#and then get up and apply for as many remote jobs as i can find

[threnodians]

i've been up all night tossing and turning and i've done some contemplating about things and...

so i'm supposed to go in for my first day of work today at a veterinary hospital that is 25 minutes/25 miles away from my house, it's a full-time job and it'll be 8am-5pm shifts monday-friday every week

my car is 10 years old and falling apart, and i simply cannot afford to purchase a new one right now because the market is absolutely ridiculous

winter is also coming and it's going to be a bad one supposedly, and driving 25 miles to work and then 25 miles back home in shitty weather (which i have done so. many. times. in my life) is not ideal at all whatsoever, i'm sick of it honestly

but more importantly

i have autoimmune diseases (fibromyalgia and rheumatoid arthritis) amongst other health problems (tachycardia, adhd, autism, depression, anxiety, scoliosis, et cetera)

i'm just thinking about how hard this will be on my body, like yeah in theory it sounds good because helping animals etc but in actual practice??? idk

i've obviously worked in a veterinary hospital before, three actually, and they all absolutely destroyed my will to live body and mind

i think... i think i'm just going to turn down the job and apply for a ton of remote jobs today even though i hate customer service, it's really the best and only option right now

idk i've been thinking about this all fucking night and is this a bad idea??? a horrible choice??? possibly

but if it doesn't work out i can always find another job somewhere around here, it won't be easy but

i LOVE helping animals and i LOVE working with animals, but i NEED to take into account my body and how it is incapable of working full-time (and no veterinary hospital hires part-time employees anymore) and also my mental health and my PETS, i won't have the time nor the energy needed to properly care for them and the lack of free time + the commute + the backbreaking work + being treated like absolute trash right to my face by clients is....... not worth it in the end

i may regret this decision and i'm sure my father (who i live with) won't be too pleased but... yeah

working from home is truly the best option for me if i want to be at least a little bit happy with my life

[sixeyescurseuser]

Thinking about makeup artist (MUA) Geto and model Gojo. They met for the first time a couple months ago, where Geto was hired for a trial session with the hottest model in the industry.

Now, Gojo doesn’t accept any other MUA other than Suguru. 

For their next photoshoot, Gojo needs lipstick stains on his neck and chest to complete the look. Naturally, he asks Suguru to leave them. 

“Satoru, there are other people who are specially trained to do this kind of thing,” Geto says with a light laugh.

But Gojo is already shaking his head, getting up in Geto’s space as he argues, “It’s either you or I’m not letting anyone else near my neck. Plus, you already have the lipstick for it…”

Gojo wiggles his eyebrows. Geto chuckles as he pinches Gojo’s cheek with one hand, and texts the model’s manager with the other to ensure he won’t get fired for this. 

(Kento-san replied: “Whatever Gojo wants, Gojo gets”)

Cue Gojo sitting in the makeup chair, giddily watching as Suguru faces the mirror, carefully applying the pigmented, candy-apple red lipstick to his lips. 

Then, Geto softly grasps Gojo’s jaw while asking, “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, yeah!” Gojo nods, looking up at Geto like an eager puppy.

Amusement dances behind Geto’s hazel eyes. Slowly, he bends to be at level with Gojo’s neck, then puckers his lips as he presses them against the model’s pale skin. Gojo lets out a shaky breath, surrendering himself to Suguru's lips that tenderly kiss his skin.

Ten minutes later, Gojo walks out to the photoshoot room with his chest puffed out, proudly showing off his lipstick marks. Meanwhile, Geto hides in his makeup room, holding his blushing face in his hands because he can’t believe he just did THAT. 

Gojo comes back during his break and insists the lipstick stains need a touch up. 

“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” Geto accuses, but goes to reapply the lipstick anyway. Gojo chuckles, then stands next to Geto, looking at them side-by-side in the mirror. He hungrily watches the way the lipstick glides over Suguru’s lips, then notices Suguru’s shaky hand with a smirk.

“Only for you,” Gojo says, using a finger to wipe away the smudged lipstick on Geto’s lower lip.

Just love the idea of tease-Gojo who really likes his MUA. Yeah, Gojo wants him so bad. 

On the other hand, Geto has his strict no-dating-pretty-boy-models policy. After working with so many models over the years, they started losing their appeal because oftentimes, they sacrifice authenticity and humility in pursuit of fame and perfection. 

So while many were physically beautiful, their personalities just weren’t that great. 

Gojo is different though. He’s charming in a boyish way, but always takes his job seriously. A massive nerd too, whoyaps about his progress in his video games when Geto works his magic.

He shares his sweets with Geto but also gifts Geto his favorite savory snacks. Gojo also insisted they start a tradition of coffee/milkshake friend-dates, which Geto has found himself looking forward to each week. 

When other models try shooting their shot with Geto, if Gojo is in the vicinity… he WILL be making a scene

(Like those characters when their faces are shaded and they have that dangerous star-glint in their eye? That’s Gojo.)

Geto knows it’s a bad idea to be remotely interested in Gojo - the most sought after model for the past few years - but he finds himself quickly falling for Satoru anyway. 

A few more months pass with lots of flirting and cheeky methods of physical touch. 

It all comes down to when they're over at Gojo’s place, sitting on the couch while watching a movie. As time passes, they gravitate closer and closer, until Gojo tucks Geto into his side so Geto can rest his head on Gojo’s chest.

“You know, I don’t do this with anyone else,” Gojo murmurs. Geto hums as Gojo squeezes his waist. “Suguru, do you understand what I mean?”

“I thought THE Gojo Satoru doesn’t date?” Geto teases.

“He does now, if Geto Suguru accepts,” Gojo replies.

Geto rolls his eyes fondly, but his heart beats a million times per second, feels like it will actually burst at any moment. He feels so secure with Satoru’s arm around him. Hmm, Satoru smells really good right here too.

Geto digs his nose further against Gojo’s neck, inhaling deeply before breathing out, “My boyfriend is such a sap.”

Gojo laughs at that, and drops a kiss to the top of Suguru’s head.

“You have no idea. I’ve honestly been holding it all in until now. Prepare to be swept off your motherfuckin’ feet, Suguboo!”

After this night, Gojo and Geto’s schedules become incredibly busy, with Gojo going out of the country and Geto preparing to be an MUA for several big celebrity events. They haven’t even had their first kiss yet!

Two weeks later, they’re both back in the same city, this time for a quick photoshoot that Gojo insisted he needed his personal MUA for. It’s Gojo’s company paying Suguru, so ofc Gojo wants Suguru to make money while also getting to spend time with him!

They’re back to their usual routine in Gojo’s dressing room, Geto priming Gojo’s face as per usual. Gojo has been diligently following Geto’s skincare regimen and it makes his skin positively glow. (Gojo would say it’s just because Suguru is here.)

Gojo is talking about how annoying some of the models he had to work with overseas when suddenly, Geto is grabbing his cheeks and planting a sweet kiss to his lips. Gojo goes cross-eyed, letting out a confused “Hmrphh??”,  but Suguru is pulling back as quickly as he came in.

“Sorry, I’ve been waiting to do that for a while,” Geto coughs, cheeks blooming beautiful, natural rosy shade.

“I- didn’t quite catch that the first time. Show me again?” Gojo asks, tilting his head like a puppy.

Geto takes about half a second to contemplate whether this is a smart idea before swooping in to capture Gojo’s plush lips again. Gojo hums in approval, bringing a hand up to hold one of Geto’s wrists, Geto’s hands still reverently cupping Gojo’s cheeks.

“Again?”

Geto pats Gojo’s cheek. “Now, now. Can't have you being too greedy, can we? Chin up, dear.”

Gojo pouts while Geto grabs some foundation and a mini-spatula.

***

Geto has a private social media that very few people (his closest friends and family) follow, so he posts his and Gojo’s cute selfies and date pics on there. Gojo has a secret account too and spams Geto’s account with comments - “😘😘😘” or “love of my life 🥰” or “can’t wait to come back home!”

Gojo himself has so many candid pics of his boyfriend. It’s his passion to capture every aspect of Suguru in his life, actually!

Geto will just be brushing his teeth, his hair in a messy bun, and Gojo will be like 🤳🏼📸

The next challenge Gojo ponders is figuring out when an appropriate amount of time has passed since they began dating to ask Suguru to move in with him.

Gojo just zoning out on Suguru’s face and Geto wondering why Gojo has been staring at him for three minutes straight??

“Satoru,” Geto warns, looking out of the corner of his eye. “No.”

Like a large cat, Gojo’s pupils dilate and he leaps onto the couch to tackle Geto in a bear hug.

[oohnotvery]

Edges of the Night (Chapter 11)

“She’s waking up.”

Scully blinks groggily, her heavy eyelids struggling to open. As she drifts into consciousness, the part of her brain that has years of medical training tells her she’s coming off a morphine drip because of the way her entire body itches from scalp to toes. She raises a hand to scratch and startles when her wrist meets resistance. Her eyes fly open and she glances down in horror.

She’s in some sort of bed, her hands handcuffed to railings lining the sides, and she can’t move them even an inch off the mattress.  

Her heart dutifully starts to pound in her chest, but she’s momentarily distracted by a throbbing pain rising from her left shoulder. She shifts around to try to get a good look at what’s hurting, and that’s when she realizes she’s in a hospital bed.

She blinks in shock. It’s been a surprisingly long time since she’s woken up in a hospital. When she worked on the X-Files, it was unusual if a month went by without either she or Mulder enduring some sort of hospital visit. But she’s hard-pressed to recall even a single time she got hurt in San Diego. Hospital administrators usually don’t have to deal with on-the-job injuries.

Her shoulder throbs again and she winces. She’s wearing a standard-issue hospital dressing gown, and with some maneuvering, she manages to slip the sleeve off her shoulder. At first, she is confused to see a thick bandage covering her shoulder, but then she remembers. The gunshot. She was shot.

How did she get to a hospital?

Who performed the surgery?

And who handcuffed her to this bed?

And where is—

Mulder.

What happened to Mulder?

If she wasn’t panicking earlier, she’s panicking now. Adrenaline floods her body. Beside her, a heartrate monitor starts beeping loudly.

She glances around, startling when she notices that she’s not alone. There’s a woman standing nearby, dressed in medical scrubs and wearing a mask over her nose and mouth. At the door stands a man. He’s watching her with a neutral expression, but she doesn’t miss the Sig strapped to his hip.

“Where am I?” she croaks, her eyes darting around the room.

The space she’s in gives the impression of a small, private hospital room. To her left is a window blocked with heavy curtains; she can’t tell whether it’s daytime or nighttime outside. Her arms are hooked to a set of IVs. It takes one experienced glance at the drip bags to tell her she’s receiving a combination of fluids, antibiotics, and morphine. Nothing strange, nothing deadly.

In front of her, most curiously, is a television set, beside which stands a camcorder balanced on a tripod.

“Where am I?” she repeats, her voice a little stronger. “Where’s Mulder?”

Infuriatingly, no one responds. The woman ignores her to rifle through a medicine cabinet and when she finds what she needs, she approaches the bed and applies a blood pressure cuff to Scully’s arm.

“Where the hell am I?” Scully once again demands through gritted teeth.

The woman’s eyes shift briefly to hers and Scully tries to scrutinize her, searching for clues and finding none.

“Where am I?”

But the woman remains silent, inscrutable.

How many times can she ask that question without an answer?

The woman leans over to grab a remote control that’s sitting on the bedside table. She points it at the T.V. and the screen slowly fades from black to color. For a moment, Scully can’t tell what she’s looking at. The image is fuzzy and grainy.

The woman sighs aggravatedly and gestures to the man at the door.

“Picture’s not clear. Can they see her alright?”

Can who see me?

Scully’s eyes pinball around the room and she realizes with a start that in her initial survey of the space, she failed to notice the blinking light on the camcorder. She’s being videotaped. Her mouth falls open in protest when suddenly, the picture on the T.V. screen clears. Blood rushes from her head and somewhere in the back of her doctor’s mind, she knows her blood pressure cuff is about to return a very alarming reading.

Because on the screen, as clear as day, she sees him. Mulder, sitting in a chair in a darkened room, his head hanging defeatedly in his hands.

“Mulder!” she calls, and to her shock and surprise, he lifts his head as if he’s heard her.

“You’re awake,” he breathes, and relief crosses his features as he jumps up to stride towards the camera.

She tears her eyes from the screen and shoots the woman a questioning look. “This is happening in real time? He can see me and I can see him?”

With a dismissive nod, the woman turns and starts searching for something in a nearby hospital trolley.

“Scully, Scully, how do you feel?” Mulder interrupts, his voice frantic. “Are you okay?”  

She shakes her head helplessly. “I don’t know where I am. I’m in a—a hospital room, I think—hooked up to IVs, they’ve performed surgery on my shoulder—”

But before she can speak again, the woman has returned to her bedside with a roll of duct tape.

“We’re not here to chat,” she says before slapping a strip of tape against Scully’s mouth.

“No, that’s not necessary!” Mulder pleads.

Scully whips her head back and forth wildly, trying to avoid the woman’s touch, but in the end, her bound hands put her at a distinct disadvantage, and she loses the battle. At her side, the woman gestures meaningfully to the man at the door, but Scully has turned her focus back to Mulder, who’s dragging his hands down his face angrily.

Curiously, Scully realizes that he isn’t restrained. In fact, no one on the other side of the screen seems to be doing anything to hold him back. She can’t quite tell where exactly he is, but it appears to be some sort of conference room. She spies a dark wooden round table behind him and a set of projectors towards the back of the room. There’s something vaguely familiar about the room’s furniture, but she can’t quite place it.

“You ready?” comes a voice in Mulder’s room, and he glances somewhere off camera.

Mulder huffs. “You said we could wait until I’ve talked to her, that was part of the deal—”

“And she’s awake now. Get on with it.”  

A sound startles Scully, a sound she would recognize anywhere: the sharp mental clink of the safety releasing on a gun. She swivels her head towards the sound and terror sluices down her spine. The man standing at the door has approached the bed and now holds his weapon mere inches from her temple.

She swallows convulsively. On screen, Mulder stills.

And then—

“No, no, that’s not necessary!” he repeats angrily. “I’m going to cooperate, I swear! I just want to talk to her, you said I could talk to her—”

“You have two minutes. Talk.”

Mulder curses. “Five minutes.”

“Two.”

“Five—”

“Two—”

Mulder smacks his fist against something hard. “Four,” he concedes with a groan.

A pause.

Someone off camera sighs exasperatedly. “You have three minutes.”

Mulder’s eyes flicker back to hers, seeming to penetrate her gaze even across the distance. In his eyes, she sees a pain unlike any he’s expressed before: a deep, soul-crushing sorrow; a total, utter despair. And overlaying all of that, frenzy and fury.

“Scully,” he says frantically, stepping even closer to the camera. His eyes crease with agony. “You’re safe, okay? I know—I know you don’t feel safe, but you’re going to be okay. They’ve promised me you’re safe. When this is all over, Skinner’s going to come collect you and take you back to—to your life. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

Then why does she have the feeling that everything is not going to be just fine? Her stomach twists dangerously.

He hesitates for just a moment. “You know that I love you? You know that, right?”

She blinks and tears spill across her lashes, rushing down her cheeks and pooling across the tape on her mouth. She recognizes his tone, knows what it means. There is a finality to his words, a desperate, parting-type of energy beneath the surface.

Mulder is saying goodbye.

She wishes she could respond. He deserves a response, and she’s never felt so powerless to help him. Tied to the bed, doped up on morphine, and stripped of her voice, she can’t do anything. Filled with rage, she pushes her tongue out of her mouth and starts working to unstick the tape.

“Jesus,” Mulder continues with a wry smile, “this isn’t the way I ever pictured this conversation going.” He huffs a miserable laugh. “I always imagined something a little more romantic. At the very least, I never dreamed we’d have a conversation where you didn’t try to naysay me at least once.”  

A joyless laugh bubbles up in her chest, shaking her entire body.

His veneer shatters, his smile cracking and head bowing. “Scully, if I could take back these past nine months, I would. I wouldn’t make the mistake of separating us. We’re not meant for—for separation.” He must see something off-camera, because his eyes flicker nervously somewhere stage-right. When he speaks again, there is a hurriedness to his tone, like he’s trying to squeeze every last drop out of this moment.

“Scully,” he continues, eyes darting back to hers, “Scully, this is it, okay? Just—just close your eyes when it happens. I don’t want you to see it. They’re going to give you a good life, Scully. That’s part of this deal, that you get a good life. You’re going to be safe. You’ll go back—” He swallows hard, then swipes angrily at invisible tears on his cheeks. “—You’ll go back to California. But you can’t—you can’t talk about this, not ever. Not even once. You hear me? They’ll hurt you if you let any of this slip. So just, just forget about revenge or justice or vengeance or any of that bullshit. Just live your life, Scully. Have a beautiful life, please, because this is for you. Think of me every now and then, will you? Don’t—don’t get caught up in what happens today. Let this whole thing go, get yourself as far away from this shit as you can. All I ever wanted was for you to be safe. Happy.” He curses loudly, his voice breaking. “My fish are yours, and the Gunmen, if you want them.” He laughs wetly, his eyes drifting to the ceiling. “Check in on them if you can.”

Off camera, someone else seems to be demanding his attention because Mulder’s eyes briefly flit away.

“I—it’s time, Scully.” He looks back at her with a turbulent expression. “You’ll never be alone, not from this moment on. You know I’m crazy enough to believe in things like that, so I hope you know that I’m going to find you, even when I’m dead, I’m going to find you and be with you. Watching over you, protecting you—” Hands grab at Mulder’s arm and he shoves them off violently. His eyes are wild things. “I love you, remember that. I have loved you all this time—”

There’s a shout and Mulder disappears from the screen. The duct tape is peeling from one corner of her mouth, a mixture of her tears and saliva working to unglue the sticky tape. But Mulder is gone, and she can’t even tell him that she feels it too. She slams her fists angrily into the bedsheets, wincing as pain shoots up her wrists.

On screen, the camera suddenly fumbles, then rights itself, and then the picture starts to move. She realizes someone must have picked up the camcorder and started walking with it. Her hands curl into the blankets on her bed.

The camera angle shifts and she sees a door, Mulder standing in front of it, his back to the camera. Someone presses something into his right hand and speaks into his ear. He nods tightly.

The door opens and Mulder straightens his shoulders, then begins to walk.

The cameraman follows him at a distance as they walk down an empty hallway. The floor looks waxy and polished, sparkly and clean.

And she recognizes the tiling. Her heart lurches in her chest.

They’re in the Hoover Building. They’re at the FBI.

And Mulder has a gun in his hand.

Her stomach twists dangerously and bile builds at the back of her throat. It’s clear that these people—whoever they are—are about to get their final wish after all. With a gun pressed to her own head, they’ve assured that Mulder will commit the final, terrible act that will send him and the X-Files into disrepute forever.

With a sinking heart, she realizes that it was likely never their intention to torture her or send her to Mexico for experiments. It was all just leading up to this moment, to Mulder walking down this hallway, to destroying himself to save her.

The room around her goes deathly quiet as they follow Mulder and his cameraman through the Hoover Building. She watches him enter the bullpen, sees their coworkers glance at him dismissively, then in alarm when they notice the weapon in his hand.

Shouts go up all around the room as Mulder raises the gun to his temple. She can see, even through the grainy film, that his hand is shaking. He starts speaking, spouting some sort of nonsense about the X-Files, conspiracy theories, monsters. A security guard starts rushing towards him.

Don’t watch, her mind screams, but how could she look away?

The entire world falls under a spell of silence as Mulder’s finger inches closer to the trigger. The security guard seems to move in slow motion. The office workers are suspended in time. Her own body goes completely immobile. Her lungs refuse to expand or contract; her eyes can’t blink; her muscles won’t move.

She is seconds away from tragedy, and yet she can’t do anything, anything. She can’t even tell him that she loves him too.

It’s this realization that wakes her up. The duct tape falls from her lips and she screams furiously, yanking against the handcuffs so hard she feels them bite into her skin. The woman beside her lunges to shove her down into the bed but her eyes never leave the screen. Mulder’s head turns just slightly, just enough as if to say I hear you, Scully. I hear you.

“Mulder, please—”

The picture onscreen jolts violently and then goes dark. Inside her hospital room, everyone freezes. From offscreen, Scully hears shouting, unintelligible words, and then the heinous, hideous bang of a gunshot.

She screams in fury and bucks forward, kicking and yanking and twisting as violently as she can. The woman slams her into the mattress again and then hits a button, and Scully wails as morphine starts to drip into her body.

Her eyes grow heavy too quickly.

“Is he okay?” she moans, just as the door to her room opens.

Somewhere off to her right, there’s a tense exchange of words and vaguely, she thinks she recognizes a familiar voice. With enormous effort, she turns her head to the side and squints at the door. Tears track down her cheeks and soak her pillow.

She doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or betrayed. Because before her stands Walter Skinner, his bald head damp with sweat, his muscular forearms tense, his eyes tight with anger.

And behind him, looking for all the world like the three stooges that they are, are the Lone Gunmen.

The breath leaves her body as Melvin Frohike shoves his way past Skinner and leans over to press a kiss to her cheek.

“We’ve come to get you, milady.”

[hlficlibrary]

hi! i hope ure having a great day/night!!

do u know any fics like "Sunshine baby" not necessarily the trope just no drama(ar at least close to none) no nothing just babies falling in love w each other 😊

Hi, anon! I'm having a great day! Hope you are, too! So I think what you're looking for are falling in love fics without angst. Here are some that fit what I think you're looking for!

Teach me how to love by @perfectdagger

Louis can’t believe he’s third wheeling, again, so he scans the bar trying to find something better to do.

And as he does, he recognizes a face.

That face looks angry, almost fuming and Louis takes a gulp from his beer and looks to the other side, pretending he didn’t even see the bloke, pretending he has no clue who that person coming over his way is.

“You’ve told everyone and their mother that I’m a bad fucker?!”

That’s how Harry greets him.

Smooth.

Not really.

The one in which Harry is bad at sex and Louis spreads it all over town and to make up for it, decides to help him with no agenda of getting anything from it, but in the end, he ends up getting more than he bargained for.

Gemma's Dad (Could Use A Guy Like Me) by @lululawrence

The summer before Louis and Gemma's senior year of college was supposed to be their last big hurrah before they graduate college and become Real Adults in the workforce. They had it all planned and it was going to be filled with mornings skateboarding, afternoons at the pool, and evenings hanging out with as many of the neighborhood kids they grew up with as they can.

Of course, Louis wasn't planning on getting home and learning that Gemma's dad had gotten the house in the divorce and was dealing with things by focusing on work, the house, and his newly planted garden. It becomes obvious early on that Harry is a bit lost and Gemma is worried about him. To help both of them, Louis is more than happy to help Harry find himself again.

As the summer goes on, the adventures and day to day happenings allow Harry and Louis to spend a lot more time together than either of them ever anticipated and Louis finds it more difficult to keep his growing feelings in check than he ever thought it would be. After all, there wasn't a chance that Harry would ever be interested in Louis... right?

No Going Back by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom

Sales reps Harry and Louis are bored with their jobs and their lives. After meeting at a conference in Cardiff they hook up, have a few too many drinks, and jokingly apply to become remote lighthouse keepers. Six months, just the two of them, looking after the southernmost lighthouse off the bottom of Australia. It’s not like their applications will be accepted. Right?

This is the story of how one choice - a left instead of a right, a go instead of a stop, a yes instead of a no - can change the future forever and that sometimes, taking that leap of faith, is worth the risk.

[daryascurse]

𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐬

⸻ 𝘌𝘳𝘸𝘪𝘯 𝘚𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 (part I) status: indef. hiatus

“Then maybe I’ll see you around again during your stay.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it. But – do we have anything to be afraid of?” you add, still with a half-smile and levity in your words.

Erwin shakes his head and laughs again. It already sounds warmer. He plucks the keyring from the rusty nail, and hands it to you. “It’s just a story. You have nothing to worry about.”

The Cabin event fic ⟡ reader: POV second person, AFAB, nongendered pronouns ⟡ content: modern AU, mentions of drinking/ smoking wεed, oraI, fngering, dirty talk, sεx, ghosts, ghost stories ⟡ wordcount: ~9.3k ⟡ ao3 link ⟡ playlist

ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴍᴅɴɪ. I have a very strict adult-only interaction policy. Ageless, blank, and clearly minor-run blogs that interact will be blocked. If you have questions about what that means, please read the byf in my pinned post.

You only realize at the very moment Reiner’s turning out of the woods, wheels rattling dust free from the dirt-packed road, that you’re the only one of the four of you really on vacation. Annie, with her head leaning on the window and loose blonde bun threatening to spill free, has her work laptop at her feet. She likely has its contents on her mind. She’d asked you, the trusty trip planner, to be sure to find a place with a reliable internet connection; her texts uncharacteristically anxious at the thought of doing her legal internship so remotely for even a few days.

The request had been somewhat at odd with Bert’s, whose most repeated request in the group chat had been to find a place with nature. “Fresh air,” he’d said. “I don’t mind the bugs,” accompanied with a smiley face, when Reiner suggested camping, before Annie had reminded him of her need for wi-fi.

So the weekend was to be spent at this small ranch; if it even could be called a ranch. “Maybe it’s the actual property that makes it a ranch,” Reiner had said when he saw the online listing. Perhaps that was the land yawning around you all, this lone dirt path coming from the small town at the base of the clumps of trees. And now, as the car bumps along, the woods turn to neatly lined orchards bursting with juicy fruits. But the advertised building itself had seemed small for the word ranch, with three bedrooms and as many bathrooms. Regardless, Bert had loved it as soon as you’d sent it to the chat. “I can do work on my stories out on the porch,” he’d typed. You could picture him already, a blanket tucked under his ankles even in the summer heat, pen and notebook in his lap. He preferred to write the old fashioned way.

And he’s perked up now in the seat ahead of you. “Oh, neat,” Bert says, in that eternally boyish voice, and you lean around him to peer through the smeared windshield.

The ranch house sits low against the flat horizon with a few more thickets of trees breaking beyond. Several small forms, horses, graze in a small pasture lined by slats of an uneven fence, with another, smaller house behind them. Perhaps a stable or a barn. The midday sun beats white, hot light over grass that’s a patchwork of greens and browns. Reiner lets out a low whistle.

“Like a postcard,” he says.

The car seems to rattle in response, jostling harder on the road.

And Reiner, the last of the four friends rolling down this dirt path. While Bert’s embracing this little trip as a writer’s retreat away from his day job, and Annie’s made fervent promises to be present as soon as she slams the laptop shut each evening, Reiner should have been just as concerned as the latter to have internet access. You all haven’t spoken about it, haven’t asked him directly, but you know he’s between jobs now. He should be spending time applying and reaching out to recruiters. Yet all he’s said about this trip was that he would be glad to get out of the city and clear his head. Something about the way he’d said that gave you a strange understanding that Reiner would be taking this time to himself. Perhaps amongst the trees, maybe with the horses. But it left you, still leaning into the middle seat to take in the approaching house, the only one actually here with legitimately nothingto do.

Three cheers for vacation.

“How do we check in, again?” Annie asks you.

You lean back into your seat with a wince, aware suddenly of the impress of the buckle at your hip. “Well,” you say in elongated pause as you tap on the screen and wait for the app to open. At least the cellular signal seems strong enough. Annie should be able to work. “So it looks like the owner lives on the property?”

“Really?” Annie says, with a wrinkle of her nose. “Even when guests are here?”

“Makes sense,” Bert says, gesturing at the horses. “I don’t think we’d be feeding them.”

“Yeah, it did say it’s a semi-operable ranch even during the summer rental season,” you say. “If there’s a few animals, I’m glad they aren’t leaving us to take care of them.”

“Land maintenance is probably year-round,” Reiner muses, his head turning to look at the bales of hay the car rolls past. His hands loosen on the steering wheel, just for a moment.

“What does it say about the animals?” Annie asks.

“Didn’t you check out the listing before I finalized the booking?” you shoot back.

“Little miss lawyer didn’t read the fine print,” Reiner says.

“Not a lawyer yet,” Annie corrects him.

“But did you read anything about the place?” Reiner asks pointedly. “That’s what you get for keeping the group chat on mute.”

Just as pointedly, Annie ignores him.

“We’re not supposed to touch them,” you say. “Or, it says, ‘do not enter the horse pasture or approach the horses unless ranch staff is with you. We will be taking care of them throughout your stay.’”

“Huge liability issue still,” Annie murmurs. She must be thinking of legal hypotheticals.

Bert lets out a long, satisfied sigh. “But it looks like I can watch them from the porch.” His feet push at the mat in subconscious thrill.

“Bertie likes the horsies?” Annie says, in that dry way only she can. Through the high metal spokes of the headrest, the back of his neck flushes red.

You kind of understand it though, listening to his stammering, half-coherent response about just enjoying the company of any living creature. Not that your head is in the clouds the same way Bert’s is, but the sentiment of it is human. We are not solitary animals, you think, pausing to chew on his words as they float to your ears.

But funnily enough, it had been Bert’s other observation about the property that solidified the booking plan back in the planning stages. He had zoomed in, taken a screenshot about something with a winky face following it in the listing, something tongue-in-cheek and the exact opposite of the concept of enjoying the company of a living creature.

According to local legend, the ranch is haunted.

There’s a sort of informal parking space right by the porch, a sprawl of dirt as grey and flat as the solitary road. It’s where Reiner brings the car to an uncertain stop.

“I’ll get the keys,” you say.

“And wi-fi password,” Annie says.

You leave it to them to unpack the car as you begin to circle around the house, Reiner scooping your bag in one arm and the few days’ worth of provisions you’d all bought in town in the other. The brown paper handles strain between his thick fingers. The local town was barely a fifteen minute drive from the ranch, but even as your group had driven through those wide, empty streets, Reiner had had the idea to stock up in advance. It didn’t seem like things would be open late around here.

The last message you’d gotten from the host had been to come to the little green house between the ranch house and the stable, but the only little green building you’d found was practically built into the stables. The horses don’t seem to react at your hesitant approach, mild ear flickers likely responses to flies or the heat. The entrance is around the side, out of sight of the main house. You check the message again – the keys should be hanging on a nail between the porch light and the front door. And the keys are there, but the door is ajar.

You don’t expect to hear your name come floating through that gap, gentle on the summer air.

“Yes,” you say, hesitantly. “Hello?”

He opens the door fully, and your phone slips in the sweat of your palm.

You’d joked, you and Bert and them, that this place must be run by an old man. The listing, after all, hadn’t been accompanied by a profile picture, just the innocuous faceless default grey that’s generally found in employ of the scammers and the technologically inept. But if it was a scam, it was a needlessly elaborate one, with all the mentions of animals and descriptions of the land. Scammers wouldn’t bother to message with such detail; while an elderly person may feel the need to write painstakingly detailed directions through the woods. You’d messaged him a few times, even before texting on your way out today to confirm the hour of arrival, and felt confident it was the latter. Probably an old man, Bert had agreed.

But he wasn’t an old man.

“From the booking,” he says, repeating your name with a tone of recognition.

“Ah,” you say. “Yes.”

“I’m Erwin,” he says, and you can’t help but stare as his lips as he says it. The slight push forward of his lower lip on the first syllable of his name; the way the tip of his hooked nose barely moves as his mouth curls back to finish the introduction. His face is perfectly sculpted and his skin is agelessly clear. His muscles curve with years of active work, in a way that artificial weights in the gym can’t form. And you’re self-conscious in a way you hadn’t expected to feel on a summer vacation with a few friends. “Erwin Smith.”

He shakes your hand, calloused and warm. You feel your fingers clasp over his. The heat lingers on your skin even when you withdraw.

“You’re – the owner?”

“Not the owner,” Erwin says with a slight smile. It makes his lilac blue eyes soft. “I don’t run the renting stuff. The old man needs help around the place, though, so I’m here year-round.”

Half-right, then.

“That’s… neat,” you say, and twist your lips, knowing how lame that may sound. “What kind of things do you do?”

His hair has a soft ripple to it, swaying with each gentle push of the breeze. You’re aware of each strain of muscle banding across your back, the way your shoes close at the side of your feet, every sense of perception heightened. Maybe it’s the fresh forest air, or maybe it’s his scent wafting over. It’s a good smell.

“Just the day to day,” Erwin says, leaning in the doorframe. He still looks kind, his eyes bright and clear. “It’ll be busier when it’s time to harvest. Only have horses on the property now, but I go down to the orchards. You might have passed them on the drive up.”

“I think so. The fruit looked so good.”

Erwin tilts his chin high, a gesture that somehow comes across more humble than proud. “Help yourself, the peaches are in season. But don’t worry. I won’t be bothering you during your stay.”

Wouldn’t be a bother at all. “No, no,” you say, moving weight from one leg to the other. “I mean, tell us if we do anything to get in your way. I’m sure there’s a lot with everything.”

You’re trying to figure out the shift in his expression as Erwin echoes, “’We?’”

“I thought I put it in the booking? It’s, um, me and three friends.” You frown back at him, wrestling with the sudden urge to clarify that none of them are more than that to you.

And you could be desperately fooling yourself, but he could be eying you as if that is what he’s asking. So you add, “Just three friends,” with a smile.

He nods and something in his face seems to visibly relax. There’s a faint trace of sound on the air as the others keep unloading the car.

“Here for vacation?” Erwin asks, the angle of his brows raising stiff.

“Yeah, sort of a get-away. One of my friends has to work still, though,” you say.

“That’s a shame,” he says.

“It is. There’s wi-fi, right? Is there a password?”

“Should be in the kitchen,” Erwin says, and looks directly at you with a gaze like clouds passing over the sky. “You gonna hide inside all day?”

The ease and lightness in your responding laugh almost catches you off guard. “No, no,” you hear yourself say, and you let your eyes dance around the trees before settling back on that piercing gaze. “I’m happy to get out of town, see somewhere new.”

“You coming from far?”

“Couple hours drive,” you say. “We didn’t know much about the area when we were planning.”

“It’s a nice little place,” Erwin says, his voice dropping into a musing tone. He nods, almost absentmindedly, and it almost sounds like he’s about to say something else before his voice trails off. The distant sounds float on the air, and your feet waver. You’re trying to think of another reason to linger on the handsome ranch hand’s doorstop.

It comes to you suddenly. “Speaking of,” you say. “Could you tell me about the whole… ‘this place is haunted’ thing?”

You wave your fingers in air quotes and Erwin starts, laughs. It sounds a little rusty coming out of him, as if he doesn’t have much practice doing that.

“Ah,” he says. “That’s an old town story. Just some scary local tale.”

He hesitates, and even with something floating through the air that sounds like your name, you hear yourself say, “Maybe you could tell me this story.”

Erwin raises his eyebrows. “If you’re interested.”

“I am,” you say. You’re not talking about ghosts.

He looks to the side. His profile is almost noble against the dark wood. “Well,” he says slowly. “I’m not sure how much intellectual value there is to this.”

He’s stalling, stretching out the time on this porch together, maybe for the same reason you are, and you tilt your head in curiosity. His blue eyes slide back to you.

“This ranch used to have the same name as the town,” Erwin says. “German name, I guess. My dad used to say it meant something like ‘comfort’ or ‘solidarity,’ or something like that – but I don’t remember. He was more for the books in the end. But it was all because the ranch was so successful, so it made the town richer, too.”

Erwin pauses again.

“Did you grow up in town?” you ask.

“Most everyone around here did. My dad worked on the ranch too.” Erwin’s fingers twitch, as if about to raise. “But that was a long time ago. What I mean is, it used to be more… well, I’m not sure what the word would be. Communal, maybe. The town was the town, and the ranch was the ranch, but it was a lot bigger back then, and so naturally a lot of people from town were tied somehow. Like I said, all the land you passed coming in is part of the property, but there used to be a lot more people working here.”

Erwin smiles, and it’s not for you. It’s forlorn, wistful, but it makes you echo it briefly.

“The ranch hands came in daily from town, mostly. And back then, it was mostly pigs that it was known for. Go ahead – you’re smirking, I see you – but that was the business. The ranch ran that way for years, and it was very successful, very well known in the region. But then one winter, strange stuff started to happen. The pigs started disappearing. And of course the owner at the time was furious. He blamed the ranch hands.”

“Why?”

Erwin pushes the heel of his boot against the wall, and leans forward. You feel the breath catch at the back of your throat.

“Guess he thought the townsfolk were behind it,” he says. “At first, he thought someone was slacking off, letting the pigs out. Or that they weren’t being cared for as the cold started to set in. And then he became suspicious, that they were being stolen. And whatever kind of person he had been before, he started becoming a cruel man. He was driving the ranch hands to exhaustion, with long hours and cut wages. People were going back to town later, and later, and some of them never made it home.”

His voice is dropping, and you’re leaning forward too, listening avidly.

“It gets real cold in the winter,” Erwin says softly. “I know it’s warm now, but in the long, dark nights, it can get hard to find your way back down to town. Some of them froze. Some of them were probably attacked by wolves in the woods. And the pigs were also still disappearing.”

“So – what happened?”

Erwin presses his lips together for a moment. “No one knows exactly,” he says.

He doesn’t speak for a moment.

And the tension in the thick summer air is cut by the sound of Annie barking your name in annoyance somewhere on the porch.

“Oh,” you say half-distractedly, and turn your head. When you look back, Erwin’s arms are crossed, and he’s looking down, leaning back against the wall. “I’m – I’m so sorry. I should go.”

“No, no,” Erwin says, jerking his head up. “Sorry to keep you so long. It’s just a silly story, anyway.”

“I do want to hear the rest of it,” you say, and let the words play slowly off your tongue.

“You sure you do? Then maybe I’ll see you around again during your stay.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it. But –  do we have anything to be afraid of?” you add, still with a half-smile and levity in your words.

Erwin shakes his head and laughs again. It already sounds warmer. He turns his head, reaches, plucks the keyring from the rusty nail, and hands it to you. “It’s just a story. You have nothing to worry about.”

You don’t tell the others about Erwin Smith for a reason you can’t quite decipher. What is there to say, anyway – that you met someone who works here and you think he’s cute? Maybe you’d tell Annie if it was just the two of you; maybe you’d tell Bert or Reiner, but some burning thing under your chest holds your tongue.

You do apologize for keeping them waiting, and Reiner looks surprised. “It wasn’t long at all.”

“Oh,” you say sheepishly. “I thought I heard Annie calling for me.”

“I didn’t,” she says, with a slight wrinkle to her nose.

The afternoon is unpacking, exploring through the modest house. There are three bedrooms, and it was already agreed Annie would get her own to double as office space. Bert and Reiner don’t mind sharing, which leaves you alone in an upstairs room at the back that overlooks the little green house, rustling through your backpack on the twin size mattress with motions that creak the wrought-iron headboard. It’s the smallest room, doesn’t connect to a bathroom the way Annie’s and the boys’ do, but the view is convenient. You keep an eye out the window as you move about the room and hang clothes up. Sometimes Erwin’s shadow passing through the little house seems to bend and refract behind the distance and layers of glass, and you turn your head away quickly, as if he could see you staring through the windows. If he’s even there, and it isn’t just a trick of the light.

And then the light is dimming, almost faster than it should in summer months, but it leaves the cloudless country sky in brilliant marbles of purple sunset.

“Beautiful,” Bert says as you all crowd around the little farmhouse kitchen table for bagged salad and quick microwave meals for dinner. “Look at that sky.”

You cast a side eye to Annie, whose soft lips are already turning upwards in preparation of some sly remark as she unscrews the first of the many bottles of wine you’d all packed – god, would they just fuck already – but Reiner speaks before she can.

“I think we’ll see stars out tonight,” he says, and Annie sits silent.

At some point in the dinner, with Bert clacking salad tongs for emphasis, the conversation returns to those stars and how much cooler any constellations would look if everyone smoked a bowl. “Or two,” Bert says mildly, and Reiner nods. “And then stargazing.” Even Annie relents with only a few grumbles about needing to log into work early.

And after the long, timeless dinner, with more wine, with refrigerated cake, it comes up again as an assured plan. Someone notes that it’s wow, so late now. Bert goes up to his and Reiner’s room and back down with paraphernalia in his palms. You gather blankets from the quaint sitting room and head outside.

Crickets ring somnolent in the night. Reiner navigates you all out, past the car, into the dry field along the road still printed with your arrival marks. His broad shoulders and pale hair wisp swiftly into the dark, his shadow a stretching tether to the porch light Annie switched on before closing the front door.

“Here?” he calls, and you shrug in silent response.

“Sure.”

You all make a clumsy circle of blankets on the patch of grass, your palms rubbing against coarse thread as you pull yours out firm against the ground. Bert pulls a glass pipe from the depths of his pocket, twinkling in the dim flood of light from the porch.

“Here,” Annie says, and the grate of a lighter rasps after the sound of her voice.

When the pipe passes to you, smoke pulls into your lungs and spins into your head. You cough into your elbow, passing it in turn without a word.

“The stars are out,” Bert says in a thick voice.

It passes, the lighter erratically flicking in the circle. You lean back, knees up, and then find yourself lying flat as they spin so out of touch above. Silence falls swiftly over the dark, dry grass. The stars emerge like pins pushed through velvet, slow pulses of brilliance that intensify in the periphery when you focus first on one, then the other. The minutes pass and the universe grows vast.

Bert’s arm is raised, the motion of his finger dancing in the air a shadow at the edge of your vision. He’s saying something about a constellation that may or may not be real, names that sound exaggerated…

“Next to the little dipper. Don’t you see? That’s a giant monkey. That constellation is called ‘the beast’…” and Annie is laughing, the sound hiccupping out of her despite herself.

Reiner’s just cleared his throat, a rough grunt, with a silence as if he’s concentrated on trying to see Bert’s vision. You turn your head, neck lolling against the ground, to squint through the dusk and make up some absurd picture in the sky.

You lock eyes not with Bert, but with another face lying in the dry grass.

A face, gaunt, with lips burned away and broken teeth jutted out. The skin that remains, peeling back in ribbons, is waxy grey. A grotesque rattle rises from its throat just as your own breath catches there, as if your heart is hammering in such distress it stops the air for just a moment.

The oily eyes burn at you, glittering in the dark, and you scream.

“What?” “What?” come the voices of your friends, eerily out of tandem as they start, and Bert – you can see him, the bristle of hair at the back of his head as your stomach churns – how this all happens at once, how Bert’s head turns and he sees the ghoul and screams.

It’s all simultaneous, each sound and motion. Limbs slap the dirt as everyone jumps frantic. The dirt rolls under your elbow, sharp needles of pebble, and your next scratches the back of your throat as if the volume is doubled just from the brief physical discomfort. The ghoul rattles on the ground, limbs crumpled like a fallen corpse. You almost fall in the scramble to stand, to whip around, just to see another thing – this one standing –

“Fuck! Fuck!” and it’s Reiner shouting in a primal fear.

It sounds like someone else calls – to run.

The bent neck of this ghastly figure lurches towards you, head swinging heavily as it shuffles, and you’re almost falling again, a terror buzzing at the base of your skull. If the universe was inhaling, swelling over you before, its maw now yawns to swallow. The porch steps beyond are all you can focus on. You have to stagger your steps to keep from falling. The chill of the thing’s reaching hands almost wisps across the back of your legs.

Annie screams next, piercing and foreign.

Your leg muscles are tight as you bound up the shallow stairs. Reiner’s besides you, his legs stronger, his arms longer, as he pushes with one hand against the railing along the porch steps. His other touches at the small of your back, anxious fingertips that spread into fingers when you two reach the landing. His arm, still outstretched, pushes forward to open the door and then with a push, he’s urged you through.

“Go, go – go – fuck!”

Feet hammer against the wood planks and when you turn in the hallway, clutching your hands to your chest in a desperate splay across your throat, Reiner is holding the door for Annie and Bert. They’re through; he slams the door and bolts it. The hallway reels.

Someone’s screaming still.

It’s you, until Annie grabs you by the shoulders.

“Fuck,” you choke out with a cough, and she steps back.

“It’s gotta – ” Annie says, and pauses, swallows, and somehow sounds wilder when she continues. “We’ve gotta – fuck. Okay. I’m, I’m pretty high.”

“Yeah,” Reiner  says quickly. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Did you guys – ” Bert starts, but Reiner talks over him.

“Some sort of trick of the light,” he says. “Shadows, not light.”

You lock eyes with Annie for a moment before she looks away, and you can tell you’re both thinking the same thing Bert’s asking – did we all see the same thing?

Another shiver rockets through you as you hear yourself say, “I’m stoned. Absolutely. I think I… must have scared myself.”

Everyone nods in relief, or feigned relief. But this isn’t the same as a shadow moving at the end of your kitchen, or headlights shooting past your window and lighting a heap of clothes in a way that looks monstrous through the mental haze.

Right?

Not that you want to be right. So you nod too.

“Yeah. What the fuck – what’s that flower?” Reiner asks Bert.

“Uh, I think it’s just what I had in the grinder. I packed it before we left. But it’s what we smoked with Zeke and the guys back home.”

“Are you sure?”

“Really sure.” Bert pats his pockets, and a look of horror briefly flashes across his face. “I left it out there. And the pipe.”

“And the blankets,” you say.

Silence falls uncomfortably. Even though you’ve all accepted it for what it must be – a weird mind trick – no one seems to want to unlock the door and retrieve the abandoned belongings. Or even look out the window.

“We can get it all tomorrow,” Reiner says.

“Yeah. Nothing’s going to happen to it. Nothing. I’m going to bed,” Annie says thickly, and reaches up, running a hand through her hair. Her fingers catch in the tangle of her ponytail. She pauses a moment, combing through, and continues with a little more of her normal strength in her voice. “I bet it’s that we drank more than we realized, smoked too much too, and didn’t actually eat enough at dinner. That’s all.”

“Sure,” Reiner says firmly.

“That’s probably it,” you say.

Bert still looks the least confident, but he shrugs, too. “I’m gonna go to sleep, too.”

“Yeah, I’ll head up with you,” says Reiner.

“I think I need some water first,” you say.

Reiner wavers, and Annie says, “Do you want us to get it with you? Or wait?”

You want to tell them yes, but you shake your head. “No, no. Go to bed. We all need to just sleep it off.”

Certainly, no ghosts have rustled through the house. The kitchen is how you left it, with salad tongs and red-ringed wine glasses strewn across the table and lit in streaks of dim moonlight. The sink sits low to the right in a black basin. You’re still hugging yourself, fingers wrapped around your arms as you approach to pull a crystal cup from the cabinet. This will require letting go. You silently count to three before reaching out for one.

A knock rattles gently against window glass.

You don’t scream; you stop yourself from it by clapping your hands so quickly over your mouth you bite the inside of your cheek. You’re looking wildly to the back door at the edge of the kitchen.

It’s Erwin Smith in the moonlight, but it still takes your heart a minute to slow when you recognize him. Or maybe the adrenaline hammers from relief.

You walk, unlatch the door, and stare at him without speaking.

“You – is everything okay?” he asks. “I thought I heard screaming. Are you alright?”

He turns, points, as if to trace the journey from the little green house buried in the darkness.

“I was going to ring at the porch,” Erwin continues. “But I saw you through the window back here. I’m sorry if I startled you.”

He looks genuinely concerned, and you hesitate, leaning on the doorknob. You’re still staring at him, the blue of his eyes stone grey, and if you could see your reflection in its depths you’re sure it would look wild.

“Um,” you say. “I…”

You break your glance to look away, through the night. No corpses or ghouls lurk at the trees, and Erwin only seems concerned for you.

“I don’t know,” you say slowly. “We… I think we all thought we saw something that spooked us. I think it’s okay.”

“Snakes?” Erwin says, a frown beginning to furrow between his thick brows. “You should be careful in the grass.”

“No,” you say, but the sound trails off. Was that what had been besides you, at least? Was that the rattle, the eyes, a snake? You shake your head. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

Erwin rubs at his chin. “Probably. But you seem really shaken up. Are you sure you’re fine?”

You’re not sure. You look at him helplessly, and open your mouth, but he shakes his head abruptly.

“Do you want to come have some tea?”

“Tea?”

“It’ll help.” Erwin stops a moment, rubs his chin again. “I know it’s a very forward invitation.”

He stands like a shining knight in threadbare flannel, the sharp cast of his nose bold in the moon.

“No,” you say again. Your fingers clutch on the knob a moment, before moving forward onto the stoop and closing the door behind you. “That sounds like a nice idea.”

Erwin takes the step down to the dirt path that trails out behind the ranch house. “I’ll try not to keep you so late,” he says, and even in the darkness it looks like his teeth flash in a quick smile. It’s clearly meant to comfort, and it must, because you follow him down the steps with surprising ease.

He grips a large metal flashlight in his hands, and presses a button to the side. The beaten path alights, but the weeds and thickets shoot skyward in black shadows, and you instinctually shrink besides Erwin.

“It’s alright,” he says, and his hand circles the small of your back. “Just darkness. You really did get a scare. Gotta be careful around those snakes.”

Erwin’s hand is different around your waist than Reiner’s, who had just been a sturdy hold to usher you up into the house. The flex of his bicep pushes into your shoulder blades as he moves you through the path to the little green house, a shade of grey in the darkness. The adrenaline of the fright is leaking out of your bones and with it goes the remnants of the smoke, leaving your kegs heavy and eyelids beginning to sink. It’s that iron brace, strong but warm, and secure, that keeps you alert and walking in time with him.

The little green house is really just one room. And his room is small and Spartan, a bed in the corner that you do your best not to stare at. Erwin bids you sit at a small circular wood table. You shift your weight in the seat, the uneven chair legs wobbling against the floor as Erwin fills a silver kettle with tap water.

“Peppermint tea,” Erwin says as he lights the stove. “It helps when you feel shaken up.”

You catch yourself rubbing your forearms and force yourself to stop. “I’m not anxious. I’m really feeling better.”

“You seemed nervous on the walk.” He pulls out two mugs from a cabinet, and turns to lean on the counter. He crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows at you. The silver kettle begins to cloud with condensation. “We got a scarier dark out here than in the city?”

Maybe in the daylight, you would have laughed at that. You barely break a smile. “Maybe. Hey. You didn’t get a chance to finish the ghost story.”

“Seems the last thing you need now,” Erwin says.

You shake your head. “I want to know. I think I need the distraction.”

“Not sure how much another scare is good for a distraction,” Erwin says with a vague cluck of disapproval.

“I thought you said it was all silly, and nothing to worry about,” you shoot back.

“Well.” Erwin rubs his chin, and the kettle begins to let out a light hiss. He turns his head, glances to you, and busies himself with fiddling with the tea bags. “I don’t think there was really much else to say. And, you know, what I told you at the start, all of that is true.”

“The ghost story?”

A shiver goes up your back as you say it.

“Oh, so you believe in ghost stories? Maybe I shouldn’t tell you after all. Supposed to be calming you down.”

You laugh despite yourself, and insist that you want to hear it. The hiss of the kettle turns shrill.

“But,” Erwin continues, as he attends to the tea, “I mean all that about the ranch. It used to be really successful, pigs were the industry, lots of workers coming in from town every day. Then things just started to shift – the pigs started disappearing. The owner wasn’t seen as a bad guy before, a little stern, but not cruel, but when all of that started, I guess he got paranoid or something. He turned cold, paranoid. Started working the people near death, like I said.”

“This was when your dad worked here?”

 “All of this was ages ago, years and years ago. And then winter came and it got worse. People froze heading home, got lost. There used to be more wild animals roaming here too.”

You glance at the pine walls around you, thinking of the yawning darkness of the woods outside. The details of his story feel more real now in the nighttime, and you can imagine it in colder months – people wandering, freezing, hearing the sound of wolves in a directionless distance.

Erwin brings two steaming mugs to the table. You look down at his hand, focusing on the turn of his knuckles as he releases his grip on the cup he’s put down in front of you. He flexes his fingers, takes the other chair, and pulls it closer around the circle to you. There are little silver scars peppered across his skin.

When you look up again, he’s looking at you, and you realize the word to describe his gaze is intense.

“But as I said, there were still people who came. The town was understanding at first. The town and the ranch had gone back for as long as anyone knew; if there was something with the pigs, with the ranch, it was bad for everyone. The most patient of all figured that things would be better by spring, and the man would calm down.”

“So what happened?”

The tea is comforting to cradle.

“A fire one night. A bad fire. No one knows how it started, but, you know, everyone has their versions. Some people say it was an accident. Some people say it was either a ranch hand or someone up from town trying to burn down the owner’s place for revenge.”

He takes a sip from his own mug. You mirror him without thinking.

“But what ended up happening was that near everything was lost. Lost a lot of land, a lot of structures – lots of the livestock, the pigs that were left, ran off into the woods. The owner died, too. All like that – ” and he snaps “ – into the night. Very, very few people made it back, no one made it back to town without injury. So the town severed all ties, formal and informal. Trust and business with the ranch had already been dwindling, and so they blamed the owner for only a few of them getting out alive. Families who had relied on the ranch for their livelihoods shunned it completely.”

“That’s horrible,” you say.

Erwin nods slowly. “So that’s where the ghost stories come in. People say the ranch has been haunted, the lands, ever since. That the forests are full of the spirits of the dead ranch hands, burned, maimed, trying to find their way home. And the house – well, even in the years since, with new owners. The old man now. No one’s lived there, even though it’s been rebuilt. They say that since that was where the original house was, where the first owner died, he and his family have haunted it since.”

You don’t say anything for a moment, turning the mug between your hands.

Erwin sighs, leans back in his chair. His foot knocks against yours under the table, but neither of you withdraw at the touch. “To steer away from the morbid,” he says, “that’s the gist of it. My family’s been one of the few to stay despite it all. We still get a few hands in for the harvest season, but very, very few come locally.”

“So you stayed,” you say, finding your voice. “Or – I guess, years ago, your family.”

“S’all I know,” Erwin says with another heavy sigh. “The old man running it now, he’s a grumpy one, but he’s good. Doesn’t pay any mind to the stories, too. When the old man decided to start renting out in the summer, he and – some other kid from the family, that’s who runs it, thought that it would be an interesting detail to throw in. Not like anyone in town would be interested in staying anyway, might as well try to make it some sort of intrigue.”

His foot leans away now, and you notice the absence.

“Sure,” you say. “That’s what my friend found interesting.”

“So you didn’t choose to stay in the haunted house?”

“No. Well, I saw the listing, but Bert’s the one who noticed that detail.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Bert’s just a friend,” you hear yourself add, clumsily.

“You said before,” Erwin says with a half-smile. There’s a softer tone in his voice now. “Though I appreciate the clarification.”

“Do you?”

“I do,” Erwin says, and his foot pushes against yours again.  

You return it, rocking your foot to the side and feeling his. You lean your chin on your hand, and look at him. The angles of his face are sculpted, near-regal, and that sky-like stare…

You shift in your seat.

“Feeling a little better?”

“The tea’s definitely helped.”

It’s been barely touched by the two of you.

If you leaned a little on your elbow, your head would be tilting so near to him you’d feel the warmth from his skin – and you are leaning that way. You’re close enough to see the crepe skin creasing into smile lines under his eyes, the shadow of the vertical dip between his nose and lip, as his mouth presses and folds with a pausing breath.

Close enough, because he’s leaning back, too, and soon the distance is gone because he’s kissing you. His hand is on your waist, his palm warm, curved at your side. His lips are soft and the kisses are chaste at first, but as soon as your lips part – a slight, involuntary oh coming from your lungs – your tongues are meeting, too. You’re adjusting your position, your elbow outstretched, your hand finding his face, thumb at his ear and fingers curling to brace at the back of his neck.

“So the story didn’t scare you away?” Erwin asks in a low murmur when you tilt your head, catching your breath for a moment.

“Well, I don’t want to spend the night in a haunted house, now,” you say. And it sounds a little too coy, something you’re almost wishing you could take back once it’s out, but there’s that piercing glint in Erwin’s eyes, in the hawkish angle of his eyebrows. His hands are cutting to your waist and he’s standing, urging you to rise with him, and his lips chase you down again.

You’re moving with him, with his kisses, moving in awkward backwards steps as he’s guiding you. The back of your knees find the edge of the bed when his feet stop moving, and you’re down in a moment.

Erwin’s lips are parted, the breath already coming heavy between his lips. His thick fingers slip at the buttons running down his flannel, and you fidget, kicking off your shoes and hands rising to pull at the hem of your shirt.

“You’re… you’re so…” Erwin pauses in his words, and through the wild movements of your arching hands, you see the ripple of his shoulders and carved biceps as he shrugs the flannel free. You don’t even try to contain the urge to reach out, and trace your fingers across the iron bands of muscle. You suck in air through your teeth as he bends, fumbling to tear his shoes off in turn, and he’s at your face again.

He holds your face in his hands, blood rushing at your temples, and his deep eyes searching urgently at yours.

“God. I saw you, and you were so beautiful.”

He’s beautiful.

“Oh?”

It’s all you can say, because Erwin kisses you again, the curve of his lips turning into a small smile against your mouth.

“Real happy to hear you’re just here with friends,” he says in a husky, cracked tone.

You’re smiling when he lets go of your face, his hands coming down to the bed and pushing dips into the mattress around your legs as he urges you further back, up against the crumpling sheets.

“You know, I was really happy you wanted to tell me that story.”

“Yeah?”

There’s no way he’s thinking of the ghosts, because you’re not.

Erwin moves with you, over you, between you as he parts your legs to kneel and work at the button of your fastening. You let your hips roll up, arms bending clumsily up under your back to find the clasp of your bra, frustratingly difficult to do compared to any time you’re alone, about to get in the shower or go to bed – of course you can move with grace then, and here with the handsome man over you, everything feels jerkish and awkward. But he’s not noticing, not caring, focused on urging your legs free to undress you fully.

Almost.

You take in a breath, not sure what you’re about to say, but it comes out in a shuddering gasp as the side of his thumb brushes over the fabric of your panties, the last strip of modesty covering you as your bra falls to the floor.

“Oh – ”

Erwin’s touch is sensitive, hovering over your skin, and you’re unable to bring any words to your tongue when he tugs the fabric to the side, nearly cutting into your hip at the side with the inadvertent strength coiled in his bones. He’s looking at you, and then down again, as he sinks down, settles his head between your legs.

He licks at his thumb, tongue washing over his skin for a moment, and he presses it against you. You tremble when his mouth opens, so warm, and his thumb moves to push at your folds to tease you apart. It takes his tongue no time to find your clit and capture it there. And it’s him moaning as he gets a taste of you, tasting again and again.

But you whimper too, his name tumbling out of you. Your thigh muscles are straining against Erwin already, knees desperate in their strength to keep his body to yours. Your hands are down, brushing fervently through his hair, trying to find a grip in the smooth blonde strands. His fingers pull at you again as his tongue dips between your folds. Your hips squirm into the sheets.

“Oh fuck.”

Erwin kisses between your legs, and your foot flexes, points, in frustration. You need more than these butterfly kisses and velvet workings of his tongue – needing more – inside �� his fingers, god –

“Not fair,” you choke out, “you’re still – ”

“Hmm?”

Erwin doesn’t disengage, he just keeps going, as his voice hums over your skin and adding to the sensitivities. You throw your head back, trying to keep the keen from rising in your lungs. It’s like he’s actively working to make you scream, with his pants still on, and your fingers just grip at his hair harder. Your hips go up, to work against him, with his tongue still warm and strong against you.

“Ah… oh…”

You’re so close to some release you hadn’t had the thoughts to keep track of, something you didn’t know was rising so quickly. But especially when his lips close and the breath comes sharper, it threatens to burst.

“I’m – ”

“Mm?”

“Fuck – ”

Erwin lifts his lips and you can’t help it, you make a strangled noise of what can only be described as deep unhappiness. Your hands fall away from his head, your fingers tense in the air, as his gaze narrows on you.

His lips are shining, his eyes are dark.

“What do you want?”

His voice is deep.

Your lips struggle.

“I need,” you say, and swallow. “Fuck – I need to come.”

And it’s the pulse of his fingers, the way your hips are still straining towards him, desperate for a touch, that gives you the spirit to add, “make me.”

Erwin’s face is on you again, his nose pressing to your mound, and his fingers have finally joined his lips as he works into you. You let it out at last, the sharp cry of an “oh, oh, fuck” and he’s moving – his hand coming around, cupping over your thigh to pull you upwards. When he moves, the air shifts, coming colder than his touch as he exposes you, the trail of his saliva cooling in the instances when his tongue moves, up, down. Your sighs are coming more fervent as his lips move closer, still letting out his own groans and breaks in breath, but you’re holding at him again and pushing your body to his face.

It breaks, then, cresting into his mouth and you scream. You’re shaking, trying to seek the friction on the muscle of his tongue and push of his fingers opening you, but his mouth has shifted down to catch it all. He’s licking the syrup flowing between your legs, and moaning in smacking breaths at the delicious wonder of your taste.

“Oh my god.”

“Fuck,” Erwin moans, his tongue barely unable to break away to even get the word out, and you shudder at the anguish in his voice. “So – good.”

The desperate gratitude in his voice makes you mutter it again – “my god.”

Erwin moves away for a moment, and your head is still spinning, seeking a sense of something grounding. He kisses you, and he’s rising off the bed.

“Where – ”

“Not – no, hang on – ”

He can’t even make out the sentence that he’s not going anywhere. His face is strained as he gets to his pants, and you’re sitting up, reaching for him again as the breath audibly comes from you.

“Fuck,” you murmur in near exhaustion.

“You better not be done yet,” Erwin says, and you almost laugh.

“No.”

There’s still something in you, something that says the friction of grinding against his face and feeling his tongue wasn’t enough. The need that had you bringing you into him is still there, as if the orgasm wasn’t even done, as if you need him to fully fuck it out of you before you’d even be satisfied.

“Then get those off,” Erwin says in a grunt, and you moan and get your cramped fingers around the band of your dampened panties to throw them off. He reaches for the lamp switch with his free hand, and he looks like a statue carved out of sheer marble, his cock hard and visibly aching in the grip of his palm.

Erwin climbs back, the silhouette of him still strong as your eyes adjust to the dim room, and you part your legs for him with new eagerness. The air is only cut by two sets of heaving lungs, and then your gasp as he guides himself into you. The angle is wrong at first, and Erwin can clearly see that in the slight wince of your forehead and baring of your teeth. It’s the mix of his saliva and your orgasm that lets him slip with ease into a new position on the next thrust. He adjusts just as you rock up on him, and it’s immediately better. Fuller. Erwin’s hand is at your chest, and he tightens it, pinching his fingers at your nipple until your mouth drops open in another high moan. Your hips tilt upwards and another reflexive response comes as the wet arousal beams within you to meet him.

“Ouch,” you let through your teeth in delayed reaction.

Erwin makes an expression close to a smile, if he could spare the energy for it, but his focus is so, so concentrated. He lifts his hand, cradles your face for a brief moment. Before you can push your hand against his to hold him close to you, he’s bracing himself as his body angles lower to you.

“Okay?” he asks, barely getting the word out and unable to provide the whole sentence.

“Mmhm,” you say in the same response.

Erwin moves into you, thrusting, and your grip is climbing against his back. His muscles are strong, firm, and the strangely lucid thought comes to you again, that this sort of strength comes from years of training and work that a man can only get from a specific life.

“Ah – ”

He shifts the way he’s holding himself over you. His hand comes broad against your thigh, urging you to lift your leg against him, and it gets him in deeper. As much as he can go, as deep as your thighs can let him. Your body feeds him, rushing forward, opening yourself up as much as possible. But he’s just…

“Oh.”

So big.

You whimper, and Erwin kisses the side of your face.

“Does it hurt?”

His voice is raw. He cradles your head with his other hand, forearm pressed into the bed at your shoulder, thumb in clumsy caresses against your temple in a desperation to press every inch of your skin against his. With every shudder of breath you shake into the pressure of his hand, the bend of his arm braced against your shoulder, your thighs spread across his in aching squeezes.

You can barely nod into the cage of his body. “ ‘S- it’s so - much,” you choke out, your lips pressing at the last word, as if it could burst out of you.

Erwin kisses you again. “Good.”

The way you hug into him and tremble around him is so natural, as if your body was made to work up against his, as if you’ve done this together countless times before. His kisses are full of need, as yours are full of want, and the moans bursting out of you are nonsense. His cock is thick. He hits a spot so sweet, so aching, and it almost hurts, just the way he’s so clearly pleased about.

“You – fuck, you’re so tight,” he says, and he keeps pushing in and in with every thrust.

You feel feverish.

Made for it.

And when you whimper in another strangled whine, he kisses you right on your lips pressed together so desperately. Sweat beads across his forehead, the flare of his nostrils strain, and you must look the same sort of mess tousled below him in the sheets.

“Pretty,” Erwin says, quietly through a tight jaw, as if he can read your half-formed mind. “So…”

“Oh…”

He’s so big, almost too big, and it almost isn’t enough, even as the filling thickness of him keeps teasing at that miserably aching place in you. He’s keeping you so wet, so dripping, your hips grinding to meet him and fuck him back as best as possible as he fucks you.

“Feels so good,” he says, and your legs lose strength.

“I’m –”

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly he’s going to make you come again, but the tension in Erwin’s face shows he’s with you, as if he can already barely hold it back.

“Mm – I might – I might come…”

Your voice is high and it rises with urgency in each word, as if almost asking permission.

Erwin can only nod back, shortly.

“Yeah -” he makes out. “Come – on. Come for me again. Do it again.”

“Ah – ”

You do; you come again, harder this time, as if the dregs of the last orgasm still pulled at your inner walls and rushed this one out of you. The mess of you is pooling on the sheets, smearing against your thighs as you keep moving against Erwin, humping at him desperately and shamelessly to get it all out of you this time, because you’ll just go fucking crazy if you can’t.

And Erwin is barely after you, each milking thrust of your thighs up against him, and his eyes are on yours as your heart beats hot from your lungs in aching breath. It’s as if the delicious show of your pleasure coaxes it from him, and you can almost feel how your own heat glows onto him. He comes, fucking into you still as he does, with his own whines echoing yours in half sentences and gasps of your name.

“Oh…oh my …”

God.

You can’t finish the thoughts either.

Erwin pants heavily, and when he slides out of you, so slick with the pleasure you’ve called out from each other, the sensation of it makes your legs shudder again. He almost collapses as his body moves away from yours.

“Fuck,” he forces out as he leans on his elbow.

Sweat shines across his chest, his face ruddy even in the night, and you can only roll your hips into the mess of the bed. You make a noise that sounds like “uh-huh,” but it’s even less formed than those vague sounds.

He looks up, swallows, the dip of his Adam’s apple a silhouette as he moves. “You know,” he says. “You don’t want to sleep in a haunted house, you can stay here.”

You turn to face him, the weeping between your legs cooling as you curl your knees up against the comforter. They knock into his, and Erwin reaches out as he leans further back on his other arm, his hand resting on your thigh. He rubs against your leg absently, familiarly, intimately.

“I’d like that,” you say, and he gives you that rusty, genuine smile again.

If there are ghosts after all, they’re out in the woods. And here, with strong arms and a warm blanket to bring you to a safe and dreamless sleep, there’s Erwin.

part 2 (tbc) (NOTE: as of December 2023, this fic is on indefinite hiatus.)

[xiaq]

(this can be answered publicly) Hey X, pardon me if you’ve answered this before, but I was just curious on how you ended up transitioning from academia to tech and what role you started with in tech? Also, so you have any advice for someone looking to break into tech from a non-STEM background? Thank you!

Hey! I haven't answered it publicly but it's a popular question, so I will now (warning, long answer is long).

So I was so fed up with academia for sundry reasons I won't get into here but I wanted a career that would allow me to A. retire some day (something that paid generally well), B. would allow me some measure of work/life balance without high stress, and C. Would ideally let me use my communication/writing/speaking/presenting skills in some way.

My parents and my partner all work in tech and were like, "did you know that we desperately need people with your skillsets in the tech world?" and my partner, who works in technical sales was like, "You would kill at my job, I am not lying." And I was like, every job listing in technical sales that I see requires either a degree I don't have or past experience I don't have, or both, and my mother was like "Do you know how many mediocre resumes from unqualified men come across my desk? Apply for the damn positions anyway." So I reworked my resume to focus on applicable skills/experiences and wrote a cover letter for each position I applied to saying "hey, I know I'm an odd candidate but let me tell you why that's a good thing." And I got a lot of positive responses!

I was interviewing at 2 different tech places when I accepted the offer for my job now. I had an initial screening call interview with HR, then a zoom interview with the hiring manager, and then I was given access to a limited demo environment and had a week to teach myself the software and put together a demo for a fake customer which I did for the hiring manager (my future boss), one of my current peers, and the VP of the org. I was offered the job the same night I did my fake demo. So in total it was a 2 week interview process, and I started working 2 weeks later. **

I'm a pre-sales solutions consultant, which basically means I'm paired with a sales guy who does all the money and business value talk with customers, while I get to learn about a customer's data problems and then demo for them how our products can address those problems.

The learning curve was (and still is) steep. But it was basically like going back to school, and I've always loved learning new things. The job is super fun. It fulfills all of my wants I listed above with the added bonus of being completely remote (aside from occasional travel to meet with customers for in-person demos). The people I work with are supportive, management is communicative and constantly giving me feedback/talking about my trajectory. I've won internal awards, already received two raises and one promotion and I haven't even been there a year. I'm making more than double what I did as a professor and the concept of retirement doesn't feel like a laughable pipe dream anymore. I miss teaching a lot, but I'm healthier, happier, and better prepared for the future now. And my work is genuinely fulfiling because I'm showing people how they can fix problems. Also, playing with data management software and putting together custom demos is neat. It's like all the best parts of a college project--research, making a preso, knocking everyone's socks off while giving the preso, but I'm getting paid for it. I'm glad I followed my mom's advice.

So I guess my advice is the same as hers: even if you're not "qualified," apply for the position anyway. Make custom cover letters for each position and if there's not a way to include the letter with the app, do some googling and find the hiring manager on LinkedIn and message/email them. The person who hired me said that my cover letter was what got me the initial interview. So that shit works. If you have friends or family working somewhere with open positions, use those connections. Having an internal referral will go a long way to getting your resume looked at. I know we're all like, boo nepo babies, but networking is a huge part of any industry. Use it to your advantage if you have the advantage (no, I'm not working for my parent's companies, but if there'd been an open position I was interested in, I would have applied for it. No shame).

**I also, on the side, applied for the Austin Fire Department because why not. After a whole lot of mental and physical prep, I was accepted to the academy (in the first class, no less, holla) right before I was offered my current job. But I had to be realistic and say that probably wasn't a good long-term career option for someone who is 110lbs and was barely meeting the physical testing requirements who also has issues with getting overwhelmed in high-input sensory situations. So. Into the tech world I went. This side note just to say, I was keeping my options very open and there's nothing wrong with that either, lol.

I hope this helps!

[trickstarbrave]

conservatives are STILL pushing the "well if you dont like living in [x] place then LEAVE! its super easy to move all you need is a JOB and to SAVE MONEY. cancel your subscriptions and actually SAVE MONEY"

it actually isnt fucking easy to just up and move anymore. i would know. i recently moved across the country. i was lucky to have a remote job that let me move. most other people dont have that luxury where a job refuses to operate in the state they want to move to or they insist on being a fucking "hybrid model" (meaning you are basically remote but they want to have you on standby to come into the office for any god forsaken reason they make up on the fly, even if they never call you in you deciding to not be within a certain limit of the office means you are no longer fulfilling your job requirements and they can fire you)

"oh well just get a job at the new place!! many companies will pay for you to move!!!" in what fucking world is this still the norm. really. my wife worked for a very nice hospital and spent MONTHS up to our move looking for new jobs in our new location. none of them would even consider an interview until he was in the state. NONE. none of them wanted to bother as they were either not rly looking for someone to fill that position that seriously, or could ask someone that was there right now for an in person interview and to start right away. even the couple of months leading up to it none of them really bothered because GETTING A JOB IS ANNOYING HARD RIGHT NOW. have you tried looking for a job lately? you will apply to hundreds and get maybe 1-4 fucking interviews only for them to tell you they don't want you. if you are nice enough to get a rejection email in the first place.

"well then save up money and move and look for a job then!" MANY APARTMENTS WILL NOT LET YOU SIGN A LEASE UNTIL YOU CAN PROVE YOU HAVE AN INCOME. period. they will not let you. it doesn't matter if you have fucking 20k saved up. they dont know and dont care. what they want is proof that you have a job nearby, will keep this job, and be making a certain amount of money per month so they can ensure you can pay rent on time. and they wanna KNOW. it used to be many places just ask for credit score and shit because making enough to pay rent was the norm and assumed you wouldn't live in a place if you couldnt pay rent. but now they make sure you are making 3 times the fucking rent because oh yeah the economy is shit right now. its expensive to fucking evict people too and a massive legal hassle and during the lockdown there was a pause on evictions and landlords not getting fucking paid so they have made it everyone else's problem

so no. you cannot save up money to get an apartment and just look for a job then. i know that is how it was 10-20 years ago. it would make sense that it would continue to be the case. but its not anymore because we live in hell. you need to have a job before you can rent a place. you can't get a job UNTIL you are renting a place either. meaning you have to find someone else in the area you want to move to to bum off of for potentially several months, AND you have to save up the money to actually do so. it can be cheap if you just wanna get a greyhound and have no pets and have only like a suitcase for your belongings. or it can be as expensive as several thousand to ship it. or you can spend, depending on distance, a good several hundred dollars to rent and drive a uhaul across several states or potentially the country, staying in hotels when you can or sleeping in the truck or something depending on weather (miserable). "just sell all your belongings" isn't really a good, sensible solution because god fucking dammit some people own clothes and mementos or have pets or computers. some people dont wanna just sit in an apartment with no furniture for months, potentially years on end while they save up to have a fucking chair and mattress (because FURNITURE ALSO COSTS MONEY TO REPLACE!!!!!!!)

you do not have someone to move in with in the new location? too bad. you arent moving there. you have to wait and get lucky that the opportunity presents itself another way while you try to save money (AND SAVING MONEY SUCKS BC THE PRICE OF FOOD AND RENT IS OUTRAGEROUS) or you move there anyways and decide to be homeless.

[nifflering]

Part two Beware spoilers for life on mars series one and two

Hello, hello, hello (some brainrotted fellows will understand this reference) Welcome to another edition of

*me rambling at you about life on mars (the UK version)*

Most important thing: this is my interpretation/analysis.

So, these are my personal, quite uneducated opinions. Also: I bought the series on DVD. No one will be safe.

Today, we'll be talking about the usage of colours in lom in general. If I do start and finish a rewatch and find some interesting scenes – I will add my commentary on them.

Like I already said many times before – there aren’t really many scenes in 2006/2007.

The shooting script of the first episode (I found it while floundering around on the waybackmachine) originally includes a scene in Sam and Maya’s appartement. (Context my beloved: Sammy boy is being kind of an ass, too busy with his job to solve his issues with Maya. She attempts talking to him but fails. I don’t know why they deleted it, because it would have really provided more context to their relationship and – most importantly, for my cause, a sneak peek of their apartment – I imagine it as very clean and kind of impersonal, a few personal touches, Maya’s attempt to brighten up the place. I think they’re both really busy, they started decorating but then Sam became DCI and he got too busy to use the apartment for anything except for sleeping. #Overwhelmed king)

Anyway, let’s take a look at.... a shot that to me represents a big theme of the show and some ✨️colors✨️.

After Sam gets hit by the car , he wakes up in this construction site with a poster of the soon to come high way. An image of the Future.

There’s a really distinct difference between the colour palates. The “future” sky is a nice light-blue, not a cloud to be seen, with some touches of orange and green. Everything is all white, clean and perfect – and it’s all coming soon(er or later).

Of course, it’s a very idealized version of the future. Because it’s how Sam perceives it – at this point in time, he’s very desperate to return.

(Just look at the scene where he first gets contacted through the math programme through the TV. The way Sam crawls towards the TV….. SIR, YOUR ACTING CHOICES. PLEAAASEEE.)

But it’s still surprisingly accurate. However, the idealistic picture of the future is quickly shattered, if you consider that – let’s squint our eyes - to see little Sam’s limp body lying on the ground. Surprisingly, in the 1970s we don’t really see a person being hit by a car (as far as I can remember - except Sam ofc)- But – let’s be honest in 1973 the streets are just every ground that is remotely driveable on.

The past still contains traces of those colours, mostly orange as seen in the dirty underneath the bridge. The air is heavy and greyish, trash and building material is littered on the ground.

The only bits of white are the high-flats in the background, but they are far far away.

Those buildings and streets are still being built – everything’s in flux. Things can change. But, should they? Sam is generally really unsure in that whole department but that’s the thing about it:

We never actually find out, (side note: I haven’t yet seen ashes to ashes) if Sam’s choices actually make an impact in the present. It certainly gives you the impression – his father staying away, his mentor teaching him those lessons, Maya’s birth, etc. etc.. But does it really matter in the end?

Or is it just all in his head? Is he still Sam Tyler in a hospital bed in 2006 or is he an amnesiac Sam Williams in 1973 on an undercover operation?

In the past, there are several buildings – bound to Sam Tyler’s identity, and which I will be further explaining in another ramble.

Let’s get back to colours. Two examples where a similar concept applies: The interrogation room and the general office space of the police department.

The room is flooded with light – courtesy of the huge windows (side note: privacy??? What’s that?). The situation is very transparent as the interrogation is literally being recorded. The person being interrogated has their whole support team with them, including lawyer, social worker and psychiatrist. This scenario is as by the books as you can get it.

I also really like that little shot of Sam adjusting the pens, character go brr.

Same thing in the general offices – a 2010s fever dream with all those clunky computers – which school computer lab have you magically transported me to?

Imagine the absolute horror that Sam feels when he sees the past police department.

Look at it

Without considering the lighting and furniture, the room looks sort of modern – it has a lot of windows and could be causing the same effect as the interrogation room on a visitor.

The officers are working diligently and carefully through every case and issue – investigating every clue and they never rest until they catch the perpetrator.

But that’s wishful thinking - In reality (at least in the past)the room is tinged with brownish yellow lighting, there’s no order to the tables, paper strewn all over the desks and even spending a second in this room will lead you to smelling like smoke for the next 55 years. I would faint. And I’m not even talking about the consequences of not being a white straight guy….

This police department doesn’t even have an interrogation room, they also rarely record any interrogations (leaving a lot of room for interpretation or using some creativity to catch the suspect or get an important lead) and mishandle, don't notice or even collect crucial evidence.

In the lost and found

Even asking for a lawyer – leads to being laughed at and insulted by the literal governor of the department. It’s quite dark and very cramped – it’s quite private – so no one will notice you beating up an innocent person….

But I still feel the office feels very lived in.

There’s a giant dart board, random trophies, dirty dishes strewn about… Good luck getting your case solved. Where’s the evidence that could solve your murder? It’s probably buried under some spicy magazines and a bunch of cigarette buds.

For all the time the police spend at the office, they sure do know when to stop and start going to the pub.

One scene in the later seasons – in the episode about the false imprisonment of the teenager who murdered his younger girlfriend, Gene Hunt is determined to catch her killer for good. He’s made a promise to her father and he’s willing to do almost everything to make his city a safer place (any means necessary). He urges the police men to do anything they can, work day and night and not sleep a wink until they’ve put the right person in prison.

And then, he peeks at his watch and drops everything because they need to get drunk in the pub.

and that's it, hope you enjoyed :)

BONUS: have some cinematic shots

For u @roxannepolice <3

featuring: desperation, isolation and crippling loneliness

lom 1

lom 2

[youremyheaven]

(Brother post person)

They constantly comment on my looks, hair, basically anything I do differently including my interest in astrology and my reverence towards goddesses and attraction towards temples.

They laugh when I cry. And are the happiest when I am not doing well in life. They create unnecessary conflicts and drama whenever I seem to be doing well and drag me into it. It's been 24 years, I have been quiet. But I wish to get out. Could you please help me?

I just wish to separate the self from not-self and see things more clearly.

I know you said there has been delays in your education but I hope you've finished your Bachelor's at least. I would say you should start looking for work and building your resume if you haven't already.

If you keep trying to pursue this new degree, you will still be at their mercy and they will exploit you at every turn. What you need to do is save money, find a job and move out and be independent. Once you're stable in that life, you can return to your education.

I know what's it's like to want to study further and remain a student. Sometimes it feels absolutely necessary to advance your career. Other times, it's a great way to take more time to figure things out. But trust me, right now, you need to leave this house and people behind. People less qualified than you are making $$$$. Don't be defeated, keep looking for work and you will find a job. Try to find remote work initially or part time jobs or an internship or something. Save up money. And then keep applying to places and once you have enough, move out.

You need to be a working woman rn because you need to have your own identity. Beyond money and stability, that's what a job gives you. As long as you remain a daughter and a sister, you will have to put up with this nonsense. They will never change. You need to carve a new life for yourself and that will not happen if you keep depending on them for your survival. This is exactly how Indian families keep their kids trapped. Can't cut them out if you're pursuing 3 degrees until you're 30, by which point your mind and personality has become so cemented by the nonsense they feed you that you can no longer see right from wrong and all those years of abuse and trauma will make you too afraid to stand up to them.

I'm not saying any of this to discourage you. I'm saying you need to get out asap. Don't wait for the next degree or whatever. Obviously it won't happen overnight but no one will save you, you have to save yourself. It may take several months to save enough money but that's okay. Start job hunting now and find work. Be determined and don't give up. Don't be embarassed of doing "small" jobs. Many jobs don't require any qualifications and you can easily earn ₹20k to ₹25k a month. Be a hustler. That's what will help you. Carve a new life and be in a new environment where your parents aren't influencing all your decisions and what not. Sometimes God puts us in certain situations just to see how much we can tolerate before we stand up for ourselves. Take a stand and find work. God will be with you.

[the-trans-advice-blog]

Not really a question but I'm excited and wanted to tell somebody. I've been unemployed for over a year, and during that time I started studying programming to try getting a better-paying career. Tech is, of course, a heavily cis-male-dominated industry with plenty of diversity problems. Due to mass tech layoffs, you can imagine that trying to find an entry-level role right now as a visibly trans person with no experience and no degree has been a nightmare.

I was prepared to take whatever terrible job I could get, just to have some experience to boost me into getting a second/better job later on. But every place I applied ghosted me or auto-rejected me. Not one interview.

I finally, FINALLY got asked to interview at a small local company three weeks ago.

I won't get into details and bore you with an essay, but they had SO many green flags waving all over the place throughout the interview process. For a very first job, this place sounded like a jackpot. The kind of place I'd rather stay at for 10 years instead of just a stepping stone to get experience (they have a SUPER low turnover rate!!).

And I'm very excited to announce that I GOT THE JOB. The first company to finally interview me ends up being the only one I needed!! And the benefits--!!!! GREAT pay for an entry-level role (my own luxury one-bedroom apartment in the city kind of pay!!), a solid month worth of PTO??? It's fully remote but also the office is super close by if I want to go in??? I'm just. I'm so excited. I start next week and I'm STOKED and I keep SCREAMING to let out my energy lol.

I’m so happy for you!! I want a remote job so bad lol

[bakudekuficlist]

Hey can you make a list of winter/winter nomad/winter tribe/ winter poll AU fics? because there's no official tag for it but there are many many miscellaneous tags for the au making it hard to search for. Please and Thank you.

Mini-List BKDK Winter AU Fics

sorry for vanishing, finals and my job caught up with me and I also don't get any notifis for asks but here we go!! some of these are DKBK lolol

The Wolf - Valenk

Chapter(s): 1/1 | 3089 words | Teen/Creator Chose No Warnings

Deku herds sheep on the remote Himalayan landscape. He comes across a white wolf, and the two are thrown into an unexpected dynamic with the coming of a sudden snow storm.

BNHA Winter Fantasy AU - BKDK

A Promise of Snow and Stars - KaterinaRiley

Chapter(s): 1/1 | 2,996 words | Explicit/No Warnings Apply

Prompt: Winter AU Setting + DKBK + stuck alone in the snow, trekking out for some kind of dangerous adventure + the calm of a starry night sky

--

“...You think I’d live if you died?” Katsuki asks, curling his trembling hands into fists. His voice is hoarse, almost quieter than Izuku’s. “Being alive and living a life are two different things, Deku. If you died—if I failed to save you—then I wouldn’t be living. Alive, sure. But not living.”

Spring will come and so will happiness. - Yvette_Kaitou_1412

Chapter(s): 1/1 | 6719 words | Teen/Creator Chose No Warnings

Bakugou Katsuki and Izuku Midoriya have been mated for a long time, Katsuk became the chief of the village and was enjoying his life beside the love of his life.

that is until two awful omegas decide to tamper with his happiness...

Fortunately, Katuski knows exactly what to do in order to put them in their place.

Bride of Snow - TheMockingCrows

Chapter(s): 5/5 | 32,810 words | Explicit/No Warnings Apply

When Izuku of the sheep tribe first meets a wolf tribe child, he has no idea just how much of an impact it will have for the rest of his life. What he hopes will be a simple friendship eventually erupts into so much more in the eyes of his people, and none of it is positive. When time comes to right wrongs and pray for release from the worsening winter storms, only one name comes to mind to stand in as the sacrifice to the God of Winter. Does Izuku stand a chance on his own? Or will his tenuous ties to the wolf tribe help save him and his people's futures?

Home is Where the Hearth Is - EquinoxSolsitce

Chapter(s): 1/1 | 18,580 words | Teen/Creator Chose No Warnings/No Warnings Apply

The Northern tundra is harsh, cruel, and unforgiving, especially to those who underestimate its nature.

And yet, in the sprawling fields of almost unending ice and snow, a small family thrives.

Alpha Katsuki Bakugou lives here with the loves of his life: his beautiful Omega mate, Izuku Midoriya, and their adorable firstborn pup.

The work is never ending, with everything else demanding constant attention.

But their bodies and hearts remain warm, happiness contained within the wooden fences of their home.

Here is a story of their lives, during one chilly, spring day.

The Start Of All Things - emem_itsem

Chapter(s): 1/1 | 18,545 words | Explicit/No Warnings Apply

Katsuki finds Izuku exhausted and alone, fighting for his life one winter night. When he brings him back to his tribe, he doesn't expect to befriend the stubborn, vexing omega let alone develop feelings for him.

The real issue is that in Katsuki's tribe, it's the omega's that court their chosen alpha. Izuku doesn't seem to know this though, and Katsuki doesn't know how to tell him. Surely it'll sort itself out. If Katsuki gives him enough hints and opportunities, surely Izuku will catch on.

Right?

Green-eyed Fate - tiredwrites

Chapter(s): 1/1 | 6,781 words | Explicit/No Warnings Apply

//"You'll find him roaming aimlessly, barren fields and soft features. Cold waters and endless nights, yet your hearth and heart will be warm. The world will be dull, and the life will be stripped - like the bark of a dying tree awaiting its savior," The woman said, her wrinkly hands drifting over Katsuki's hands, scoring the lines of his palms with sharp, yellowed fingernails.

Katsuki fought the urge to cringe but allowed the woman to pet the inside of his palm. He didn't dare disrespect the elder seer, as she was the only one to be able to find his fated one - his soulmate.//

Katsuki grunts as he walks through the barren lands full of snow and nothing else. He had been walking for days; his coats caked in frigid, caked-on snow blowing through the frigid winds.

As much as he fucking hated the cold, he didn't give a shit that his toes were starting to numb, and his face was slack with the frigid cold; he needed to find his fated.

Please enjoy!!!!

[metalheadsforblacklivesmatter]

Hey, I'm messaging random people out of desperation, so please forgive me if this is annoying- my partner is looking for a remote job while studying for his CompTIA A+ cert, and hasn't been able to find anything. We've hit a wall as far as where to look (LinkedIn, Indeed, etc. are filled with scams and useless) and I'm reaching out to whoever I can think of/feel called to ask, to see if they have any ideas/directions to point us in. Thank you for your time, and I hope you have a good night

Shit this is really hard because I usually gotta ask follow up questions before giving specified advice.

But I'm a misogyny experiencing person in the tech fields. So I'll try.

First of all. Is your partner a person that experiences misogyny or a person of color? (I use "person that experiences misogyny because trans-men or enbies that are AFAB that don't medically transition can experience sexism in the field.)

Another trait I have that I say "gives me experience in the struggles of the field" is I've been unemployed for over a year twice. (Not by choice).

Gaps in your resume, anything in your resume that can indicate you're a person that experiences misogyny, or anything that can give away that you're a person of color will make it harder for your partner.

You can apply to large companies if you want, but don't get your hopes up. Large companies get thousands of applicants and rely on AI to filter resumes. Unfortunately AI is racist and sexist. Because it was trained by people with an unconscious bias. Small companies around 100 employees is literally how I keep finding my jobs.

Go to career fairs. My resume wasn't that great, but I knew I was smart enough to get the job if I could get them to just meet me. Which sucked because I never got an interview. One employer met me, and I guess I said something right because he put a big ole star on my resume and I was put on top of the applicants list.

Use Christian resources. "But fae. I'm not Christian." Yeah. It was really fucking weird for a long time to constantly be told like "I'm so glad we're if the same beliefs. This is a Christian company." But like... companies that want to keep is "in-house" so to speak will only send job descriptions to Christian resources. And honestly I've seen near no competition at these places for jobs.

I'm not saying lie or exaggerate on your resume. I'm saying floof on your resume. Instead of "developed the website". Maybe think "Hey. I realize I was the primary person working on the website, and the person everyone went to for help." BAM. Put "lead web developer" on the job description (not job title).

Look at the type of job the description is asking for. If they're a company that contracts their employees time. You want to focus your job description on how much time you saved and money you made fit the company. If they build products. You want to focus on your skill sets.

POST YOUR RESUME EVERYWHERE. Put it up on indeed. LinkedIn. Monster. Everywhere. Check the box that says you're looking for a job. Make it visible. Many companies don't want to go through the hiring process and will pay a contractor to do the work. Those jobs won't be posted. The contractor will be searching resumes on these sites and making calls.

Have a job already. It makes you look desirable to employers.

If you have gaps in your resume. Pencil it in. You weren't unemployed during that year you were studying for your certification.

Your resume should only be 1 page (longer if you have work experience but no more than 2 pages) and the first third of the first page should have the most important info. A quick blurb about you. Your skills/certifications. Your work experience. If you don't catch their attention by then, your resume will go on the trash.

I see a lot of people put irrelevant information on their resume. You don't want gaps in your resume but they don't need to know about that baby sitter job when you were 16. They don't need to know that you also made the coffee in that job as a web developer. Don't include information that you can't relate to the job.

It never worked out for me but a lot of people suggest using those sites that scan your resume against the job description and it's honestly worth a shot.

Don't let anyone throw a thesaurus at you when they offer to help with your resume. If you have people that help by thesaurusing your words, don't listen to them. Hiring managers and recruiters see through that shit.

It's honestly been a hot minute, so I'm probably forgetting stuff, but I do hope this helps!

-fae

[khaleesiofalicante]

I'M FINALLY ON VACATION!!!! FUCK YEAH ANOTHER SEMESTER DONE😎. I feel weird but I guess that's normal, and I'm also feeling kinda overwhelmed and emotional bc that means I have one year left before all my friends and I move to different campuses to specialize on our main areas😭 ONE YEAR IS TOO LITTLE I'VE BECOME TOO ATTACHED TO THOSE LITTLE SHITS SEND HELP

Anyway, I have a shitton of free time now and I'm hoping to get a lot of things done with it, mainly reading (I'm reading my first french book and it's hard but I'm getting there yey!!), watching all the things on my list and Andrew's lol, cleaning and reorganizing my room, rereading LBAF and IALS as a little treat😌 and maybe finally finishing some moodboards

Also, my mom's mental health has been really great these last few days and she just told me she feels better now than how she has felt for the last almost two years. I can't tell you how fucking relieved I am for it😭

I hope work is a little less heavy too lol. But also, I'm looking to find a part-time job these vacations, because the one I currently have is by home office, I have time and I could use the extra money. Any tips for applying???

Anyway, how are you??? I hope work is also less heavy and if not, I'm sending you all these relaxing vibes!!!!!

I loooove having this much free time because it's 1 a.m and Imma reread FMF until I pass out, no one can stop me and there will be no consequences to this!!! I can just wake up late!!! Wow, I always forget how much I enjoy this 🥰

FUCK YEAH THIS IS WHAT I AM TALKING ABOUT THIS IS WHAT YOU DESERVE *smashes a table in pure joy*

Vacation times are always emotional because we're not used to getting so much time and space to ourselves and our thoughts. So, don't worry about it. Take a couple of days to do absolutely nothing - just sleep and eat and sleep some more.

Tell me about the stuff you watch and send recs if you like any of them!

I'm so proud of and happy for your mother. Hope she keeps feeling better and stronger. And I'm glad this coincided with your vacation. So so happy for you!

Getting summer jobs - pick something you like (even if it's just for the summer). Doing jobs that suck makes you hate working and that shit sticks. Also, apply for as many as possible. There might be a youth portal or something similar (google this it will help) in your country/city. Filter it with part-time jobs and other things that match your requirements. This is a very easy way of finding jobs. Some keywords for googling (city name + youth opportunities + part-time jobs + job portals + remote work)

I'm doing well, actually. Mostly because the workload is not heavy right now and I have a better handle on things. Hope this continues. I deserve this after that horrifying May/June hehe.

AND YES TO WAKING UP LATE AND NOT HAVING PLANS.

Hope you have a blast, babygirl 💙

[majorplayer]

so the "brain" of a cog is basically just machinery right. that means they could, probably easily, change into a new body by having their disk drive (?), ram, etc, basically their Brain Parts, transferred to a new shell.

personally i think that's the best explanation for what happens to dave. he straight up explodes in front of you, just like any other cog. he's all about showmanship and theatrics, but not magic tricks, so the explosion has to be real. he has some behind-the-scenes stagehand quickly sort through his bits and pieces to find the Important Parts That Make Dave Be Dave, ensure they're not broken, and transfer them into an identical backup shell elsewhere in the facility, which is why he comes back in through the elevator for phase 2. it would have to be done quickly, but i can see it because none of the audience members are surprised about it happening like they are later when dave Caresses A Toon; like, it's dave, of course he would make EXPLODING be part of his routine act. he probably has some stuff installed to make his explosions more controlled for better recovery odds.

it's why the override put on chip works. there's some kind of remote-access machinery installed on him, hence the. well, you know. the All That. the device receives input through the signals on either side of his head and is connected directly to his Brain Parts to manipulate his behavior.

but what confuses me is how, according to the canon lore, the managers already have their current appearances before they ever got hired for their positions at COGS inc, and their appearances are directly relevant to their jobs!! i know the probable explanation is simply to make it the lore easier to follow, but it really raises some questions for me. you would think that a cog would just have their Brain Parts transferred into the appropriate shell for the job they were hired to do, but they already look like that... augh.

do baby/young cogs grow up wanting a specific job and get a shell that goes with it before they ever get the job? did young flint think to himself, "i want to be a firestarter someday, so i'm going to buy a good shell for it for when i grow up"????? i call him "flint", but like, the same principle applies to their names: what the hell were their names was before they were hired at COGS inc??? if they always LOOKED and were NAMED perfectly for the positions they were RECENTLY HIRED FOR, is there predestination in toontown? is there Calvinism in fucking toontown?

you know, i GUESS that it can be explained by assuming that cogs always have the same job they were made to be suited/named for, just at different companies, since COGS inc is only one company of presumably many. for example, misty is one of many rainmaker cogs who has been manufactured out there, and she always has served the position of a rainmaker, but she was just working at another company before COGS inc. BUT THAT'S NO FUN.

i want to see more about the separation between a cog's "mind" and their shell. or indeed the opposite: the relationship that some cogs surely have with their shells, how they have attachments and preferences. like, fuck it, genderfluid cogs who pick a certain shell depending on how gender they feel that day when they wake up. you know? i WANT to explore the idea of cogs having unique personalities, then choosing what careers to go into as adults, and how they leave behind their original names and shells in order to have their brains transferred into a shell appropriate for their profession, becoming that profession.

yknow, the most canon/lore-compliant explanation (there being many of a specific kind of cog who will always hold that job, just at different companies, aka my rainmaker example) is almost like the gems in steven universe. gems of the same type are manufactured to be exactly the same as each other, but they still end up having unique personalities despite all higher-up efforts against individuality. i desperately want to see this explored in clash lore.

chip is obviously the most likely candidate for this exploration. being the chainsaw consultant of COGS inc (or A chainsaw consultant, of many in the world at different companies) seems to be more his job than who he is as a sentient being with a unique personality, which i'm sure many people reading this relate to. sure, most of this disconnect comes from the agony, shame, and isolation wrought from the override he was forcibly(?) fitted with, but his experiences have surely caused a great deal of depersonalization from who he was before, or who he thought he was before. chip, being manufactured specifically for this employment, no longer feeling like it's who he is. he just wants out of it all because he's his own person; he doesn't feel like a chainsaw consultant anymore.

Really, i feel like chip's override could easily serve as a metaphor for this entire process of cogs being manufactured for a specific job and subsequently being expected to fill that role until the day they either explode or are decommissioned. it's clear that all the cogs (the managers, at least) have unique personalities. do you really think that every single major player ever created, working for any company, would have dave's whole Morally Ambiguous schtick where he dances with toons (or any enemies) and caresses their faces???

like, no, of course not; cogs are created for a specific purpose/role/job, but the personalities mature sentient beings grow into are far larger than any initial, manufactured purpose. their personalities spill out over the too-small mold. chip's override causes him confusion in understanding who he is. in the same way, misty's feelings about toons are surely atypical for rainmakers. misty surely struggles with her feelings about herself, her purpose. she's a rainmaker--THE rainmaker for COGS inc--but she's... not like the other ones. she's not like the friends, her fellow rainmakers, she made on the assembly line as they were manufactured. who is she, if not misty? but who is a rainmaker, because she is not so?

i want to see cogs like chip and misty get a happy ending where they transfer shells. where they're able to escape the purposes for which they were manufactured and pre-programmed, because their personalities ended up being incompatible with them. the stuff which COGS inc would certainly chalk up to "hardware failures" or "bad fuses" or otherwise "imperfections" in their Brain Parts. i want to see chip free from the override and its signals, transferred into a more personally-enjoyable shell that does not cause fear in others. i want to see misty in a friendlier-looking shell so she can make friends with toons more easily. maybe they keep their names, maybe they don't.

[uncloseted]

how do i get a job if i have like 0 skills? i can't do physical labor, interact with people too much bc of social issues, and my memory and cognitive functions are fucked up. i lost so many jobs and can never maintain one.

I would start by thinking about what things you can do and what things you are good at. When we're struggling, I think it can be really easy to focus on all of the limitations we have, but everyone has talents, too. Maybe you can't do physical labor, but you're really great at making art, and people would be interested in buying it, or maybe you're a really great writer, or you're good at research, or whatever it might be. Starting with what you're good at and then finding jobs that fit your talents might be an easier way to approach this. I would also think about what you already have experience doing- it will be easier to get hired for those kind of jobs than something totally new.

But based on what you've said, I would look into jobs that are remote, low-interaction, and don't require a lot of experience. Data entry might be a good option. If you can speak a second language (especially if you speak it natively), translation could be a possibility. Online content moderation could also work, although from what I've gathered, people burn out kind of fast on those jobs. If you like art and you're willing to grind a little to get clients, graphic design could be a possibility. If you're good with processes, software testing could work. Depending on the client, being a virtual assistant could be low-interaction, although you may have to keep detailed notes to get around some of the memory issues. If you're detail oriented, proofreading or editing could be a great option. If you're good at diving really deep into one topic, then doing research in a professional capacity might be a good job for you. Those are just a few off the top of my head, but I think anything where you can control what hours you work and how much work you're taking on is a good place to start.

I would also think about if there are any assistive devices or accommodations that might make it easier to do a job. Maybe having a pre-written script would make social interactions easier, or recording meetings or using some kind of AI assistant would help with memory issues, or wearing noise-cancelling headphones would help you get your work done.

As far as actually applying to jobs goes, I did a post on that here. It can be kind of a grind, but you only need one job application to work out, so the more you apply, the more likely it is you'll get something.

[samwiselastname]

Samwise Lastname Life Update (Negative)

I moaned and groaned in that selfie a bit already but like. I have many people who have offered to help me with many things. Truly thankful.

At the same time I've always been The Person with the stable job and full time wage, like, pretty much since I finished DBT halfway through college that's been my defining character trait. Even before then, it was "person who is a prime target for financial exploitation."

My current situation is a shared living space where I am covering about 4/5s of our expenses, by virtue of being able to mask my disability well enough to work full time. We are still coming up $400 short a month. I've just gotten assurance that should change, a housemate is seeking work, but. It hasn't changed yet, and even once it does, I will not feel secure until we have an emergency fund for housing, and I won't feel safe keeping any personal savings until that's settled. Which is a couple years out at this rate - even farther with some necessary home repairs, which will push our deficit even higher.

We only get takeout once a month at most, our expenses have been essential housewares and home improvement items - pest control, plumbing maintenance tools, repair supplies. A few hundred of that deficit is just repeat homeowner shit. We planted a garden this year which was an expense but, not exorbitant. I don't know how to cut down more without like. Eating less? Historically that approach has turned into dangerous weight loss & migraines pretty quick. As it is we're only spending about $100 more a month than the FDA's recommended frugal grocery plan.

I can stop buying alcohol & weed and save... about $10 a month. I could cancel some of my subscriptions and save $20-50. Anything I can cut back on at this point is not financially worth the detriment to my well-being, especially when things like "watching youtube on the TV" and "playing FFXIV" are like. Some of my only safe and passive low-pressure recreational activities.

Don't really know what to do about this other than keep grinding. I'm making myself sick. Tacking on any extra work - hobby creative pursuits that might one day turn into commercial creative pursuits, any amount of job hunting, even a shot at adult content creation - feels unbearable.

I am trying to stop "working overtime" because even the 40 hours fucks with my ability to do anything else. I tried to work around this by job searching and side hustling. Now all my hobbies feel like jobs and every day I'm not working on income feels like self-sabotage. It's stupid - I can get better compensation at my current job picking extra hours. At least when I do that I don't go into a neurotic spiral and stop sleeping. As much. It's at least effective.

So I have this limbo - working over 40 hours physically destroys me, and it's the only way to tip the scales at all right now. I know one can often get a pay raise by finding a new job but - yall the market sucks. I'm trying. I need full time remote WFH and good god is it bad out there. Plus my current insurance rn is killer - I have a 3k out of pocket max. My medical costs would outweigh the raise at any job I've successfully applied for thus far, because my current employer affords me this bizarrely fantastic health insurance with HSA deposits.

Just feel hopeless. If I've gone dark on you that's why. We have four months to get this shit fixed before we're totally fucked and I'm doing everything I can to buy us time.