#i did not bother to sit through

[cozylittleartblog]

bug doodles so i can say i drew something

[theotherrichardpapen]

...because any moment may be our last. everything is more beautiful because we're doomed.

[thornsent]

name legally changed

[lonely--seeker]

For all the shit Twitter was talking about Hazbin hotel... I was not ready for chapter 4

[cocolacola]

mark ur calendars today was the day i forgave maiev shadowsong

[katierosefun]

maybe i’m deeply projecting but the way you’re losing me is both for the girls who have been in long relationships with a romantic partner who didn’t seem to be as invested in where the relationship might go and for the girls who were the therapist friends who were actually deeply, quietly struggling before they cut off ties with all their friends. just. like. people who got tired of doing all the emotional heavy-lifting and yet are still quietly hoping that whoever’s standing across from them--a friend, a romantic partner, whatever--will, for once, finally pick up the burden but they don’t.

[pegasusdrawnchariots]

the eternal question: is scheduling w friends as an adult That Hard or am I just bad at it

[pastel-rights]

And then I finally end it off with some doodles of them… they make me feel things.

[falinscloaca]

today's jjk ep

[shararan]

tfw you cant write because no manner of seating arrangement currently works without major pain and your body feels like its about to fall apart into pieces jfc if it aint the neck its the shoulders or lower back or elbows

[raksh-writes]

Feeling so weirdly out of sorts today. I hoped that I can continue writing the second part of my AU I started on yesterday (got a nice 1,6k in Macau's POV!) or if not that, then maybe finish up editing part 1 so I can post but... I dunno, Ive fallen into a dip of depression and I only feel like crying and diddling around doing nothing (beside All the things I need to take care of for the next two days of classes of course, ugh), so... yeah. I don’t know what to do with myself. Wasting the little bit of free time I still have doesn’t make me feel better, but then Im not even sure Im capable of anything creative rn...

[ceasarslegion]

I dont know if my paranoia spike is like. Justified or not

[daydreamerdrew]

The Defenders (1972) #74

[rainbow-arrow]

uh oh!!! spent too much time comparing fic stats!!! made myself sad!!!!

[jlf23tumble]

"and shocker they don't get paid to do a shit ton of work to find vintage t-shirts for free" HS fashion archive gets paid for their posts but LT fashion archive doesn't? I always thought they posted because they were their fans and then they become solo Harries like most former "big" larries.

[foldingfittedsheets]

When I was working at the sex shop I was pulling poverty wages. I loved my job but I was on food stamps and still barely getting by. When they hired the stores first male employee and he started at my pay rate after I’d been there for three years I quit.

I was initially really nervous when I saw the post for the mattress job. It listed a pay scale that I couldn’t even conceptualize and I appeared qualified. When I got an interview I was over the moon but also petrified. Reactions to my line of work often varied but most people were very embarrassed or skeptical. I worried about how I’d address it in the actual interview.

I lived far to the north of their headquarters and drove almost two hours to get there. When I finally arrived it was in the nicest thrift store clothes I could find, but I shrank inside to see a room full of older white men in nice suits waiting to be interviewed for the same job.

Why did I bother? I was decades younger than anyone else in the room, shabbily dressed, and I suspected I was the only afab person in the entire building. I stewed in my insecurities until I was called in.

The second I met my interviewer I was instantly put at ease. The man had the energy of a therapy dog, he was abound with positive, good natured energy. He was also incredibly beautiful. I grinned back at his welcoming smile as we said our pleasantries. But still. This very beautiful polished man seemed very innocent. How would the sex shop question go?

“I see here you worked at STORE?”

“Yes,” I said hesitantly.

“And that was sales? Or you just rang people up.”

“No, it was sales. I’d help people find products, we were encouraged to upsell, there was sales spiffs, and most importantly we educated customers on products to help them find what they liked best.”

He grinned approvingly and asked, “Can you give me an example of a time you successfully upsold a customer?”

I paused, wringing my hands before I asked, “How vague would you like me to be…?”

“Not at all!” He assured me. “Go for it!”

“Well. A man came in looking for something to make his fingers vibrate so when he was touching his wife it would enhance that sensation. We had cheap $10 cockrings that I showed him first. But we had a rechargeable waterproof one made of nicer material, and after I showed him a demo he bought that one.”

“How much was that one?”

“$110”

“Wow! You had an upsell of 100% from what he came in looking for! That’s incredible!”

He was so truly genuinely stoked and not at all embarrassed that for the first time I saw a tiny glimmer of a future where I didn’t have ramen and peanut butter tiding me over between paychecks.

He asked me to wait then came back to tell me he liked me so much that he wanted to send me right into another interview, if that was okay. He didn’t want me to have to drive back later, it was terribly considerate and exciting. I beamed and told him it would be lovely.

I then had the second worst interview I’ve ever had. The worst goes to the time I applied to be a store manager for a pet food place years later. The district and store manager interviewing me passed notes and texted while I was speaking. When the district manager called to inform me I didn’t get the job I told him I’d never have accepted anyway because I’d never had such a disrespectful interview.

The new man sitting behind the desk radiated an aura of a brick wall. As someone with anxiety I’m highly keyed into the emotional states of people I’m talking to. To receive no feedback at all was my personal hell. After a perfunctory greeting he asked me with no inflection to sell him a pen.

I gathered the shreds of my courage and attempted the Herculean task he’d set me. Through my whole improvised spiel he resisted all attempts at engaging him, regarding me with a cold apathy as I touted the benefits of my fictitious pen.

Halfway through I broke into a cold sweat. My smile didn’t waver but it grew strained as I projected friendliness and warmth into the black hole of his heart. My thoughts scattered and my sales pitch grew redundant in the face of his nothingness. I finally concluded with a hard close and he simply nodded.

He glanced at my resume and commented, “You didn’t ask me to touch or hold it. Though I suppose I can understand from your previous line of work why you wouldn’t.” I shriveled and died inside knowing that I encouraged people to touch dildos all day long and had been too frazzled to offer him the pen.

He bid me a cool farewell. I made it to my car before I started sobbing. I had never been so rattled. I couldn’t understand what I’d done to make him so unfriendly or if my threadbare clothes were what had made him treat me like dirt. I drove an hour and a half to get home, weeping intermittently.

I was therefore taken by complete surprise to receive a call the next day inviting me on board for their five week training program. The first man who’d interviewed me gushed on the phone about how the second guy had loved me and that I was going to be fantastic.

I was in shock. When I showed up to training the second interviewer was charming my new classmates, beaming and laughing. He was an utterly different person. To my dismay I learned he was the trainer for my district and would be my point of contact if I made it through training.

He joked with me later that his interview facade was just a tactic to see how people held up under pressure and I filed him into a category of my deepest enmity. I never forgave him for how small he made me feel that day, but I never showed him the depths of my fury.

I aced every test and went on to be valedictorian of the eight people who had survived the rigorous training process to earn a sales position. When I got my first paycheck I bought myself new clothes, the first non-thrifted things I’d owned in years.