#really didn't think that for a minimum wage job it would matter that much. i thought maybe i'd be able to get by just as myself

[katya-goncharov]

i'm genuinely scared i'm going to get fired from my job just for the stuff i struggle with bc of being autistic, and i don't know what to do about it

[kenny-the-ken]

PS: Please Remember Me

ALL AGED UP CHARACTERS!!! Warnings!!!: Mentions of suicide, mental health issues, drugs, alcohol, character death. My very first Stenny fic!! I love those little assholes so much, and I think their personalities really work together. Next chapter will focus on Stan. I hope you guys enjoy, it's gonna be extremely angsty

College was a strange place for Kenny, the friends he once spent his life with were no longer in contact with each other. Kyle was off to the city, studying in a prestigious university, everyday reaching closer to his dream of success. Eric deliberately followed Kyle, his entire life's goal was to be better than Kyle, and as far as Kenny was aware, it seemed to be working. And then there was Stan.

Stan and Kenny stayed in South Park, going to the local college together, the only real friend that he had left. Everyone else had made lives for themselves, careers, relationships, jobs. But not Kenny.

Sure, he worked in a shitty convenience store for just about minimum wage, sure he was in college and the top in his class but, he couldn't help but feel... lonely. He knew he wasn't alone, Stan was his roommate, they shared an apartment together, but even Stan had his life more in order than Ken did.

Stan had a solid relationship with Wendy, he was top of his own class and he was working a pretty well paying job, what more could a guy want, really?

Stan was out tonight, he and Wendy had date night every Friday evening, he knew soon his roommate would be home, gushing about his evening, how great it was, how much he loved Wendy, it made Kenny feel sick evening thinking about it.

The embers at the end of the half smoked joint glowed in the dark living room, lighting up Kenny's soft features, his pale freckles adorning his awfully pale face. People had told him before that his completion made him look sickly, I guess that's what happens when you've died more times than you can count. This was pretty much a routine now, Kenny would spend most evenings alone, or with Karen, the only other person aside from Stan that made this miserable existence somewhat bearable.

He knew that things weren't good, his mind really was a war behind his eyes, but recently it was getting worse. Ken was glad that he and Stan didn't share a dorm and had rented an apartment instead, because neither of them would get much sleep if they did, and for once, Kenny didn't mean that in a flirty way. No, in fact he could barely sleep, the thought of being alone in a dark room with his thoughts swirling like a tornado through his mind, it was more than he could cope with. And on the odd occurrence that he did get asleep without much issues, he was always woken up by his own mind, and the tricks it played were beyond cruel. He would wake up, his scraggly fringe matted, and soaked with sweat, stuck to his forehead, his heart thumping in his chest, and desperately gasping for air.

What made him awaken in such a state you may ask? Kenny had been killed and murdered in so many unimaginable, and unexplainable ways, the easiest way to die was to be shot, it was rather instantaneous, and Kenny preferred it that way, he'd rather not prolong the pain he would feel, he wanted it to be quick, painless.

The worst way was probably to be torn apart, feeling each limb being pulled, veins, muscle, bone, tissue, skin all being plucked apart like a loose thread was holding them together. It was gut wrenching, so much so that often after a nightmare, Kenny would throw up, not that he ate much anyway.

So most of his evenings were spent alone, in the dark with a dumb ass movie or television series, as Kenny smoked his way through as much cannabis he needed to completely numb his mind, he just wanted it to shut up, if even for a little while.

He had self medicated for a while, or at least that's how he saw it. He wasn't a drug addict, just a drug enthusiast, they always switched his brain off, which is exactly what Kenny needed.

But no matter how numb his brain may be, no matter how many drugs he'd taken, how much alcohol he'd chugged, there was always one thing that was consistently on his mind.

Stan.

The thought of his name alone was enough to have Kenny's mind in a spin, the butterflies in his stomach swirling. He knew that his wish would never come true, why would it ever? Kenny had tried his whole life to be a good person, hoping that karma would finally catch up with others less deserving than himself, but that never seemed to happen. He swore he was just destined to a life of nothing but pain, misery, drug problems and never ending deaths.

Kenny sighed, placing the joint between his chapped lips, taking a long drag and watching the pale smoke dance gracefully through the air. He felt the familiar warmth fill his lungs, holding it there for a few seconds before sighing the smoke out, his body relaxing into the worn out couch.

His mind was full, enough negative thoughts to suffocate anything above his shoulders. PTSD, wasn't an easy thing to deal with, not to mention when it wasn't just from dying all the time. No one close to him aside from Karen and Kevin truly knew what their lives were like.

The two people in this world that were supposed to teach him how to live, breathe, grow as a person, they were supposed to protect and care for you, and instead they were the ones harming him, just mercilessly beating him, berating him, forcing him out of his own home, getting them put into care. No amount of anti psychotics or therapy would ever allow him to forget, when that's all he desperately wanted to do. Forget.

Kenny took another long drag of the joint, before stubbing the butt into the ashtray at his side, exhaling slowly, and chasing it with a long swig of his neat vodka, jaw clenching, his body shuddering as it burn its way down his oesophagus.

He knew this night wouldn't end well. He had finals tomorrow, and work, yet somehow, Kenny couldn't have gave less of a fuck, nothing mattered anymore, no matter what he did, things would never change. He was destined to a lonely life, drowning his sorrows and running from his deeply internalised trauma. At least other people that were riddled with sadness could end it all. In fact, Kenny had ended it all, multiple times, he strangled himself, albeit by accident, shot himself in the head, twice, threw himself off a cliff, right onto trees that embedded themselves through his chest, causing him to bleed horrifically to death.

But it never stuck. It was as if death feared him. It would come and ruthlessly rip him away, often in the most inconvenient of times, and then he'd awaken, in his bed, in the same shitty place, wearing the same old fuckin' clothes, with the same thoughts spiralling his brain. And the worst part, no one remembered. Their memories either matching that of someone with Alzheimer's, or they were having their minds wiped. The latter seemed the more believable to Kenny.

The last thing he can remember is laying down on the sofa, he'd finished his vodka, an entire litre of it at that, and swallowed enough anti-psychotics to knock him dead. At this point, it was the only way he could get a decent nights sleep.

Dying was always a strange experience for Kenny, it was always painful, and each death was different, no matter wether he'd felt it before or not. But the pain was worth what came next. Silence.

His brain no longer functioning, it was the only peace he ever had in his life. It allowed his true thoughts to come to the forefront, allowed him to forget, it helped him cope in a weird sense.

And with a final breath, one last rise and fall of his slender chest, his eyes glazed over, his lips parting and changing colour, his skin paler than ever, veins almost visible. Finally! A decent fucking rest with peace and quiet, and thankfully, not having to hear the love of his life tell him about his date night with someone who wasn't him.

[frogzzai]

Pure

Overhaul x Quirkless!Reader

Send in requests I have no motivation :'( (I write for MHA, Creepypasta, Slashers, Demon Slayer, JJK, Harry Potter, Rick and Morty, Fantastic Beasts, Winx)

Warnings: Abuse (from family), Bullying, no pronouns mentioned/ no appearance or description of reader mentioned (I don't think?)

Being quirkless in this world wasn't easy, you were part of the minority of the population which led to all sorts of bullying. You weren't really sure why, the only life this effected was yours. You've endured this all your life so you didn't often let comments get to you, but everyone has moments of weakness.

Today had been a particularly nasty day with people bugging you left right and centre, all you wanted to do was go home and sleep it off, although, you knew that wouldn't happen straight away. Both your parents were well respected heroes, with powerful quirks. The rest of your siblings and most of your extended family had pro hero-worthy quirks. Except you. You were the anomaly, the one who brought shame to your bloodline. For a while, after realising you didn't have a quirk, your parents tried to keep it away from the publics eye, not wishing for their reputation to be ruined. See, your parents were the sort of 'heroes' who were only in it for the money. They didn't really care about saving others, that's why they had no problem berating you on the daily and getting physical.

This is why you decided to take an alternative route home, not sure if you'd bother going back at all. After a while, you realised you were lost. You had only just moved over to Japan, the hero payouts being higher here then back in your home country. You still weren't fluent in Japanese, yet you could hold a basic conversation. Reading still proved difficult, and so you couldn't use signs to help you navigate. Wanting to test your luck, and get to somewhere you were familiar with, you went up behind a group of girls.

'Excuse me, where am I?' You said, you didn't mean to phrase it like you'd never been to Japan before but you couldn't do detailed sentences.

The girls turned around and, to your horror, turned out to be some of the ringleaders of your bullying problem.

'Oh, what's that? Don't tell me you're stupid as well as quirkless. What are you doing here anyway? This is my neighborhood and I don't want you plaguing it. Quirkless people are useless, what are you going to do in life? Almost every job requires a quirk and even if you managed to get one, you couldn't hope to get paid higher than minimum wage.' The middle one sneered.

'Please, I only asked for d-di-d-,' You panicked, forgetting the translation of direction.

'D-d-d-, cat got your tongue? You can't even speak Japanese properly. You really are useless!' Your mistake seemed to humor the girl as she held up her hand. 'Why don't I show you what your missing out on?' Her fingers merged together and changed into a massive claw. Instead of standing there like an idiot, you made a run for it. Just because you were quirkless, didn't mean you couldn't read the room.

You made it down a few blocks before your legs were taken out by some sort of spinning wheel, possibly another one of their quirks.

'You really thought you'd get far, huh?' The girl with the claw laughed and took your arm. She lightly scraped your arm before slicing it right down the middle, a scream ripped from your throat, or at least tried to. You voice was completely gone, the last quirk? You've already seen two, this must be the third. No matter how much you tried, no sound would come out. They shoved you up against the wall and you sort of slumped against it. It looked like she was about to strike again, but it looked like she had a second thought. Her and her goons took their leave. More like legged it, a hero? An officer? You didn't bother to get up, just sat their, head leaning to the side, zoning in and out repeatedly.

Someone stood in front of you. The one thing that stood out was his shoes. They were oddly clean, like he'd put them on for the purpose of standing before you. He got down on one knee to get a better look. You flicked your eyes over to him, he had really pretty irises. They were a nice shade of gold, certainly unique. His plague mask freaked you out a bit but you didn't think on it much, could be down to allergies. You knew you looked awful, your eyes must've been puffy and red from crying and your arm looked awful. You weren't the prettiest sight at the moment but you weren't too sure if that's what had him looking so disgusted.

'You couldn't defend yourself? Those quirks were pathetic.' He said, mocking you. Clearly unaware of your situation.

You weren't too sure how to respond to that, but, you decided to bite the bullet and come clean. Not sure how to form the sentence, you simply uttered, 'Quirkless.'

His eyes widened a bit as realisation dawned on him. He took your arm, the one that wasn't injured, and pulled you up with him, taking you with him. You didn't bother to fucus on your surroundings, just basking in the fact you hadn't ended up with more injuries. The next time you brought yourself back to reality you were in the cleanest med bay you had ever seen. You couldn't see anything that would make it imperfect. The odd thing about this was, there were no other patients, and it was dead silent. The man that you'd seen earlier was standing over you.

'Are you really quirkless?'

You nodded, not feeling all too talkative. He seemed content with that though, and gently straightened out your injured arm, you winced a bit. He noticed this but couldn't do much to help you, as he began cleaning and disinfecting the wound. Despite the burning pain, you kept quiet, still not sure if he was a friend or foe. Once the wound was steralised he wrapped it up, not too loose and not too tight. He must be a trained doctor then?

You looked up and took him in properly for the first time. You'd be lying if you said you didn't find him attractive. Although, you had to admit the colour contrast on his coat didn't do him any favours.

'You're not from around here, are you?' He asked.

You were startled by his question, and gave him a weary look.

'I mean, you didn't seem like you knew the place very well when I found you. You were looking around as if searching for a familiar face when those girls had you pinned.' His words were difficult to understand, he spoke at a decent pace yet his sentences were complicated to you, and drawn out. You took out the words you did know and tried to translate what he said. You assumed he was asking if you knew where you were, or something along the lines.

'No. I live a few blocks over. I only recently moved here, I'm not from Japan.' You said.

'That explains your way of speaking, your sentences are short and basic.' He pondered, you knew he didn't mean it like this, yet you couldn't help but feel degraded. You tried your best learning Japanese but it was difficult, especially when you moved here without any knowledge of the language whatsoever. He seemed to notice your crestfallen look and apologized, sitting down beside you. He put an arm round your shoulders and gently rubbed his thumb up and down.

'Why have you been so nice to me? Do you normally pick up injured strangers from the street, is this a long drawn out plan to murder me?'

He chuckled a bit, amused by how serious you sounded. 'No, I helped you because you aren't sick. You aren't riddled with the disease people have normalized. You don't have a quirk, you're pure.'

[luckyladylily]

So, the Bayonetta 3 VA thing. To start of, I don't have the money to but they game so the whole boycott thing doesn't much matter to me personally. That's not a choice I have to make, so no comment. If I do ever play it it will be at some far later date or after successfully pirating it. But the discussion at hand does bring up ideas that I think are worth exploring. Because this is about workers rights, kinda, but also the integrity of art. kinda.

Here is the thing, I am 90% certain that platinum didn't want Taylor back, low balling her like that and then hiring a VA that is far more well known and has plenty of work to choose from. She can almost certainly command a larger payout. If we assume everything Taylor says is true, which I do, then I cannot fathom that they get Jennifer Hale for a pittance. I'm going out on a bit of a limb here, but I think Platinum wanted to replace Taylor with Hale, probably because of the name recognition or perceived ability.

This was an offer designed to be refused, so they could say "we offered and she refused" - remember, they thought they were safe because Taylor was locked behind an NDA. That's PR maneuvering.

In terms of pay, obviously all workers, VA included, should be paid a fair, at very minimum livable wage. That isn't a debate worth having, any reasonable person would agree. But it doesn't stop at monetary compensation. We also have the question of transparency in the hiring process and wage transparency overall. If Platinum did bait the refusal (as I suspect they did) for PR reasons that's incredibly shitty.

But one issue that straddles the line between worker's rights and artistic integrity is how much ownership of a character does a VA have for being the first person to play that character? To what degree did platinum owe her the part?

Now, for the record, I personally think Taylor's performance was fine. Neither amazing or bad. I don't really think Bayonetta's voice has been a significant factor in the iconic nature of the character. Nothing like David Hayter with Snake, or Charles Martinet with Mario for example. This is most likely just the nature of the game but, for better or worse, Bayonetta's voice is replaceable. I think that if all this scandal had never happened many of us would have never even noticed or at least not cared as long as it was somewhere approximating a similar voice.

That might sound bad, but it is kinda standard for everything. The Hayters and Martinets are the exception, not the rule. In most cases the VA is just one part of a large team that brings a character to life. We swap out animators and no one cares, I would argue the animators of bayonetta mattered far more than the VA. A whole group of artists work together, character designer, modelers, concept artists, etc. all of them arguably made as large or more of a contribution than, to put a point on it, one of the two voice actors. How much claim to the character of Bayonetta do each of them have?

I saw one person say "if Bayonetta asks me to boycot the game of course I will". Would we say similar things if we were talking about Bayonetta's character modeler? I think it is ridiculous to pretend we would. We swap out most of everyone else on the creative team that brings Bayonetta to life and it isn't considered some artistic crime. But should it be? If they wanted to come back and work on 3 should room be made for them?

On the other hand, being attached to a character represents infrequent but reliable work, and reliable work is pretty thin pickings for VAs as I understand it. It probably hurts bad to see a job you thought would be yours go to someone else. How much should platinum be obliged to give the part to Taylor from a stability of work point of view?

Bringing this all down to a point, the question this muddled case begs is what does worker rights actually encompass? If we want fair treatment for workers, we need to actually be able to answer what fair treatment is, and what points on that list are realistic to achieve via collective bargaining.

[satanfemme]

contemplating/venting about work under the cut

also. fuck my job for giving us such a low borderline-meaningless raise. I wanna know what kinda raise the CEO got this year. all the higher-ups are like "YAYYY!! you guys are making more now!!! isn't that so exciting ^_^!! see! we care about our employees!!" meanwhile it's still nowhere near enough to live on, all of my coworkers and I are poor as fuck, and the job is inherently emotionally/physically destructive. it's a sacrifice we all knowingly signed up for, but NOT for the "reward" of poverty. imho.

I have coworkers living with both a partner AND roommates just to afford one tiny apartment. one of my coworkers moved down the street from work to save on gas money (among other reasons). lots of us have side hustles, needless to say. whenever I mention having a whole studio apartment for myself, the first thing I'm always asked is "HOW?!?!?! how do u afford that?!?!?!" and of course the answer is "I don't, lol. nearly all of my paycheck goes towards it and then I take on debt to afford most other things". but I mean, look at that exchange, isn't that insane? an adult mentions to a co-worker that they're renting one (1) shitty room for themself and a dog to spend most of their time in, and the co-worker's immediate reaction is shock cause that's a fucking Luxury lifestyle? might as well say I own a yacht. but the reaction is literally rational and correct!!!!! it's so depressing. it's so so depressing that this is just reality. our CEO was making the equivalent of $80/hr last year. all the higher ups think we should be over the moon for $16/hour this coming year. what kind of raise did the CEO give themself? what will $16/hr cover a year from now really; in autumn 2023? cause in autumn 2022 it's already not covering much.

the deafening silence during our budget meeting, when all us wage employees were asked if we had any questions about the raise. we were previously told (tho, in no on-paper legally-binding way) it'd be to $17/hour. $17 was the Bare Minimum living wage for this area back in 2019. it's now 2022, and we were denied that wage. why? that's my question. but I didn't ask it either, obviously.

I know I'm not the only one feeling stuck and scared. every convo with my co-workers lately, no matter what topic it started with, has somehow turned itself into mutual grief of "I wish I weren't struggling to survive. I really like this job. there's no better animal welfare jobs in the area. this was my escape from a shitty animal welfare job. there's no guarantee that any other job, in any field, would let me be gay/trans/disabled/mentally ill/myself/etc the way I can here. many jobs would turn me away immediately. I feel overworked. I don't know how to afford things." ...and then I bring up the "CEO makes $80/hr" fact and lol. the unspoken tension that plain statement adds to the conversation.

I'd call myself a lil firestarter for it, but the info is public and easy to find. I'm surprised I'm the only one who did the math but I'm glad more people are becoming aware of it. the wage employees are the ones DOING the actual work here, u know? the paperwork, and blog posts, and emailing bestie PETA (ugh), and handshaking the governor (who's actively attempting to pass transphobic legislation but shhhhh) are all very important for the business the cause as well I'm sure, but an animal welfare org would not EXIST without the laborers who know how to, you know, care for the animals. even at the expense of ourselves and our safety.

oops idk, is this rant getting mean? the higher ups are always very nice to me, I'm being a lil mean. but I had to help give a co-worker first aid the other day, and when we were like "hey, you clearly broke something, you're covered in blood, you're fading in and out of consciousness, and we don't know how long you were out before you were able to call for help. let's drive you to a hospital now." they refused to go anywhere but an urgent care clinic cause, u know, money? and then I clocked out late cause we're so overworked we can't afford a single detour during our shift like that. (and can't clock out til all the work is done ^_^). so yeah if I'm coming off a lil bit like a mean commie rn maybe that experience is why. I wonder how often the CEO gets injured on the job? do u think the $80/hr is to cover all those dog bites they get on the daily ... in their personal office space nowhere near the animals?

idk if we're gonna unionize any time soon, but I know I'm not the only one feeling this way. maybe that's the silver lining. still, it doesn't stop the nightmarish elephant in the room either. anywaysssss that's my rant for the day thx

[irarelypostanything]

I deactivated Facebook for three years. This was my experience:

The tl;dr

I basically just replaced social media with other social media. Now I'm back because I'm trying to figure out how to integrate with a wordpress page Motivation

It was late 2021. The pandemic seemed to be over, Facebook was really pushing its dystopian virtual reality ads, and the Netflix documentary "The Social Dilemma" was still fresh on our minds. Smack, a coworker at the time, was so affected (effected? pft I am far too busy for grammarly) by it that he and his girlfriend (at the time. Wife now) deleted Facebook and never looked back. I recall watching a video by someone who left Facebook. I'm probably misremembering, but it seemed genuine. She talked about a mother who proudly posted on Facebook about how proud she was of her daughter. "You're proud of her? TELL HER THAT." She said it with so much emotion. I was imagining a mother who would never tell her daughter that she loved her, that she was proud of her, proudly proclaiming in a very public way that her daughter mattered and had value. Most people I knew were a lot less active on Facebook. Political posts were raging, all kinds of weird things were rising, and I just thought...what if I could experience life and not feel the need to tell everyone about it? What if I could be happy, and just be happy, without feeling the need to get some sort of external validation? It's a great idea, for someone other than me. What Actually Happened - Medium

Unsolicited advice is annoying. I know. I get it. If you like Facebook, use Facebook. If you hate Facebook, don't use Facebook. Use it every ten minutes. Use it every ten months. The thing about Facebook is you get to choose when and if you use Facebook. It's not like Facebook is some corporate-sponsored platform that we have to use to inform the powers that be about our every thought and interest, guaranteeing that we are observed at all times.

Not anymore, at least. But if you do want to consider fully unplugging from social media, then maybe...do that? I didn't really do that. I mostly just replaced Facebook with other forms of social media.

The biggest thing was Medium. Medium is a social media site disguised as a writing site. I had an account called Curt Corginia, CEO of CORGICorporation, and I wanted to try my hand at paywalls. So I made a humor blog called Kurt Shiba Inu, and for a time it was good. It was a tech parody account. It would take clickbait articles that were trending like "JavaScript Is Dead" and make fun of them. I was getting positive comments, I was getting attention, and I was making a little money (though I think I calculated that I could have made three times as much with a minimum wage weekend job). The account was all humor, so I didn't feel bad about paywall-blocking it. Then something changed, the earnings fell off a cliff, and to top it all off the few comments I still got were mostly negative. I got lots of negative comments from people who confused my blog with the very thing it was trying to parody. I started little blurbs like "This is a parody" and "do not take this seriously," which completely ruined the joke and STILL prompted people to write angry comments because they didn't realize I was writing satire.

The coup de grace was when I tried to pivot to creative writing (cough cough fanfiction), so I wrote about a Minecraft video. Someone commented on it with...not a death threat...but a long statement about how my interest in a delusional world had singlehandedly made him lose faith in humanity and distracted him from meaningful issues, like climate change and the evils of corporations. Not only was he baffled that I existed, my existence made him lose faith in humanity.

The comment bothered me so much that I moved back to my main blog, which I continued to update every week from that point on.

Medium, in some ways, was actually worse for me than Facebook because content was open to the whole world, and not just a "walled garden."

Motivation For Returning

No one really noticed that I was gone for three years. I kept messenger active.

Now I want to add Facebook integration to a Kiwanis website, similar to what I did for another club, but my contact (COME ON, MAN) isn't comfortable assigning admin privileges to some dummy account I named Kiwanis WebAd Min (Facebook blocked Kiwanis WebAdmin because it detected nonreal names, but Kiwanis W. Min was fine). I suggested changing the name of that account to Evan Szeto, since Szeto and SooHoo are the same name, but nuuuuuuuuu

Thoughts on Social Media

In this weird way, I really miss Tumblr. It had this raw quality to it. You could just upload text and not feel the need to put this shitty Unsplash photo over it, or go IQ 2000 and use AI to generate a horrifying picture.

But no one uses it anymore. The same thing happened to a lot of my Facebook friends. Most of them still maintained accounts, but they quite simply stopped using the platform. Suddenly Facebook wasn't a place where I saw life updates, or funny comments about campus squirrels (as God intended), but a place where I saw the same inflammatory political posts re-shared over and over and over again.

But there was a time Facebook was really revolutionary. They made React, and React walked so Vue could run. They...um...got so popular that they basically ran out of humans left in the world, which ate into their profits. They started to become the target of government scrutiny, and it was a huge blow when Apple modified their privacy policy to eliminate some of the money they made selling user data to advertisers. Then...more things happened, but at that point my library subscription to the Scott Galloway book expired.

Something something something everyone switched to Instagram and TikTok.

TikTok is baffling. I don't understand it at all.

Moments

I guess maybe I see the world in this binary. Either we're connected, and we're out in nature having real conversations and attending ballroom dance lessons and finding love and such, or we're inside on social media living this kind of cheap replica of reality.

But dances can be streamed. Zoom was a good demonstration of connection in, um, an isolating age (that was a ripoff of Rent, or trying to be). People use resources like Facebook and Discord to coordinate in person events. I wrote on Meetup that Meetup is the best form of social media because it minimizes the amount of time we spend on the product while maximizing the amount of time we actually spend in person getting to know each other.

I wrote that Facebook is the worst social media for the exact opposite reason, but that would be overly cynical and hypocritical considering I'm back here.

I want to look for pictures of a wedding I just attended. It was nice, and it was recorded, and because it was recorded people can remember it. Before Facebook there were just photos, and before that maybe they had to write it all down. It's not inherently good or bad, it just is. We can live our lives with or without it, and maybe someday we'll be telling our grandkids about how WE LIVED before that ultra mega social media app so addicting it caused people to stop having jobs.

NOW ADD ME AS AN ADMIN, BRADLEY.

[empyreumata]

Weaver, Caroline. "On Closing." CW Pencil Enterprise. September 8, 2021.

Back in July, after months of trying to work my head around the challenges I'm currently facing in my business, I made the decision to close this shop. To be totally honest, it wasn't a decision, it was a reality that I've been too afraid to face for the past two years. It's a loss that can no longer be avoided, and one I am feeling deeply. One of the things I've had a hard time coming to grips with is that there's not a lot of grey area when it comes to public perception when a business closes. You either stay open because you're successful, or you close because you've failed.

What I've been thinking about a lot is: Maybe not all businesses are meant to last forever. Maybe it's not a failure, it's just the end of a project. The difficult truth is that it's next to impossible to run a retail business with integrity in a world that's polluted with Amazon boxes. There shouldn't be any shame in deciding that it's not worth the fight anymore.

By the time we close our doors in November, it will be 7 years since cwpencils.com first went online as the world's most extensive pencil specialty shop. I'd quit my job at a lingerie shop to pursue this impossible dream, even though no matter how many times I crunched the numbers on how many pencils I needed to sell, it just didn't make sense. And that was fine, because I had a feeling that somehow it would work, and I was 23 and had the moxie to trust my gut and just go for it.

I didn't tell anyone outside of my immediate friends and family when the website went live or when the physical shop opened because I just really believed that, “if you build it they will come,” and I wanted others to discover it on their own. Within months, and in a tiny $1,800/month shoebox on Forsyth Street, CW Pencil Enterprise quickly grew from a one-woman show into a much more complicated operation. At that point, I had an interview scheduled with a national publication or news outlet almost every week, having put $0 into marketing or PR. It was clear that my strategy of leading with earnestness had paid off in a way that I was not at all prepared for.

The thing about growth is that sometimes it's not measured or strategized, that sometimes it happens because it just does, and you have to figure out how to ride the wave and keep your head above water. Never in a million years did I think things would turn out as they did. Seven years, two books, a much bigger shop and a global pandemic later, it feels as though I just recently found my footing and the mental space to step back and understand what this shop evolved into while I was busy just trying to keep up.

Even though I've made some unwise business decisions and haven't always known what I was doing, I've always trusted my gut and I've always insisted on doing things with as much integrity as I could manage, whether it was in sourcing products or making decisions as a boss. My employees have always been paid a living wage, with healthcare benefits and paid time off for full-time staff. We believe in things like taking mental health days, talking through our problems and making sure that everyone has what they need. I'm definitely not a perfect boss, and I'm not saying all of this as a pat on the back to myself -- I'm saying it because these things should be basic rights at a job, and because I'm angry that they're not. And while so many business owners choose to prioritize doing the right thing and then struggle to survive, others take advantage of loopholes and get away with a bare minimum that should be criminal.

Running a shop during a pandemic has been a real test of resilience and decision-making. Never has my job been harder, but never have I felt such overwhelming gratitude for the community that has formed around this business. The support we've received has been immense, and the engagement we've had through Instagram and projects like actionable letter-writing and pen pal matching has been great fun to share with you. I've long felt icky about traditional tactics to increase sales and am exhausted by the conflict between doing what's necessary to meet the financial needs of my business and doing things purely to engage, inspire and help others. However, the unfortunate truth is that running a shop is not a public service, and popularity doesn't pay the bills.

Please, do your very best to support the businesses in your own community. When you need to buy something, do you try to buy it from a local store before purchasing it online or through a corporate behemoth? If the answer is no, I implore you to do better if the resources are available to you. It's easy to say that you support small businesses, but in practice, do you actually?

To all of our customers and friends: THANK YOU, for making this dream a reality for so many years. For enabling me to provide a place for others to work and thrive. For teaching us all what it's like to be part of a community that really cares. I am in awe of what we've made together.

And as for me, it really feels like the right time to move on. I've spent the past seven years becoming an expert in something I cared deeply about, and while that's been the most rewarding experience of my life, I've always known that I wouldn't do the same job forever. I'm ready for a new adventure, and feel as though I have so much more to give, learn and share.

With love and appreciation,  CW

[sometimesrosy]

Hi Rosy, how are you? Hope everything’s well! I have a bit of a hard question. I’m 27, getting minimum wage, working a job that doesn’t satisfy me. I have a degree in Translation but translation companies are very small, you work at home, pay by commission, and it’s hard to find translating work that gives you a full wage by the end of the month. To be honest, when I went to that course almost 10 years ago, I had no idea what I wanted to do (as most people that go into uni, I assume), I just knew that I enjoyed languages and was very good at English. Basically, it hasn’t really helped me in my professional life. Right during the 1st year, one of my teachers (that was British) noticed my interest for computers and even offered to help me get internships at technology companies. He mentioned how one of his kids had entered a university in Germany to learn programming, etc. I went with a friend to his university, in my country, and talked to the head of the engineering department about getting a degree in Computer Engineering by entering after already having a first degree (it’s a special way of entering, common in my country, and I assume there’s also a version of it in the USA and other countries). I decided then to finish the degree I was in, and in the mean time started dating back in my hometown. My boyfriend is the best boyfriend in the world, but he wants to stay in our hometown. He doesn’t have a higher degree, but has a secure job and is content with his life as long as he has me. I’ve considered going to the UK to study in university but that would be such a big change and leaving my partner behind is not in my plans. Now that my life has calmed considerably, I have a house, I have a somewhat steady job, we’re being able to pay all of our bills and save a tiny amount, I’m considering enrolling in a university closer to my home, still more than an hour away, and go to that super difficult degree where I’ll have Algebra and Calculus, etc. That way I can keep on working, although I’ll barely attend any class and that’s not good, and I won’t have to move. Working at the same time will be extremely hard, but studying this is something that’s been brewing in my mind for such a long time now that I think I will never rest unless I try. The worse that could happen is me giving up. It’s not the end of the world, right? My future as it is is disconcerting to me, so why not try and change it? I guess I just wanted some comforting words. I’m thinking too hard about everything, like, do I REALLY want this? Or am I just scared of my future? Also, tips and tricks to get used to studying again, and maths on top of it? I’m sorry for bothering.

Change is hard and scary. It's okay to second guess yourself but it sounds like you've been thinking about this and planning it for a long time so I don't think you should let your fear stop you.

Even though translation might not be a secure or lucrative career by itself, it should make you a much better hire for other industries.

When I went back to school to get my degree in teaching, I was also afraid that I wouldn't be able to do it and it would be too much, and I would be overworked and overwhelmed as I was also working while going to school.

But the moment I went back to school I remembered how to do it. How study and learn and discuss and all that stuff. I was actually excited by the subject matter and eager to enter into the new career and field of study and all those worries I had faded away.

Except for that it was a lot of work and I did get exhausted by it and for a while I was just getting by from holiday to holiday which were my only days off. But that was a shortened program with intense requirements, which I did instead of taking less frequent classes over a longer period time. If I had spread it out a bit I think I might not have been so exhausted. (Also I had an undiagnosed auto immune disease that I didn't know about.)

Take a deep breath. You can do it. You already have, so there's no reason to think you can't do it again.

And good for you for figuring out what you need to do to move forward in your life. Give yourself a break and don't be so hard on yourself while you're doing it.

You have this.

[halloumie]

23 june 2022

a phone interview today, and some in-person and online interviews next week. i feel a bit more hopeful now that i'm starting to get interviews again. not just about my job prospects -- talking to real people, even strangers, makes me feel better and more connected.

called an immigration specialist today, since ainan and i have been thinking about me going on the partner visa, but i do want to study next year, which would complicate matters since i'd have to get on the student visa. strange half answers. the specialist said that it didn't matter how much i earned apparently, it had to be ainan earning the 18.6k. we'll be consulting another solicitor.

the specialist heard a strange voice on my end of the call. big shivers scaling the stairs of my building alone, thinking about how scared she sounded. my parents think the lines intercepted. i suspect i played something from my voice mail, but how could a caller listen to my voice mail?

went back to solving leetcode today after a break of 2-3 weeks of despair, induced by not getting any software engineering interviews. watching ainan solve algorithms reminds me of how much i enjoy it also, the frustration, the murky understanding and sometimes how things work. often they don't and i'm being increasingly ok with that.

i do want to pursue a postgrad in cs. i'd like to do computational linguistics at a research institution and have faculty support. i'd like to not have to choose dead end jobs forever and start a career in software engineering. i'd like to be able to explore cs in an academic setting, potentially pursuing something in the field of digital humanities or compling for a phd eventually. but mainly, i want to be doing something at work that feels like i'm learning and improving on a craft. i've been wanting to study cs formally for a while now.

and i want to acknowledge that rising feeling of betrayal. that yes, i am a lit person and i have studied lit, but it's ok to study something else too. i'm not turning my back on my appreciation for writing just because i'm curious about another field. not a sellout, because i'm not pursuing it just for potential future financial reward.

and it's okay to have desires and curiosity shaped by the world around me and its demands. i don't have to go off into a sensory deprivation chamber like siddhartha to discover who i am.

we're closing in on a deal for the house. ordered some furniture to come in next month. i want the interior to be japandi, and he's fine with that. it's amazing how we've managed to stuff all our belongings in a tiny room so far. but again, i haven't been earning any money so there has been no possibility of buying anything.

right now i want to be financially comfortable enough to not panic and worry everyday. be able to pay council tax, finance a car and get a dog. so any job is okay. minimum wage is a pretty good deal, compared to sg.

and if working here is anything like i've experienced at volunteering so far, it will be far less abusive and unsettling than working in singapore.

i get heat headaches these days because it's summer. i sneeze when in pain, and my face feels clogged up so i know it's a sinus headache. these headaches are so often now that it's hot in the afternoon. and i'm acknowledging how much i've suffered in sg heat. it only gets up to 27 degrees so far. today was 25. the way the building traps heat doesn't help but still. i really did suffer in singapore.

so the past week has been spent applying on jobs (i used indeed this time and got a bunch of responses), helping out at the bookstore, panic scrolling reddit, finally settling around evenings to watch dougoug live or on yt. ainan and i have been watching black books, which is enjoyable.

the evenings are a relief as the temperature drops to around 20 degrees and i sit by the open window. i feel better when the sun's out, almost like i'm permitted to breathe better.

[silverislander]

you can ignore this i'm anxious about graduating/doing ece next fall

i'm like. really fucking scared of next year tbh! i've decided i'm gonna try and do early childhood education bc i think i could be good at it and it would actually be a fun, fulfilling job for me. i don't want kids myself, but i do love them, and in the past the idea of doing work that i feel matters in some way has been super influential. it's part of why i liked working at the grocery store, where there was more human interaction + effort to get customers to see us as people and i felt like i was really helping them, more than at the hardware store where we were quite literally treated worse than the robots doing the same jobs. i like art and music and little kids generally like me! every day will be different and expectations are low in terms of deadlines. i could do a really good job at this and actually not hate working i think

but like... oh my god. i have to completely start over at a new school! i dont even know how to make friends. what if everyone is bitchy and homophobic at me. is anyone even my age? i'm gonna be a 21yo freshman. what if people are homophobic at the actual work itself and that would mean i spent two years and thousands of dollars to get treated like shit again. what if i suck at this. what if the field isn't actually as desperate for workers as it's supposed to be or the pay increase that's on the way doesn't come and i wind up working barely over minimum wage forever and i never even move out of my parents house or get my own car. what if i really can't deal with waking up early every morning forever. what if the work terms on top of class are too stressful for me and i can't handle it

and there's also the fact that this is kind of my fourth or fifth backup idea for my life! when i was a kid i wanted to do medical research, but i'm not good enough at science. i briefly wanted to do theatre and that didn't even get to start, bc there's nowhere to study that here. i tried doing music and dropped out bc it was too much for me + i didn't know what i could do with it other than teach, and didn't want that. i didn't even say i kind of dreamed of being an author bc nobody ever actually succeeds as an author anymore without having a dad who works at harper collins or some shit. and now i'm going to graduate totally purposeless with an english degree, like an idiot, and say "fuck it what if i go back to a new school and try being a fucking daycare worker"! it's demoralizing more than anything, not bc i don't want to do it but bc i feel like i'm settling for the bare minimum without trying hard enough

idk. it feels like i should at least try for this, but i'm really scared

[gone464647475577]

Kingston’s Reflection

I was raised to believe that I was this awful curse brought along to make my family's lives miserable.  It took me decades, even death, to realize that I was not the cause of my parents' misery, but a result of it. 

My mom thought a baby would make her happy, but I never could, no matter how hard i tried. I went above and beyond whenever I was able. I really wanted to make her happy, but being so young and naïve at the time, I could never figure out that it wasn't me. It was her.

She had always longed for something better, but never had the incentive to make it happen for herself. She blamed her circumstances all the time instead of addressing the fear she had of failure. That had been what held her back throughout life. Not so much her circumstances.

She married an abusive nightmare of a man, not because she was in love with him, but because she was afraid she'd never find anyone else. She was afraid of being alone. She sadly never could find enough value in herself to decide to make a better way for herself or even me. She was afraid of what my father might have done if she stood up for me, or herself. Afraid of pursuing a better life. Afraid of failing all of her endeavors, perhaps even afraid they wouldn't turn out the way she wanted. So she did nothing.

She worked only briefly after my parents married, and only at a minimum wage job. After they has surpassed the honeymoon phase, they fought day and night for months. Then my mother had the bright idea that bringing a baby into the world would fix their marital problems.

I used to resent her so much for that. My dad never wanted me, that was no secret. I didn't even know why she wanted me so bad. I always had to beg for her attention, and she was a stay at home mom. I guess she just hoped that somehow I would make my father love her again, or treat her with more kindness because she had carried his child, but all of that was wishful thinking.

Once she realized that I wasn't the little miracle that was going to magically make everything better, she didn't want much to do with me, but still decided to open a daycare out of our home for extra cash. She gave those other kids more love and attention than she'd ever given me, even in front of me. I've only recently realized how much that affected me psychologically over the years and even now.

She stood by day after day, night after night while my father used me as a punching bag, just something to take his frustrations out on. He would just look for something that he could punish me for. Shoes in the wrong place, throwing away something I didn't eat, looking at him a certain way, it was hell. Arguably worse than the Hell I'm in now. I could tell it hurt her. To see him torment her only child, but she never had it in her to put a stop to it. So I suffered. I still do resent her for that.

The only benefit of my upbringing was seeing how not to behave via my parent's example. I didn't inherit much from them, beyond alcoholism. However I did inherit my mother's longing for a better life, I just had incentive. My life was terrible at the time, so I felt as if i had nothing to lose and everything to gain by chasing pipe dreams. And it got me everything i ever dreamed of... for awhile at least.

[writing-good-vibes]

welcome back to self-loathing hours with anna. turns out getting a job is really difficult. and turns out even though at this point i'm willing to sell my soul to the corporations just for the minimum wage, none of them want me anyway. so what was i saying? oh yes, self indulgent comfort with the terrible twins. not sure when these are set, other than pre-canon. they get it, you're all stuck working for The Man, but if they could they'd keep you at home all day as their good little house-spouse 💗 bold is asl, as always. WARNING for spicy implications (nothing explicit). GN!reader.

bo x reader

"No, that's okay. I understand. Well, thank you for the opportunity."

You sigh as you hang up the phone. Another job rejection.

You check the time. Just gone noon. Bo should be going on his lunch break soon.

Pulling on your sweater, you decide to wait outside for Bo to get home. The road leading up to the sugar mill ran right past the Sinclair house, and you had a perfect view from the front porch.

A trickle of workers start coming back into town and soon enough you see Bo round the corner, along with a few of his work friends.

He smiles when he sees you, breaking away from his friends and walking up the short path to the house. When he reaches you, stood on the front step, he wraps an arm around your waist. With a kiss to your temple he says, "Afternoon darlin'."

"Afternoon," you mumble, squeezing him in a hug. "How's work today?"

He frowns down at you, "It's goin' fine. What's wrong with you, baby?"

You sigh again; it leaves you as a shuddering breath. "I didn't get the job," you whisper.

"Aw, darl', I'm sorry," Bo says, pulling away and throwing an arm over your shoulders as he guides you back into the house. "They'll be other jobs."

"I know," you follow his lead. "I know, but... nothing has worked out yet. I don't have enough experience for anything."

"Baby, you're sharp as a whip. Something will come along," he holds you by the shoulders, looking at you pointedly.

You try, "Yeah, but..."

"But, nothing, y'hear me?" Bo's eyes are intense, a fire burning being his baby blues that you weren't about to start playing with.

"Yes, Bo."

"Y'know, if anything come up at the mill -- up in the office -- you'll be the first to know. I promise." He presses a kiss to your forehead before pulling away, sending you off with a playful pat on your ass.

You nod over your shoulder at him. You know Bo would keep you at home all day if he could. He wants to provide for you, and all he'd ask in return is a hot meal and a clean house. For you to wait for him to come home every day and let him love on you.

But real life doesn't work like that, no matter how much you both wish it did.

Bo watches you go into the kitchen as he makes himself at home on the couch. He hears your movements as you get lunch ready, the rustle of the bread bag and the gentle clatter of plates on the counter. When you reappear, with two plates of sandwiches in hand, he smiles at you. God, you're too good for him, he thinks.

He gestures for you to put the plates down on the coffee table. You do so, and then he takes your hand, pulling you over to straddle his lap.

Resting his work-rough hands on your hips, Bo leans in to kiss you. His lips are chapped, but you kiss them when he pulls back to say, coyly, "I got a whole half hour before I have to go back to work, y'know?" His hands leave your hips, finding themselves on your thighs instead, slowly sliding up, inch by inch.

"Oh yeah?" you cup his face in your hands, pulling him back to your lips.

"Oh yeah."

vincent x reader

Another rejection letter. You shove it back into it's envelope and abandon it on the side table and try to push the feeling of disappointment down in your chest.

Instead, you go to the kitchen and busy yourself making lunch for you and Vincent. He's been down in the workshop for hours, he'll be hungry.

Fifteen minutes later, you descend into the basement with a plate of sandwiches and the latest book you'd been reading. Vincent is still working when you arrive at the workshop, he barely notices you walk in.

Placing the plate down on the least cluttered workbench, you walk up behind Vince, wrapping your arms around his waist. "Afternoon."

He drops the tool he'd been using to clasp his warm, wax-flaked hand over yours on his stomach. He grunts softly in greeting.

"They turned down my work, said it wasn't what they were looking for," you mutter into his back.

You feel his shoulders drop, before he eases out of your grip and turns to face you. "My love," his fingers stroke from your cheek to your jawline.

Not meeting his eye, you try and sound nonchalant, "It's my own fault, I shouldn't have set my hopes so high."

"You don't need a job," he says, "You can just stay here all day, with me. I need a muse."

"You know I'd love nothing more than to do that," you sigh wistfully. Oh, what you'd do to stay with Vincent all day. "But we need the money."

"No, we don't. We are starving artists," Vince smiles, a look that almost seems pleading. And you believe him, absolutely. There's not a doubt in your mind that Vincent would be willing to suffer for you, for his own art. That he would rather go hungry than make you work a job you didn't want, or seek the approval of those he considered beneath the both of you in terms of talent.

But the real world didn't work like that, no matter how much you both wish it did.

"We can only starve for so long. And it's not fair on Bo." Bo's been taking even longer shifts at the mill.

"Never mind Bo, we --," Vincent starts, but you cut him off.

"I'm going to try and get a proper job, just until I start getting somewhere with my portfolio."

Vincent looks like he's about to interject, but he can see you look dejected enough without him trying to argue your new plan.

"Okay, my love. But only until you can get your work out there, where it belongs."

"Thank you," you whisper, pulling him towards you enough to press your forehead to his. "Are you ready for a break?"

Your hand trails from where it is twisted in the front of his apron to the waistband of his jeans.

He lets out a breathy laugh, nodding. His hands reach behind him to untie the apron strings as he walks you back towards the cot in the corner.

[lgwifey]

toxic part three

90s!liam gallagher x fem!reader

Summary : Airports, waiting and contemplation

Warning : none ?

Bit short but i'm really busy atm, sorry x

part one part two

1996

The press are going to want loads of you and Liam.

Because they didn't already. Because her idea of fun is standing at a freezing cold London airport in a tight top, push up bra, stiff hair and plastered on makeup. Not to mention the pain of smiling.

To say she regretted her only night of fun was the understatement of the century. It was suposed to loosen her up, relax her from what her friends had been calling 'the pressures of life', but it only did the exact opposite. Her concealer was struggling to hide the dark bags which where multipling at an alarming pace underneath her once sparkling y/e/c eyes. Everyone thought it was the job. Even her family had been on the phone to remind her that she didn't need to take as many interviews as she was. No is a full sentence, something she was always told. It's usually to remind people that they don't need to feel pressured into things like agreeing to sex or alcohol but her nana had been telling her that she didn't need to feel pressured into agreeing to press.

Everyone thought it was her job which was drowing her features in depression. It wasn't, but it was.

It was the Liam job.

She would hold back laughter when people would say ' i'm sure your management wouldn't mind you declining one interview. ' because in reality, it wasn't just declining. No, declining an interview was so much more. Declining an interview was a advert for people to critise your every move. If she declined an interview she would be on the bad side of both her and Oasis' management, open to be screamed at.

I bet Liam doesn't let anyone talk down to you.

That had been something else she had to hold in a snicker at.

Liam couldn't give two fucks if she was upset. If anything, he was the one causing the mood.

Her time away from him had only made her more paranoid to be around him. He was going to be angry when he arrived off that plane. He was going to be fuming. And when that flat door closes, anything could happen.

She liked to think that Liam wouldn't go that far.

He'd never actually hit her, punched her or physically caused injury to her. It was more mental. When she came to think of it, he liked the feeling of power. He liked that she was scared of him. He loved that she was scared of him. He could give her a side eye and she'd fulfill his every request, because no matter what tough act she put up to others, Liam always knew she would be to petrified to step a foot out of line with him.

She was like a puppet.

Her eyes focused back on the wall infront of her.

Right, airport. Public. Press.

Her lips jumped back up into their heaty grin and she readjusted her stance.

His plane was to arrive in a minute, he would only take ten minutes maximum. Ten minutes and then she could stop smiling.

She probably stopped smiling whilst she was thinking, she hoped not or she'd be paying for it later. If there was a single ream with a dwindled smile then it would be all over the news, managements would find out and then so would Liam. And then her life would be even more of a hell.

Sometimes she wondered if it would've been a better life if she didn't sign up for junior eurovision. Would she be this miserable if she was back in Ireland, probably on a minimum wage job with a kid or two. Twenty years old, yeah two kids sounded about right. She was surprised she hadn't ended up up the duff as a teenager, then again she was never one to overly sleep around. Most important in this imaginary life, would she be in a happy relationship ? A relationship with someone who didn't make her feel like she was completely and utterly useless. A kind and loving man who wouldn't make her feel like a waste of space. Someone who wouldn't scream 'i have given you everything anyone could ask for' at her is she gave a slight complaint.

Once again, she was pulled into reality, miserable reality. This time by the cameras becoming beserk, when she looked to where they where all now facing, away from her, she found Noel Gallagher dragging a suitcase behind him. Big black sunglasses resting over his, probably nackered or high, eyes. He sent an attempt of a smile to her, which she returned.

Then Liam appeared behind him.

Show time.

She tried to hold back a scowl as two air hostess' disembarked from either arm.

She couldn't be helped by a guy but he was allowed to publically drag two dolled up women about an airport where cameras are purpously placed. Talk about equality.

He walked faster than Noel in general, so it made perfect sence that he arrived infront of her first.

Cameras.

An arm wrapped delicatly around her waist, holding onto the center of her back as he disregarded his suitcase and bag to the side of them and pulled himself down to place a kiss onto her lipglossed lips. If she didn't already know him, she could almost mistake him for being loving.

That was one of the things which confused her with Liam. One second he hated her, she was the worst person in the world because she was such a burden to him and the next he was cuddley and soft and watched her to know he didn't like guys disrespecting her.

He was a walking, talking contradicterary prick.

masterlist / part four

[olderthannetfic]

You have way more wisdom and experience than I do and also approach topics with a lot of nuance (which I really appreciate) so I was hoping you could offer some help. If this ask is too heavy or it's too weird feel free to ignore.

I've been Poor my whole life and I've also been severely mentally ill most of my life. Mental health care isn't covered by my country's government and therapy is really expensive so I pushed on using mostly online tips and tricks to manage my depression. But that's not working anymore. I do everything I see online but it's not helping any longer. I've journaled in old school notebooks, I've worked out at home so much I'd be buff if I wasn't too underweight to gain muscle, the little food I can afford is so meticulously chosen as to be healthy that I put health food bloggers to shame and a host of other stuff people tell you will cure depression.

I recently realized that a lot of the things that happened to me as a kid were actually extremely traumatic and abusive which only added to it.

I'm desperate for any support but I can't afford therapy and I also can't just say to my friends "I need you to help me with complex trauma." that would be overstepping boundaries and also very entitled of me, so I'm definitely not doing that.

I worry that eventually it will be too much and I'll fully have a mental breakdown, which would be disastrous for me as I pay for my college myself and a mental breakdown wouldn't exactly be good for my barely above minimum wage job.

How do I prevent that? Are there any sources that can assist you when you know that realistically you can't afford therapy? Or are there books or online services that can help? Is there way to work through this right now until I save enough for a therapist. I'm at my wits end and it's starting to become obvious to those around me that I'm struggling a lot mentally. Just going through the day is soul crushing and my only motivation is the money I pay for my degree not being wasted.

This is a lot to ask from anyone, especially an online stranger, so please don't feel obligated to answer. if you can't answer that's fine and I'll probably ask Reddit again. Also if any part of this is trauma dumping please let me know as I struggle with knowing when I'm just telling people stuff and when I'm trauma dumping

--

Nah, this isn't trauma dumping. That usually involves more details of what happened to you and is often in a derailing context in an existing conversation.

Unfortunately, if there were easy answers, you'd already have found them.

The first thing is not to beat yourself up. Mental illness and poverty do a number on anybody.

All that "go jogging to feel better" shit is for people who have mild situational depression. You don't. No matter how hard you work, none of that crap is going to fix it. I mean, eating healthy couldn't hurt, but it's not your fault it didn't work. It was never going to work.

Yours is presumably a brain that needs meds, and until you can afford to pump some different chemicals into it, it's going to keep making the wrong ones and ruining your day. Health is a nice goal... Under the current circumstances, however, I think a more useful goal is just to survive. Every day above ground is a win.

As long as you're still kicking, there's always time for things to improve. You don't need to be a superhero and fix yourself right now. You just need to make it through school till you can at least focus on just the shitty job instead of the shitty job plus school. (And hopefully, a better job, eventually.) Whatever keeps you upright and heading for that goal is what you should do.

In terms of specific resources, you could try looking up the DBT resources other people have been talking about. DBT seems to be used on otherwise intractable depression, suicidal tendencies, etc. and often on people with a hot mess of a childhood.

Unstructured journaling and general "try to be healthy" stuff has not helped, so I would focus on more structured practices that involve specific homework. Meditation and mindfulness exercises may help (and are a part of DBT).

[ikwhatyouaremikewheeler]

Invite me in: Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson

Note: it's not really a ship, they kiss once and that's it, so yeah enjoy!

Warning: death, gore mentions, Eddie Munson as a vampire, I killed Robin for the sake of the plot, a knife, Steve has a concussion and twisted ankle idk

Summary: Steve's locked in the family video break room, with Eddie wreaking havoc outside

_______________________________________________

Steve wasn't sure how long it has been, 6 seconds or 6 hours. What he was sure of was that Eddie Munson, who was an assumed murderer and also known to be dead; was outside of the Family Video break room, currently tearing apart his best friend, Robin Buckley.

He couldn't exactly save her, and the things standing between him doing that was, a literal vampire, A door, a chair and a filing cabinet. But the image of Robin, the life leaving her eyes and Eddie basically ripped her spine out? Yeah that's not something Steve would forget anytime soon.

His muscles ached In protest as he tried to push the filing cabinet further against the door, making sure the chair was balanced enough to keep Eddie locked out. His pulse racing as he imagined what could've happened. Was he still outside, just waiting? Or had he left, going to kill someone else? Steve shuddered at the thought, jolting away from the cabinet as a loud bang was heard from the door.

"Oh little piggy, c'mon do I have to blow the house down?" Eddie's voice was light, cheerful even, like he hadn't just murdered Robin, and trying to supposedly do the same to Steve. The banging hadn't stopped, almost as if Eddie was throwing himself against the door, trying to break it down. Which caused Steve to move even quicker, the cabinet squeaking against the waxed floor as he groaned in protest, finally getting it snug again the doorway.

Honestly if you had told him a year ago that he'd be a 20 year old working a minimum wage job, that now had a crazy vampire trying to rip his throat out? Yeah he'd probably laugh in your face. But now? He'd definitely believe it. Or maybe not, this was absurd, even just thinking about it Steve didn't know whether or not to burst into laughter or throw up in the corner. So as a quick compromise his small giggles of disbelief slowly evolved into body wracking sobs, reality had sunk in.

Robin was dead, and he was next, to die at the hands of Eddie Munson, he was alone, in a dark room with the power cut off, and Eddie didn't show any signs of leaving soon, how long had it been since this started? It couldn't have been longer than a few hours, it was still dark outside. "Steveeee, go ahead and come out, I'm sure Robin is just Dying to see you" Eddie cackled from the other side of the door, the banging ceasing for a millisecond before starting once again, the taunts he threw at Steve almost being drowned out by the noise, which quite frankly Gave Steve some peace.

He had somehow managed to fall into a light sleep, over all the screaming and crashing going on outside, all courtesy of Eddie. Steve woke up, quickly jumping to his feet when he had heard Eddie outside, searching around for anything to use as a weapon, coffee canister, a butter knife and a paper towel holder... Wow, he's screwed. "let's make a deal, you come out so we can talk, and I don't go and gut Henderson, capiche?" Steve shook his head in the dark of the room, as if Eddie could see him and honestly, he couldn't form words. Eddie wouldn't hurt Dustin, he wouldn't dare. "don't- I'm not coming outside and you aren't hurting him... I'll tear you apart if you even try." Okay so Steve tried to sound threatening, and serious, but in reality he just sounded scared, and the crack in his voice didn't help. To which Eddie chuckled in response.

"Fine, we'll play it your way, if you aren't coming out....then I'm coming in."

The door had finally given way, no matter how much the chair and Filing cabinet had protested, the door slammed open, the wooden chair practically snapping in half while the cabinet had flung to the side, narrowly avoiding Steve as he jumped back, his head slamming against the wall. He could hear Eddie's gleeful laughter in the background, just barely above the ringing in his ears, still unable to see anything in the darkness. Blood dripped down his forehead, steadily falling, and landing on his shirt. He groaned, reaching a hand up to wipe away the blood, effectively stopping the cut for now. But his movements were slow, distorted, just like Eddie's voice as he seemed to whisper, like Steve's head was underwater. "Oh you're bleeding Stevie, do you want me to come check it out, maybe we can have our talk in here?"

Steve groaned in protest, using his free hand to push himself up against the wall, still clutching the butter knife as he practically almost slid back down in the corner. He was trapped and it was all over, Eddie was going to kill him. And then god knows who else. His body was shaking, but he wasn't crying this time, no, it was out of pure fear and adrenaline. So when he pushed himself off the wall, which took way too long, already feeling weak, his head pounding and his heart racing. "Did you hear me Steve, or are you a little too tired?" "Fuck off Eddie" Steve had managed to whisper, his voice barely audible over the ringing, which droned on in his head.

Steve watched as Eddie went to step through the doorway, but stopped as an invisible source held him back, almost like he had put pennies at the door. At first he was confused, maybe Eddie was taunting him, making a mockery of his last minutes alive, but no. Eddie looked confused too, using more and more force each time he tried to step through the door, and then it hit Steve. Family Video was a public place, but the break room was employees only, and if being Micheal from the lost boys for Halloween taught him nothing ( which it had)... Eddie had to be invited in. "Thank fucking God for stupid vampire rules.." Steve mumbled to himself, almost as if the words rolled off of his tongue without him realizing, his brain practically moving in slow motion. "Steve, Stevie, listen. Invite me in, c'mon." Eddie grumbled, practically pleading as he droned on to Steve, who was still in the corner, one hand slick with blood against the wall, the other holding out a butter knife at Eddie while shaking profusely.

"Go away! I'm not letting you anywhere near me! You're a fucking monster.." Steve spat out, the blood from his forehead slowly trickling into his eye, which didn't help with his vision. "yeah? It takes one to know one Stevie, or since you're so cold towards me, should I call you Harrington?" Eddie mused, slowly coming into view as Steve limped towards the door, having injured his ankle on the way into the breakroom. "you can't call me either, and I want you out of here!" To which Eddie laughed, well in reality it was more of a giggle, his shadow stepping closer into the doorway, until he fully blocked it, no more street light filling the room. Which Steve could almost be thankful for, that Eddie couldn't see how vulnerable he truly was

"Like I said, invite me in, and we'll talk this out, Big boy. But I'm guessing from the gash on your head you aren't thinking straight, which truly is a tragedy.. so repeat after me okay? I, Stevie, invite you Eddie Munson into the Family Video break room." Steve just stared in response, or at least what he thought was Eddie, he wasn't sure if he had turned around in the room or not. But his head was still spinning, and eventually, without even realizing it Steve had fallen to the floor, sinking on his knees with the knife loosely resting in his lap.

He was going to die here, that's all he knew, the sound of Eddie getting more and more aggravated brought him back to reality, his eyes snapping up to him, as he backed away, Steve got a clear view of the store, of Robin. Who was laying there, almost unrecognizable. His stomach churned, as he swallowed back the bile in his throat and took a breath, which really just sounded like a gasp.

"Go away Eddie! Please... Go away. You've already killed Robin" Steve pleaded with him, all the fight he had previously had gone, the man he loved was infront of him trying to rip his throat out with his teeth, and he couldn't do a damn thing about it. If he had any tears left, he'd curl up onto the floor and cry, sobbing and cursing who...no whatever turned Eddie into that.

Eddie had gotten sick of the act Steve had put on, basically a damsel in distress. He growled, slamming his hands against the door frame, watching as Steve flinched back. "you see the problem is, I came here to talk... And here you are Stevie, being a stubborn bitch and not letting me in." No matter how much he had persisted or tried to push, the invisible barrier wouldn't budge.

Steve had backed into the corner once again, his back pressing against the corner of the filing cabinet, the metal edge digging into his spine. It was almost dawn, all he had to do was wait Eddie out, and then he'd have to leave... wouldn't he? He had an idea, to save himself, maybe holding onto the hope that no matter how bad it was, Robin could still be alive. The idea was absolutely ludicrous, to Walk out of the break room, the only safe place and try to kill Eddie.

He had no advantages, except a butter knife that was (probably) made of real silver. So with a sigh, and an equally annoyed groan from the metal, he got up, stumbling forward and the narrow lighting. Steve made his way to the door, seeing Eddie who stood by one of the now broken windows. He stepped forward, a hand resting on the doorway as he stared at Robin, the blood cakes to her face and her eyes wide. His other hand, had hidden the butter knife in his back pocket, it was now or never.

"Eddie. I want-... I want to invite you in. You can..- you can come in." He Murmured, and within an instant it seemed Eddie was at the doorframe, his eyes blood red and his fangs on display as he grinned. "oh so you came to your senses? Well I'm glad to know we can have that... discussion Stevie" Eddie chuckled, his eyes dropping down to Steve's neck, trailing down to the blood that stuck to his shirt.

"Yeah... let's talk." Steve nodded, still standing in the doorway as he leaned closer to Eddie, staring at him with a blank expression, his hand trailing behind his back to grab the knife. He wasn't sure what had happened, but the next thing he knew, his lips were pressed to Eddie's, raising his knife clad hand up, a quick motion pressing it into his ribs, pulling away quickly after.

Eddie had stumbled back, gripping onto the knife stuck in his chest, giving Steve a betrayed look as he fell back, tripping over a shelf and landing into a patch of the carpet covered in sunlight. "Steve- Stevie..." He whispered, as Steve stood in the doorway for support, his head wound now re opened. He went over, kneeling beside Eddie but keeping a far enough distance, his hair shining softly in the morning light, now caked in blood, as Tears mixed with the dirt and blood stuck onto his face, leaving streaks. "Eddie.. I'm so sorry- i just...I can't let you hurt anyone." He sobbed, holding onto Eddie's free hand and watching as he slowly turned to dust, the knife clattering into it with a small puff into the air.

Eddie's last words had been Similar to Steve's. "you're a monster Harrington.." to which Steve laughed, air getting stuck in his throat before he whispered in his ear, driving the knife deeper. "yeah, well it takes one to know one."

THE END

[shatar-aethelwynn]

I just graduated and I'm 18 so what do I do now

What do you want to do? Seriously. That's the important question. And that’s not one I can answer for you. Do you want to go to college? If so, do you know what you want to study? Can you afford it? Because I don't recommend going entirely on loans, I'm still dealing with mine. Would you rather go to a trade school? Or just skip the whole potentially unnecessary hassle altogether and focus on getting a job and spend your time learning what you want to learn at your own pace while enjoying the hobbies you want to enjoy? You don't have to decide right away. God knows I wish I had taken time to figure myself out before going to college. Might have saved myself the hassle of school transfers, extra courses to compensate, and realizing toward the end of Junior year that I didn't actually want to be studying my major after all but was too far in with student loans to be worth quitting or adding another year or two by switching majors. Whether a degree is even important depends entirely on what you want to do for work. And I'll be honest, even with a degree the chance of getting that job immediately after graduating is generally low (and in some fields just about nonexistent) for most people. And even though society is going to try to pressure you into it, you don't need to go for further schooling if you don't want to. It's not mandatory. Do you want to stay where you are or move? If you want to move, you'll want to start looking for jobs in the area you want to be. Many places will ask if you're willing to move if hired, so even though you aren’t there yet you could still put in applications to business in the area if you’re thinking of a more long-distance move than “just a town or two over”. And you'd want to start looking at prices for rents. Check what the minimum wage in the State is because that's the lowest you could be paid so you can use that number to see how much you could afford for rent/transportation/groceries/etc. Could you afford the costs on your own or do you need to start looking for roommates? (How to find people is not something I can give suggestions for, sorry) Or are you in a situation where it's safe and healthy for you to remain with your parents while you figure out what you want to do? Because for most people independence begins with figuring out income and access to transportation, and that’s not always easy. Especially if you don’t have access to some sort social network for mutual support (these come in many shapes and sizes, family and friends often count, and what individuals need varies person to person, and I’m really not the best person to ask for advice on obtaining this since I’m a bit of an anti-social recluse in person). Another thing to consider in all of this is what makes you tick. What is the thing, no matter what anyone else says about it, that makes your day good when you engage with it? This doesn’t need to be your job, but it does deserve to be a factor in your choices. For me that's a certain degree of intellectual study and craft things, and I enjoy being able to teach. My job requires attention to detail, precision, some degree of artistic ability, and because of how long I’ve been doing it I have training responsibilities. So even though my job has nothing apparently related to my degree or my hobbies it still somewhat satisfies that part of the brain that says "this is why I enjoy these hobbies" if that makes any sense. For my sister her thing is art, so she tries to make time for it and doing so helps reground her after dealing with work stress, and the jobs she's enjoyed the most have been the ones that give her a chance to exercise some sort of creativity. She's also much better than I am with people so a job that puts me dealing with people all day would fuck my head right up, but she has a higher tolerance threshold before she has to go scream. And being able to help people is part of what gives her a sense of personal satisfaction at the end of the day. Or are you someone who actually enjoys cleaning? I don't, it makes me stressed, but I have a relative who worked as a house cleaner part time for a while because she genuinely enjoyed it. These are things to consider. Being an introvert doesn't mean you can't enjoy a people job, and being an extrovert doesn't mean you won't thrive in a job that is more private. But everyone has different personalities and different strengths, and you’ll be happiest in your choices when you take that into consideration (and on that note, remember that if you move across State lines you may experience some mild culture shock depending on where you move to, which can easily manifest as personality clashes, especially in a work environment).

However, I will warn you now that even though you try to do everything right you may find times in your life when you do have to accept an uncomfortable job for a while, or what sounded like a good job turns out to have an asshole boss and you have to start looking for a new one again. Or an apartment that seemed nice turns out to have really shitty neighbors and you have to put up with it for a while before you find a new place (been there). So if that happens don't give up, almost everyone has been there at least once. Honestly, right now you've got an endless range of possibilities in front of you and the only one who can make the choice of what you do next is you. So. What do you want to do? Once you find your answer to that you can start looking at what is needed to get there. And you always have the ability to change that goal at any time you want. You don’t stop learning, changing, or growing once highschool is over, so don’t let anyone demand that you lock down an unbreakable plan for the rest of your life right now.