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why-animals-do-the-thing · 1 year

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Weird question but do you think its possible to become a zookeeper without a degree? I'm 29 and don't have the time, energy, or money to go back to college and fear I've missed my chance at my dream career. I'm not sure how to get experience or what I could possibly do to help my resume.

It’s definitely possible! Not super common, but possible - and much more so than it would have been a couple of years ago.

When I was in college (early 2010s) and wanting to enter the field, there was a pretty clear pipeline: four year degree, unpaid summer internships, then apply for a part-time or temp position somewhere, and volunteer somewhere until you get a first job. This is still somewhat of the way it’s done at bigger AZA facilities.

But, interestingly enough, things are changing. There’s two things really driving that. The first is the massive push for increased DEAI efforts in the zoo industry. After the big commitments AZA and many individual zoos made during the BLM protests in 2020, one of the big conversations that started was how inequitable zoo hiring and especially internship programs are. Requiring four years degrees and large amounts of unpaid labor before getting a job - and paying poverty wages once someone gets that job - biases success entering and staying in the zoo field towards people with generational wealth. I honestly didn’t think the advocacy that stemmed from those discussions would do much, and I’ve been very pleasantly surprised to see that I was wrong! There’s a been a lot of real movement towards creating paid internships and making hiring requirements more equitable. It isn’t happening everywhere, but I know it’s becoming more and more common (and last year there was a ton of presentations about this on the AZA annual meeting schedule, which is a huge deal). The other thing that’s happening is less formal, but equally fascinating. I’ve been present for a lot of discussions about how there’s a disconnect between what zoos are hiring for (formal education, complex resumes) and what skills the job actually requires. It seems like it’s easier to train people to work with animals and learn their behavior than it is to teach people practical skills like how to do manual labor without hurting themselves and operate heavy machinery. I’ve seen some discussions of how some of their most successful new staff have come from adjacent industries or even just other “blue-collar” jobs that involve similar types of work, regardless of what their academic background is. Which is great! Because that adds to equity and diversity of staff across the industry.

To start off the rest of my answer, there has to be a disclaimer that I’m not in hiring, so I can’t say for sure what will get you a job (and while I’ve volunteered and interned, I have never been formally hired as staff by a zoological facility). So my advice for the rest of this comes from watching and listening to a whole ton of industry folk for the past decade or so, and from what I’ve seen my friends do that’s been successful to get jobs in the field.

In terms of experience, the best thing you can do - and I hate to say this, because it does require a level of privilege to be able to do - is volunteer somewhere. It doesn’t have to be at a zoo. Anything that will give you some animal experience for a resume and references will be valuable: shelters, vet offices, riding barns, farms, even 4H. You need to be able to demonstrate that you’ve worked around a variety of species (even if they’re all domestic) and have people who can speak to the fact that you’re diligent, attentive to detail, and have common sense about things like safety protocols. If you can’t volunteer, try to find a job in any of these areas with similar skills. Or where you can learn them! Say you can’t get an animal care job, but you’re good at phones and people - you could get a desk job at an animal shelter, and help out with cleaning and animal enrichment when possible. Boom! Experience!

It’s also important to learn how to shape your current job experience to an application, which is something I can talk more about and maybe pull in advice from folk actually in hiring for. There’s a ton that can be applicable to animal jobs. Office work? You can probably speak to experience with proprietary software systems and record-keeping (which is a bigger deal than you’d think). Construction / landscaping / similar physical labor jobs? You know how to work hard in a range of weather conditions, keep a project on spec, have experience with complex project planning, and probably know a thing or two about basic safety stuff (don’t store heavy things above your head, lift with your legs, etc). You’re basically looking to communicate “I haven’t worked in this field, but here’s all the skills I have that will translate to this job.”

Realistically, if you’re coming in without a degree or a ton of animal experience, you’re much more likely to be able to get a job at smaller, non-AZA facilities to start (they might not even be zoos - there’s sanctuaries and petting zoos and all sorts of other professional animal care gigs). And this is fine and good! There’s lots of good ones out there. You can always use experience gained there to move up in the field, if it’s your dream to work at an AZA facility specifically. And a lot of people do that - you’ll hear some places talk about how they know they’re training zoos, because their staff get a foot in the door and then consistently leave for other facilities after a couple years. But there’s also a lot of reasons to stay with some of the smaller facilities. They’re often in areas with cheaper cost of living, and so a zookeeping salary will go farther. I’ve also seen that a lot of the smaller facilities - ones where like, staff know and interact with the zoo director frequently - tend to take better care of their staff. They may not be able to increase salary, but I’ve seen some of those facilities go the extra mile for their people in other ways when it’s possible. It’s a very different experience than being a small cog in the giant machines that are many AZA zoos. It’s the sort of thing you have to vet carefully, but when you find a small facility that really invests in it’s people, it can be very worthwhile.

You also have to think about the fact that you don’t have to start in zookeeping to get an animal care job! I’ve seen a lot of people start in education or in summer camp staff, and then use the relationship with the facility and their track record in those jobs to transition into animal care. Especially education, if you’ve got the skill-set, because you’re often working with ambassador animals or in collaboration with the teams that care for them. I’ve seen some people start in facilities or ground crew, too, but I think that’s less common. Getting your foot in the door somehow and building relationships is one of the biggest parts of getting a job in the field if you’re not following the traditional pipeline.

If you’re near enough to a smaller facility that you can visit regularly, do. Learn as much as you can about the zoo and what they do and what they’re involved in, to show that you’re interested and invested, and then go talk to someone there. Tell them exactly what you told me: this is a dream, and you’re really interested in their facility specifically, and you’re wondering what you should do to build a resume to apply for a job there. At worst, you’ll get some advice. At best, they might take a chance on you. I’ve heard of it happening. (The hardest part of this is, honestly, figuring out who to talk to - it’s not the sort of thing where you can just ask a keeper while they’re cleaning. But you can find opportunities, and then ask if there’s someone in management who might have time to answer a couple questions.)

So in short: yes. It’ll take some work and time, and probably some free labor, but it’s doable. More so now than any other time recently. Good luck!

#zookeeping #zoo industry #getting a zoo job #how to become a zookeeper #job advice

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supernaturalscribe67 · 7 months

Text

Sucker

Words: 6,602

POV: 3rd Person

Pairing: Gabriel x Trans!FTM!Winchester!Reader

Warning(s): Fluff, Language (had to tell Dean to shut the fuck up a couple times), brotherly bickering

Summary: The reader is introduced to Gabriel, the famous trickster/archangel, for the first time, much to his brothers' dismay. What the reader didn't expect from their first meeting was to meet a rather handsome man with smooth talk to match. What happens when he starts to get feelings for the person that annoys Sam and Dean the most?

Request:

Do you write for Gabriel as well? If so, could you write something about maybe the reader being Dean and Sam's younger brother (the relationship was really cute in "aginst the grain" and "lucky", i'd also love ftm reader, but it's up to you if you want to make it specific or not) and Gabriel finally meets him, making the other two go kinda protective over that, it's Gabriel after all, he has messed with them a lot in the past. They'd probably go especially uneasy if Gabriel gets kinda flirty or if so does the reader.

Anonymous

A/N: Someone take my computer away from me. Once I start writing, I can't stop. This wasn't supposed to be that long but holy Hell, I guess it's this long. I hope I did your request justice and I hope I wrote Gabriel well! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

~ Much Love!

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

(Y/N) loved having the first shower after a hunt.

The water was always hot, the perfect relaxer for his muscles that would undoubtedly ache the next day. Despite how long he had been hunting, certain aspects of the job made him feel like a rookie. Salt and burns were one example. That night, he had been tasked with helping Dean dig out the grave while Sam kept an eye out for security and any apparitions that would make a surprise appearance. For the first thirty minutes of digging the hole, he felt alive, like a rush of adrenaline was coursing through his veins. Perhaps the idea of committing a crime was to blame for that. Near the half-hour mark, he could feel the muscles in his arms beginning to strain, but the job had to be completed.

It took two hours to dig four feet to the coffin - he cursed the dry Southern weather for making the dirt so coarse - and by the end of it, his arms fell limp and weak at his sides. His legs felt some irritation from pushing the shovel into the ground, but they weren’t nearly as affected as his upper arms. He sent a silent prayer to whoever might be listening that the next hunt didn’t involve as much manual labor. If they did run into a ghost, he at least hoped the ghost held an attachment to an object that they could easily burn. Gravedigging was the last thing he wanted to think about.

He showered for forty-five minutes, longer than he had anticipated, but the water had placed him in an exhausted trance. Truth be told, he could have fallen asleep under the shower spray. He just hoped the cheap motel held enough warm water in their tanks for his brothers to experience some relaxation.

Motel towels were always scratchy on the surface of his skin. It was annoying, but there was some relief in knowing that the rough texture would guarantee a more thorough cleaning. Despite the cheap body wash he always snagged from the local dollar store, he never felt dirty leaving a motel bathroom. Once his body was dried, he put on his boxers and an oversized t-shirt, thankful for Walmart’s wide variety of sizes so he could conceal his chest. He placed both hands on either side of the sink, staring into the steam-covered mirror. He reached up, drew a small smiley face in the center of it, and watched as the eyes and mouth dripped. The warmth of the small room was comforting, and he was finding it difficult to leave.

A loud knock rapped on the door. “You gonna spend any more time in there? If I take a cold shower, I swear to God,” Dean’s voice came in muffled through the wooden door.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, don’t get your pretty silk panties in a twist,” he grumbled, and he could practically feel his brother’s eye roll through the door.

A sigh passed his lips as he looked at the smiley face he had drawn, which looked as if it had melted away in the hot sun. He reached a hand up and wiped the remnants of the picture away. As he retracted his hand, he could see his reflection in the opaque glass. Dark circles had begun to form under his eyes, a side effect from hunting. The endless, restless nights seemed to be getting to him and aged him more than he would have liked. He groaned as he straightened up, brought a hand up to his face, and ran his fingers over his eyes, nose, and cheeks.

When he opened his eyes again, instead of staring into a reflection that mirrored his presence, to his left, behind his shoulder, stood a man. Time froze. A playful smirk appeared on the man’s lips. He was short - compared to Sam and Dean, at least - with dark brown hair swept back neatly against his head. Stubble was placed along his jaw, chin, and upper lip. His sideburns were shaped with a slight point on the end of them, facing outward. He had a button-up shirt on, the top two buttons were undone to expose a small puff of his chest hair, and a dark green jacket.

(Y/N)’s eyes widened as he stared at the man in the mirror. The air became heavy. He could feel his presence behind him, but he wouldn’t dare turn around.

“So, you’re the famous baby Winchester?” The man raised a brow.

His voice startled (Y/N). He turned around quickly and came face to face with the stranger.

“I’m a little surprised,” the man scratched his head. “I would have thought that you would look, you know, more like your brothers.”

(Y/N) could feel his heart pounding in his chest as if it was trying to escape. The fear bubbled inside of his gut. He had no weapons on him, yet the man didn’t seem like a threat. Nonetheless, there was a strange man in the motel bathroom with him. One who just appeared out of thin air. That was cause enough for alarm. His eyes glanced towards the closed bathroom door.

The man looked at the door and then back at (Y/N). “Oh, please don’t scream.”

“Sam! Dean!” (Y/N) shouted as he rushed to the door.

The man groaned and rubbed his temples. In the same instant that (Y/N) got the door open, the man vanished. (Y/N) stumbled out of the bathroom and into his eldest brother’s arms. Dean staggered, his back pressed against the wall. Sam stood next to them, a look of worry crossing his face.

“What happened? What happened?” Dean asked with alarm in his voice.

“There’s a guy! He-he,” (Y/N) turned to look behind him, a hand lifted to point in the direction of the bathroom, but stopped himself from talking once he saw that the man was gone.

Dean looked into the bathroom, brows furrowed. He and Sam stepped away from (Y/N) and toward the open door. Dean glanced inside, checking behind the door and in the shower. Dean threw his hands up.

“What guy?” He asked. “There’s no guy here, you almost gave me a heart attack.” Dean placed his hand over his chest as he walked out of the bathroom.

“There was a guy! He just appeared behind me!” (Y/N) said.

“Are you sure, (Y/N)?” Sam asked, doing a sweep of the bathroom from the doorway. “It doesn’t look like anyone besides you has been in here. There aren’t any windows, so no one could have gotten in. Are you sure you’re not just tired?”

“I saw him!”

“Sure you did, kid,” Dean walked up to him and clapped his shoulder. “Maybe you should lay off the horror movies for a while.”

“Now, that’s not very nice, Dean-O. No need to tease him like that,” the voice appeared in the center of the room.

All heads turned toward the sound of the voice. The man, who had been in the bathroom with (Y/N), stood in the center of the room. The playful smirk that had been on his face earlier was ever-present. (Y/N) grabbed Dean’s arm and moved closer to him. He pointed frantically at the stranger.

“That’s him! He was in the bathroom!”

Sam furrowed his brows. “Gabriel?”

Gabriel raised his arms in a presentation-type pose. “The one and only.”

“What the Hell are you doing here?” Dean asked, his tone more irritated than anything.

“Gabriel? As in, the archangel Gabriel?” (Y/N) asked his tense shoulders slouching as his body relaxed.

“Again: the one and only,” Gabriel smiled. “And, to answer your question, Dean, a little birdy told me that you were in town, so I figured I would stop by, and see my favorite Winchesters. Heard the youngest was here, and I thought it was about time we met. Although, I heard that you had a younger sister. Must’ve been a mistake.”

“Yeah, that’s a mistake alright.” Dean placed his hands on his hips. “Alright, you came in, you saw us, now can you please leave?”

“Woah, woah, what happened to hospitality? Why don’t you introduce me to your brother, here?” Gabriel sauntered over towards the three of them.

“No, now get out.”

“Not until an introduction is made.”

“Gabriel, we just got off of a hunt. We need some rest, now can you please leave?” Sam crossed his arms.

“Come on, guys, it’ll get him out of here so we can go to sleep,” (Y/N) mumbled before he turned to Gabriel. He held out a hand. “(Y/N) Winchester,”

“(Y/N),” he said the name as if testing it on his tongue. He reached out, grasped (Y/N)’s hand gently in his own, brought it up to his lips, and gave a small kiss on the back of it. “Gabriel. Nice to finally meet you.”

(Y/N) raised his brows, his cheeks heating up with blush. Dean rolled his eyes and swatted Gabriel’s hand away from (Y/N).

“Alright, alright, none of that,” Dean grumbled, sending a death glare toward Gabriel. “You know his name, now get out.”

Gabriel ignored him, his eyes stuck on (Y/N). “So, (Y/N), aside from being good-looking, what do you do in your free time?”

Dean and Sam both groaned and rolled their eyes, shaking their heads. (Y/N) felt his chest warm up the same as his face. He glanced down and fiddled with his fingers. Gabriel licked his lips, the corner of his mouth curling up into a smirk.

“Cat got your tongue?” He questioned.

“Well, I’m trying to think of something to say, but all I can think about is how cute you are.”

Gabriel looked at him, amused shock crossing his face. He straightened up for a minute, but, before he could say anything, Dean held his hands up.

“That’s enough,” Dean interjected, glancing at (Y/N) and then at Gabriel. “Leave.”

“But I’m having such a nice conversation,”

“Gabriel,” Sam spoke up, moving between (Y/N) and Gabriel, towering over him. His voice was low, intimidating. “Go.”

Gabriel raised his hands in mock surrender. He snapped his fingers and disappeared in front of the brothers. “Okay, okay, I’ll leave,” Gabriel’s voice came from behind the trio.

They all turned around. Gabriel stood right before (Y/N), eyes attached to him. He reached behind his back for a brief moment and pulled it back around. In his hand was a red rose with a short stem, free of prickles. He held it out.

“A parting gift, for you.”

(Y/N) hesitantly took him, a small smile on his face. “Thank you,”

Gabriel shrugged. “I know it’s not as beautiful as you, but it’s the best I can do for now.”

“Gabriel,” Dean warned.

“I’m going, I’m going.” Gabriel shook his head. “I hope to see you again soon, sweetheart,” He pointed at (Y/N).

“We’ll see.”

Gabriel winked before he snapped his fingers and disappeared from the room.

The room was quiet aside from the faint humming of the cheap air conditioner. (Y/N) studied the rose that Gabriel had given him. It appeared freshly in bloom, the red petals curled at the ends, the floral scent evident even from a distance. The stem was slightly wet from being cut. (Y/N) brought the flower to his nose and inhaled the intoxicating smell as he turned around to face his brothers. When he looked up, he immediately noticed the ‘if looks could kill’ gaze in their eyes.

“What?” (Y/N) asked and shrugged.

“Really?” Sam asked.

“What?”

“You know,” Dean began. “I’ve stopped butting in when you flirt with someone at a bar, or when you want to take someone back to a motel. I’ve learned to shut my mouth. But Gabriel?”

“Geez, you two are acting like I’ve slept with him.” (Y/N) scoffed, brushing past them as he walked toward his bed.

“Ooo, all I can think about is how cute you are,” Dean mocked.

“Will you shut up!?”

“He’s an archangel, (Y/N).” Sam nodded. “And you see no problem with flirting with him?”

“What? I can’t flirt with who I want now? It’s not like he’s a bad guy…technically.”

Dean sighed. “He’s off limits, (Y/N).”

“I’m an adult, Dean! I can flirt with whoever I want.”

“Not an angel! I mean…come on. Don’t you remember what he did to us? To Sammy and me?”

“Look, Dean, I get it, trust me, but it was just some comments, okay? Like I said, it’s not like I hooked up with him or anything. He just flirted with me so I flirted back. Took a page out of my Dean Winchester book of flirting.” (Y/N) walked over to the bed and sat down on the side of it. “You don’t have to worry about him, okay? Now, why don’t you guys just take your showers so we can go to bed and head out in the morning.”

Dean opened his mouth to say something but stopped himself. He let out a huff as he turned to look at Sam. They stared at each other, but said nothing, as if they were talking to one another telepathically. Finally, Dean shook his head.

“Fine, but I get the next shower,” Dean mumbled as he sauntered over to the duffel bag that sat beside the queen-sized bed opposite (Y/N).

“Dean, I called the next shower,” Sam frowned.

“Too bad, can’t get next shower if I get there first,”

Sam glanced at the door to the bathroom, his duffel bag which sat at the table, and then Dean. Dean grabbed his night clothes from his bag and began to make his way over to the bathroom. Quickly, Sam rushed to the bathroom. Dean picked up his speed and the two of them wrestled in the doorway for a moment, mumbling to one another. Sam eventually pushed Dean out of the way and slammed the door shut, the cheap wood vibrating against the frame. Dean growled.

“How the Hell are you going to get out of there without your clothes, bitch?” He called through the door.

“I’ll figure it out, jerk,” Sam’s muffled voice replied.

Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes before he sauntered over to his bed and slouched on the edge of it. “Can you believe him?” He gestured to the door dramatically.

(Y/N) snorted. “I think you’re both idiots,” he reached down and pulled the comforter away from his body, pushing his legs underneath. “Now hush while I get some sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah, goodnight,” Dean grumbled.

“Goodnight, Dean,”

*~*

The rumble of the Impala’s engine was silenced over the deafening sound of Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven”. Dean sang in an off-key tune as he drove, Sam tried to ignore him in the passenger’s seat, and (Y/N) blocked everything out, deep in thought as he leaned against the back passenger’s window. He was staring off into the distance, at the long line of trees and bushes they passed, but none of it registered. His mind was elsewhere.

He was thinking about Gabriel.

It had been a week since their interaction, and, for the life of him, he couldn’t keep the angel out of his mind. He never had someone who showed as much interest in him as Gabriel, and (Y/N) hadn’t lied. Gabriel was pretty cute. Was it the way the smirk seemed permanently etched on his lips? Perhaps the way his flirtatious remarks flowed out as smoothly as they did. Maybe it was in the look in his eye when he asked to see him again.

Regardless, there seemed to be nothing that could take Gabriel off of his mind.

“(Y/N)!” Dean’s boisterous voice echoed through the car.

(Y/N) jerked his head up to look at his brother in the rearview mirror. He hadn’t even noticed the music had been turned down, now softly playing in the background.

“What?”

“Man, I’ve called your name about ten times. You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, just…thinking.”

“Yeah, I know that takes a lot out of you.”

“Shut the fuck up,” (Y/N) scrunched his nose as he reached over and lightly kicked the back of Dean’s seat.

“Hey! Be nice to Baby! She didn’t do anything to you.”

“Yeah, well, she was caught in the crossfire.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Anyway, Sam’s pretty sure we have another ghost case.”

(Y/N) groaned. “Another one?”

“Yeah, just a simple salt and burn.” Sam shrugged his shoulders. “Apparently this young couple, who just bought their house, has been reporting paranormal activity at their place. The husband’s mother even came to stay with them for a little while and, while she was there, she claimed that someone pushed her down the stairs when she was going to do laundry in the basement.”

“So? Her son tried to kill her to get the life insurance money. Doesn’t sound like a ghost hunt to me.” (Y/N) said.

“Husband was at work, and so was the wife. They even have alibis and security footage to prove it.”

“Okay, so then the mother’s old and cryptic and just fell down the stairs. Old people fall down the stairs every day, that’s why Life Alert was invented.”

“She’s forty-two.”

“Jesus, how old is her son?”

“Twenty-one. His wife is twenty. High-school sweethearts according to what the newspaper says.”

“Gross.” There was a pause. “I still don’t think it sounds like our thing. Maybe we should check something else out.”

“You’re not getting out of the salt and burn, (Y/N).”

(Y/N) groaned and leaned back in his seat, arms crossed lazily over his chest. “Fine! But I’m not doing the digging. I’ll be on guard duty.”

“No,” Dean said. “I’m going to be on guard duty this time.”

“Why?” He whined childishly.

“Because I helped dig the grave the last two times. We take shifts, remember?”

(Y/N) shook his head. He placed his elbow on the window sill and put his cheek into the palm of his right hand. His forehead leaned against the glass.

He thought back to Gabriel. The carefree attitude he seemed to have, even with the intimidating act that his brothers put on. He was an archangel, of course. Thinking about it, (Y/N) knew that Gabriel could do anything with them - he had proven that when he forced Sam and Dean into the TV universe - yet he did nothing of the sort, even when Dean had slapped his hand away from (Y/N). He seemed like a good person - angel? - and (Y/N) would be lying if he said he didn’t want to see him again. He knew that if anyone could lighten his mood from the sour situation they were driving to, it would be Gabriel.

An arm slowly snaked its way around (Y/N)’s shoulders. He jumped, eyes wide as he turned his head to the side. Sitting next to him, in the back of the Impala, was Gabriel, the same smirk on his face that was present the first night they met.

“Heard someone needed some company,” Gabriel said.

Dean visibly jerked, his hand turning the wheel of the car violently. The Impala lurched to the side, into the oncoming lane, before he corrected himself and straightened the car out. Everyone shifted in their seats with the movement. Dean slammed on the brakes, the rubber screeching against the road as the car halted. Dean and Sam’s heads whipped around, their eyes wide with surprise. Gabriel was leaning back against the leather seats, legs slightly spread, one arm around (Y/N)’s shoulders while the other rested at his side. (Y/N) could feel his heart pounding in his chest from a mixture of the sudden movement of the car and Gabriel’s touch.

“Woah, Dean-O. Gotta be careful. You’re lucky there’s no traffic,” Gabriel chuckled.

“What the Hell are you doing here?” Dean asked, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed.

“A little birdy told me he was lonely. A little stressed,” Gabriel turned his head to look at (Y/N). He leaned closer to him. “Miss me already?”

Dean and Sam’s eyes shifted to their brother. (Y/N) felt the familiar heat appear in his cheeks and spread to his ears. Sam furrowed his brows.

“You prayed to him?” He asked.

“N-No! I didn’t!” (Y/N) defended.

“Wrong,” Gabriel hummed. “You know, every time you say my name in that pretty little head of yours, it comes straight to me,” Gabriel reached over and tapped on (Y/N)’s temple gently. “My prayer line has been buzzing nonstop since I last saw you.”

(Y/N)’s cheeks darkened even more. Gabriel had practically outed him to his brothers, completely contradicting what he had told them back at the motel. That they didn’t need to worry about him. That the flirty comments he made was a natural response. Now his brothers know that Gabriel had been on his mind. Now they knew that they had something to worry about.

Dean’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Eventually, he stopped, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, undoubtedly trying to clear his mind. When he opened his eyes, he pointed at his brother.

“You. We’ll talk later.” He turned to Gabriel. “You. Get out.”

“Aw, come on, Dean, let me ride for a little bit. Make your brother feel better,” Gabriel rubbed (Y/N)’s arm.

Dean narrowed his eyes. “No. Get out.” His voice was deep, dark.

Gabriel scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll go. Again.”

“Good,” Dean turned around eyes back to the empty road in front of him. His hands returned to the wheel, clenched tight enough to make his knuckles a ghostly white.

Gabriel glanced at (Y/N) with an apologetic expression before he reached into his pocket. He pulled out his clenched hand and held it towards him. As he opened his hand, (Y/N) could see a small candy heart in the middle of it, colored pink. In the center of the heart Be Mine was printed.

“Another parting gift. A sweetheart for a sweetheart.” Gabriel smirked.

(Y/N) smiled and took the heart. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, sugar.”

“Leave Gabriel,” Dean bellowed.

“I’m going, I’m going.” He grumbled. He looked back at (Y/N) and winked. “I’ll see you later.”

He snapped and, once more, he was gone.

(Y/N) glanced down towards the candy. It was one of those cheap candies that you got from Walmart when you wanted to give something out to your classmates for Valentine’s Day. Despite the cheap appearance, the message on it was worth more than anything. It validated any emotions that he had for Gabriel. The mere idea that Gabriel felt the same way as he did made his heart soar, the butterflies swarming inside of his stomach. With a small smile, he closed his hand around the heart and placed his hand in his lap.

It was then that he noticed they hadn’t resumed their drive yet. He looked in the front seat to see both of his brothers staring at them, unamused expressions on their faces. The smile (Y/N) had turned into an awkward grin, his shoulders tensed. Sam and Dean looked at one another and conversed in that telepathic communication that they always do before they wordlessly turned back to the road. Dean glanced one more time in the rear-view mirror, shook his head, and then started down the road again.

(Y/N)’s shoulders slumped and he turned to the window. He placed his elbow on the window sill and his cheek in the palm of his hand.

It was going to be a long night.

*~*

I fucking hate ghosts.

His muscles hurt worse than last time. If he didn’t know any better, he would say his arms felt as if they were going to fall off. His calves ached a bit, but not nearly as bad as his biceps.

The hunt took longer than expected - most of the graves in the cemetery they had gone to were unmarked, souls long since forgotten by the people who had buried them. The records in the cemetery’s office weren’t much help, either. The three of them spent two hours trying to find the grave that belonged to the ghost, two more hours digging up the plot with major pushback from the spirit, and an extra hour attempting to leave the cemetery without getting caught - apparently, grave robbers were a common occurrence in that small Maryland town.

Even the morning after, (Y/N)’s entire body ached and was stiff. It felt like every part of him had been put through a meat grinder. When he moved, his muscles tensed and burned as if he were on the surface of a thousand suns. His brothers felt bad for him, in a way. They could see how hurt he was and decided to let him rest while they went out to get some breakfast, some greasy diner food that all of them, even Sam, desperately needed.

As (Y/N) lay in his bed, still clad in his sleepwear from the night before, to ignore the aches and pain, his mind shifted to a familiar thought; Gabriel.

The same thoughts that had been invading his mind for the past two weeks entered his head seamlessly. The thoughts of Gabriel’s words, his flirtatious tone, the way his hair was swept back, the way the corner of his lips curled into a smirk whenever he would look at him, and the glimmer that danced in his irises. While Gabriel took up most of his mind, another thing that (Y/N) couldn’t get out of his mind was Sam and Dean. He thought about their disapproving gazes, the irritation in their tone as they talked to or about Gabriel, and the shake of their heads when Gabriel finally vanished.

His brothers weren’t shy when it came to their objections. When they had gotten into town for the hunt, Sam and Dean made sure to speak out about the situation. (Y/N) felt as if he was a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Dean was the one that was mostly vocal with Sam taking a back seat and butting in now and then. While (Y/N) could appreciate that his brothers were looking out for him, he stood strong on the fact that he was an adult. He could make his own decisions. Gabriel was an angel. It wasn’t as if he was flirting with a demon. He knew his brothers would have a conniption if it was Crowley instead of Gabriel. Still, (Y/N) was their little brother. He had a feeling that they were going to be protective no matter who he showed interest in.

That wouldn’t stop him from trying to pursue Gabriel, though.

In the two instances they met, Sam and Dean had been in the room with them when they talked, leaving little to no time for them to have an actual conversation or get to know one another. Granted, Gabriel must know more about him than anything, considering the lack of privacy he had in his head. That only gave him more of an incentive to learn everything he could about the archangel.

He had to talk to Gabriel alone.

(Y/N) had never prayed before. He always left his brothers to the praying when they needed Castiel involved. It was a new experience, and he didn’t even know how to start.

Slowly, (Y/N) adjusted himself on the bed so that his back was pressed against the wooden headboard. He placed his hands in his lap, slightly folded.

“Um…Gabriel…” he trailed as he tried to think of how he could continue. “Uh…it’s me. (Y/N). I think we need to talk.”

“You know, the last time someone said that to me, it didn’t end well,” Gabriel’s voice came from in front of him, near the end of the bed.

(Y/N) let out an audible gasp, startled. His throbbing muscles tensed for a moment before they relaxed, a shot of pain coursing through his body.

“Jesus, we need to put a bell on you angels,” (Y/N) mumbled.

“I’ve been thinking about that. Do you think it’ll look good on me?” Gabriel pursed his lips and dramatically posed.

(Y/N) snorted and shook his head as he chuckled. Gabriel joined him and walked over to the bed, sitting down. The bed dipped.

“I can see your bodyguards aren’t here.”

“Yeah, they went out to get some breakfast a bit ago.”

“Well, that’s good. Now I can talk to you without getting kicked out. What did you want to talk about anyway?”

“Well-”

“My handsome good looks?” Gabriel smirked.

“Uh-”

“How about my smooth talking?”

“Gabriel-”

“What about the way you get butterflies in your stomach when you’re near me?” Gabriel placed a hand on the bed and leaned closer to him.

(Y/N) could feel his cheeks heat up once again. The butterflies Gabriel referenced swarmed. He looked away for a moment before his eyes shifted down towards his hands in his lap.

“Gabriel.”

“Yes?”

“Do you like me?” He moved his eyes to him.

Gabriel seemed surprised by the question at first, straightening himself up.

“I mean…” (Y/N) paused, attempting to collect his thoughts. “You flirted with me back at the other motel, you had your arm wrapped around me in the car, you’ve been listening to my thoughts, er, prayers, I guess. Is this just…a flirty little thing that you like to do or…are you really interested in me?”

“Of course I am,” Gabriel shrugged. “I mean, you don’t see me flirting with your brothers, do you?”

“No.”

“Casual flirting isn’t normally my thing. When I flirt with someone, I really, really like them, and I really, really like you.” His voice was deep and smooth like velvet.

(Y/N) smiled, his eyes never leaving Gabriel’s face, despite the bashful need to do so. “Well, I hope it helps that I really, really like you, too.”

“Oh, trust me, I can tell,”

(Y/N) rolled his eyes. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

Gabriel chuckled as he reached over, his hand gently caressing his cheek. Their lips connected without another comment. (Y/N) closed his eyes and, almost immediately, melted into the kiss. He could feel a warm, tingling sensation course through his body, touching down his arms, torso, and legs. Their lips moved in sync. (Y/N) raised his hands, his fingers entangled in Gabriel’s silky hair.

(Y/N) pulled away before he wanted to, the need for air overwhelming. He stared deep into Gabriel’s whiskey eyes. It didn’t take long before that smirk reappeared. (Y/N)’s thumb gently brushed over Gabriel’s scruff.

“Your kiss is even sweeter than you are,” (Y/N) spoke in a soft tone.

“Oh, please, nothing is sweeter than me,”

(Y/N) chuckled. “Kiss me again.”

“With pleasure.”

Gabriel leaned in and kissed him once more. He moved onto the bed so that his legs were on either side of (Y/N)’s body and he hovered over him. (Y/N) took the time to wrap his arms around Gabriel’s neck gently. They tilted their heads to the side, deepening the kiss.

(Y/N) had his fair share of kisses before, a handful of them drunken mishaps at various bars across the country, but never like the one he had with Gabriel. There was something special about it. Something that made him melt into the bed. That attracted him further to Gabriel. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he wasn’t going to fight it.

Although, someone might.

The door to the motel room opened. The stench of cheap breakfast food wafted into the small space as Sam and Dean entered. They froze for a moment, eyes wide in shock at what they had walked in on. It didn’t take long for them to break the trance.

“Hey!” Dean shouted as he rushed over to the two of them.

Just as they broke the kiss, Dean grabbed the back of Gabriel’s shirt, pulled him off of the bed, and pinned him against the wall. The cheap lights flickered at the force of the impact.

“Dean!” (Y/N) exclaimed as he quickly stood from the bed.

Before he could pull his brother away, Sam grabbed him by the arm, pulled him close, and wrapped his arms around him protectively.

“What did I tell you about leaving my brother alone, huh?” Dean slammed Gabriel against the wall again, though he seemed completely unphased by it.

“Now, Dean, if you haven’t noticed, your brother is more than capable of making his own choices.” Gabriel’s voice was calm, almost playful.

“Yeah, with humans. Not with you.”

“Now what have I ever done to you, Dean?”

“What have you done?” Dean let out a dry laugh. “What have you done?”

“Dean! Stop! You’re gonna get the fucking cops called on us!” (Y/N) hissed between clenched teeth.

“And you!” Dean let go of Gabriel’s shirt and turned around to face (Y/N). “What happened to ‘oh, you don’t have to worry about anything, Dean, it was just for fun’,” he mocked (Y/N)’s voice harshly. “And then Sam and I come in and see you sucking face with an archangel!?”

“First of all,” (Y/N) wiggled his arms out from Sam’s grasp. “Get off me,” he mumbled and pushed firmly on Sam’s chest. Sam’s feet were firmly planted, but he removed his arms from around his brother. (Y/N) backed up a couple of steps and brushed his shirt off. “I told you, Dean, I’m an adult and I can make your own decisions! And who the Hell says ‘sucking face’ anymore, anyway? What is this? 1980?”

“The point is, you told us you weren’t going to do anything and here you are…doing something!” Dean pointed an accusing finger at him.

“Dean’s right, (Y/N),” Sam shook his head. “You know, we support you in everything that you do, but Gabriel?”

“Hey, I take offense to that,” Gabriel appeared behind (Y/N).

“Good, I hope you do,” Dean said.

(Y/N) groaned. “You guys are acting like you walked in on me having sex with him or something! It was a kiss!”

“His tongue was in your mouth, (Y/N),” Dean spoke with a hint of disgust.

“Shut the fuck up, Dean!”

“Alright, alright, hey,” Sam held up his hands. “Look. All we want to do is look out for you, okay? It’s our job to protect you.”

“And I want you guys to keep protecting me,” (Y/N)’s shoulders slouched. “I’m not saying I don’t want you to. I like Gabriel, okay? I really do. And it’s not just some hook-up in-a-bar kind of feeling. It’s feelings-feelings. You know? The things we never talk about? I can’t explain it, but I feel…a connection to him. Like Dean feels with Castiel.”

“Woah, woah, hold on. I don’t feel that way with Cas.”

“Dean, we all know you do,” Gabriel spoke up, shaking his head.

Dean clenched his jaw. “I don’t wanna hear another word out of you.”

“Look,” Gabriel began. “I’d never do anything to hurt your brother. I know I haven’t been the, well, nicest with you two. But I like (Y/N),” Gabriel shrugged. “I’d like to get to know him more, and I know that he would like to do the same.”

Sam and Dean stared at Gabriel, their eyes piercing. They never blinked, as if studying him. Sam leaned over to Dean.

“Dean, I think he’s telling the truth,” Sam spoke in a low voice.

Dean looked at Sam with furrowed brows. “Really?” His tone was defensive. “How do you know he’s not lying?”

“Dean, (Y/N) is right about the fact that he’s an adult, okay? Maybe we should just…take a backseat on this?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I hate this just as much as you do, Dean, but you know that even if we disagree with is, (Y/N) is just going to find a way to see him anyway.”

“Not if we handcuff him to one of us,” Dean mumbled.

“I’m right here,” (Y/N) crossed his arms.

“The point is,” Sam said. “If Gabriel is serious, what better person besides us to protect him than an archangel? I mean, we have Cas, yes, but Cas isn’t an archangel.”

Dean opened his mouth to say something but was having a hard time coming up with an argument to shoot back at his brother’s statement. Instead, he sighed as he reached a hand up and ran it down his face. He could feel a headache coming on. Silence flooded the room as the four of them stood there.

“Fine,” Dean grumbled. “I won’t say anything about Gabriel coming around. But I don’t wanna walk in on anymore face sucking.”

“No face sucking or any other kind of sucking while sharing a room, got it.” (Y/N) smiled.

Dean shot him a look of disgust before he turned to Gabriel. “And you. If you hurt him-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Fire and brimstone and pitchforks and torches. You’ll have the whole Winchester Army after me,” Gabriel waved his hands around dramatically. “I get it. You have my word that I will never hurt your brother.”

“Alright, now get out of here before I change my mind.”

“I won’t fight you on that,” Gabriel turned to (Y/N). He reached down, grabbed his hand, and placed a small kiss on his knuckles. “I’ll see you later, sugarplum.”

(Y/N) snorted. “See you later, Casanova.”

Gabriel winked before he snapped his fingers and vanished.

With a smile still on his face, (Y/N) turned to his brothers. “Thank you guys, really.”

“Well, we trust you, (Y/N),” Sam said. “We don’t trust him, but we trust you. And we trust that, if anything were to happen, you would come to us if you need help.”

“Of course I will. You’re my brothers. I make a mess, you guys clean it up.”

“You know, I’m pretty sure you’ll be the reason why I get gray hairs early in life,” Dean mumbled as he sauntered over to the small table near the motel door, opening the bag of breakfast food which was probably cold by then.

(Y/N) furrowed his brows as he walked over to him. “Oh, you mean, these gray hairs?” He reached up and brushed the back of his brother’s hairline, finger gliding through the sandy blonde hair.

Dean reached back quickly and cupped the back of his head. “What!?” He exclaimed.

Sam snorted and (Y/N) let out a boisterous laugh. Dean’s jaw clenched as he lowered his hand to his side.

“Ha-ha, very funny.”

“I thought so, old man.”

“You better watch it, bitch,”

“Aw, I love you, too, Dean,” (Y/N) wrapped a single arm loosely around Dean’s middle. He then motioned Sam over. When Sam was close enough, (Y/N) wrapped his other arm around him. “And I love you, Sammy.”

“Love you, too, (Y/N),” Sam smiled and returned the hug.

Dean looked down at his brother and mumbled something under his breath before he patted him on the back. “Yeah, yeah, love you too, kid.”

“I couldn’t ask for better brothers than you.”

…

“Alright, enough of the chick-flick moments. Let’s eat.”

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 10 months

Note

WIBTA:

Recently my (22f) fiancé (22m) and I stayed for around 3 days at my sister’s (25 f) place. She lives around 4 hours from us. She works full time, but not at a manual labor job. I know working full time is exhausting regardless. I’m not upset that she didn’t vacuum this time, even though I told her I was worried about our allergies. In the time we stayed there, my fiance had to take double the dose of his allergy medication, and I had to take some (I usually can’t due to other health issues that get worse when I take it). Despite the allergy meds, my fiance was having asthma issues, and I got hives as well as had asthma issues, sinus pain, and headaches. I’m severely allergic to dust mites. She’s in a far more humid area than me so I think that was what caused the allergies to get so much worse. (For those who don’t know, dust mites are worse with humidity.) So this is kind of a double question. The one I would prefer be answered in the poll is WIBTA if I asked my sister to vacuum, dust, and freshly wash the sheets if we are going to be staying with her? She complains when I don’t come visit her and my family. I can’t stay with my parents anymore due to some traumatic events I don’t want to get in to. If I am the asshole for asking her to do some more cleaning, would I still be the asshole for asking her to get some supplies for/have stuff ready for us to do a deeper clean when we get there and also bring our own sheets? Her house is visibly clean, and I know that it isn’t disgusting, I just am severely allergic to the dust mites. When I brought the allergies up to her and suggested she store the sheets in a closet and make the bed when someone is actually going to come over to cut down on how much dust and cat fur build up on them she said we were the only ones who had problems with the allergens and got upset with me. I’ve stayed with her twice before in the winter and not had these problems, though she had a different bed at the time too. I had allergies in her living room too.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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imaginesbymk · 1 year

Text

❝ WHAT DO WE DO NOW? ❞

The Pacific One Shot

PAIRING — SNAFU SHELTON x NURSE!FEM!READER.

SYNOPSIS / The war's over, and Snafu is taking the edge off with Eugene and Burgin on the high rocks. It doesn't last very long when he notices that you’re having a victory party of your own . . .

TAGS: mentions of war, mentions of bullying, drinking, smoking, swearing + snafu being snafu

PROMPTS: ❝ can I kiss you? ❞ / ❝ will you stay with me? ❞

WORD COUNT: 1,991

A/N: this story is a bit different than the usual marine x nurse!reader trope. usually the nurse!reader is deemed perfect or is a childhood crush from the town they’re from who reunites with their lover after the war, but i wanted to make them like the outcast who finds some sort of comfort in the bad boy vibe from snafu who holds a soft spot for her in the end. this gift is for @latibvles from your secret santa <3 i’m late but merry xmas!!!! and thank u for allowing me to participate in secret santa @hbowardaily —enjoy :))

THE DAY the Japanese surrendered, you had just finished patching up a Marine who suffered several cuts to his lower calf. For years you adjusted to the blood-curdling screams and moans from Marine after Marine, tending to them as they begged you a bunch of nonsense — that nonsense would have worsened their wounds and injuries. But that was your job in the Pacific theatre.

The screams and cries were now chants and balls of laughter, something you haven’t heard in a very long time. Maybe you have heard them here and there from the tents and hospitals— small talks whenever you passed by the cots, they were short-lived. Either they died the next day or their souls died acknowledging this war that felt like an eternity, the laughing would just be dead silence.

It was nice to hear a bunch of men and young boys have a victory party out at base camp.

Although, you left them be. You didn't like the idea of intruding, and drunk men gawking at you. You stayed back to clean up. A couple of nurses were enjoying their own victory parties, clinking glass bottles of coke and wine. You were clinking bottles of medicine back into the shelves.

Outside, Snafu, Burgin and Eugene isolated themselves from the Marines. Watching them party from below was a view, but looking up at the night sky was a movie.

"You see that? Line of stars angling up?" Snafu points up at the dark sky.

"Yep," Burgin answers with an unlit cigarette in his mouth.

"That's Snafu's peckuh." He listened to the conversation with Eugene and Lieutenant Mac.

One question stuck with him that Mac asked out theoretically. "What do we do now?" Snafu scoffs. "What an idiot."

He was in a small daze. Burgin hands the bottle of alcohol to Snafu.

What could he do? Clean up the mess on the islands, organize everything and take roll call, finish all his duties, clean himself up with a fresh uniform and a plane and train back to Louisiana. There was just one thing he gotta do first once he took his first sip of alcohol.

"I gotta take a piss." He climbs down the rocks, reminding him that he didn't need to keep his head down and adjust his helmet like from the times he instinctively ducks down to avoid being seen by the Japanese. He lands on the gravel and walks over to the side.

Meanwhile, he wished there were women joining in on the fun. But like Eugene would eventually tell his brother back in Mobile, they were off limits. But it’s not like Snafu is obedient every now and then.

And with that, he watched you from afar. While everyone else was doing God knows what, he wondered where the rest of the infirmary staff were while you were left to handle the manual labor all by yourself. Maybe he didn’t need to pee off in the corner after all. And so he followed you as you went back inside your tent.

He just watched you at the foot of it, the small breeze from the night moving the curtain a bit so he could see a better view of your uniform. And of course, he was staring at certain places.

You were beautiful, he thought. But he could say that about every other nurse here.

His look-see didn’t last very long. You turned around when you felt another presence just as you were carrying the twentieth box of inventory into one of the crates.

“JESUS!” You screamed, dropping the box of medical supplies and crashing on the ground.

“Terribly sorry for startling you,” but the young man’s grin never faded. He allowed himself in the tent.

“That’s close enough, Marine.” You made him halt in his tracks. For one thing, he could be drunk out of his mind, looking to sink his claws into someone for pleasure. What was separating him from your safety was the spill that he could foolishly slip and injure him in. And that would be another job to do. Speaking of, you looked down at the shattered glass pieces and substances scattered on the ground. At least it wasn’t too toxic for exposure. “Great.”

“Like I said, I apologize for the disturbance,” the man said.

“Disturbance is an understatement. You can say you scared the shit out of me.” You bent down and carefully gathered the glass shards, ironically touching them with your bare hands when you know you should be getting a broom and dustpan for that... and perhaps some safety gloves and a separate bin to dispose glass.

Snafu raised his brows. “I wouldn’t touch that, ma’am. I’d get a—”

“Yeah, I know.” You stopped doing what you were doing.

The smell of rubbing alcohol nearly filled the air, and there was an unopened pack of sulfur powder. The last time he saw someone use sulfer powder on an infected wound was the First Lieutenant. “That’s the thing, ma’am. I see you packed up all the cleaning supplies. Digging through the dozens of them would be beating the dead horse.”

“I can’t just leave spilt rubbing alcohol on the ground. It’s a safety hazard. I can’t get in trouble again.”

Again? Oh yeah. Snafu watched you kneel on the ground, carelessly getting your sheer tights stained with dirt. He found himself studying you again. In ways he was checking you out previously, but also recognizing the same features he saw when he visited the infirmary tents to see if there were any bandaids left for Burgin’s cuts on his fingers. That day, you were scolded by another nurse for something and the rest of them stared at you like a bug that needed to be squashed. Not only were the nurses staring at you, but so were the Marines who were being treated. Snafu was present to see all of that while he was patiently waiting at the curtains. It intrigued him. Normally he would chuckle to himself over how clumsy someone can be, but a part of him felt that pity. If this was him back in Louisiana, he’d be feeling just as small.

When you made eye contact with him, you said nothing— he was just every other Marine seeking assistance, so you handed over a pack of bandaids. You kept your head down, refusing to let him notice that you were on the verge of tears. He thought nothing of it, and moved along.

“Hang on, doll. I’ve seen you before,” he nods down at you. “You’re like the doormat.”

You scoff at that. “Not an understatement.” And he wasn’t wrong, either. You weren’t exactly the unlikeable one in the bunch, but these nurses weren’t planning on sticking around to become best friends with you for life during and after the war. Meanwhile, the majority of the men looked at you differently, either like eye-candy or a nurse who needed more training. You couldn’t hold small talk with anyone you worked with. Not a single nurse gave off a friendly vibe, and it reminded you of those snobby kids in high school. It shouldn’t affect you when you had a serious job and the cause was likely due to the physical and mental exhaustion from the war, but still... it stung.

Snafu grins, the alcohol wasn’t even speaking for him. He only took one sip out of the bottle Mac gave them, anyway. He was just like that. “Can I kiss you?”

“Absolutely not.” Your face beamed red.

“Why? You kissed that Marine from Love Company.”

“You’re very likely mistaking me for another nurse, then. I don’t kiss Marines. I nurse them back to health when they get shrapnel in their eyes.”

“Then how about I find you back home and then I can kiss you?”

“No. God," you huff. "You'd do anything to win a girl's heart. You just suck at it. You're the type to run through Makin Island to get to the likes of blondes."

“Not exactly,” he corrects you. “And war’s over, ma’am.”

“I can’t believe you just asked me that out of the blue,” you shook your head in disbelief. But were you even surprised? “You don’t even know my name.”

“I’m Merriell Shelton,” he extends a hand.

You knew how you wanted a formal introduction to go between you and a man. You expect the man to be polite, and it all started by shaking his hand. But this was Merriell, as you come to learn his name— in which you assume he is given a different nickname by the Marines fighting out there. You heard that the Marines nicknamed First Lieutenant Eddie Jones ‘Hillbilly’, and then-Captain Andrew Haldane ‘Ack-Ack’. For Merriell, it could be something you imagine to be vulgar.

You stare down at his hand, not reaching yours out to shake it. “Well, Merriell Shelton. I will not kiss you. You should go.”

"So what did you do before all this, Miss?" Snafu dodges your order.

You roll your eyes and stared at the tiny bottles of ibuprofen tossed in the box, wishing you were back home, doing what you did before all of this. "Just like any other young adult. Helped around the house, tried to get pass through potential colleges. Never thought I'd end up on the other side of the world."

"You're telling me." Snafu nearly spat on the ground. If he had done it, you'd be clearly annoyed and disgusted. You knew these men had gone through so much that even their manners and behaviour were picked up by the conditions on the islands. Even if he had spat, war or no war, you would choose to not say anything.

You and Snafu could hear the loud shouts and laughter outside acquainted with music. Eugene and Burgin must be wondering where Merriell—Snafu– wandered off to now after urinating on the ground somewhere.

“So... what do we now?” He asks, repeating Mac’s words.

No one was an idiot in this moment for even asking that. What could the two of you do right now?

“Well, Merriell Shelton, because you just gave me another job, what I am gonna do is sit here and wait for a nurse to come stumbling in to help me clean up.”

“There’s no way they would come and help you. For one thing, they would be too drunk to even carry a broom. They would make you do it yourself. If anything, I can help.”

“After scaring me like that and asking for a kiss? You should be on your way drinking with your friends out there, no?”

“I find this encounter much more entertaining.”

“Why? There are nurses out there to drink and laugh with.”

“I remember faces, ma’am. Some of them weren’t that friendly to you that one time.”

“How do you know that?”

He shrugs. “I remember faces.”

You got up and sat on one of the chairs. “Well, I’m done working for them and with them. Therefore, I’m not unloading the cargo for a dustpan and broom.”

“Then I suggest you leave the mess here for them to clean up, and make sure there’s no wet floor sign so they can slip on their mistake. Make it seem they were too stupid to realize they dropped a few things in here. They dun’ need to know the truth.” You look up at him. He was smirking.

“They’ll say something. Will you stay with me?” you ask. “Just don’t try and kiss me. I will hit you so hard in the face, Marine.”

Snafu smiles. “You don’t have to stay in here and wait for it all to unfold.” He extends his hand out once more. “We’re staying by the rocks away from everyone else. I’ll introduce you to Sledgehammer. Maybe I’ll finally get you to tell me your name, by then.”

You smiled back and took his hand. Perhaps one friend is better than many.

END.

#the pacific one shot #the pacific imagine #the pacific x reader #the pacific #hbo the pacific #hbo war #snafu shelton x reader #snafu shelton one shot #snafu shelton imagine #snafu shelton #the pacific imagines #snafu shelton imagines #reader insert #one shot #imagine #hbowarsanta22

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the-eldritch-it-gay · 1 year

Text

anyways if anyone's wondering how im doing, here's a WIP of a glorified diary entry that's me reflecting on the question "Do you take pride in your work" and talking about the abysmal state of being a part-time custodian at a public school.

“Do you take pride in your work?”

When I was being interviewed, I was asked how my former employer would describe me in. I took a moment and came up with, “passionate, dedicated, someone who loves what they do”. (I had 5 different managers at my last job. My former employer only saw me once and never evaluated my work). It wasn’t entirely a lie, though, I enjoyed my time as a student custodian in a college dorm. It was hell, I dealt with horrific messes made by people my age who didn’t consider that a person deals with their trash, someone almost called the police on me because I was suspicious (i.e. a brown Muslim), I was frequently injured, my grades suffered because of how taxing the work was. But I like routine, I liked that I didn’t have to talk to people and I could just listen to music and shuffle around cleaning. I don’t love cleaning, but I love spending time and doing something repetitive and straightforward. If I had to pick between working in retail and cleaning bathrooms, I’d take cleaning bathrooms any day.

When my new manager was showing me around the building, he told me that everyone here loves what they do and takes pride in a job well done, and he said he could tell I was the same way. I felt guilty when he said that, like I would be betraying him if I told him the truth.

I was having a rather difficult night during my last shift. I was physically in agony, mentally I was struggling with paranoia and auditory hallucinations (not helped by the knowledge the day manager watches the cameras and checks my work). I was cleaning a 2nd-grade classroom (the worst one, the one that has always left behind massive messes) and while I vacuumed and let my mind wander, a question found its way into my brain.

“Do you take pride in your work?”

Tears welled in my eyes, sharp and painful as I thought of the answer to that question.

I wish I did. It’s hard to. There’s not much I can find to take pride in. What could I take pride in? I was here because despite a bachelor's degree I couldn’t find any work and I needed to get money to eat somehow. I’m here because I live in my parents' basement and they’ll only let me stay if I have a job. I’m here because custodial work is the only job people seem to want to hire me for. I’m here, hiding the fact that I’m physically disabled so I can do manual labor and destroy my body for a wage that could never pay for rent, doing a job with 0 benefits.

I bought nice work pants to wear at the job but most days I can’t even manage to put them on because it’s too hard on my body.

When I worked in a dorm, I sometimes felt pride. It might have been sparingly, but I did feel good sometimes. On the weekends, I was the only one cleaning the dorm. While the building was nearly a ghost town with how asocial every resident was, I would still see the residents. I would smiled at them from behind my niqab when I passed them in the hallways carrying trash. I exchanged pleasantries and a few words with the small handful of residents who weren’t white. Once or twice, I would catch a resident bringing their trash out and I would offer to take it and they would thank me. During the worst of COVID, my duties included bringing food to people in quarantine and taking their trash to the dumpster since they couldn’t take it themselves. I felt like I was doing something good, even if most of the residents wouldn’t acknowledge my presence or make eye contact, even though I was hate-crimed while on duty, even though I saw the worst in people.

My new job is at a public school, after hours. I’ve only seen a teacher once, I never see any of the children who learn in the classrooms I clean. The one teacher I did see looked at me once and then let me gather her trash in silence. I doubt any of the teachers know who cleans their classrooms, I wonder half the time if the children even know someone cleans the school. How many of them were brought up being told that they need to study or they’ll end up cleaning bathrooms? Do the students who write obscenities on the walls of the bathroom know that if I don’t get it off the wall, I’ll get written up? That every time I try to clean it off, it’s motivated by paranoia that if I don’t, I put my job in jeopardy.

I don’t take pride in my work. My cleaning is not motivated by love or dedication or care, but fear. I’ve been applying for jobs since late 2021, slowly burning through my savings trying to stay afloat. I clean in fear, in knowledge that in a year of applying for jobs this is the only job I’ve even been interviewed for. That if I slip up, if I slack, if I fail to meet requirements, I’ll lose my only income.

I’m an abuse survivor, I come from a bad home and difficult childhood, I have PTSD. I don't take pride in my work, everything I do I fear is inadequate. I assume I’m doing everything wrong, that I’m only being tolerated at most and one slip-up will bring me a world of pain. It doesn’t help that I was barely trained. The only reason I’ve managed so far is relying on the 2 years of experience I have at my previous job.

I push around a cart full of cleaning supplies that I haven’t been taught to use. At the dorm, I had 4 main products, a general disinfectant, a bathroom cleaner, a glass cleaner, and on occasion, hospital-grade disinfectant spray. I knew the kill times for each, where to use each. At my current job, my cart and closet are full of an assortment of products, half of them the sort of thing you’d find in a Walgreens. If things look dirty, I was told to spray it with disinfectant. A far cry from my previous job where I would spray down and clean every high-touch surface (tables, the backs and arms of chairs, door handles, railings, window sills).

I don’t take pride in my work, I constantly feel like I’m not doing enough. I feel like I should be wiping down tables and desks and chairs. Children are messy, we’re still in a pandemic. But at my job, I’ve been told to mainly vacuum, take out trash, make sure there’s soap, polish the water fountain. I only have 4 hours to clean 10 classrooms, 2 bathrooms and 2 gyms. I feel like I barely have any time to clean each room.

How can I take pride in my work.

#Eldritch IT Speaks #i suppose this is closer to a vent than a diary. if only because its something i want to share to unload

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endlessnightlock · 2 years

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Here’s a first look at the epilogue for A New Path. Unedited and subject to change. No major spoilers.

One Year Later

The bell on the tanner shop door jingles as we walk in, and we aren't left waiting long before the old man appears from the back half of his shop. "As I live and breathe, it's Katniss Everdeen," Jonah says, wiping his hands on a cloth that frankly looks dirtier than his hands did.

"The one and only," I say, laughing under my breath, setting my game back on the shop floor; it's heavy with smaller skins. Distribution lines still aren't up and running the way they were prewar. When I ran into Jonah while looking for new boots in the shoe store last week, he practically begged for anything I could give him. Said he could work enough squirrel skins and stitch them together to make something sale-able in this market.

"Been a long time since I saw you in here," Jonah says, peering over my shoulder like he hadn't approached me for goods. "And I'll be. Is this your beau? Don't reckon we've been introduced."

Rye snorts as he walks around me and drops the deer hides onto the countertop. "Not hardly," he says. "That would be my brother."

"They do look alike," I admit. Peeta and Rye are dead ringers for each other, but there couldn't be two brothers less alike than them. "It's an easy mistake."

"Well, make sure you bring the real one around next time. I want to meet him. So, not her boyfriend..."

"I'm Rye."

"Oh, the baker's kid. I know who you all are now." Jonah frowns, sucking on his teeth. "How's your ma and pa doing in Seven? I wondered about them, picking up and starting over the way they did."

"They like the cooler climate. My wife and I are going out there with them pretty soon. Say there's lots of work to be had that ain't making stuff or digging coal," Rye says, disgusted as if manual labor is beneath him.

"So, why were you roped into helping her today?" Jonah asks, looking through the smaller pelts I'm laying on the counter for him while he talks to Rye. That's fine with me. Rye's the chief bullshitter in Twelve. I'll let him do his job while I do mine.

"Peet is busy with a few new hires for the bakery. The sooner he gets them trained, the sooner Dels and I are out of this shithole district," Rye explains.

"You're an ass," I tell him.

"An ass you're going to miss like crazy when I'm gone."

I sigh, refraining from goading him on more. "So, what do you want to keep," I ask Jonah. He's looking more than a little amused by my animosity toward my future brother-in-law.

"Your kills are so clean, Katniss. The skins are almost completely intact. I'm impressed," Jonah says. "I'll take them all, and gladly."

"Okay, so let's talk price," I say.

kpkpkpkpkp

Outside the shop, Delly waits for us against the side of the building. She straightens up, smiling when we reappear.

"Did Jonah treat you fair?" she asks. Rye slips his arm around her waist, and I fall into step beside them.

"more than I would've gotten last year, I think." Digging in my pocket, I pull out a small coin and hand it to Rye. "here's your part of the haul."

"Thank you-" Rye begins, but Delly slaps his hand away, glaring at him. "Don't you dare take Katniss's money! All you did was walk something over for her. Family doesn't pay family to help out with little things."

"Or big things sometimes," I murmur, putting the coin back in my pants pocket for safekeeping. Peeta worked enough hours in the bakery over the last year. He was never adequately paid for his time. I didn't think Rye deserved the money, honestly. I was testing him to see what he would do if I offered.

"What are you going to do with that money?" Rye asks.

"Eat," I say, picking up the pace and putting some distance between the three of us. "If you're going by the bakery, would you tell Peeta I'll be home in a few hours?"

"Do I look like your messenger boy?"

Delly smacks his arm flirtatiously, and I'm happy to be on my way out to avoid any more of their obnoxious behavior. I have too much to take care of today to bother with them.

#endlessnightlock writes #A New Path epilogue #sneak peek #everlark fanfiction #everlark sneak peek

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iridiss · 11 months

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So, I came here from artfight and I just wanted to say I LOVE your ocs!!!! They're all super cool and I really hope I can get to a few of them as attacks on artfight this year..

But on another note! I really like the set of ocs you used♦️by on your artfight page.. Do they have a story and lore? I'd love to hear all about them!

Oh goodness thank you so much!! <3 I hope to see you there once July starts! :D

And, funnily enough, pretty much all of the characters I have listed BUT the ♦️ ones have story to them lol. The ♦️ characters are all very new and still in early pre-pre development! I wanted to make a whole bunch of brightly colorful cat character designs in hopes of eventually doing something with them, but for the large part they were made just to make character designs ^^:

Currently, what I have written down for them is that they all live in the same small town on the shore of a lake, a cove, or an ocean. Mirabelle might be an exception, since she’s likely a famous touring popstar singer, but she’d at least have been born there. I think Dr. Skye Baye would work at the local aquarium, and Lemon Wash would help out and volunteer there whenever he wasn’t working down by the docks. Brackish Beat is likely some sort of vigilante gang leader, who works to “keep the streets clean” with his boys and his girlboss girlfriend. Beat stops by the docks every now and then to help Lemon with any manual labor he has to do, which is likely where he’d meet Dollop O’ Sunshine. Dollop is Lemon’s best friend and he’s the owner of the town’s ice cream parlor! He’s pals with just about everybody in town because of his job, serving everyone ice cream and tasty homemade treats all day every day. Wine Tart does…something, I’m sure. Lemon’s friends with Skye. Brackish is also buds with Lemon. Dollop is very intimidated by his best friend’s bud, but Dollop ends up learning that Beat is just as much a good and generous man as he is, and though he’s a big scary gang boss with claws and fangs the size of his finger, Beat would never hurt him. Beat protects anyone that he considers to be either a friend or a good, positive influence on the community, and Dollop learns that that very much includes him too, so he serves Beat free ice cream after a long day of work on Lemon’s ship and it’s a good day for the 3 of them. It’s all very cute & Slice Of Life-y so far.

That’s all I’ve got down about them so far! Maybe come back to me in a year or so and I’ll have more info to give you lol. I’m so glad that you’re invested in them though! It’s a real compliment to see ppl invested in my little guys even so early on in their conception, tysm <3 <3

(for followers only on tumblr, these are the aforementioned characters)

#iridisasks

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hollyhomburg · 1 year

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The fact that so many of us seem to be struggling with anxiety (myself included) goes to show how unsupportive our society is especially here in the west. My anxiety stems from comparing myself to certain standards and to other people I graduated with. I constantly feel like I should be doing what they are doing…and I’m just not. But coming on here and setting sometime alone to just read your fics has helped extremelyyyyy. And whenever I have that cant sleep type of night I watch Minecraft longplays and just relax listening to the sounds, I highly recommend!

honestly the world is just so fucking wrecked right now, i think anxiety is a natural reaction- its so easy to say that people are doing better than you. for me my anxiety stems from my cousins mostly, my siblings too- but thats a different story.

my aunt and uncle have 3 girls and like- they got everything handed to them as children and now they reep the benefits. The only think i have going over them is that like- emotionally and relationships wize they're fucked, none of them have a good head on their shoulders. like one girl is a sugar baby to a 40 year old dude and gets botox every 3 months to keep herself looking like a 25 year old while being one of those 'clean girl' influencers and she has to shut off half her comments because she gets so much hatemail. The other one is literally on the verge of making the rest of her family go no contact with her because of her behavior and entitlement regarding her fiance. and the third one is in an abusive relationship with a narcissistic drug addict.

One thing i will say is that struggle teaches you a lot- and they've got a lot to learn in that department. they might be further along in their careers but not everyones path is linear! and you never know what people might be going through that they aren't showing- I made the decision to get off of social media (besides tumblr) Pretty soon after the pandemic started and let me tell you it's definitely worth it. Now nobody knows whats going on with me unless i tell them- and thats a bit of a powertrip.

i hope i can keep writing things to comfort others <3 It hits me sometimes that like- a lot of people do jobs they hate for not so much pay- so its probably worth it for me to try very very hard at this thing that i like so much with the hope of it working out <3 considering the very likely possibility of being born into this day and age means you're little more than a manual labor slave or a corporate labor slave.

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nightcolorz · 2 years

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HOT TAKE 🔥🔥🔥🔥 Izzy is a bad guy 🤯🤯🤯

I actually don’t know if this is technically a hot take tbh ✋🏼 I thought this was the generally held and understood take until recently when I saw people directly disputing it. Anyways, super steaming hot take; Lucius was entirely justified for refusing to do the chores Izzy told him to do. He wasn’t hired and he isn’t being paid to do manual labor, he’s the ship scribe, literally his entire job is to write down Stede’s exploits. And Izzy knows that, that’s why he specifically targeted Lucius to do all the unpleasant jobs no one wants to do. It’s a dig at how he thinks the job Stede hired Lucius to do isn’t valid because of how frivolous and stupid he finds it. Both bullying Lucius and Stede inherently in the process.

When Lucius argues with Izzy by telling him that Stede will be furious with him for wearing out his scribe’s fingers he’s not trying to be lazy and skip out of work by threatening to tell dad, Lucius’s job on the revenge is to write, and if because of Izzy’s petty intimidation tactics he was unable to do the job he was hired to do, Stede would be rightfully pissed.

A lot of people argue that Izzy was just trying to keep the ship running and get the crew to do their jobs, which I whole heartedly disagree with. If Izzy just wanted to get the barnacles cleaned off he could’ve gotten literally any other crew member to do it, specifically someone who was more equipped to do that sort of work. He chose Lucius specifically because Lucius’s job does not require him to do manual work and that pisses his traditionalist pirate self off. Izzy knew with the captains gone he’d finally have an opportunity to take that frustration out, he had no pure intentions. This was all very clearly illustrated in the show.

That’s why Lucius besting him by the end is so triumphant, because he didn’t let someone who was trying to bully him and invalidate his role on the revenge get him down. I’m sorry, but if you came out of that plot line sincerely believing Izzy was the unjust victim of his lazy coworkers you need a lesson in media compression, because it genuinely baffles me how you could’ve possibly come to that conclusion.

And just to be clear I love Izzy with my whole heart, so I totally get trying to see plot events from his perspective. But I feel like so many of you forgot that he’s a very bad person and one of the literal villains of the show. You’ve woobified him to such an unrecognizable point that you’re twisting the canon events of the show to make it seem like he’s a perfectly innocent and reasonable person. It’s so bewildering and embarrassing to see completely sincere “X character is actually the bad guy for being rude to Izzy” takes.

(This post was partly prompted by me seeing waaay too many mfs on my Twitter timeline say that Izzy is justified for the way he treats Stede because Stede is bitchy and calls him “Iggy” sometimes. As if that in anyway compares or justifies Izzy likening Stede to a dog that needs to be put down. The bad Lucius takes were simply the last straw).

I mean seriously, what happened to the Izzy enjoyers who like his character because of how deranged and evil he is? I’m so tired of so called villain fans who only enjoy villains when they find convoluted ways to justify and excuse their actions. Like, you guys know it’s ok to like bad fictional characters, right? There’s nothing wrong with that. Trying to find ways in which they’re actually not that bad isn’t doing anything, it’s just insulting to the message and intent of the source material and embarrassing to villain fans who actually enjoy the villains and not the woobified internet versions of them.

#Our flag means death #ofmd #izzy hands #jizzy hands #lucius spriggs #izzy discourse?? On my page??#how dare I #Sorry for this I’m just getting really fed up with all the shitty takes #I try to ignore them but it’s hard when they’re so god damn prevalent #ofmd meta

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howaboutcastiel-personal · 11 months

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I feel like there is not much else for me to do but write for today. I just finished reading some dark fic (corrupted blorbo, the kind I normally don’t like)

I want to write MYA, I want to write FWMS, I want to finish Robe and Crown and find something else worth writing. I want to write about my OCs and I want to get back into artwork. Those are things I want, but also

I do not have nearly the motivation to do any of them. I don’t have a desire to get out of bed. To do anything at all. Today I drank and I got high and it didn’t help. It isn’t that I necessarily wanted to die today I just… have no desire to do anything at all. I don’t want to sleep either. My dreams are horrible always. I could even have a straight up nightmare. I don’t want to lay awake and think. I don’t want to be awake and be hungry, I don’t want to eat, I don’t want to drink water. I don’t want to shower or bathe. I don’t want to get off anymore. I don’t want to read or watch TV or anything. I don’t want to clean.

I want nothing at all and I don’t know how to solve that.

I could eat more. I don’t deserve to eat more. I don’t deserve to sleep more. I guess drinking water is neither here nor there. I don’t deserve to bathe and run up the water bill considering I’m not working. I don’t really want to see my friends or anything. I don’t want to get new friends or more than friends. Nothing matters to me I guess.

I need to stop sleeping and stop eating and I need to drink so much coffee I can’t breathe anymore. I have to go get a job and I have to drive around until I hit someone. I don’t know what kind of job I would like, I don’t care about anything. Something manual labor maybe. Why the fuck does nothing matter anymore? Not a damn thing at all.

No more drugs no more alcohol no more sleeping in no more fucking food that I haven’t worked for. No internet unless it’s job hunting. No TV. No music. I don’t get to sit down unless I’ve finished a room. No coloring, no painting, no body art. I have to do stretches. I have to do sets and yoga and fuckinf meditate with good posture. Hair goes up in a high tight bun. Don’t worry about it. Don’t think about it.

Coffee and water and coffee and water.

I have to plan dinners. Simple meal ideas I can do all on my own. Minimize dishes. Clean as I cook. Be ready to leave right after dinner and take the dog on a walk?

And I have to actually talk to people on hinge and tinder. Not until the internet ban finishes though. No getting off either. No porn and no smut. If I’m writing, no internet. Only the docs.

I have to actually make goals. Figure out if there’s things that I want. That I will ever want again. I have to do it or I will fade. I’m all the way away now it feels like. Nothing is worth anything at all and I yelled at my dad today. I slept until noon.

#diary

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kammartinez · 11 months

Text

By Rainesford Stauffer

“So it’s like a hobby?” Someone recently asked about my writing. No, I wanted to say. But yes, kind of. I’ve stumbled my way through this conversation many times before. Yes, I have a full-time job that isn’t related to my writing; yes, I still think of myself as a writer. Is it a hobby, a side hustle, a passion project? It’s all of those things and somehow none of them.

Yet when someone refers to writing as my hobby, I flinch, despite knowing the value of hobbies, or perhaps because it feels so unlike my actual hobbies, like baking. I know how often creative work or work by disabled people, people who are parenting or caregiving, or people with other responsibilities gets relegated to this “hobby” categorization, regardless of how people classify it themselves. Maybe it is a hobby. Or maybe it’s work someone cares about that doesn’t fit a forty-hours-a-week model.

When reporting for my second book, about ambition, I spoke to a researcher who detailed links between ambition, extremism, and passion. Obsessive passion can occur when our passions and identities are the same—the passion is all that we are. “When ambitious people passionately pursue their goals while also attending to their other needs, they are less likely to engage in extremism,” the research states. I heard about the extremism of pursuing one’s passion while reporting: in careers sucking up every hour and every thought, yes, but also in hobbies-turned-passions, like the person who talked about thriving in the competitiveness of extreme, triathlon-style races outside of his grueling medical career, and how all-consuming that was. I wondered how often I dipped into the extremism side—how often I pursued work I cared about at my own expense.

My mind flitted to all the times I’d heard about “following a passion,” frustrated by the unsustainability of that advice. “But it’s your passion” and “love of the work” often get used as excuses for exploitation or underpayment in all different kinds of fields, from writing to teaching to nursing and more—an endless list, despite the fact that rent can’t be paid with passion alone. Who can follow their dreams as work—and how and whether those dreams are compensated—is a question that gets lost amid a million backward suggestions that if you really loved the work, it wouldn’t feel like work at all. I’d smashed up against the limits of my own passion before, like when my hard-fought dream of being a dancer ended when my body screamed that it had limits, even if my passion did not, or how, when I was just starting to try to write, I wrote cringe-worthy pieces for free, as if that experience would “pay off” someday. At the same time, I now know that my passion propels me to take on work I care about, even if it means I’m overworked—dreaming of a balance I only sometimes maintain.

Once, someone asked whether I’d ever considered “really writing,” the suggestion being that pieces I reported and books I’ve written were somehow less real because they were not my primary source of income, of health insurance, of work. Nearly right after, someone else asked why I wouldn’t just quit writing if I felt I was working too much. I had no good answers.

Since I was old enough to work, I’d never only had one job, and since I’ve been writing, I’ve never only been a writer. But I’ve always wondered how that would feel. I was used to writing on the side of whatever combination of jobs I had, whether it was working for a nonprofit or working in events for a ballet company that involved a surprising amount of manual labor and, unsurprisingly, no health insurance. I’ve taught toddlers and cleaned bathrooms at a dance studio, and done admin work and random copywriting. I even make a joke about it in the book, paraphrasing When Harry Met Sally: on the side is a big thing for me. I wrote the book on the side. But it felt like the center.

If writing was happening in what some might call margins of my life, did that inherently make it a hobby—or was it actually what knit my life together?

By this point, I know many writers who juggle writing alongside other jobs, other responsibilities—other dreams, even, which is perhaps why the “hobby versus job” binary felt stiff to me. Writing shouldn’t be so unstable that one needs another job to support it. But having another job doesn’t diminish the work of writing, either.

When Neema Avashia, an educator and author of Another Appalachia, began drafting her book, she was teaching full-time and organizing to fight back against school closures. At the same time, she was going to a writing class at GrubStreet once a week and waking up early on Saturdays to write. “Sometimes I look back and I don't really understand how it all happened at the same time,” Avashia told me. “What I realized was the writing was the outlet for it all.”

From the time she was a teenager, Avashia wanted to do writing as full-time work, but she told me that it was hard for her parents, who immigrated to the United States, to see writing as a stable career, telling her that writing could be her avocation, not her vocation. “There are lots of really big questions to ask about the financial sustainability of writing, and who can take those risks,” Avashia said. Plus, as she pointed out, the publishing industry doesn’t necessarily reward those who do make it their full-time job. Even in public education, she said, “I get paid in a much more reasonable way than folks working at HarperCollins do.” (In 2022, the HarperCollins union went on strike, ultimately securing a contract that included a new wage structure and annual increases to minimum salaries at each level, among other highlights.)

The inequities in writing are vast and systemic. The publishing industry remains disproportionately white, with a report by PEN America detailing how biases impact not only who gets published, but how writers are treated and compensated throughout the publication process. Even beyond publishing, underpayment and understaffing often impact who can write, and where. Privilege and bias shape careers from the very start, with who can afford to work for free often underpinning writing-related internships. Then, there’s the layoffs and closures: “It goes down to the bedrock of journalism as a career—even as an idea or desire,” Tajja Isen, author of Some of My Best Friends: Essays on Lip Service, wrote recently for The Walrus. “What are journalists, both would-be and employed, supposed to aspire to now?”

Now, Avashia thinks there are points where writing might demand more of one’s time—for example, when her book came out, she shifted to a part-time schedule at work. But in some cases, her job is where she builds relationships and thinks through questions that inform her writing. “The books that moved me the most are the books where I feel like the writer is most proximate to the things that they're talking about—that they are living those questions themselves,” she explained. For example, she cites Michelle Zauner’s Crying in H Mart and Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking as books that are about grief—but ones in which writers are living their questions from the inside, and using writing as a means of making meaning of those questions.

For her, writing is not a hobby, not work, but what she calls a “third space.” She added, “Writing has always been the way I make meaning of the questions.”

Hannah Matthews, author of You or Someone You Love, told me that she writes for the same reason she does other work: “To communicate and be in community. To connect.” She added, “I think my writing would be so hollow without all of my other work happening around it.” When Matthews began writing her book, her baby was eight months old, and she was working four days a week at a reproductive health clinic, as well as doing doula work beyond those hours. Writing happened, she said, in eight-minute spurts during the day or after bedtime, when she was exhausted.

Sometimes, she feels envious of those who have the resources to write for a living with no other jobs. Then she envisions the alternate reality in which her family could afford that, and comes back to the knowledge that only writing actually wouldn’t be healthiest for her. “I hate that money has to figure into my decisions about where and when and what to write, and I try to just write for pleasure when I can—to remind myself that it's a love and a friend, and not just another job or another obligation,” she said.

It’s crucial that there are more accessible opportunities for people to enter—and remain in—the writing field in all its forms. Whether something produces profit should not be the determinant of the meaning it holds. Writing is work, and like all labor, it deserves sustainable, equitable compensation. There are stories that go untold because someone can’t afford to write them. Talking points on “doing it for the love of the work” feel shallow when passion can’t pay bills, and even more so when millionaires and CEOs tinker with people’s livelihoods as if it’s all a game.

I think, sometimes, of that comment on “really writing,” and I wonder what it means. That if I’d really been ambitious, I would’ve “made it” by now? But then I look at all it has made. Writing has given me plenty of pleasure; it has made a community I couldn’t have imagined when I sent out my first shaky pitches. Through writing, I have found colleagues whose writing have shaped my life and my thinking; I have made friends in countless different zip codes, circumstances, and ages, who cheer for each other, share advice on writing cover letters and negotiating fees, and who have been there when I’ve needed help beyond my career, too. In the work itself, I practice skills—how I interview, how I write, how I read—that I’ll be learning and relearning anew for the rest of my life.

It’s also made me think of so many writers whose work I admire, and how they’ve written in the midst of parenting, caregiving, and other work. They’ve written in their cars on lunch breaks, in the midst of grief, while navigating a dozen other parts of life and pieces of themselves. I think of all that work has given someone, and what it has made.

I crave more: more time to write, more space, more chances to branch out. But having another job doesn’t lessen the writing. And writing as a hobby isn’t a commentary on how and whether you were ambitious enough to turn it into something else. As long as “making it” is about full-time jobs and hours logged, rather than creating meaningful, sustainable opportunities for as many people as possible to do their version of the work, we’re hitting the limits of passion—because whatever form it comes in, it’s work.

#writing

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kamreadsandrecs · 11 months

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By Rainesford Stauffer

If writing was happening in what some might call margins of my life, did that inherently make it a hobby—or was it actually what knit my life together?

For her, writing is not a hobby, not work, but what she calls a “third space.” She added, “Writing has always been the way I make meaning of the questions.”

It’s also made me think of so many writers whose work I admire, and how they’ve written in the midst of parenting, caregiving, and other work. They��ve written in their cars on lunch breaks, in the midst of grief, while navigating a dozen other parts of life and pieces of themselves. I think of all that work has given someone, and what it has made.

#writing

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