power. Or. Well. There’s a thought Geoff can’t quite fully quash, a hypothesis he hopes to god is never tested, because while he knows the Lads regard the FAHC as theirs and would never contest Geoff’s position, he couldn’t say with complete conviction that if push came to shove their loyalty to him would supersede their affection for each other.

And they are affectionate, don’t skimp on the softer emotions for all that they only show them to their crew; they roll around the penthouse floor like children, squabble and tease and laugh, watch explosions with stars in their eyes and flit about the Gents with obvious adoration.

It’s just dealing with people outside of the crew that they struggle with, little flashes of black-hearted apathy that stick out every now and then. For the most part it’s mere background noise, just one of the many quirks of the crew, but occasionally it’s harder to ignore; moments when Geoff mentions going the long way to avoid civilians, or lets a loose thread live, or chooses some kind of mercy and the Lad’s just look at him. Heads slightly tilted, eyes blank, utterly without comprehension. They’ll do what Geoff says because Geoff said it, but he doesn’t miss the little looks they shoot each other. The raised eyebrows, the eye rolls and shared smirks. Doesn’t miss the concerned crease in Jack’s brow when she catches them any more than he misses the way Ryan smothers the curl of a nasty little grin.

Ryan understands the Lads on a level that Geoff won’t admit makes him kind of nervous; his empathy pushed so far away during his life as the Vagabond that he finds it awfully easy to relate and absolutely can’t be trusted to be the sole voice of reason when Geoff and Jack are otherwise occupied.

The FAHC have rules for what they will and won’t do when given a choice, when their lives aren’t at risk, lines of arbitrary morality to let them sleep at night, but Geoff does wonder whose sleep he is protecting. Knows, deep down, that the Lads likely follow the rules because they are the rules, not out of any true sympathy for their fellow man.

Jeremy admitted once, under the influence of black-market painkillers and too much pilfered whisky, that they had a habit of judging an act based on how much it would annoy Jack. Not because Jack’s behaviour was an accurate barometer for acceptable morality but because who the fuck wants to upset Jack? Geoff might ask why it isn’t his sensibilities being taken into account and  Jeremy laughs right in his face before passing out. They don’t talk about it.

Just like they don’t really talk about the way Ray couldn’t care less who his gun is pointed at, what they’re doing or who they’re with, would unquestioningly shoot a priest in front of school kids if that’s what Geoff asked for. The way Michael and Jeremy take pot shots at civilians when they’re bored, assigning each other points, their collective high score the one time they barricaded the exits of an occupied building before burning it to the ground. The way Gavin sometimes takes more than he needs from a job, charming his marks into giving him whatever he wants then getting them so twisted up they’ll ruin their own lives for his amusement, watching them destroy themselves then leaving them to live with it.

The Lads are unpredictable, irreplaceable, fiercely treasured by the rest of their crew and fundamentally wicked like it’s all they truly know. Because to some degree it really is, all they are and all they’ve been, all they care to be; the FAHC is their entire world and there’s no limit on how far they’d go to keep it.

Notes from here

Stayed home today. Debating staying home again tomorrow just to start fresh on Monday. I’m managing the pain at the excision site, just feeling sore all over and drowsy. My body is so confused between how shitty I ate all of break, my lack of workouts after nearly two years without a true break from routine, and my body trying to react to a giant gash in it being cut and then sewn up twice over.

I reread the entire Princess Diaries series (my favorite as a tween/teen) - 10 books plus several shorter novellas - in the time since Thanksgiving break. Now I can read the new one she put out last year! And maybe start reading something new…I have two books that have been sitting on my bedstand for months while I ignored them for mostly unnecessary rereads (and honestly, falling asleep pre-election reading fivethirtyeight articles on my iPad).

I still need to buy a 2017 planner. But that would require leaving the apartment. I also have a LLR party at a coworkers’ house on Sunday that I feel obligated to attend. Otherwise if I take tomorrow off, I really don’t see myself leaving this apartment until work on Monday.

All this lying around is making me anxious for winter to be over and for the excitement of spring and summer to arrive. I want to plan trips and spend time outside and wear cute dresses without leggings or tights. This always happens after the holidays are over.