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petrichor-idyllic · 1 year

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SAVIOR COMPLEX

MASTERLIST | MINHO MASTERLIST

Request for @thominho-luvin-bri

SUMMARY: Fem! Runner! Reader x Minho. Book based fic because of the availability of the Griever Serum, but movie Glade layout because I can remember it better. Takes place before the arrival of Thomas.

You're a new Runner, and an absolute pain in Minho's ass. You can't seem to obey him and keep getting yourself in trouble. So, when you get stung, Minho is left to play saviour. And doctor. Though, as he looks after you, he starts to think you might not be so bad and his feelings might not just be annoyance... until things go wrong again.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, you nearly die, Minho being stressed, you stressing him out.

When Minho agreed to make you a Runner, he did not expect to be dragging your unconscious corpse back to the Glade.

He'd been training you a while now. He's never been a fan of looking after new Runners, but he didn't really know what to do with you. You're the only girl in the Glade, and have proven yourself to be determined and focused. Which has led to some disobedience.

It was a actually Alby's idea for you to become a Runner. You have a lot of stamina and used to work multiple jobs in the Glade, which led Alby to put you forward as a Runner.

Minho wasn't happy with this.

But with Alby's word, he had very little choice but to have you join his ranks.

But your current predicament is due to no fault of your own. A Griever came out of no where and stung you. You didn't even notice at first and the pair of you managed to make a brisk escape.

Until your veins turned black and you dived to attack Minho. He cracked you in the temple with the end of his machete and knocked you out cold.

He'll apologise later.

So, when he carries you bridle style through the Doors, exhausted and stressed, Alby is quick to notice.

"Minho!" The Leader shouts, jogging to get to him faster. "The shuck happened?"

"Shuckin' Griever," Minho grumbles, half putting you down and pulling your arm over his shoulder to stop you from hitting the floor, "came outta shuckin' no where- knocked her down. We ran but she got stung. She needs the Serum."

"Shit," Alby hisses. "Okay. Newt! Get Jeff and Clint! Now!" He turns back to Minho. "Are you stung?"

"Don't think so," Alby grabs your other arm, copying Minho and hooking his arm behind your back.

"Come on, we gotta move her." They both carry you towards the Medhut, with Jeff emerging at the door and adding an extra pair of helping hands as Clint arranges the Serum.

Alby, Minho and Newt watch in horror as Jeff lifts your shirt, showing the entry point of the Griever's venom. A deep purple bruise stains a chunk of your mid-drift; contortions under your skin make Minho feel ill.

Something deep inside him cracks. He can't bear to look as your injection- he knows what's about to come. He's watched it happen to far too many of his men.

"Minho-" Newt goes to stop him as the boy storms out of the hut. He looks at Alby, who simply shrugs before sighing.

"Go after him."

Newt does as he's told, following his friend, who he finds just outside the building. Minho stands with his hands in his hair, taking deep breaths, head thrown back, his back towards Newt.

It's rare for Minho to react at all to this sort of thing- nevermind the levels of stress he's showing here.

"Mate, are you-?"

"She's my responsibility," Minho's arms drop to his sides. "I should've been paying more attention- she's a newbie, she doesn't know this klunk."

"Yeah, it's klunky, man- but she'll be fine. She's got the Serum. She'll be okay."

Minho shakes his head, finally turning to face him. "Yeah, 'cause everyone is fine after the Changing, ain't they, Newt?"

Newt falls silent.

"I shuckin' said it- I told Alby she shouldn't be a Runner, and look what happened!"

"That's not Alby's fault-"

"You're right," he sighs, "it's mine."

"It's no one's fault," Alby appears in the doorway. "(Y/N) knew what she was getting into when she said she wanted to be a Runner." He huff, rubbing his face with his hands.

"But she's my responsibility-"

"You're right," Alby crosses his arms, leaning on the doorframe, "you're her Keeper, and I have Keepers to look after my men. So, if you take this burden as much as you claim to- you can keep an eye on her."

"What?" Minho and Newt respond in unison.

"You heard me," the Leader stands up straight, "when Minho isn't in the Maze, he can look after the girl. She's your Runner, Minho. If you care so much- you can act like it."

"We should give her some space," Jeff pops up behind Alby. "Clint'll keep an eye on her at the moment. I don't think anyone wants to witness what happens next."

Minho swallows, giving a sniff nod. "You want me to go back out there or-?"

"No," Alby says, "take the rest of the day off. There's no point going back out there, you won't cover much ground before the Doors close now."

Minho gives another nod, before turning and walking off into the Glade.

"You worried about him?" Alby asks Newt.

Newt shrugs. "I dunno, mate. He's... he's getting worse. I don't think he could take another Runner getting hurt."

"Is it because one of his own got stung, or is it because it was her?" Newt looks at Alby, who stares at the Keeper's back as he continues mindlessly walking.

Alby knows the Gladers better than anyone, and he's known Minho as long as he can remember. It's rare for the confident boy to show any semblance of weakness. He's watched Minho banish his friends, face Grievers head on, help him save Newt's life, and work himself to death to try and save everyone here.

And he never cracked.

Newt shrugs. "Guess we'll find out. Shuckin' cruel makin' 'im keep an eye on her, though."

"You really think he wouldn't of anyway?" Alby scoffs. "Now, he just has my permission."

And that's exactly what Minho did.

The next couple of days were hellish. After going into the Maze, Minho would map and then see to you. Jeff and Clint made sure to keep him at arms distance because when you woke up, you were like a feral animal. A feral animal in agony.

Minho really didn't know what to do.

He normally just left the Medjacks to it, but this was different.

Though, you calmed down after a bit. You're still pale and sick, but you're acting like a human again. You just mainly sleep.

"Morning, shank," Minho says as he walks into the Medhut, seeing you awake for the first time this week.

It's safe to say he's not the best in these situations. And it definitely isn't the morning- he's been out in the Maze all day.

"Morning," you grumble, struggling to sit up.

"Woah, easy, tiger," he steps forward, placing a glass of water on the nightstand and putting a hand on your shoulder.

You give him a poor attempt at a smile as he hands you a plate with Frypan's stew on it.

"Eat," he says. "You haven't eaten properly in days."

"I'm not hungry," you mumble.

"Yeah, well, as your boss, I'm telling you- so, eat." You grumble in annoyance, but do as you're told. "How you feeling?"

"Like a sack of klunk," he chuckles at this.

"Yeah, you look it."

You force a sarcastic smile. "You really know how to make a girl feel good, Boss."

He smiles. A genuine smile.

Butterflies flicker around his stomach, and his head feels weird as he looks at you. At first he thinks it's a weird form of relief- relief that he hasn't lost someone else. But this is different, he can't take his eyes off of you.

And you literally look like a corpse as you struggle to eat.

But he thinks your beautiful.

Oh, God.

When you first showed up, Minho told himself he wasn't like the other dumb thirsty boys. That he would treat you exactly the same as everyone else and he was far too busy to let teenage hormones get in the way of his job.

And for the most part, he was right.

He did treat you the same as everyone else.

He never gave you any privileges or put you down simply based on your sex. And his distaste for you being a Runner came from genuine concern and a reluctance to train someone new.

You respected him for it. Minho was hard on you, as hard as he was on any other Glader, and you appreciate it. He pushed you and was the main reason you wanted to be a Runner. Because he inspired you, and you wanted to work under someone who respected you as a person before they saw you as a woman.

So, now, with Minho looking at you like you're a deity, you're starting to realise you might admire him more than just a Keeper- and him more than just another Runner.

"How was it? The Changing?" He asks.

You shrug. "Shuckin' weird. I can remember things, but it's all blurry, and I started to forget as soon as I woke up. Most of it's gone now. Hurt like a bitch."

He scoffs. "Yeah, most people say that."

"So, when can I get back out there?" You ask between mouthfuls of food, not really caring about the question. Though, it nearly makes Minho choke on air.

"What? You're shuckin' with me, right?"

"No?" You look at him, eyebrows furrowed and head tilted. "Why's that...?" You trail off, not quite sure what you're actually about to ask.

"Well, most Runners quit after they get stung- most shanks don't wanna step foot in the Maze after that."

"I'm not most shanks, Minho- I wanna do my job. Just 'cause I'm not great right now doesn't make me incapable."

Minho looks at you, long and hard, before sighing. "Alright, I'll talk to Alby- get Clint and Jeff to give you the go ahead, and then we'll get you back in training."

"Great, thanks-"

"But you take it easy, okay? If we go back out there you're getting extended training and if you don't wanna do this anymore- tell me and we'll come back. Okay?"

You swallow before nodding. "Okay."

So, after another week of being bedridden and bored, you talk your way back into the Maze, despite Minho's concerns.

"You okay back there?" Minho calls over his shoulder.

"Yes!" You groan. "I'm fine, for shuck's sake! Quit asking!"

"Woah, slim it," Minho turns around, casually jogging backwards. "Just makin' sure."

"You've just made sure about fifty times."

"Yeah, well, gotta keep an eye on ya, eh?"

He turns back around and you groan. Though, he does slow down the checks.

But, he probably shouldn't have.

"Yo, you still good?"

No response.

"Yo, (Y/N)?" He slows down, turning to look back, stopping in his tracks when he sees you.

You're standing motionless, one hand on the wall to stabilise yourself. Your chest rises and falls in dramatic fashion, the tight running harness not helping your breathing.

"Hey, you good?" Minho's tone goes from joking to concerned in a split-second.

"I feel... sick," you mumble, the world spinning around you, your hearing stops working as dark spots fill your vision.

Your hand comes off the wall as you stumble backwards.

"Hey." You hear Minho says as your consciousness cuts out. "Hey!"

He bursts into a sprint, just managing to catch you before you hit the floor.

"Shit," he hisses, brushing your hair out of your face. "Not again. Shuck!"

So, he carries you back to the Glade.

Again.

"Bloody hell," Newt spots him as he saves you once again, "she got stung again?"

"Uh, no- I don't think so. She just passed out."

"Shit, get her to the Medhut."

Minho does as he's told as Newt runs off to get Alby.

"Shuck!" Jeff shouts as Minho scares the shit out of him by booting the hut door open. "Christ, what happened this time?"

"I-I don't know- she just passed out!"

"For shuck's sake. Clint! Give us a hand!" Clint comes stumbling through the hut, rolls of bandages in hand.

"Seriously? Again?"

They put you on the bed and assess the situation, which not much urgency- which just seriously stresses Minho out.

"Are you shanks gonna actually shuckin' do something, or what?"

"Slim it, bro." Jeff scoffs. "Your girlfriend's fine. She just went out of the Maze without her body being ready for the stress."

"I thought you said she was ready?"

"No, she told you she was ready- I didn't say klunk."

Minho's hands come to his head.

Before he suddenly kicks one of the support beams. "Shuck!"

"Woah," Clint smirks at his co-worker. "The girl's got you all worked up, eh, Minho?"

"Shut it; it's not like that," he rubs his face, and the boys just look at him. "It's not!"

They put water by your bed. Minho gets lectured by Alby. Newt finds the whole thing kind of funny. Clint and Jeff go to eat and leave Minho be.

He's been pacing the Medhut like a madman, cursing himself for being such an idiot. He keeps switching between watching you sleep and walking around because he can't stay still.

"Minho?" He freezes at the sound of your voice, looking over his shoulder at you and his body follows. "What happened?"

"You shucking idiot," he snaps. "Why did you tell me you were fine to go out there?"

"Because I was-"

"No, you shucking weren't!" He sits down in the chair next to your bed as you sit up.

"I thought I was-!"

"But you weren't, were you? You shuckin' passed out in the Maze! What would happen if it were just you, hm? If I weren't there? You could've- you would've..." He trails off, the thought making him feel sick. "Shuck." His head drops and you blink at him.

Leaning towards him, your hands touch his. "I'm okay, Minho." He looks up at you, letting his hands lock with yours. "I'm fine, see-"

He doesn't really know what came over him in that moment. Maybe it's the stress or even the relief, but he kisses you.

You freeze, not expecting that reaction.

He pulls away, panic swimming in his eyes. "Shuck," he mumbles. "Sorry-"

You kiss him again. An ache that you didn't even know you had suddenly eases as he moves his lips against yours, your hands coming to his face to get a better angle.

You pull away, and he pressed his forehead against yours. His breathing is laboured and his expression is soft.

He sighs.

"Don't shuckin' scare me like that again."

This was another fun one to write. I think the ones in the Glade where I have more freedom and less plot to follow are my favourite.

I hope you guys enjoyed :))

#🌿 petri writes #🍃 petri tmr #🌿 petri tmr minho #🌿 petri writes tmr #tmr fanfiction #tmr minho #tmr imagines #minho the maze runner #minho tmr #minho maze runner #minho tmr x reader #the maze runner

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qqueenofhades · 3 months

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So l applied for a job as an English teacher (where I live it's taught as a second language) and my experience teaching is for like kids 10 and older, and this is for preschool, kids aged 2-5. So I never thought the would call me, because I was honest and told them l've never taught children that age, but they did and the problem is they gave me less than 24hrs to prepare for a class (they didn’t even give me the topics). And they're asking for pp presentation, didactic material ... And I just had to say no, they knew I didn’t have experience with children that young and I obviously don't have adequate didactic materials to bring for the children.

Yet I kinda feel bad and guilty for not having a job, and I can't help but think that maybe I'm the problem, I've been looking for a job for months and this isn’t even my university major. In my area they ask for like 3-5 years of experience, and this is for “people that just graduated” the salaries are minimum or barely above the minimum, they just don’t match the years of experience they’re asking for.

People they just don’t want to hire you to gain experience, I know you’re supposed to gain some with internships but I had at least half of my university time online because of the pandemic, some of my classmates even had online internships. And some jobs they outright tell you that they’re asking for “real experience” so those don’t count. Then if someone hires you they hold it over you, they expect you to leave everything behind and give 100% to the job, as in working and insane amount hours, at crazy times, if they’re generous they pay you the minimum but most of the time they have you there as an unofficial intern that it’s extremely lucky to receive some financial compensation; I mean who would’ve thought that we have to eat and try to survive week after week.

Honestly most days have become this despairing experience and this feeling in my chest and stomach just doesn’t go away.

Im sorry for this very long and sad anon message, it’s just that I’ve seen some anons leaving you similar comments. And you sound like a very mature wise person, I love that you talk about a lot of things 💖

First off, I'm flattered that I am seen as a good place for the younguns to come ask for sympathy and/or advice (I am a good internet grandma, etc). So yes, I shall give you hot cocoa and a nice spot to sit down and chat, metaphorically speaking.

I'm sure you've heard this before, but just so you know and/or hear it again: you're not alone, tons of young people are in the same boat, and it isn't your fault that we live in late-stage capitalism and the job market simultaneously wants 3-5 years of experience for an entry level job and pays you literal shit (but also wants you to somehow spend enough money all the time to keep the economy afloat, NO WAGE ONLY SPEND). Especially when Covid upended everything and now people want to discount online learning/work experience when there was literally no other option. It is a big bucket of crap all around, and while it can absolutely feel like a negative reflection on you personally, or that you're not good enough or not trying hard enough or not open enough to doing things completely out of your comfort zone because you have no other choice, it's not. There are tons of people who really WANT to be employed and have a steady job and at least enough to cover their basic necessities, but due to late-stage capitalism, it's just very hard. You are not the only one and this is not a personal character flaw or failing on your part.

You should not have to take a job you are completely uncomfortable with, especially when they give you literally zero chance to prepare adequately and don't give you any resources or time to support that transition (they'll begin as they mean to go on, etc). And likewise, I want to note that your university major/degree is not a binding contract that you can only work in that field, that you're a failure if you don't get a job in that field, and you have to look in that field first and foremost. Plenty of people do one thing in college and something totally different in their career, and it's okay if that happens, or if you have to work outside your college major for a while or even for the rest of your professional life. So as far as that part goes, I definitely don't think you need to feel any guilt about looking wherever you can, since as you note, the competition is hard for everybody and there's just not enough to go around (by design, since capitalism runs on manufactured scarcity). Once again: not your fault, you're not a failure, and you're doing your best. That is worth a lot.

I know that it sounds trite to say keep your chin up, but keep your chin up. When it comes to teaching ESL, it might be possible to freelance, to offer sessions virtually or over Zoom, advertise among your family and friends, etc., or other bit-part things to tide you over until you find a job (and take it from me, sheer bullheaded stubbornness is half the battle). There are also online tutoring sites and agencies such as Tutora (which I briefly taught for as a broke PhD student) or Study.com that can match you with remote/online work opportunities and get you some clients, rather than you having to do all the work to find and recruit them by yourself. This obviously won't take the place of an actual job, but it might help you patch some cracks and string together some income until you can find one.

Good luck! I'm rooting for you.

#anonymous #ask

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meditating-dog-lover · 4 months

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Pushing myself

I''m on vacation in Cyprus right now and am happy and relaxed. I really like it here. I have the chance to relax and be at ease. It feels nostalgic here because it reminds me of the happy days I had living in the Middle East as a child minus the childhood trauma. I had a good trip there last week, but the trauma never leaves unfortunately. Cyprus is a simple and relaxing country. I love the streets, the weather, the warm people, the food (especially the fish) and cafes, the beaches, the small shops, the Christmas villages and decor. People here are also nice and the country is very safe (I go out for walks late at night as a woman and I feel very safe). People here are religious but without the fanaticism and backwardness. I may be an American but I'm open to other people's cultures and chatted with people here (mostly the cops) and they have this warm traditional personality (traditional as in an elder giving you wise advice, not traditional as in bigoted and close minded). That's also something I love. It's completely different from my "traditional" aunt who asked me who cooks for my dad and got surprised when I told her I want to establish a career before I get married. It's like talking to an adult who is wise and cares for you. So overall I like it here and am relaxed.

This is what brings me peace in my life. Being on my own in a relaxing area, especially by a beach or a nice Mediterranean village, drinking coffee or eating European style pizza, going out for walks, journaling, and being around warm people brings me peace. Even running my own small business. Or enjoying the night life with a lover either in a nice city or street or a nice hotel room. Away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life, tension, materialism, large crowds of people, and stress.

I get to spend time with my dad who has become extremely relaxed and laid back compared to how he was when we were growing up. He used to be strict and yell at us and even hit us. It's not excusable and I have no doubt in my mind that my grandmother made him extremely stressed and on edge. So he took it out on us. Those "dad's side of the family" memes perfectly apply to us unfortunately. I don't hate his family, I get along with them. But I know they have their own deep complexities I absolutely do not want to get involved in and they drove my dad crazy (and me too!). But I am free now and my dad gives me a lot of freedom because I am an adult and very responsible. He even encourages me to go out for late night walks and he lets me do whatever I want without controlling or worrying about me. So I no longer have to be a part of their mess. But my dad is in a great mood and we sit in the TV room together watching the news and Smurfs and Angry Birds (this is his taste in movies). It reminds me of the good old days before college. He also convinced me to try intermittent fasting, which was nice given that we were not raised on healthy foods and habits.

So overall the trauma is still there, but it doesn't impact me as much because I am free and on my own now. In the US with a good job and a nice house with 2 beautiful dogs. No one controls my money and expenses. No one has access to my bank account, nor my phone or laptop. I'm free and independent.

I get pretty stressed when I'm in the US over work and expenses. Feeling like I am so behind in life because I just started working and am working an entry level position. Also worried about money and if I come across a day where I am broke in the future. I know my parents have money and will never leave me without any sense of security (for all my dad's faults he is very financially responsible and never left us hungry or homeless and paid for out college tuition). Thanks to him I have never been in debt. But I know I am doing a great job even though I am young. I am responsible and eager to learn more.

I had the misconception that I am only academically smart as opposed to life smart. I am a cell biologist and worked hard in school and college to be where I am. It was absolutely worth it. However I'm still working on gaining life lesson, but I need to tell myself that I already have a lot of that.

According to City Personnel: "Book smart people have a lot of knowledge and can excel in school, but they don't handle real-world situations well. On the other hand, street smart people may not know much about books and tests, but they're experts at handling every situation that comes their way". I used to worry that despite having book smarts, I felt like I lacked life smarts (or street smarts) because I felt I didn't know how to handle real world issues. Especially someone like me who has anxiety. These include skills in career, finances, health, relationships and dating, and whatever life throws at you in general. These include valuable lessons worth knowing despite not having a complete education path nor the most academically leaning job. For example, my aunt is a college drop out and works as a waitress but has a lot of street smarts. And she's doing perfectly fine in life despite "college dropouts are losers" which is a total myth. If you have a PhD in engineering yet you cannot establish social skills, emotional intelligence, financial stability, then I don't think this guarantees a fully successful life.

I'm still learning in life and am doing great. And I need to stop pressuring myself. But again I do have concerns over (a) being deficient in life skills and (b) worrying about finances. Things will be okay, though.

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kidmachinate · 10 months

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Expectations

At work one week, a co-worker said upon me replying to my boss the following:

"You know one of these days he's gonna sound less forgiving or nice"

"I'm waiting for it"

I didn't take anything from this and it was all in good fun, because my latest line of work tends to ask a lot of us on any given day...but still I press on. No one wants to get fired, right? To be clear, I mostly like my current line of work but here's the issue. The joke (or maybe they do want to see me break one day) is the other side of the coin. What it looks like when you do lose your patience. When you don't is the expectation. In the middle is a potential realization. Am I just being taken for granted?

Unfortunately, I don't always succeed at this expectation. I've unleashed hell in the way my Dad would at times. It feels bad to say this knowing over time, Dad and I grew to understand one another, but fresh in my mind are times that weren't so great. Times where simply voicing logic and reason went out the window. Where proving what the energy efficient temperature for the A/C is with hard evidence, and still being told nope, you're wrong. Maybe I presented "my facts" or "fake news" so therefore I wasn't considered. Really thought real evidence would solve the problem. Proof. Something you also need in a principals office to get out of trouble, but you can't prove things done or said to you without video evidence or a recording. They were never gonna believe you because the other person is much better at explaining themselves. They lie for a living. Principal's office is home. It's a place or panic for you. If after days, weeks, or months you then react, you're still at fault? Well...yes...and I struggle with that. I don't want revenge at the core but I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to dish it back when someone want to talk smack on a small level or yell at a higher one.

Trying to develop boundaries later in life is hard. You don't want to disappoint because you don't want the problems. The having to constantly defend your yourself. Just make everyone happy. If we take trauma out of it, what's simply wrong with making people happy other than to a jealous person? Putting a smile on ones face is always worth it. The problem with these expectations are they aren't realistic and they are all over our lives. You need a degree to do an entry level job. You need to be better than your parents because they realize they messed up somewhere, and you need to correct that. You need to suppress your feelings so you can dedicate yourself entirely to emotional leeches. You need to not let money control your life when literally everything revolves around it...and we as a country are closing off freedom ramps for digital currencies as we speak, while continuing to buy it up behind the scenes, to control it. How can any one person possibly meets the expectations of the world, let alone a single individual. It's impossible. So where do you go from here? There's always burn the bridge or let them down gently.

The above are certainly options. What if you care? Is there another way? Things aren't always black and white. We can't assume everyone functions on the same level. I'm blessed by a family that mostly loves me, although we rarely talk, and enough learned to keep life in order to not be homeless. My traumas on a scale, aren't much. I've suffered more trauma through failed friendships/relationships than my childhood. My lesser than traumas doesn't make them invisible. I just don't want to let them bleed into daily life. Comparing life situations sometimes misses the mark, especially if whoever you are speaking with has their own set of traumas, mental issues, or even just life kicking you in the pants. You can kiss and make up and try again and that's all dandy but patterns are what last. If it isn't the norm for someone to just attack you, maybe it is worth a second look. I've been on both sides of the fence here, but repeated attempts at apologies to repeat the same thing? That's not the ideal scenario. A scenario is which at worst you can agree to disagree, a safe space to express, and healthy measures of filling missing voids or releasing anger (probably not at whoever you are talking to) in a way that makes you productive and helps yourself. Pulls you back. Stop the top from spinning, it's okay.

Nobody likes forced plans, playing by the rules to get screwed over, being yelled at, or even just minor inconveniences. It's a huge weight to carry when expected to just push through all of it. That the expectation. You're not gonna bat 100% at this. No one will. The issue is trying to create the environment to thrive as often as possible. Finding someone to vent to if needed. Being in a growth mindset. In a world asking for so much how do you make time for you...and not just to do whatever is distracting you from life. To just sit and think and process. We all, myself included, from time to time, need to slow down. If anything should be the expectation in life, it should be that. Not the hidden ones laid down by people confronted on a daily basis for life obligations. Stability. Consistency. Can't always rush life in the face and see what happens...and I finally thing to say this at the end of the post, where the rest can seem like a dark but truthful tale.

When making these, I attempt to accomplish a few things. Letting it out is the biggest thing. Someone seeing the vulnerabilities in a post and/or inspiration to take action. A reminder that yes you can, even with the odds stacked against you. Speaking of which, whoever you are, the world isn't against you and if you think that, pretend it is against us all. What are you doing to fight against it? Need help? Gather a party who will bring you up.

The only one who should be making expectations that I hope you meet is you. In us wanting life to be as easy as possible and stress free, we can lose the plot of our own stories or place that burden on others. I suck at reaching out but I know I can and have done this to others before. I'm sorry. I've been rediscovering myself for a longer time than I'd like and need to process how to best that best version and less of a mess. Point stands however, set your own goals/expectations.

#expectations #love #progression #struggle #mental peace #mental health #find your tribe

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surprisebitch · 2 years

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i have been quite private here lately, but I have been job searching for quite some time for after graduation and entry level. after like a pretty good success rate in landing interviews up to final ones at reputable companies, I've had some key takeaways.. the biggest being continue to apply to more opportunities even when you are close to an offer or got an interview for one company. after interviewing for many companies, i definitely have gotten better at my pitch, answering tough questions, technical skills, and i've also learned about total compensation packages here and there. don't put all your eggs in one basket. it definitely helps in knowing your worth and your market value, especially when you get the annoying "salary expectations" question. also, some companies will still respond even after 3 weeks since you applied

and yeah, if you get rejected, know that it's not your fault especially when you've done your best. it's a two way street after all. i realised and learned many things that validated that outcome, including the role or the company really wasnt a right fit for me as there was a better opportunity elsewhere. also, dont be afraid to walk away from a bad deal. at the end of the day, know your worth. employers are willing to negotiate especially if they already want you. a good company also pays its employees well or what you know you're worth. never settle for less

#i look forward to sharing good news soon #but yeah job hunting has been pretty challenging but at least its validating that ive interviewed for like over 5 companies now #and i still have more to go hehe fingers crossed i land an offer i'll be happy with #and who will meet what i negotiate for

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devilsskettle · 1 year

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i can pretend i’m doing pretty good for a few weeks and feel really optimistic and positive - like i’m working, i don’t hate my jobs, i’m living independently, i’m planning the next steps in my education/career, etc - and then someone or something will completely shatter this perspective. like someone derisively said to me recently, i’m working “three part-time low level jobs” - dead ends that have nothing to do with my degree, and i can’t even get hired full-time at one of them in the fucking entry level customer service position that i have already been doing for months that they’re currently hiring for. because the directors of my department who i hardly ever interact with have decided i’m too quiet. to do literally the exact same job, just with more hours so i can maybe not be broke all the time. and people keep dragging up my past academic failures acting like my entire degree doesn’t matter because i have two Fs on my transcript. like big fucking deal. but i guess if i want to go back to school even just for a certificate program it matters. absolutely no faith in my other grades, my degree, my work experience, or the strength of my writing and interviewing skills for the application for a program to prepare for a job i KNOW i would be good at. but now have little faith in because i’m seeing myself the way other people see me now and it’s like. not great. how am i ever going to justify to anyone that they should admit me into their program or hire me knowing that this is what i am to people. anyway i literally took my diploma out of the frame and tore it in half the other day because it is such a useless piece of shit that will never get anyone to give me any credit or respect and it’s not something i’m even allowed to feel proud of anymore (despite people trying to convince me for months that i should even though i didn’t feel anything about it. but they wanted me to care about it) because my transcript isn’t fucking pristine. and then going to this fucking funeral where a bunch of people i don’t know want to hear about everything in my life and none of it is impressive enough for them and you can just see them failing at hiding how judgmental they are. and then you think you’re doing something nice for somebody else and it’s suddenly all turned around on you as if them ALLOWING you to help them was such a nice thing for them to do for YOU and actually you don’t appreciate all the things that they do and you’re ungrateful and mean, as if you didn’t drop everything the day after working the overnight shift to be there for them and also the entire weekend which you had to call off two days of work for. which of course was basically mandatory but still. god forbid i show an ounce of negativity right before going to a fucking funeral. and then there was that kidney stone i got that was definitely my fault because i drank nothing but alcohol for like a week straight leading up to it. not to mention all of the other parts of my diet that are unhealthy. anyway.

all of that optimism and positivity feeling like i’m getting my shit together is crushed and it’s like suddenly, instead of living in a great neighborhood! with such an easy commute! that’s so beautiful this time of year! i’m in this awful house with these perfectly nice people who i fucking hate in this tiny dirty room that is clearly inhabited by a very mentally unstable individual who can’t handle basic household chores, i have to spend money to get on the dirty crowded bus every day to go to a job where people are dismissive and rude to me even though i am so polite and pleasant and helpful and friendly and everything that i’m told to be and i do all my work and i’m good at it and it’s still not enough because i’m not out here begging for attention for just doing my fucking job. and suddenly, instead of feeling like i have this Future where i’ll pursue a career that i might actually have a chance at succeeding in, it’s just like. well “you’ve been interested in other things in the past, how do you know this time will be different?” great question, thanks. i don’t fucking know. i probably will lose interest as soon as things get hard and give up and have wasted everybody’s time once again not to mention all kinds of money and energy, and i’ll be even more lost than before and i’ll probably just kill myself. is that what you want to hear? fuck. i don’t know, man, i just want enough money to live by myself and dress well and eat well and do some things that i like. actually i’m realizing how much of what i do is just to try to earn some kind of leverage to get people to show me just a little bit of basic human respect which of course they are never going to give me. anyway. not to mention that all of my friends are in different parts of the country and nobody here wants to hang out. to be fair i haven’t reached out recently but i tried really hard for a couple of months to be more social and i was the only one trying and it was too fucking hard and most of the time i just wished i’d stayed home. and i think there’s just something about me that people can tell is just kind of off and they don’t like me. and then a lot of times i drink too much. but it was a lot easier to feel like i didn’t need anyone and i was happy just being by myself because i liked my jobs and i was working all the time so i was busy but now. i don’t want to say that the illusion is shattered because it’s not really an illusion, but it’s like i was seeing the surface of a smooth pond reflecting all the light and now all i can see is the mud and algae and dead fish. literally i had to radio facilities to get a dead fish out of a fountain the other day, it was fucking gross

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lucascecil · 4 months

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Something I read - Kursaal

I heard so much about Kursaal over the years since I started going into the Expanded Universe. And it was rarely anything good. I think that's why I procrastinated so much to read it, specially after I devored Alien Bodies so fast. I decided to read it for real these last two days and I was pleasantly surprised - I liked it quite a bit.

Ok, let's start from the beginning: that cover is fucking gorgeous. One of the prettiest from the EDAs. I have a tough time with werewolves in Doctor Who because I usually find the stories not that much interesting - but I LOVE werewolves. Blood on Santa's Claw was a good surprise in that prospect last year and now there is Kursaal.

There are two highlights in this book for me, but let's start with the characters.

Our regulars - Forever romantic Eighth Doctor and miss Samantha Jones

The book is stuctured in a way, at least in the first two thirds, so that the narrative is never from the Doctor's perspective. It's Sam's, it's the secondary characters', but never the Doctor's. I liked that quite bit because this is primarly a horror story, and so you had these chunks of the narrative where the Doctor would disappear because he was not with any of the other characters and it raised the stakes so much. It helped with that feeling that something ominous is about to happen and every single character is at danger. I wish Anghelides kept that in the last third.

There are plently of references to his past and dialogue that helps build his character here. "I wish I'd brought my umbrella,' said the Doctor. 'I remember I used to have one.'' Him and Sam have some delightful banter when they arrive at Kursaal.

[...] Oh great, you're making me sound like my mum.' The Doctor had come back down the tunnel towards her. 'Well,' he said solemnly, his face level with hers, 'for that, I apologise most sincerely.'

Or:

'Where is your spirit of adventure?' he demanded brightly. 'In its box alongside your umbrella.'

There is a chase scene midway the book where the Doctor is pilloting a ship and it's very well constructed, but also so much fun because while he's doing it he's also telling a story about how he learned to drive. He woofs and tells werewolf Sam to call him Rex, when she is trying to bite him.

And then you have Sam. I have been strugling with her in past books. Her introduction in Eight Doctors is fun, but bizarre. She is great in Vampire Science and has an interesting dilemma in Genocide, but is non-entity in The Bodysnatchers and outright awful in War of the Daleks. There is an interesting idea planted in Alien Bodies, but it's so much more because of the concept behind it than because it's Sam.

She is great here though. No, really. Most of the book in the first two thirds is told through her perspective and it's interesting seen her deal with such violent deaths and the situation she's in. When she meets the HALF personel, this enveromentalist organization that is bound to make Kursaal fail, of course she is simpathetic. She talks a lot about her dad in the beginning of the book and it's nice how you can tell she misses him and love him. Even through his faults.

Her jealously of the Doctor has been well established in previously entries, and it's present here but much less. And not as irritating. I was spoiled that she would try to make the Doctor her wolf-king at the end of the book and I thought I would hate it, but I didn't. She is not in control of her body, the virus is making some less desirable traits of her bubble into the surface and it's brief.

I do wish though that she hadn't forgotten the plently of people she killed in Kursaal. Anghelides makes a good job of working upon her guilty because of the person she killed back in Genocide. The deaths that happen here, albeit not exactly her fault, could be incorporated into that. Also, I don't like when a character goes through horrible things and do not get to remember it because it only feels exploitative.

There is beautiful scene when the deaths start getting to her head and she is angry at how apathetic everyone on Kursaal is and how it's making her feel..

'They treat death so casually here', she said. 'The animals, the enviroment, even the people.' The Doctor studied his socks. 'Don't judge those two so harshly, Sam. It's just the way they deal with death on a regular basis. [...] 'Don't be so hard,' he persisted softly. Don't think it's brave or clever or necessary to take death in your stride. Because you have something that I wish I had: you have youth, you have so few preconceptions, you have the inexpressible joy of discovering things for the very, very first time. Don't let yourself become hard. I know you want to be grown up, but don't forget to enjoy being the child as well.' [...]

There are two scene where she and the Doctor talk about changing the past and about her timeline and both are great. It's always a topic I like to see being brought up in the companion-Doctor dynamic. The last one, at the tail end of the book is my favorite:

Sam sighed her favourite, world-weary wigh. The Doctor was avoiding the question again. 'So our work here is done?' she said, trying to sound like Batman. 'Is that how you see it, Doctor? The Jax have been wiped out. The drug guys are behind bars. We've done our bit. Made a difference.' She peered closer at him. 'Left our mark.' This made him open his eyes and squint up at her against the sunshine. 'I'm not sure that's true. Sometimes one has just to do... enough.' 'Oh, come on, Doctor. But what's enough? We could make a real difference.' The Doctor proped himself up awkwardly in his deckchair. 'What should we do? Prevent the First World War, perhaps? Save millions of lives? Imagine the effects on history. Smaller scale perhaps. Warn Lord Cardigan ahead of the Charge of the Light Brigade? Save six hundred lives, six hundred ripples through history. Cardigan would never become a hero, and you'd lose a valueable item of knitwear.' 'That's not what I meant...' 'Save just one life, then. Make on short visit to 1948, nudge Nathu-ram Godse's arm just as he fires the fatal shot at Gandhi. One life, with immeasurable effects on humankind. But what effects? But how would they have affected you life, Sam? Would your father have gone into medicine, would your mother have become a social worker, if they hadn't seen things they wanted to change? And if you and I, with the benefit of our hindsight, control their lives for them, is there any element of choice in any of it? And would you even exist? 'I think I'd rather die than survive knowning I allowed an innocent person to die,' Sam bridled. 'My little life would be nothing compared to the many that we might save.' The Doctor grasped her arm gently. 'But the very existence of that little life would have been the means for saving them.' He smiled a warm smile in the afernoon sun. 'Just one of Time's little paradoxes, eh?'

Paul Kadijk and Mister Gray

They are mainly the secondary antagonists of the book, although that's not entirely true for Kadijk at the last third of the narrative. Gray however is the centre of the themes of the book about the enviroment, preservation of flauna and flora and explorativism. It's neatly summarised by Amy at the first few pages of the book:

"You'd earn their respect if you allowed them to do their job. Which is protecting these ancient artefacts from your bulldozers. Doesn't this cavern move you? Listen to your heart, if you can hear it over the sound of jingling coins."

Kadijk is however the most interesting of the two and perhaps the best character besides Eight and Sam. He is strongly characterized, a very unpleasent man. He may be a workaholic because it's through his loyalty (if you can call it that) to his work as head of security of Kursaal that some of his redeeming qualities (however few) are shown.

Yet since his arrival, Kadijk had achieve some sucess in reducing HALF activity on Kursaal. The newsfeeds said he was a lateral thinker. His staff said he was a tyrant who demanded the impossible and achieved it through fear. His wife thought she was better off without him. 'Go and marry bloody Gray, why don't you?' she'd said with cold deliberation on the day she left him. 'You see more of him than you do of me.' That was two years ago.'

There is this bit at the beginning of the book that was very well written about his work as a "cop" and how it changed him. It's an example of what Sam comments later on how the people in Kursaal aren't fased by death anymore. How it disturbs her. And it stuck with me because I couldn't help but think of a Doctor Who audio, Absolution, where Eight's relationship with his companion there is destroyed because he shows no feelings upon the death of their friend.

And it stuck with me also because it's so easy to fall into that trap of not caring for the world around you anymore. It's something I've been struggling with in my personal life for a while, and so when the novel touched upon this topic it resonated with me.

As he spoke, his eyes never left the corpses. He had seen worse when he was a junior officer back on Kandax. At his first murder, the SOC officer Bhairom had brought him over - 'to get your opinion' - pushed him into the tent protecting the scene of crime, and shown him the two kids' bodies without any warning. Junior Oficcer Kadijk just had time to dodge back out again before he had brought up his whole lunch, to the cherry accompaniment of his senior's laughter. It was the first and only time he'd ever thrown up when viewing a body. Bhairom had seen it as a cheap gag on the new boy. She attributed no motives to the two runaways' flight from home, it just gave the murderer opportunity. She just saw two small corpses, the latest in a long line of dozens of dead bodies in her career. Kadijk had forced himself to follow things through, and to her irritation had also followed the kids' bodies through the post-mortem stages and to the funeral. When he'd nailed the father for the deaths, Bhairom had been sidelined and Kadijk promoted. [...] Now, as he looked at this young woman's corpse with its guts spilling into the dirt, he just saw one more corpse, and he could understand Bhairom at last. He thought about bringing Zaterday across for a closer look, but reconsidered when he thought about where his blue junior might throw up.

Weirdly enough it's Kadijk who has the closest to character developtment between the secondary characters. He is very antagonistic to the Doctor in the first two thirds, but then a time skip happens and fifteen years later he has mellowed out a bit. He feels for Cockaigne death's a litte bit and under the surface you can see he wonders if he failed Zaterday because of how he treated him. But he's still a bit of a bully, he still hasn't seen his children in years and I couldn't help but laugh when he and the Doctor talk about Zaterday:

'I wasn't thinking about the security clearance you gave him. I was referring to the way you behaved towards him.' 'Affectionate bullying.'

Kadijk dies a terrible death at the end of the book after - perhaps justified - smashing the Doctor's hand and knocking him out with an axe. Possessed Sam kills him. It's a good death and he goes out on fire. I think it's ironic he died trying to do what he tought was right. And I can't fault him too much, I probably would have exploded the cathedral too.

The body horror and the Jax

It's the second highlight for me. There are so many, many terrifying descriptions about the Jax and the dead corpses that just stuck with me. You can perhaps say that Kursaal has a pace problem and that the plot takes too long to start moving forward, but I disagree. Because of how some things are suggested at the beginning of the book, rather than shown, there is this feeling that something horrible is about to happen at any time.

It starts when the Doctor points out, at first without suspecting anything wrong with it, that the bodies have not started deteriorating. He tells Kadijk someone must have sent the SOS signal much earlier than the deaths, but you know it's not true because we saw the attack in the first chapter and it was Amy who called them. Then later, a body disappears from the morgue. Some more pages, and it's two bodies. And you know the dead are walking again.

And of course, when bad things do happen in page, Anghelides make sure to detail them disturbingly. There is a point, when the Doctor and Cockaigne have gone back to the cathedral, that one of the wolves is decapitated by Bernard. I love the descriptions there. It's so violent, it's so bloody and it's horrifying because Cockaigne just decapitated the body of his already dead friend. Not much later you have this scene, Johnson being another member of HALF that just died:

Johnson was standing up. In the attack, her neck had been hacked though at the front, so when she stumbled towards him he could see her head lolling forward awkwardly. In the sharp brilliance of the police vehicle floods, Cockaigne could see that Johnson's left arm and hand were covered in thick brown hair. The rest of her skin was shimmering, undulating - and then more coarse hair began to srpout from underneath. The police guards stared in disbelief. Johnson took two more steps towards Cockaigne, who shied away. Her green eyes focused uncertainly on him, and she threw her head in a gargling howl. But the effort was too much, and her slashed neck finally gave way - her head dropping off backward, and her body falling prone on the muddy ground. The head bounced twice, and rolled into a pool of dirty water.

One of my favorite bits is when Gray is transforming into the Jax:

Gray stumbled to his feet, tearing off his jacket then ripping his shirt and tie off savagely. Metal buttons pinged and bounced like scattered change on the wooden floor. Then he lunged on to the desk with a howl of anguish. Sam could see, in the moonlight, an arch of hair splitting out down the skin of his spine. The medallion still dangled on its chain around his neck. [...] Grey's obscene transformation continued. She watched his clean white nails suddenly sprout longer, more pointed. He screamed out a howl of anguish as his legs - his rear legs - bent awkwardly in the opposite direction and dropped him to the floor on his haunches. His new claws gouded a short path in the surface of the solid wooden desk. Then he turned his head into the moonlight streaming in through the open window, and Sam could see it distending, stretching, a muzzle forming from the centre of the mass of hair at the centre of his face with a sickening cracking sound. Pointed ears developed from swollen buds on the top os his head, and he screamed in agony and exultation.

The werewolves themselves are not that inventive, sure, but I like it. I love how there two kinds. The Jax themselves, the sentient species, and then you have the dead bodies being infected and being controled in a kind of hive mind. There is also a bit of a twist that the Jax are not the wolves themselves but the sentient virus that infects them. Also! Because of that plus the descriptions of the infection on the dead and how it's spreading through Kursaal and the tourists, this feels a little bit like a zombie apocalypse. Which I liked a lot.

HALF, Kursaal and the themes

HALF is a ecoterrist (or is it?) organization that is sabotaging Kursaal. They are used on the narrative to comment on how the construction of the park is destryoing the planet and killing native life. And of course, how evil corporations are. Which are both true. Amy and Cockaigne are the most important characters from HALF in the book; the others are mostly cannon folder for disturbing deaths. Amy's death took me by surprise, I was not expecting it. And after that? Nobody is safe in the book.

I do wish though it (the HALF) was more cohesive with the themes. Perhaps Sam could have a conflict about what to do with the Jax; perhaps they could've been used to comment onto ecofacism (which they are not, I am just playing with what ifs), perhaps the park could've been indeed destroyed but it fucked up the future. I say that because they are core to the themes of the book and yet it's not important at all in the timeskip. By the Kursaal has finished its construction, Cockaigne is no longer working with HALF and the politics of the park revolve around the drug cartels - which are well established as a small problem fifteen years prior, so the worldbuilding is very done, it just doesn't fit that well thematically.

One of the things I disliked though, is that the book doesn't use the parks to its fullest. Kursaal is a leisure planet, full of thematic parks with vividy imagery. We could have had so much more fun with that.

And then, everybody died. Or, the Veredict.

This a very bleak book. I was not expecting that. Every single character dies horribly, except for Sam, the Doctor and a minor officer. Even some background characters. It fits, in a way. It's a blood hungry narrative and I like it for what it is. I even thought it would be a fitting ending for Sam if she died here. It could have been visceral, with a few tweaks in the thematics beats.

Considering how much dislike I had seen for Kursaal, I was not expecting such a fun read. It's even my third favorite book so far, behind only Vampire Science and Alien Bodies. A good surprise. ★★★★☆, for now.

#Bookshelf #EIghth Doctor #Sam Jones #EDAs #Kursaal #S-till the only person in her class who wouldn't throw rocks at gays-am Jones #Doctor Who

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darthvaderofmiddle-earth · 4 months

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I am entirely useless to the capitalistic world. The only jobs I can do are ones that require no degree. Those jobs abuse the fuck out of everyone, and pay minimum wage, or less, then hope you make the rest in tips.

Jobs that need certifications, I am too disabled to pass the classes for to get said certifications. My ADHD/autism brain fails everything and anything, always has, unless that thing is a language course or literature course.

I can't become a delivery driver because, again, disabled brain that can't handle the insane intensive CDL classes.

I can't do warehouse, shipment, or construction work because I can't bend, stand long, lift heavy things repeatedly, move heavy objects, etc.

I have no degree because I couldn't pass college due to my mental disabilities. So I can't go into any teaching fields, professor positions, anything.

Literally, I am stuck for life in retail work, getting paid shit wages, I make the least out of everyone in my house, I get no benefits and never have, and guess what? My shitass father says it's my fault that I can't get out of retail, that I haven't looked hard enough for a better job. I'm fucking lucky if one good job is hiring right now, and if they are, that I have the requirements to apply to said job, and if I can apply, that I get any response back, and if I do get a response back, that I don't get turned down immediately for an unknown reason, and if I don't, that I get an interview, and if I do get one, that I hear back even if it's just to tell me I didn't get the job.

If I apply to a retail position, I have to pass minimally 3 personality tests, multiple training exercises, and several arbitrary "intelligence" tests, none of which tell me whether or not I passed, just to possibly have my application go through for a minimum wage entry level position as a cashier, regardless of the fact that I've worked retail for 6 years. Those positions, most often, will give no reply and I'm applying to a void. If I get a response, most of the time it's to tell me I won't be considered/the job is looking for other candidates. If I get considered, I'm lucky to be told when my interview will be, but I usually get no further than the consideration. And if I get and go to the interview, dressed formally and appropriately, with a full resume of valid experience, and nail the interview completely, I'm damn lucky if I get a call or message back. Most often, that message will just deny me. If I don't get a message, I call the store to speak to the hiring manager, and the manager is, somehow, mysteriously always on vacation, or unavailable, and never gets my message relayed to them when they are.

And still, to my father, somehow, this is my fault. I didn't follow up enough, I didn't look hard enough for a good job, I didn't try hard enough to do xyz, whatever. It's ALWAYS my fault.

And? The same goes for my disability. Somehow he thinks I can overcome the conditions I have, and become completely abled, bend and lift and move heavy things, pass every class, etc. He believes I'm not trying hard enough to overcome my disabilities, that I'm not doing enough and I'm using my disabilities as an excuse and thus limit myself and what I can do simply because I "believe" my limits are what they are. He thinks I can push those limits and become abled.

You know what happens when I push the limits? I break my bones, I tear my muscles, my body collapses, I have breakdowns and meltdowns, I end up driven to the edge and kill myself. And whose fault is that? Well, apparently, it's mine. I didn't HAVE to break that bone. I didn't HAVE to tear those muscles. I didn't HAVE to collapse. I just wasn't doing that thing right!!! IT'S ALWAYS MY FAULT AND I'M FUCKING SICK OF IT!!!!!

I am USELESS to capitalism!!! And I'm not good enough to my father because of it!!!!! And that is apparently my fault!!!!!! There is nothing I can do because, fuck, I need a job to live!!!!! How am I supposed to live if I get abused and used at every available job IF there's even a smidgen of a chance I land that job???!!!!!

How do I live without money?? I don't!! How do I make money?? A job!! How do I get a good job?? I literally am too disabled to do that!!! I'm doomed and fucked over!!!! I hate this!!! And there's literally no escape and no hope for me!!!!!!

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loveforpreserumsteve · 4 months

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Love Grows (demon!Bucky and pre-serum!Steve omegaverse au)

OVER THE NEXT few weeks, Steve and Bucky became nearly inseparable. Steve didn't know if he had ever connected to another person so completely and so fast before in his life. Sure, he felt guilty about being glued to the hip with Bucky while he was still married, but that marriage wasn't going to last much longer. Besides, Hodge had checked out of their relationship long before Steve had even gotten fed up with him and his dear ol' husband's me-me-me behavior.

One of the things that Steve found most endearing about the alpha was how excited he was when it came to the baby growing inside of Steve. Sometimes, Steve liked to pretend that Bucky was the father, because boy, did he really screw the pooch when it came to that department and he hated that Henry-or-Lily had to grow up not knowing half of who they are. But with Bucky around, it was nice to imagine that little baby cozy and nuzzling in the alpha's muscular arms.

It was nice to imagine himself wrapped in those arms too, but that was just going to be Steve's little secret.

Entering the Loch Firm level of Bucky's brownstone, Steve headed into the waiting room and up to the receptionist's desk. Sitting there was a beta male that Steve had never seen before. Usually, Steve was greeted by the quiet omega, Ava. She was kind, if shy, and would always ask Steve how his bun-in-the-oven was doing.

"Hi, I'm here to see Bucky," Steve told the brunet.

"Name?"

"Steve," he answered, watching the brunet type on the computer.

"Do you have an appointment with Mr. Loch?"

Sheepishly, Steve rubbed over his protruding abdomen and admitted, "No, but –"

"I'm sorry but seeing Mr. Loch is by appointment only."

Feeling wrong-footed, Steve lowered his voice, "I'm a friend of –"

"Everyone is a friend of Mr. Loch," the man said, bored and unimpressed, "Even when they're really not."

"No, I'm actually –"

"You can make an appointment if you'd like, but it's a pretty long wait –"

"Please, can you just call –"

"Sir, you can either make an appointment," the man interrupted, sternly. "Or you can be removed."

"I'm –"

"Steve?" A female voice asked.

Turning, Steve found a vaguely familiar redhead standing in the entryway of the waiting room. In a sharp, excellently tailored dress suit with her orangey-red bob sleek and very professional.

"Is Mr. Rumlow giving you a hard time?" She asked, approaching the receptionist and Steve.

Marking over his own abdomen, Steve tried to soothe the spaghetti-squash sized unborn pup, "No, he's just doing his job."

"But is he giving you a hard time?"

Steve avoided looking at Mr. Rumlow because he was being a little rude, but he was just doing his job. It wasn't his fault that protocol insisted on appointments and removing unruly and uncooperative individuals.

Steve shook his head, "No."

The woman wasn't convinced. All she did was turn her gaze to the brunet on the other side of the desk. The beta seemed to sweat instantly under her attention as he apologized, "I'm sorry, Ms. Romanoff, but I was just –"

"This is Steve," Ms. Romanoff told him. "He's a personal friend of Mr. Loch and doesn't need an appointment."

"I understand," Mr. Rumlow swallowed thickly. Looking at Steve, he told the pregnant omega, "I'm sorry for the misunderstanding."

"It's alright," Steve assured, hoping that the people waiting for their appointments with the other lawyers – or even with Bucky – hadn't been paying attention to this little incident. He didn't want them to think poorly of him or assume that he was getting special treatment.

"C'mon, Steve," Ms. Romanoff led the way out of the waiting room and used her keycard to allow entry to the offices.

"Do I know you?" Steve asked, brows furrowed in concentration.

"No," she said, a smirk tugging at the corner of her plum-colored lips, "But I've heard plenty about you."

"Yeah?"

"Mhmm," she hummed in reply, using the keycard to unlock the next door that led to the more important offices. "We have mutual friends."

"We do?"

"Laura Barton, just to name one."

Racking his brain, he briefly remembered seeing a redhead exiting the elevator on the twelfth floor. Only, she had been heavily pregnant at the time. Steve asked, "Did you have a baby?"

"I did; Nikolai. He's my world."

"Well, congratulations," Steve smiled.

"Thank you," she smiled in reply. "And congratulations to you too. In case I don't see you before you pop."

Grinning down at his bump, Steve said, "Thanks."

With a quick knock to Bucky's office door, the redhead opened it and peeked her head inside. "You have a visitor."

"Is it Steve?"

Steve's cheeks reddened while the beta opened the door wider to reveal him as she confirmed, "It is."

Awkwardly, Steve waved at the alpha as he sat behind his desk. The brunet grinned at the sight of the blond and told the redhead, "Thanks, Natasha."

Natasha nodded and left the two alone. Steve entered the office and closed the door behind himself. Crossing the room, Steve said, "I've decided on bunnies."

"Bunnies," Bucky repeated around a mouthful of a turkey and swiss sandwich. "Bunnies are cute."

Taking a seat across from the brunet, Steve accepted the other half of his sandwich, "Very cute."

"Also cute for anybody, no matter the sex."

"Exactly!" Steve agreed, taking a bite. It was a damn good sandwich, especially the spicy mustard that his wombmate loved so much. Moaning in delight at the deliciousness, Steve said, "Y'know, if you ever want to give all of this up to start a sandwich shop, I'd definitely be a loyal customer."

"Is that so?"

"Yup," Steve confirmed, finishing off his half of the sandwich.

Without any comment, Bucky tore his half in half. He shoved the half that he had already bitten out of in his own mouth and passed the other to Steve. At first, Steve protested, but Bucky shook his head, "No, no, you're eating for two."

Rolling his eyes, Steve accepted the sandwich and ate it in two bites. Relaxing back in the comfy chair, Steve asked, "What're your plans for the rest of the day?"

"Well, that depends."

"On...?"

"On what your plans are."

Trying – and failing – to keep the smile on his face small, Steve asked, "Would you want to help me with the nursery?"

"Is that even a question?"

As Bucky stood from his large desk, Steve's brows furrowed, "You don't have any clients this afternoon?"

Briefly, the alpha glanced down at his planner. His finger was touching the paper, following his itinerary. "Besides a Glee marathon, I'm free."

"Oh, well, I wouldn't want to disturb your Glee-athon," Steve teased, standing with Bucky's assistance.

"As if you wouldn't like to get in on that," Bucky good-humoredly scoffed.

Steve pressed his lips together as he playfully narrowed his eyes. However, he couldn't keep up the facade for long. Bucky was just too cute when he got like this. So, following Bucky out of Loch Firm, Steve offered, "How about we Gleek out and wallpaper the nursery?"

"That –" Bucky grinned, draping his arm along Steve's slender shoulder and reeling him in "– is a wonderful idea. You're so smart, y'know that? Your kid's gonna be smart too."

"I sure hope so," Steve chuckled, rubbing his bump.

Ruffling Steve's blond hair, "They will be. Trust me."

And just like every other time, Steve did.

Merry Christmas Eve and happy holidays! Wishing you all the best and safe travels! Much love and appreciation Minnie ❤❤❤

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boneybrokengoblin · 6 months

Text

Dear diary,

I think it may be healthy to start doing little entries every day. I feel like it will help me a little bit.

Its been almost 5 months since nathan moved out. I’m doing my best to make it work. I’m doing my best to keep a level head and tell myself its not the end of the world.

It feels really weird living my day to day life without him at home. Even though to me home is where he is. I miss coming home from work to him. And sleeping together every night. Its so odd going about my schedule with out him.

But i feel like i have been selfish and blind to the pain he is going through. It’s been 4 years and he still doesn’t open up to me like i wish he did. I feel like I’ve ignored the pain and struggle he has been going through and I’m just harping on him while he’s just trying to stay afloat. Just like how my life was turned upside down his was too. And if anything he’s in a worse position than me. I keep forgetting that it was my fault. And I don’t want those feelings to build because it wasn’t solely my decision. I just get filled with so much guilt and regret when i think about it. I wish i never changed a thing. I winder where we would be if he never moved out. What we would be doing.

I am thinking about making him a little gift basket. Not that it means much but I’ll fill it with all the little things he needs. The things he’s missing around the house and such.

I gotta remember that he’s going to school for me. That he’s working this hard because he wants to provide for me so I don’t have to destroy my mental health exerting myself at a job that doesn’t fulfill me. He has new big goals and I’m so so proud of him. I gotta do what i can to return the favor. But also excell and do what i want to do.

I miss him all the time but i need to learn how to revel in my loneliness. It’s going to be very difficult; but I’ve done it all alone and on my own for my whole life. I think I’ll be okay.

11/1/23

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zeke-ewan · 1 year

Text

"Damnit now which tab had that message again..."

Furiously switching tabs, the writer wondered if that saying had any weight; was there truly any merit in pulling out one's hair in the pursuit of a goal whose location had become lost among the rest of the void? If he were to yank a few strands, could the shock of reality lead him back to where he saw the... well he didn't even truly know what he found in that code behind a different code.

[[What follows is both a stream of consciousness and passion, and hopefully finally getting some intrusive thoughts out of my head, as well as an improv creative writing experiment. Under the cut due to length. Keep reading at your own discretion/time. Glhf xx]]

All he remembered was, and he wasn't entirely sure that it was even real after all that followed, he had found the most perfect job.

All his life, people had been asking him what kind of job he would like to do. He always had difficulties when people asked him those questions. There always seemed to be some hidden meaning behind the questions, and the hidden meaning seemed to be the key to the correct answer. But what if he disagreed with the correct answer? Could it still be correct if it is unsuitable for covering all the variables in an individual's life?

The perfect job. He had tried for years to determine just exactly what the perfect job was, relative to himself. So many had been attempted in the pursuit of happiness and balance, for which he oft felt he was playing on a different difficulty than those around him. Those for whom he was envious, not jealous. For he never wanted to take from others. He only wanted to ask them to share, the way no siblings had been around to share with him growing up. And only if they had some to share, whatever it was for which he Dreamed.

He had felt seen. That was all that he could truly confirm. The doctors had been throwing around terms like "paranoia" and "schizophrenia" whilst he was in care, but he had a secret about the entire time he was in the ward. He wasn't out of control as much as they thought; he was possibly the most in control of his actions he possibly could have been, on what was likely ten hours of sleep across four days, at best guess.

So why was he acting so outrageous? Well, that's the answer, isn't it? He was acting, or so he thought. Or rather, auditioning.

As the writer attempted to rid himself of more tabs filled with misdirection and coincidence, he still fought that battle in his mind.

Was it all a dream?

Or was it all the only job interview he felt may actually result in a job he could do? He'd tried so many other types of jobs already, and felt suited to roughly none of them, for ongoing sustainability.

It was difficult to remember what was actually real. His partner was real, the one who had done their best to comfort and de-escalate him during his peak episode. Every moment he felt he could, he had lowered his voice to comfort the poor long-suffering partner. It was not their fault, they were doing everything they could, but with respect, he had figured it out. Or so he thought at the time.

"The bruises are real..." he was able to confirm, as every time his partner tried to lay their hand on his arm, it was another bittersweet, painful reminder of the physical abuse he suffered during his "audition".

Why did he think it was an audition?

Well, that's quite a long story. To be Frank, he would have to change his name and he's already done that twice thank you very much. To be candid, the writer was able to identify exactly where the whole episode started.

He simply wanted to do some stand-up comedy in his local community, and be paid for his work. And what did the mentors and veterans in his local group respond? "New comics work for free... No one gets paid for their first job... Would you demand pay at Kareoke?"

No! Was his answer for all of those. Why should comics work for free if they're booked? Most entry-level comedy nights don't even have a transparent sign-up system, let alone an opportunity for the artist to make any money.

This particular writer was certainly being paid for his first job - bussing tables at a restaurant for people bitching why the other tables around them have chairs on them already "well, with respect, it's because you sat down with a table of ten people half an hour before close, so if we'd like to get out of here when we stop getting paid, we need to clean around you, so please let us clean up while you take the staff's cleaning time and throw it after your late dinner". Had the author ever committed such an atrocity? Absolutely! Was he likely to ever do it again? Not if he could help it!

This particular comic had already been paid for a job, and wasn't interested in doing more for free, unless there was an agreement that if the work was solid, there would be pay.

This particular artist has performed many a ditty at karaoke, but had he ever expected to be paid? Absolutely not! Why? Because at karaoke, one does not perform their own original work. At karaoke, one can mimic another's work as terribly as they like and the crowd would likely go wild, if the singer committed to the bit.

Was the aspiring creative soul looking to be rich quick? Absolutely not! He just wants to make some art and be paid, like he did at all of the other jobs he did, trying to fit into the Box/Label/Group/victim that society had built for him and found that they simply did not fit.

This writer fancied himself coining a phrase, or is it a parable? Regardless, he believed to be the first to phrase as follows, but would certainly be open to feedback should he prove naïve: People are to labels are cats are to boxes; if chosen for oneself, it provides comfort, armour, and safety; if forced in by another, it feels restraining, isolating, and derogatory, and most of all, against one's free will. Also if someone else is building the box for you to fit, are they taking your measurements? Asking what conditions you need to thrive? The writer didn't seem to think so, based on historical data of an experiment ongoing for 32 years and not likely to stop soon.

So what exactly did the writer want? He didn't want to be rich and powerful, for that would be too much pressure and responsibility, and he knew for a fact that his mental health was not allowing him the generosity of a peaceful existence, nor the sense that all of his thoughts could be trusted.

But he sure did have some thoughts about how to drum up fundraising in his local artistic community. He was the kind to have Endless ideas, like he was some sort of Dream lord, or Story lord.

He was not attempting to bottle fame, brew glory, or even put a stopper on death, though he did fear that due to the prevalence of Hate and Crime against his siblings over the globe, that perhaps he wouldn't make it to the age where an artist/writer often makes their first break. He was an only child per upbringing, but could swear he felt the world's pain, like

He had never taken a writing class, because when they were free he was unfortunately uninterested, and by the time he was interested, the classes were no longer free. But he had spent a lot of time writing. 100s of 1000s of words poured into passionate alternative universes and the smut that would likely never happen for whatever reasons. Through exploring writing through free and collaborative means, he learned some lessons about the things he wrote. Some things are dangerous to write because without the important moral and safety messages or trigger warnings: words have power of influence. That was the point he was determined to make all this time. If words of love shouted can harm, then surely words of harm whispered can erode love.

He had never taken an acting class, because when he had the option to do it for free at school, he felt too unpopular to play pretend with the experts. He so desperately wanted his peers to laugh with him, not at him. But he had been acting his whole life; it just took taking off the Mask for him to realise just how much acting the people with whom he interacted were getting for free.

Who was he, after all?

He was the one whose report cards always championed for high intelligence and excellent communication skills, but was always failing to apply himself.

He was the one who was always too shy to confirm that he himself was invited to that Party, because so many times people invited everyone around him without inviting him because he was too weird, or an over-sharer, or dominated conversations. He's the one who knows he can easily dominate a conversation, and is also self-aware enough to take break when he can, constantly watching the other participants for their turn.

He was the one who went through talks at his work about the "bathroom policy" because they allegedly didn't already have one when he started there. Why did he go through all the bullshit of defending himself to corporate cogs who never practice what they preach? Just so no one else would have to at that same workplace.

He was the one who was so triggered by the shooting at Club Q that his mind potentially fractured into Deadline mode, because he could feel the hurt of his siblings, more dead. He only hoped they made it somewhere like the Endless, with a changed king caring for his subjects big and small.

He was also the one who kept trying to tag in his friends to his creative works because he had all the ideas just not much ability to "do".

He never thought that he could possibly be offered even a job interview with some of his writing heroes like @neil-gaiman (the "psychotic episode as they're calling it, told the writer he was invited to at least audition his creativity, though the deepest cuts of the Manic Episode said he may also audition for another sibling Not-Yet introduced), or @danharmon (Full Meta Jack Rick spoke to him so hard he thought Dan had been in his own mind but was challenging him to stand by his point) and potentially @wilwheaton was also cheering him on somehow. @justinroilandofficial-blog had the day off for this fever dream, but his voices sure did join the writers in the inner dialogue.

What did the writer even want, in the end? What could possibly make him get off his noisy soapbox? Well, the "tangible" thing he wanted was simply some funding so he could explore this creativity without asking creative friends to halt their JobSeeking to play pretend with him. He has enough trouble getting through his daily existence without trying to write his first breaking story. Mysterious funding with no strings attached would surely simply exacerbate this little one's paranoia.

What would his dream come true look like? Well, if he could remember what the effing homework was, he was really hoping it was going to lead to a bright, creative, and financially supported future, the kind he could bring all of his poor and creative friends along, for he was not the only one struggling to fit into society's box.

Does this writer want a life-long allowance or the kind of money that should leave a lot leftover? Absolutely not. The only reason this writer needs money is because it is so bloody important for sending messages and telling stories, because he could most definitely create his own movies/shows, even with his own crew, but he has no money to pay them.

And at the end of the day, that was the point. Artists should get paid. And I want to pay them myself to work with me, alas I am "unemployed" and used all my savings from my last full-time job to survive long enough to figure out that I really can't perform to their standards, and by they I mean my previous employers.

For I am Groot (lol couldn't help making one real reference) and I am outgrowing my tiny little pot. And I lost two people so I'm down to first person now.

This is just me trying to get some of the hectic thoughts out of my head, of which there are so very many. If I mentioned you in this and you're tired of people name dropping you or contacting you, I'm sorry. Please understand that if I mentioned or contacted you, I feel like you're one of the Good Ones, and I'm sorry for disturbing you. I appreciate you, and I thought you were approachable. I'm sorry for my disrespect of your privacy/boundaries. I was desperate to be seen, and thought I was dying, sort of...

I'm not sure how to end this but the partner will be home soon and I want to do a nice little thing for her so ummmmmmm OH I KNOW.

GLHF xx

Zeke

P.S. Anyone play Overwatch? My team has tank, damage, and support, just need another damage and support and we've got a full team!

P.P.S. Yes I know Hit Record exists but I want to work more personally with my team, just need someone rich who wants to mess around with something different, mentor me, gamble on me, the way I've gambled on every person who came into my life on whether they should stay. I have no money so I give away a bit of trust to everyone I meet, to see what they do with just a little bit. Then as they earn more, they get more. Can I trade some trust for funding? I have very few assets due to having to move every 1-2 years or so since I moved out because I couldn't afford the new rent etc. I could go on. Trying not to, like always.

#writers on tumblr #creative writing #stream of consciousness #stream of passion #stream of thoughts #dreaming #wishing #I would do anything for love but i won't work for free #i will however audition for free #i just need a chance to show what i can do #if you want to take a chance on me im pretty sure you already know how to get in touch with me #and if you don't you could start by sending me a message #for i am looking for investors #and mentors because i know i have a lot to learn #and i felt seen by the media until all of those protago nicks just keep shitting on those around them without being #accountable for their actions #neil gaiman #wil wheaton #dan harmon #justin roiland #this boy needs therapy #and he's doing as much of it as he can while no psychologists bulk bill anymore WHAT IS THE POINT OF BULK BILLING IF NO ONE CHOOSES TO DO I #looking for investors

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above-the-cloudz · 2 years

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A Generation Who Was Given Everything but Feels Nothing

I will be the first to admit that the sociopolitical climate of our world these days is both frightening and isolating. I believe that there are constant ever-growing divides between generations, social classes, religions, political affiliations, sexualities, races, etc, comprising a list which has no end. Everyday, the publication of the strained discourse between peoples of various walks of life has turned our modern world into, pardon my dramatics, a waking dystopian nightmare.

Lately, I feel that in my personal life, I have felt the greatest divide between the younger generations and the older in regards to work ethic, mental health, rallying, politics, etc. I mean, you name it, there’s probably an ongoing argument on Facebook about it. The interesting thing about this, though, is that whether they admit to it or not, most people are not willing to listen. It ends up becoming a lose-lose argument as both are so dead set in their ideologies that neither is willing to compromise or call “truce.”

Recently, a phrase has been coined in the media and the general population, “No one wants to work anymore.” This hits close to home as someone who has never been able to find her calling, per se, or her passion within this capitalistic society. It’s definitely not for lack of trying. I’ve tried out many different jobs in different fields, studied many diverse topics, and engaged in many dialogues and discussions surrounding various paths. None of them have ever resonated with me, but still, I hold a job and carry my weight in the workplace to the best of my ability despite having no real drive or dedication to the work I’m doing. Yet I am not given the allowance or freedom to even try out other fields due to the way our job market currently stands. With these entry level positions either being unpaid internships, which still demand full time hours without compensation, to beginner roles, which don’t even offer livable wages, we’re not left with much of a choice. It’s almost like the world is telling us that we just have to pick something and settle for it because only by staying loyal to one company for long periods of time does the opportunity open up for pay increases high enough to allow one to live and feel even remotely financially secure. I am guilty of saying the phrase “I don’t want to work.” And still, to some extent, I mean that. It’s not because I’m lazy or don’t wish to “do my part,” whatever that means [I mean essentially we are all feeding into the capitalistic structure which only benefits the rich anyways]. It’s simply because I do not find any joy in the jobs I have done…no fulfillment. And isn’t life about looking back on your life and hoping you felt “fulfilled?”

I honestly don’t understand how our parents’ generation can fault us for that. They will constantly say that they came from nothing and had to work their butts off to get to where they are and to provide for their families, and I in no way doubt that or wish to undermine their experiences. However, they worked so hard on providing financial stability for us, because they themselves lacked that in their youth, that they didn’t stop and think about the consequences of making that the main priority in their parenting. In many ways, by making work and bread-winning, if you will, the main priority in their life, whether it was for the sake of their family or to satisfy some inner craving for the life they wanted when they were younger but never had, they failed to some degree in providing a necessary level of emotional stability. I wholeheartedly believe that is why my generation has so much lingering childhood trauma and issues with connecting with others. It’s because we were told as kids that love meant providing for someone financially, making sure that we had the basic human necessities and the most popular shiny new toy. By providing that for us, it meant that we were loved. But that is not what we wanted, or I guess not what I wanted. I would’ve given anything to simply have had more time dedicated to taking me out for activities and getting to know my parents as people and caretakers rather than being given a toy and told to “run off and play” while my parents gorged themselves on alcohol and “adult” conversations that children were not allowed to be privy to….and they wonder why we are “entitled.”

Going back to the matter of how financial stability led to us being “less inclined” to work, I think that our parents basically said “We’ve got the finances and basic necessities taken care of. So since we can provide for you, you just need to focus on finding your passions and interests.” And I am very grateful to have been given the opportunity to explore various mediums of self expression, but when it was time to choose what to study in college [and going to college was not an option but an expectation], most of us went with what we were passionate about, even if it would not be a well-paying field. Then, when we graduated and couldn’t find jobs with our useless degrees and crippling debt, our parents told us that we couldn’t just keep waiting for the perfect dream job to come, we had to pick something to keep us financially stable and to “pay the bills.” Following passions was for children, and we’re adults now. But you can’t just rewire your brain overnight. We’re now stuck standing behind counters or sitting in dusty, dark cubicles, hating our lives because all we want to do is go out and chase our dreams, because that’s what we were raised to do. So, does it not make sense then that we would possess less work drive than our predecessors? They literally raised us from infancy and yet act like the parts of our behavior they dislike are not a direct result of their parenting. This is why so many young people have horrible depression and anxiety and various other mental health problems, not to mention lacking a basic will to live.

Nowadays, there is such an emphasis on braving the negative aspects of one’s life without being offered the social allowance to speak out about our trials and tribulations. Rather, we are preached at and expected to internalize it and keep it bottled up. It both amuses and irritates me to hear the same muddled, apathetic responses to my fellow humans’ desire to vent frustrations. People will either say, “Why do you have to be so negative all the time?”; “Well, in my life [insert attempt to one-up someone else’ struggles]”; “That’s just the world we live in.”; There are numerous others, but it would cause undue duress to recall that which has been blasted to my psyche one too many times.

In conclusion, our generation is frightened to death of living their entire life working 5-7 days a week just to afford a roof over our heads and food on the table, having no energy and time left for actual living. That is why we “don’t want to work.” We want to live and express ourselves and leave our mark on the world. Here’s my take: Maybe our parents’ generation is so up in arms about this mentality because they’ve already worked their life away and probably regret it [though they would most likely never admit to it], and instead of encouraging us to not make the same mistakes they did, they are wanting us to suffer just as they did. But I say “No.” I will work only to live. I refuse to live to work. The world is too vast and beautiful and diverse to stay in one dusty, dark cubicle, surrounded by small talk and gossip. And if you want to criminalize me for thinking that way, I guess there is nothing I can do about that, but at the end of the day, by prioritizing myself, I hope that when I look back on my life, I see a satisfied smile on my face and not a frown and furrowed brow.

[P.S. Is my negativity showing?]

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judgebirth32 · 2 years

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