#child labor for tw

[mysharona1987]

Just a hunch here, gop. But I think being 14 and married to a gross older man or dying in a mining accident is a bigger threat to a child than hearing about trans people.

[joey-the-boy]

child labor is a huge problem in the U.S.!!! I was talking to someone who told me that "it's not like the 40s or whatever, we have laws for that stuff now"

so just for everyone's information, the U.S. government is pushing back against child labor laws (and child marriage laws, that's a different post tho) and the government doesn't actually fucking care about kids

I live in an agriculture state and I've been working 40 hours a week since I was 12 years old, and I've had at least two jobs since about 14. I've seen very little of that money. I was underpaid and overworked and the little money that I did make was stolen by my parents. I remember hiding a few ones every time I got tipped so that I could buy myself school supplies

one of my best friends had to get a job at 13 because her parents stopped buying her food. she was told to "work for the things she has and stop being spoiled"

another of my friends had been working on his parents farm since as young as EIGHT YEARS OLD. and people around here are just acting like unpaid manual labor (at THAT AGE) is completely normal and fine. as if the hard physical work was just "family chores"

people are just ignoring the rise of child labor and all of it is going unnoticed. I don't want any other child to have to go through that, please protect the child labor laws in this country!

[wolf-tail]

I wanna eat a slice of ice cream cake in front of her and watch her brain explode and leak out of her ears

[jokerislandgirl32]

Guilt, Hope, and Gratitude

@foolsworldsblog asked this question in response to this post ⬇️

JIG Message: For this answer I’m placing it below a cut because it is filled with angst/depressing topics, discussions of pregnancy, stillbirth, loss of child, childbirth and delivery, and near death experiences. Nothing is explained in explicit or gory detail, but please do not proceed further if you are uncomfortable with such topics.

Zach’s Response

Well, this is a little hard to answer, technically we have two first borns. We have Alexandria, who is our first born but was stillborn. Then we have Varina who is our oldest earthbound child, and the first one born to survive birth/infancy. If that makes sense. Both times I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt when each child was delivered. 

With Alexandria we knew she wasn’t going to be born alive, I had to watch Violet endure a horrible and emotional labor and delivery only to have our child enter the world without ever taking her first breath or making one cry. Although the doctors informed us that it was nothing Violet or I had done wrong to cause the stillbirth, I still blamed myself for it.

I felt guilty because I couldn’t take Violet’s emotional and physical pain away. I felt guilty because our beautiful little girl never had a chance at life. I felt guilty because I hadn’t taken precautions, and I’d gotten Violet pregnant when her body was not ready for the pregnancy. Even after we took Violet to the doctor, monitored her health, and made sure she took the medication needed to ensure the safety of the pregnancy…we lost Alexandria. 

I held Alexandria after she was born, I named her, I talked to her…I didn’t want to let her go…But Violet was so distraught she couldn’t hold her or even look at her for the longest time. When the hospital staff came to take her, Violet finally gathered up the courage to hold her and look at her, and I’ve never heard Violet cry like that in my life, it absolutely destroyed me, and I’ll never get over that feeling of guilt and pain as long as I live. 

Varina’s birth elicited much of the same guilt ridden feelings. Violet went into premature labor and delivered Varina in the Tortuga with the help of the Wild Rats. Violet passed out due to complications shortly after Varina’s birth, and Varina was barely breathing. 

While I held Varina after she was born, it felt like it did with Alexandria all over again. I’d gotten Violet pregnant, I’d know the fragile state of her body, I’d known the hectic schedule I’d been putting us through with all of my villainous deeds wasn’t good for Violet while carrying this beautiful rainbow baby. But I’d done it anyway. And watching both of my girls struggle, fearing I’d lose another daughter and the love of my life filled me with nothing but absolute remorse and dread. 

But, holding Varina those few moments before we arrived at the hospital, seeing this tiny little bundle, the physical embodiment of mine and Violet’s love, gave me a sense of hope and extreme gratitude. I knew if Varina made it to this point and survived the birth, she’d make it in the end. 

I was so grateful that even though I’d made so many terrible decisions, Violet delivered this child alive, and Violet was still alive. I had hope that they make it, I prayed they’d make it, and in the end, they did.

So, for me fatherhood started out with feelings of sorrow and guilt, but it developed into feelings of immense joy, hope, and gratitude. It changed me for the better, and I am so thankful for the family Violet and I have created. 

POV: Guilty Me.

-Zach Varmitech-

[real-yucous-ghe]

how to get children to do your free labor

tips by yours truly, yucous

....

okay...so, kids are real creative, yeah? well...we could..idk...use that in some way

tell them its all a art project, get them real excited and than give them the puzzles, the art supplies, all that

and watch them create us free gifts for christmas

what are they gonna do? kids cant consent by law so technically if we got their parents signing...

*insert evil laughter.*

[drinkinboilingcoffee]

Having Evan and Elizabeth be twins AND having Evan die first is such a fuckass combination lore-wise. Communal birthday trauma. Actually, since Clara died in labor with them, that's just a cursed day of the year I guess.

[arcadianambivalence]

How was your day? I totally didn't spend mine trying to meticulously map how little Armand could have feasibly made it from Delhi to Venice in the first two decades of the 16th century. And then somehow deleted two hours of notes.

[orxna]

Reasons To Cup a Face || Accepting || @avrorean sent;

[CHECK]: after an unexpectedly violent situation, sender frantically rushes to check if the receiver is okay, cupping their face to look closer.

Sulhan’harel is nearly covered in blood. None of it is her own, she knows as she examines her dress with dull eyes. Even her face was not spared, for while she wore a mask over her mouth and nose she can feel the itching gummy feeling upon her forehead. The tacky feel of what must be staining her pale hair and eyebrows a livid crimson. The irrational little voice in her mind almost wonders if it will stain and even if she doesn’t die here and Hawke saves her when she leaves this retching place everyone will know what she has done here—

Sulhan’harel smiles softly at the woman who gently ferries her back to her cage—Room. She thinks the only place unmarred must have been her back, but now she feels the lingering gore upon the Lady of Halla soaking into the fabric of her back. Her smile twitches—

There is flesh trapped beneath her nails, she thinks from the lining of a stomach—not the inner bit full of acid that she fears will be the cause of some skin abrasion that will leave her corrupted in body as much as mind—where fat met flesh. The Lady had asked her to reach within, for the young elf’s hands were smaller than her elder’s. Easier to grab hold of little strings of muscle and sinew, delicately snipping them out like old seams on a dress that needed to be let out.

These people were not darkspawn, at least not yet. She doesn’t know if that is worse than when they are fully blighted. She decides it is less frightening, when she can pretend the exposure is somehow lesser and that she will not eventually end up on this table herself—that when she looks down at her monstrous hand she remembers when she was—

Tainted, these poor souls, but not misshapen—they are now, she thinks with less revulsion than she had the first time she was ‘asked’ to assist her Lady Aunt in surgery. That is a bad word for it, an inadequate word but if Orana thinks too hard on how to describe it she sees Danarius in her minds eye and she cannot. She cannot think of him here, in this place or she will crack—

She feels fingers upon her cheeks. Her mind skitters sideways, out of the spiral it had been careening through. Like a moth with one injured wing fluttering down to the ground in circles, a gentle hand cups one cheek as the other threads into her hair. There is a light pressure, but not a hurting one, just enough of a tug that her mind stops twirling. She realizes suddenly that Ghilan’nain is gone, not even her maniacal tittering lingering in her wake. They are well and truly alone again, and for the first time in hours Orana breathes.

“Oh, hello Nanna,” Orana says what feels like mere moments later but realizes she must have taken too long to speak as rage blossoms in her sister’s eyes like red spider lillies fresh in season, “No, no, no, I’m quite alright, it isn’t mine!”

Her cheeks hurt from smiling, from creasing her eyes so those too look content and not deadened, “I’m alright, please.”

[out-of-heaven-and-hell]

Alright. Per doctors' orders, she's going on bedrest, just gotta relax and sit here until she gives birth. Low physical movement and avoiding as little stress as possible, this is easy. She can do this. The more she can avoid early labor the better.

.

.

.

.

.

This is gonna be a long couple of weeks.

[lastweeksshirttonight]

You ready to be pissed off this Monday morning? Because holy shit

This week John is talking about farmworkers, who have basically none of the protections afforded to most of the labor force and in some cases, are being subjected to LITERAL slavery. This was absolutely awful to learn about but vital to know.

[gardenofkore]

Not only are children, especially boys, employed at a very early age in all the trades I have mentioned, but young boys from fourteen to sixteen perform, as I have said, in the mines and elsewhere an incredible amount of the crude, rough work of the community. I remember, one day in Palermo, seeing, for the first time in my life, boys, who were certainly not more than fourteen years of age, engaged in carrying on their backs earth from a cellar that was being excavated for a building. Men did the work of digging, but the mere drudgery of carrying the earth from the bottom of the excavation to the surface was performed by these boys. It was not simply the fact that mere children were engaged in this heavy work which impressed me. It was the slow, dragging steps, the fixed and unalterable expression of weariness that showed in every line of their bodies. Later I learned to recognize this as the habitual manner and expression of the carusi, which is the name that the Italians give to those boys who are employed in the sulphur mines to carry the crude ore up from the mines where it is dug and to load it into the cars by which it is conveyed to the surface.

The work in a sulphur mine is organized in many respects, I learned, like that of a coal mine. The actual work of digging the sulphur is performed by the miner, who is paid by the amount of crude ore he succeeds in getting out. He, in his turn, has a man or a boy, sometimes two or three of them, to assist him in getting the ore out of the mine to the smelter, where it is melted and refined. As I myself had had some experience as a boy in work similar to this in the mines of West Virginia, I was interested in learning all I could in regard to these boys and the conditions under which they worked.

In the case of boys employed for this work, the Sicilians have a custom of binding out their children to the miner, or picconiero, as he is called. Such a boy is then called, in the language of the country, a caruso. As a matter of fact, a picconiero who buys a boy from his parents to employ him as a caruso actually purchases a slave. The manner in which the purchase is made is as follows : In Sicily, where the masses of the people are so wretchedly poor in everything else, they are nevertheless unusually rich in children, and, as often happens, the family that has the largest number of mouths to fill has the least to put in them. It is from these families that the carusi are recruited. The father who turns his child over to a miner receives in return a sum of money in the form of a loan. The sum usually amounts to from eight to thirty dollars, according to the age of the boy, his strength and general usefulness. With the payment of this sum the child is turned over absolutely to his master. From this slavery there is no hope of freedom, because neither the parents nor the child will ever have sufficient money to repay the original loan. Strange and terrible stories are told about the way in which these boy slaves have been treated by their masters. Before coming to Sicily I had met and talked with persons who described to me the processions of half-naked boys, their bodies bowed under the heavy weight of the loads they carried, groaning and cursing as they made their way up out of the hot and sulphurous holes in the earth, carrying the ore from the mine to the smelter. All that I had heard elsewhere was confirmed later by the details furnished by official reports and special studies of conditions in the mining regions, made at different times and by different persons. In these reports I learned that the mines had been in the past the refuge of a debased and criminal population, whose vices made the bleak, sulphur-smitten region where the mines are located as much like hell as it looks. The cruelties to which the child slaves have been subjected, as related by those who have studied them, are as bad as anything that was ever reported of the cruelties of Negro slavery. These boy slaves were frequently beaten and pinched, in order to wring from their overburdened bodies the last drop of strength they had in them. When beatings did not suffice, it was the custom to singe the calves of their legs with lanterns to put them again on their feet. If they sought to escape from this slavery in flight, they were captured and beaten, sometimes even killed.

As they climbed out of the hot and poisonous atmosphere of the mines their bodies, naked to the waist and dripping with sweat, were chilled by the cold draughts in the corridors leading out of the mines, and this sudden transition was the frequent cause of pneumonia and tuberculosis. In former years children of six and seven years of age were employed at these crushing and terrible tasks. Under the heavy burdens (averaging about forty pounds) they were compelled to carry, they often became deformed, and the number of cases of curvature of the spine and deformations of the bones of the chest reported was very large. More than that, these children were frequently made the victims of the lust and unnatural vices of their masters. It is not surprising, therefore, that they early gained the appearance of gray old men, and that it has become a common saying that a caruso rarely reaches the age of twentyfive.

It was with something of all this in my mind that I set out from Palermo a little before daylight one morning in September to visit the mines at Campofranco, on the southern side of the island, in the neighbourhood of Girgenti.

[…]

The mines at Campofranco are on the slope of the mountain, just above the railway station. A mile or more across the great empty valley, high up on the slope of the opposite mountain, is the village from which the mines get their name, a little cluster of low stone and cement buildings, clinging to the mountainside as if they were in imminent danger of slipping into the valley below. […]

It was at the mouth of one of these entrances to the mines that I got my first definite notion of what sulphur miners look like — those unfortunate creatures who wear out their lives amid the poisonous fumes and the furnace heat of these underground hells. There was a rumble of a car, and presently a man, almost stark naked, stepped out of the dark passageway. He was worn, haggard, and gray, and his skin had a peculiar grayish-white tinge. He spoke in a husky whisper, but I do not know whether that is one of the characteristic effects of the work in the mines or not. I was told that, in addition to other dangers, the sulphur has a bad effect upon the lungs. It was explained to me that the sulphur dust gets into the lungs and clogs them up, and that is what accounts for the groans of the carusi, so frequently spoken of, when they are tugging up the steep and winding passageways with the heavy burdens of crude ore on their backs.

It had been many years since I had been in a mine, but as I entered the dark, damp gallery and felt the sudden underground chill, the memories of my early experiences all came back to me. As we got farther into the mine, however, the air seemed to grow warmer. Suddenly a door at the side of the gallery opened; a blast of hot air, like that from a furnace, burst out into the corridor, and another of those half-naked men, dripping with perspiration, stepped out.

We passed at intervals along the main corridor a number of these doors which, as I discovered, led down into parts of the mine where the men were at work. It seemed incredible to me that any one could live and work in such heat, but I had come there to see what a sulphur mine was like, so I determined to try the experiment.

The side passage which I entered was, in fact, little more than a burrow, twisting and winding its way, but going constantly deeper and deeper into the dark depths of the earth. I had known what it was to work deep down under the earth, but I never before so thoroughly realized what it meant to be in the bowels of the earth as I did while I was groping my way through the dark and winding passages of this sulphur mine.

It is down at the bottom of these holes, and in this steaming atmosphere, that the miners work. They loosen the ore from the walls of the seams in which it is found, and then it is carried up out of these holes in sacks by the carusi.

In the mine which I visited the work of getting the ore to the surface was performed in a modern and comparatively humane way.

It was simply necessary to carry the ore from the different points where it is mined to the car, by which it is then transported to the smelter. In those mines, however, where the work is still carried on in the old, traditional fashion, which has been in vogue as far back as any one can remember, all the ore is carried on the backs of boys. In cases where the mine descended to the depth of two, three, or four hundred feet, the task of carrying these loads of ore to the surface is simply heartbreaking. I can well understand that persons who have seen conditions at the worst should speak of the children who have been condemned to this slavery as the most unhappy creatures on earth. From all that I can learn, however, the conditions have changed for the better in recent years. In 1902 a law was passed which forbade the employment of children under thirteen years in underground work, and to this was added, a little later, a provision which forbade, after 1905, the employment of children under fifteen in the mines.

So far as I am able to say, this provision was carried out in the mine I visited, for I did not see children at work anywhere inside the mine. I saw a number of the poor little creatures at work in the dumps outside the mine, however. They were carrying refuse ore in bags on their backs, throwing it on screens, and then loading the finer particles back into the cars. Once having seen these gangs of boys at work, I could never mistake their slow, dragging movements and the expression of dull despair upon their faces.

It is said that the employment of boys in the sulphur mines is decreasing. According to law, the employment of children under fifteen years of age has been forbidden since 1905. As is well known, however, in Italy as in America, it is much easier to make laws than to enforce them. This is especially true in Sicily. The only figures which I have been able to obtain upon the subject show that from 1880 to 1898 there was an enormous increase in the number of children employed in and about the mines. In 1880 there were 2,419 children under fifteen years working there, among whom were eight girls. Of this number 88 were seven and 163 were eight years of age, while 12 per cent, of the whole number were under nine years of age. In 1898, however, the number of children under fifteen years of age was 7,032, of whom 5,232 were at work inside the mines. At this time the Government had already attempted to put some restrictions on the employment of children in the mines, but the age limit had not been fixed as high as fifteen years.

The sulphur mines are located on the southern slopes of the mountains that cross Sicily from east to west. About ten miles below Campofranco the two branches of the railway, one running directly south from Roccapalumba, and the other running southwest from Caltanisetta, come together a few miles above Girgenti. On the slopes of the broad valleys through which these two branches of the railway run are located nearly all the sulphur mines in Sicily. From these mines, which furnish something like 70 per cent, of the world's supply of sulphur, a constant stream of this yellow ore flows down to the sea at the port of Girgenti.

After leaving Campofranco I travelled through this whole region. In many places the mountain slopes are fairly honeycombed with holes where the miners in years past have dug their way into the mountain in search of the precious yellow mineral. For many miles in every direction the vegetation has been blasted by the poisonous smoke and vapours from the smelters, and the whole country has a blotched and scrofulous appearance which is depressing to look upon, particularly when one considers the amount of misery and the number of human lives it has cost to create this condition. ' I have never in my life seen any place that seemed to come so near meeting the description of the "abomination of desolation" referred to in the Bible. There is even a certain grandeur in the desolation of this country which looks as if the curse of God rested upon it I am not prepared just now to say to what extent I believe in a physical hell in the next world, but a sulphur mine in Sicily is about the nearest thing to hell that lexpect to see in this life. As I have already said, however, there are indications that in the sulphur mines, as elsewhere in Sicily, the situation of the man farthest down is improving. I pray God that it is so, for I could not picture an existence more miserable than the slow torture of this crushing labour in the hot and poisonous air of these sulphur mines.

Let me say also that I came away from the sulphur mines and from Sicily with a very much better opinion of the people than when I entered. I went to Italy with the notion that the Sicilians were a race of brigands, a sullen and irritable people who were disposed at any moment to be swept off their feet by violent and murderous passions. I came away with the feeling that, whatever might be the faults of the masses of the people, they were, at the very least, more sinned against than sinning, and that they deserve the sympathy rather than the condemnation of the world.

The truth is that, as far as my personal experience goes, I was never treated more kindly in my whole life than I was the day when, coming as a stranger, without an introduction of any kind, I ventured to visit the region which has the reputation of being the most wicked, and is certainly the most unfortunate, in Europe. I mean the region around and north of Girgenti, which is the seat at once of the sulphur mines and the Mafia.

If any one had told me before I went to Sicily that I would be willing to intrust my life to Sicilians away down in the darkness of a sulphur mine, I should have believed that such a person had lost his mind. I had read and heard so much of murders of the Mafia in Sicily, that for a long time I had had a horror of the name of Sicilians; but when I came in contact with them, before I knew it, I found myself trusting them absolutely to such an extent that I willingly followed them into the bowels of the earth; into a hot, narrow, dark sulphur mine where, without a moment's warning, they might have demanded my life or held me, if they cared to, for a ransom. Nothing of this kind occurred; on the other hand, I repeat, every Sicilian with whom I came in contact in the sulphur mine treated me in the most kindly manner, and I came away from their country having the highest respect for them.

I did not meet, while I was there, a single person, from the superintendent to the lowest labourer at the mines, who did not seem, not only willing, but even anxious, to assist me to see and learn everything I wanted to know. What is more, Campofranco was the only place in Europe where I met men who refused to accept money for a service rendered me.

Washington Booker T., The man farthest down; a record of observation and study in Europe (1912), p. 200-216

[clone-factory-morty]

Are you a clone?

No... My Rick, he... He was one of the founders of the cloning factory...

Some of the clones are even modeled after me, which is... Weird... Super weird... Having to stare into my own eyes while I-

You already know what my job entails...

A-anyway, he's dead now... And I'm considered company property now that he's gone, so...

[the-sidekick-club]

Mender needs a Hug

Written by:

@heroes-villains-side-blog★​​@tratieisdabest★@just-a-space-rabbit​​  

TW:Bullying, Child Labor Mention, Potential Violence, Defending Bad People

❘〣❘〣❘ ✿ ❘〣❘〣❘

Mender was on one of her solo patrols, and everything was fairly normal. She'd stopped a couple of smaller villains and some villain sidekicks, and now it was pretty quiet. That was, until some random civilian came up to her. 

At first, she thought they were a villain, and she narrowed her eyes at them, but they raised their hands and started a weird speech before she could speak. It almost felt practiced. 

"Hey, I'm just a civilian," they began. "My name is Conner, and I'd just like to talk for a second." 

Mender wasn't easily fooled. She didn't believe that was his real name. And just because they said they were a civilian didn't mean they actually were one. 

But it was agency policy to give people the benefit of the doubt and ever since she was little, she had a sort of natural ability that gave her a way to almost feel people's auras, probably linked to her healing powers. So she could usually tell if people had powers if she was super close to them, though she did have to focus to do so. 

And she was definitely focusing as this "civilian" was super suspicious. 

But, she didn't feel any sort of powers from him. So, after a long silence, she replied. "Listen Conner, while I'd love to talk, I'm on patrol, so I can't really do that right now." And she didn't particularly want to talk to Conner at all anyway. 

But Conner continued, "Oh, come on, Mender. It'll only take a minute of your time." 

Now, normally Mender would've just politely told Conner that she couldn't and that if they needed to file a report to do so at the police station, but she could just tell he would find a way to talk to her another time. 

So, she relented. "Alright, fine. Do you need something? Want to file a report of a crime? Interview me?" She really hoped it wasn't the last one. 

"None of the above, Mender. Just wanted to say something." 

She gestured to him to continue, choosing to lean against a wall in the alleyway they were in. It felt like she'd probably be here for more than just a minute. 

"Why do you work with Lady Alexandria? Like, you seem pretty cool, and she's all dumb and stuff."

Mender looked at him with confusion before replying, "Lady Alexandria is an incredibly intelligent person, and I am always honored to work with her. I know lots of people think of me as the brain and her as the brawn, but she is plenty smart on her own, and while I don't have super strength, I'm definitely stronger than average.” 

But Conner just rolled his eyes, making Mender angrier. “If you don't believe me, just look at the child sidekick cases! She started that when she was barely out of uni, and managed to get some of the agency's board of 'Elders', as they're called, on her side! She built a case against one of the most powerful entities in the world and won, forever changing how superheroes operate everywhere! 

"It takes a very brave and intelligent person to do that, especially when she was at risk of losing her job, which I know she loves dearly." 

Mender was getting a bit upset, but surely this would be the end of it. Almost every civilian in Nizorro had heard of what Alexandria did and supported her, so this should shut Conner down. 

Conner was not shut down. "Oh great, you're one of those 'don't let children fight crime' people." He clenched his fists. "They consented! And they have powers! They should be used to save the lives of the rest of us! Agency money is being spent to fund that new abomination of a school, when most of those people won't even end up using their powers to help us. Or worse, they'll use them for evil! Lady Alexandria is an idiot who put people in danger with her court case, and is still allowed to work at the agency? It's ridiculous!" 

Mender was sent reeling. Obviously, she knew some people thought like that, but to hear it from this random person who didn't even know what they were talking about was just insane. They'd said so many wrong things it was ridiculous, and also angering. "How dare you say those things about Lady Alexandria! People's powers are not yours, or anyone else's to wield! And they were children! Who in their right mind would just let them go into battle, whether they said they were fine with it or not?!" She pushed off the wall and looked towards Conner with fire in her eyes. 

"Ah ah ah, Mender, let's calm down a bit. Remember, you're a hero. And what kind of hero would attack an innocent civilian, just because they were a bit rude? I don't even have powers, and you're going after li'l ol' me?" Conner smirked, like he wanted her to come punch him.

Mender froze. 

She wasn't sure what she had been planning, she just wanted him to pay. Those were innocent children he was insulting, her friend he was insulting, and he seemed so smug too. Maybe she was going to punch him, but she would've stopped herself, she was sure. 

But then he continued. 

"Oh come on, you know you want to. Just one little punch-" and he was pinned to the wall. But not by Mender, but —

“— Kim?” she yelled out in surprise as Conner tried to wiggle out of the tight grip Kim had on their collar. 

“Not so brave now, are we?” Kim said, glaring at him.

Immediately, Conner's eyes widened. 

"You're right, Conner,” Kim said in a mocking tone. “She is a hero, and she can't punch you…" their gaze darkened. "Good thing I'm not a hero then." They raised their other fist, causing Connor to scream, but Kim tossed them on the ground instead, unharmed from the fake punch. 

“Go on, Conner, run. Before I decide I'm not bluffing." 

Conner got up on his feet and ran away, as there were two supers here now, and one of them was more than willing to beat him up. 

Mender turned to Kim, but she immediately broke down, dropping to the alleyway's floor. “Thank you so much! If I hadn't been able to stop myself I could've hurt him! And he probably would've deserved it, but just… why would he say that? Just for a dare? Literal children were martyred, and he tries to say it was good?! Did he actually mean it? I just can't—" 

"Hey, calm down, Mender." Kim moved to sit down beside her. "You didn't do anything wrong. He went for exactly what would get a rise out of you. Honestly, I think you should've been allowed to hit him." 

There was a silence before Kim continued. 

"Are you okay?" They asked gently, because by now Mender had scooted so close to them that it looked like there was only one person in the dark alley. 

"I just… I hate that he did that. There's nothing I could do to stop him, and that just sucks, ya know?" Mender said, though her voice was slightly muffled since she was pressed into Kim's side, which Kim had shown they were okay with by putting an arm around her. 

Kim paused. 

There wasn't much they could do for their friend. There was no talk that could make everything better, they couldn't go back in time and stop stupid Conner, and they couldn't magically erase Mender's emotions (not that that would even be a good solution). 

So they slowly stood up, bringing Mender up with them, and gently asked, "Do you want a hug?" 

Mender looked up at them in slight surprise. 

Normally she was the one to offer a hug and comfort, but Kim was so kindly turning the tables. She did not even answer, just grabbed onto Kim like a lifeline. The two stood still for a little while, before Mender let go again. 

“Thank you.”

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

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Lunar: Monty, I’m tireeeeed.

Monty, picking him up: Yeah, child labor takes a lot out of a kid.

Moon: It was one dimension one time! It wasn’t child labor, it was because his gift is expensive and it was basically just therapy!

Monty: Don’t pay attention to the moon, get some sleep, kid. No more child labor for you.

[trekkitkat]

The same political parties, that just spent months of time and hundreds of millions of dollars campaigning for a Voice to Parliament for Indigenous Australians, just voted against a Royal Commision investigation into the abuse of Indigenous children.

What the actual hell????? All that talk about Indigenous rights and recognition, about reconciliation. And a couple days later, the Shadow Minister for Indigenous Affairs, an Indigenous woman and daughter of an Elder, made a call for an official investigation into the sexual abuse of Indigenous children, and it was voted down.

Showed their true colours quickly. Nothing but a bunch of political grandstanders who can talk the talk but won't walk the walk. They don't care about Indigenous people.

[returnedfromthepurge]

I still remember.

I remember when I couldn't even stand people talking about the problems they had with their children on a radio show because I was so overloaded with stress about the 20+ children at the daycare I was parenting*. (* What daycare is these days.) I would legitimately get so angry and turn it off for the rest of the ride because I didn't want to hear anything anymore. And I had an hour drive to get home.

I would lay down for sleep and try to do my nightly routines and my mind would play back any sound I'd heard that day, their screaming, the tiny voices shouting my name and their whining. I'd try to do things for stress relief, and needed headphones to separate my mind, to avoid replaying the songs in my head that had to be played all day, because stereo player silence was not looked positively on by management or auditors.

I remember being so sick of the mascots and insisting to the children that they were real, and these characters were the reason for art and music and why we study them. I felt like I was experiencing Corporate Hell and brainwashing three year olds to talk to a plastic sticker on the wall of a mascot when I didn't have time to interact with them. We were encouraged to use that tactic often, when a child would come to us to interrupt, not knowing better of patience.

The main mascot was used as a moral guidepost, however vague.

Everything below the cut is what the tags are about.

I had a parent who told me he was surprised his five year old son was still dressed when he came to pick him up- because at his old daycare, they left him undress whenever.

I never had stress like the day I reported to CPS about a child who'd did and said things that no one his age group should even know about. That child knew evil and it was present in his eyes. I have never wanted violence so desperately, to kill what he had been made into before he got to hurt more people. I wanted to kill a five year old boy and the human creature that turned him into this .His family could die too, the entire bloodline as far as I was concerned. I wanted the satisfaction that I could not have years ago, to kill the one that had possessed someone I'd loved and adored years ago, that was now infested in this child that I could see perfect dullness in his dead eyes. They had no life in them, and I wanted to be the one to be the one who stopped the flow of blood to his diseased mind. I saved many young minds from trauma by resisting that urge in front of them. He was transferred by his parents to a different school.

The day I vented about it to my friend, I was so distracted talking to the phone in the passenger seat, I rear ended someone, and wrecked my vehicle so badly it was undrivable. Everyone was uninjured. It was ruled an accident due to the slick roads. I still think that pickup driver was texting at a green light.

Weeks before I decided I would quit, I sat out beside a large bush next to a fast food place, and tears escaped before I knew why they were coming. I laid in the dirt until it was time to go clock in. A week before, I had had a panic attack terrible enough to take myself to the hospital, afraid what I would do if given the chance to run into traffic .

I bought myself a new shirt on the first day after the hospital, because I was told to be around people, for my own safety. For the days I took to recover, I bought myself a print of that one Louis Wainwright painting , " I am happy because everyone loves me." and framed it a month later.

I don't know that I'm strong enough anymore to handle having children of my own. I think I might be the best example of a person who should not have any. I think I'll be surgically sterilized as soon as possible.

I'm better now. I very truly love the job I'm at. But I know my limits more intimately than I ever thought I could. And I'm never putting myself in a situation again where I'm doing the emotional labor for parents and employers who throw money and gifts at me.