#Hospice Care Job Opportunities

[01graceandglory]

Grace and Glory Hospice is an established, full-service home hospice agency located in Brentwood, California. Our hospice services are professionally superior both in the technology of hospice care we provide and in the compassionate application of our technology during end of life care.

#End of Life Care #Full-service Home Hospice Agency #Home Hospice Care #Hospice Care Job Opportunities

[infinitelytheheartexpands]

on the cusp between childhood and adulthood, the sudden onset of grief when you weren’t in the room where it happened, and the impossible art of growing up in a very short time: or, why the princess of france from love’s labour’s lost means a lot to me personally

on the heels of reading as the princess of france with @socialshakespeare

heads up, the rest of this is going to get Very Long Very Quickly, so i’m putting it under a cut. tw for discussions of cancer, parental death, and grief.

so when @socialshakespeare announced that it would be doing love’s labour’s lost this month, in the box where you can put any additional notes about your casting preferences, i pretty much begged the admins to let me have a turn as the princess of france. y’know, i said, as a sort of twenty-first birthday present. and i was cast as the princess of france! thank you, socshakes! <3

but there was a very specific reason why i asked to play the princess of france.

and that reason is simply: she reminds me of me. more particularly, she reminds me of me from 2020, but me from 2020 was really the germination point of me today.

“savannah, everyone changed in 2020, 2020 was a fucking unbelievable year and it changed us all. it changed our whole world.” yeah. i’m well aware. but there’s a specific reason for me.

***

see, in early 2020, i was having a pretty decent time, actually. it was my senior year of high school, i had a great group of friends (much like the princess had her three ladies except my core friend group was bigger than that), things with my family weren’t great but i knew that come august i would be able to move out.

that first period of covid was awful and it changed so much and at times it felt like i was having a mental breakdown, but it wasn’t what ultimately ripped me apart that year.

you see, in 2018, about a month before my fifteenth birthday, my father was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer. for a good long while, though, it seemed like he might beat the odds. treatments were working, he went to one of the best hospitals in the country to get good care, and we believed that he just might make it.

and then in the summer of 2020, things rapidly took a turn for the worse.

on july 20, 2020, we all got sat down and told that the treatments weren’t working anymore, and they had elected to put my father on hospice care. i sobbed all that night and into the next morning, but i had a cashier job that summer at walmart. i was an essential worker and i had to power through.

in love’s labour’s lost, everyone knows even before the princess arrives that her father is extremely sick. for heaven’s sake, it’s why the princess is there in the first place instead of the king. and yet the princess powers through. there’s deals to be made, familial honor to be defended, and there’s also that tiny matter of falling in love and playing with the joy and laughter that come with it. and the princess embraces it.

she is young, she is optimistic, she is a bit sheltered maybe yet so smart, she has devoted friends, she has seemingly all the time in the world because no one knows when the time runs out so might as well believe it never will, right?

my high school graduation came five days later, on july 25. a rare opportunity to see friends then and, at long last, after a two-month delay and twelve years of study before that, a chance to celebrate. relatives came in. we had cake and flowers. we took photos on the soccer field in 90-degree weather but it didn’t matter because we were together and we were so full of joy on that blue-sky day.

and after that, only nineteen days until leaving. i had been counting the days for months, excited for new possibilities, not understanding the impact. it would be easy, i thought. all that needed done were to pack my bags and suitcases and buy some last-minute things, say my goodbyes for now to my favorite people, enjoy every moment i could, and wait in a haze of delightful agony and optimism until the morning of august 13 came.

this went as planned for about three days.

july 29, 2020, started like any other day. i got my things together, had an argument with my stepmom about doing the dishes (you said i can’t do the dishes when it’s late and everyone’s asleep after i get off work, when do you expect me to do them), decided to start the dishwasher right before i left for work (if she was mad about it, then she could unload the dishwasher as needed and we could have this conversation when i got home, i reasoned) and went to walmart for my shift that day. i cut one of my fingers on a taco seasoning packet, watched some of the salzburg 2007 production of berlioz’s benvenuto cellini on my lunch break, and in general otherwise it was a pretty normal shift. and like all normal shifts, i took my sweet time getting out and getting home.

at about 5:15 i was dawdling and trying to find an excuse to not get in my car just yet when i got a call from my stepmom that basically went like this:

me: hi

stepmom: hey. are you coming home yet?

me: i will be there in a little bit.

stepmom: it’s been raining so you need to be careful getting home.

me: it hasn’t rained that much and i know how to drive in the rain.

stepmom: just be careful getting home. bye.

so i sighed and went “well i can’t put this off any longer”, and got in my car and put some more berlioz on and drove home, thinking about how she sounded upset over the phone and oh i was going to get a tongue-lashing for leaving the dishes in the dishwasher all day.

and just as i was pulling up, i noticed my older brother’s truck outside. huh, i thought, that’s weird. why is he here?

i pulled into the driveway and saw my stepmom sitting on the step outside the side door by herself. two thoughts about what this meant went into my head at about the same time:

option 1: uh oh my stepmom is big mad and she waited out here just so she could tell me off right when i got home

option 2: uh oh my brother and my stepmom got into a fight again for whatever reason and she just can’t deal with it right now

(both of these, for the record, were entirely plausible things that could have happened)

so i parked and got out and decided to not commit to either of these but just play this very strange situation as coolly as possible. i believe my exact words were “hey, what are you doing out here by your lonesome?”

and like monsieur marcade, she could only get out a handful of words, and it was left to me to fill in the meaning.

the meaning: savannah, your father is dead.

and, to quote a different shakespeare play, “i must be from thence.”

my father died and i wasn’t there.

***

this is the same fate to befall the princess of france: her political mission mixed with girls’ trip has taken her to navarre, to a world full of annoying yet beloved men and delightful games and amateur theatre filled with passion. and then she learns that her father all the way in paris has died, and she wasn’t there.

now we don’t know what the princess’ relationship with her father was like; this is not something that is discussed at all in the play. but i know what my relationship with my father was like. we didn’t always understand each other or agree on everything, but i loved him. and in a childhood where the concept of family was a loose one due to an over decade-long stretch of family drama, he was the one constant.

and then four days after my high school graduation, he was simply gone, never to return.

now some folks will probably go back to those days of late july and early august 2020 and see that i posted exactly nothing about all this. why? i just needed a space where i could forget, where i could live in denial for a little longer, where i could cling to something in my life that wasn’t about this unimaginable loss until i couldn’t anymore.

living in the late 1500s, with a whole country to newly run, no social media, and a permanent existence in the public eye, the princess does not have this sort of escape. she knows right away the awful truth. it is inevitable; she must leave this happy sojourn, this newfound love.

her first line after she realizes her father is dead shows that plainly: “boyet, prepare. i will away tonight.” and even as she plans to shut herself up in a mourning-house, it is at the same time that she will be learning first hand how to run her kingdom.

sixteen days after my father’s death, i left home to learn how to live on my own. and even before that, i got only five days of bereavement leave from work, and i went back to work the day after my father’s funeral. let alone the rest of the frantic preparations for leaving home and starting a brand new life alone—in the middle of a pandemic and now, with this grief weighing on me.

life and the world do not wait for grief.

and sixteen days is too fast to grow up.

you can’t just flip the switch from child to adult, especially when you’re grieving.

and when the world forces you to do so, it is truly awful.

there’s no closure to it. as another character mourns in the closing moments of the play, “our wooing doth not end like an old play.” well, neither did the princess’ relationship with her father.

to continue with the shakespeare allusions, as much as i love and am heartbroken by the deathbed reconciliation between king henry iv and prince hal in henry iv, part 2 (a scene i was lucky to get to read with socshakes last september and which still lives in my head rent free), sometimes it simply doesn’t work out that way and you’re still left to pick up the pieces and forever wonder what might have been in those final moments on top of it.

living without that—without those answers, without closure, without any sort of comfort, on top of everything else—is so, so hard.

it is widely accepted that the love’s labour’s won mentioned in the catalogues is, in fact, a lost sequel and not an alternate name for any number of surviving shakespeare comedies. and while i have never found love in the manner of any shakespeare comedy, i believe nonetheless that i am living the princess’ story—a young woman, always grieving, trying to learn about life and figure out how to live it in a hostile world, trying to balance all the things, trying to come to terms with closure that will never come to her.

love’s labour’s lost fills me with an ache by the end. a true heartache, a deep emotional pain like few other stories i have ever come across. when i first saw it, i praised it for being messy and real. i saw me in it. i saw my own grief. i saw what i could have been, the kind of person i was before that fateful and fatal summer, the realization that we must leave that self behind because they can no longer navigate this new world, the not wanting to let go, the not understanding why but knowing you have to anyway. to know you have to take the other road.

***

recently, for a local exhibit, a museum asked people in the area to send in writing about their regrets, something they wished had happened differently. mine was eventually one of the ones selected for inclusion. here it is.

in another lifetime, i am there when my father dies.

i am there, holding his hand, feeling the blood that connects us rush through him, hearing his breaths—however shallow.

skin on skin.

i’m able to tell him one last time that i love him, i will always love him. perhaps through all the pain that comes with a pancreatic cancer diagnosis, the sleep-like state he was in for most of the last two days, he will hear me and even respond.

my family can all grieve together, knowing we all saw it happen and we all got a strange sort of closure.

my relationship with him on this earth would not feel like a perpetually unfinished story, with an ending written when i wasn’t even there.

but it is this lifetime.

someone once said grief is just love with no place to go. i believe that. and, well, this is my life. i have to muddle through and believe, make closure out of thin air and time, let love go nowhere and everywhere.

***

so, life imitates art and vice versa. and thank you @socialshakespeare for letting me have this story that has come to mean so much to me in the few short months since i first came across it. <3

#personal #thoughts #love’s labour’s lost #love’s labor’s lost #on humanity #on grief #on growing up #tw cancer #tw parental death #tw grief #words words words #theatre #plays #theater #my writing #if you made it this far thanks for reading <3 #shakespeare #william shakespeare

[mintytealfox]

So we have Survivor Nort Decucts... And now we have Hunter Nort deducts... Put them together and what do we get?

You get a hella tragic story oh my GOSHHHH 😭😭😭😭

The set up will be: 1-Surv!Norton 1-Hunt!Norton -Then my thoughts 😏

1-Kindness: Is that an Olive Branch you just threw or... (A Good Deed: Norton, a Miner, Always visited the hospice and cared for all of the homeless old miners) 1-Shrewd 'Each step requires long-term planning' (Shrewd: An old, folded letter: Yellow and brittle. It was once abandoned in a dust corner. Signed, Benny.) -This is interesting 👀 These are both the first which automatically makes me think they are connected. I wonder if the Olive Branch thrown is from Benny? Or if its from Norton with the helping out with the people around Benny? Either way Benny ends up sending a letter to Norton. Maybe it saying something like 'want to meet up? I have stuff that might interest you' or something. Which adds to my -squinting- at Benny. Sounds like Norton was alone even though Benny was around all that time? hmmm

2-Diligence: The more effort, the more rewards? (Work Record: Norton Campbell is always the first to go down into the mines and the last to leave it.) 2-Lonely: 'The loneliness of separation must be endured on the climb up' (A coin: Stained by ash, footprints, tears, and dirt from the slums.) -Brings up the whole 'he had nobody' not even Benny vibe again -squints- Where was Benny during all of this? Seems like Norton would work and work and work so he couldn't feel or notice how alone he is. Like work was his only constant and 'friend' to keep himself from going nutty, but in the hours where work couldn't be used as a distraction he was miserable 😿Crying as he clings to what little he has...my gosh. That coin was so important to him man, I wonder if it was the last thing he got from his dad or something, cause he takes it everywhere and it pops up all the time in the trailer orz which means he never spent it just held onto it enough where you see TEAR STAINS ON IT! I CANNOT-- 😭😭😭😭

3-Efficiency: We need more trials. (A stack of Recommendation Letters: It can be seen that every one of Norton's previous employers appreciated his hard work and expressed their regret at being unable to keep him for long.) 3-Sophisticated 'wear a mask for the sake of survival' (A note on the back: What a detestable Person! Wagging his tail like a dog in front of the overseer!) -This one I can’t quite grasp yet -squints- is this referring to the back of the letter from Benny? Why write that there? Is Benny talking smack about Norton being so good at wearing a mask and pleasing the employers? Or is Norton talking smack about himself? Or is Norton pissed about others doing what he is doing? Wearing a mask to just survive or what the heck? 🤣 This one is still baffling me fr fr Oh wait a min....Seems like he had to jump job from job cause employers kept needing to fire workers, unable to keep him on as an employee. Likely becoming more jaded that him working hard and being good isn't working much for him since he keeps getting let go. Then seeing some fresh faced bushy tailed worker beside him would likely piss him off lol 'Why are you acting like that we are all getting fired anyways' Yea I super don't know with this one, I am juggling so many possibilities for this one.

4-Persistence: People won't be unlucky forever, right? (1-Page Note: There are 13 items listed. The first 12 appear to be names of places, and the last one is crossed out.) 4-Willful 'Those who persist will encounter more opportunities' (A page from a diary: I found that old man's notes. Now, it belongs to the one who lives long.) -He doesn’t sound all that fond of Benny pff like there is a hint of a dig there and/or him trying to convince himself that he is going to break out of here and live. Did he decide to set a plan in motion after getting the letter from Benny? Or was it after meeting with Benny?

5-Patience: Next time... (Diary: Tomorrow, I will go to the last place recorded by the old man. If there's still nothing, then I hope he...) 5-Gloomy 'The other side of Kindness and affability' (Abandoned junk: A tattered quilt, a chisel, an unsent letter, and a small piece of wrapped and hardened white bread) -This one I don't see much of a connection other than reference to old man and then there is that QUILT that could have possibly been the one Benny had made for Norton when the Dad was still alive. 'Then I hope he...' sounds hella ominous now lol -squints- Then Is this stuff found with Benny or was it found where Norton abandoned everything? Did Norton not send a letter? Maybe he meant to go back to get his things but never got to cause of the damage the explosion deed had on his mind ah. This one also gives me more questions than answers lol

6-Courage: The more dangers, the more opportunities. (A Geological Report: Part of the tunnel had been blocked by an unidentified object. One small mistake could cause the inner structure of the mine to collapse.) 6-Greedy 'Merely retaking what the heavens owe' (A map: Several crossed-out mines and a red circle.) -I am thinking Greedy and Gloomy should switch here cause Greedy goes well with the Patience with reference to 'go to the last place recorded' BUT what the frig is that 'unidentified object' -squints- Did Norton set that up?? Was that in the red circled mine? Was the place just found like that and Norton was like -cough cough- "whatever nothing is stopping me". Is this all just setting up how Norton was willing to go anywhere to find what he is looking for? hmmmm Willing to go where no man has gone before. Smash Greed and Courage together and ya thats what you get lol A desperate dude that has nothing to loose and only to gain if this all goes right. aahh

7-Alert: You need to be more cautious. (News: Due to the use of gunpowder and detonators, the era of simple rock drilling is coming to an end. 7-Arrogant 'Only by being bolder can you challenge destiny' (Torn paper: Record the blasting's depth, distance between holes… and the amount of explosives used.) -He uhhhhh, yea he definitely ends up using explosives lol. And its interesting that he made sure that everything was measured and counted in every way. Bro knew what he was doing 1000%. He had it all down to the second, the inch! He was careful alright, careful to make sure this goes perfect AH

8-Share: You need more helpers. (Mining Precautions: Theft of explosives is illegal and will be reported to the police once discovered.) 8-Hypocrite 'Important moments must be witnessed by companions' (A memo: Two bottles of the cheapest whine for those drunkards to wet their throats. And toss some fatty meat to the guard dog.) -BRO STOLE THE HELL OUTTA THEM EXPLOSIVES LOOOOOOOL AND HE DID IT IN THE MOST CLICHE WAY EVER AND IT WORKED IIMMMMM--LOOOOOOOOOOOOOL Like How many laws did he end up breaking by the end of all this?? LIKE GEEZZ And people are so used to him being kind and caring, none were the wiser! This Duddddeeeee!! He played the LONG GAME GOLLY

9-Wisdom: Smart people know when to hold on and when to let go. (An Accident Report: An explosion collapsed a mine on the outskirts of the city. It's suspected that the miners had mishandled the explosives, and the police expressed that there's little chance for anyone to survive) 9-Ruthless 'Exploding from deep within like an ignited explosive' (A page from a diary: Those journalists and policemen are gone. So it's just that simple?) -Bro played everything! The people, the system, the science, the math?? LIKE DUDE! If it was an accident, he wouldn't have survived. Norton had this planned to the T! Every 'i' was dotted and ever 't' was crossed, he knew he was surviving that explosion if everything went perfect like he was planning for OH MY GOSH. Bro playing chess while everyone else was LEARNING CHECKERS

10-Luck: That's only because the rest are just unlucky. (1-Page Case: Moderate burns to the face. Suspected to have been caused by direct exposure to excessive temperatures) 10-Numb 'Forget them and stay away from the dark underground' (A magnet: "Maybe it can keep me away from misfortune and darkness.") -He really didn't get much out of this did he. Like, all he got was trauma, burnt up, and a magnet. And boi is he clinging to that magnet with is all. His new coin; his new thing to cling to orz He really lies to himself a lot 😿He keeps finding out far too late that what he thought would change everything just made everything worse 🙃like yes everything changed, but changed for the worst. That tunnel vision hitting him so hard he never stops to go 'huh, this is a horrible idea, how would this possibly change my fate??' Its like he is trying so hard to convince himself that it was all worth it cause he got this crazy magnet orz gooooossshhhhhhhhhhhh Instead of using this as a wake up call it seems he is pressing on that sigma grind. Nothing like a plague doctor bird man monster to set things right LOOOOL

#bro has my head WHIRRRLLLLIINNGGGGG LOL #I feel like I forgot to add a load of other thoughts but i can't think of them rn #norton campbell #identity v #idv prospector #idv #idv norton #identity v norton #idv norton campbell #identity v prospector #idv fools gold #idv fool's gold #idv theory #identity v theory #ask #asks #minty answers #minty speaks

[moregraceful]

😐 ok throwing some long long career thoughts with a side dish of religion under here

talking to the retired pastor on saturday was so like....she was like, boy you live like this? you do so much and so much of it does not nourish your spirit or heart? can you consider WHY you do so much? and i was like, well. when i was terminally underemployed due to my own actions for a year and a half i simply went crazy in the club and when opportunities arose to be less crazy in the club, i took them. and she was like, but now you are more crazy in the club? you are so stressed you're developing health issues? i mean yeah. character flaw

anyway she told me to drop out of school because she asked what i enjoyed about it and nothing i said was about the actual content. i told her what i loved was being annoyed as hell learning about how other people experience the world and expanding my definition of what it means to be alive. she was like, you can get that anywhere, literally any good grad program will offer the experience of being annoyed as hell by your peers. why are you taking courses on a topic you don't enjoy that doesn't nourish your spirit just because you love being irritated by other people of faith. and i said ohhhhh. so i'm dropping out. uh tonight

she also said something deeply discomfiting to my view of my future. i think i've said here before either obliquely or explicitly that my dream job would be spiritual care for lgbtq+ patients in hospice . i told her that and she was like, you know that's achievable right. that doesn't have to be a pipe dream. in fact if what you love in all your jobs is one-on-one care for people, have you also considered pastoral counseling and hospice or hospital chaplaincy full stop? given that your family straddles multiple faith communities, you have very few actual christian friends, are intimately equipped for navigating both complex and fraught blood family structures, AND seem to worry endlessly about spiritual harm, spiritual violence, and spiritual trauma in all forms. and i was like WELL NO BUT-

googled clinical pastoral education, clicked on one (1) link, got so stressed out i closed the tab, but. i mean i'm not whole ass blowing up my life again based on one single conversation, primarily bc i need healthcare and also bc i enjoy two of my three jobs mostly. also bc i think my family would kill me if i blew up my life after having a bad week AGAIN. but! weird to consider that things i dreamed of doing can actually be done.

she also asked if i like to do anything creative and i simply did not have it in me to explain sports rpf to a minister in her late 70s that day so i said well i'm terrible at art and very unskilled but i love the act of creating and it always makes me so happy even if the end product is usually kind of chaotic. and she was like good, do more of that. feed your soul by creating things that make you happy. so i must continue my pat sieloff journey

life.....this is it

#TRULY. IF YOU DO NOT GIVE YOURSELF A BREAK YOUR BODY WILL GIVE ONE TO YOU #fresno oilers.txt #it's so funny like...this is the 4th person who has told me to go into that specific field #2 deacon/licensed therapists. 1 psychiatrist. 1 social worker for palliative care #and i DON'T listen. EVER.

[leoblooms]

Paul family lore dump

woooo ok here's the lore dump about his parents and sister under the cut! It's a little stream of conscious but yea maybe I'll edit it a smidge

Amelia and Isaac

Amelia Allen (maiden name- Kaminsky) met Isaac Allen at the same community college. He was getting his start studying for a law degree while she was getting a liberal arts degree. While somewhat differing in views, they hit it off fairly well. He found Amelia well-spoken, not putting up with getting talked down to. Both came from Jewish households, but Isaac had a more traditional upbringing that showed in his approach to religion in Paul’s childhood up until their divorce.

They eloped in 1957 after Amelia graduated, and had their first child at ages 21 (Amelia) and 23 (Isaac), Jennifer. Both were incredibly excited to have their baby girl and Amelia took to taking care of her as Isaac continued his law degree studies. Over the next six years, Isaac saw success as a corporate lawyer and their quality of living only grew. Needless to say, they were comfortable, living in a New Jersey suburb as an upper middle class family. So much so, they decided to have their second child in 1963, Paul. 

However, a year or so later Isaac grew colder and more distant. He spent less and less time with his family much to Amelia’s annoyance. 

Amelia became more outspoken of her own beliefs, becoming interested in keeping up with politics along with developing an affinity for the folk scene. She was what some would label a hippie. Isaac had little interest in politics, humoring her but not feeling one way or the other. He felt things were pretty good in terms of the opportunities he’s had even with some obstacles and hardships. He’s a believer in the bootstrap ideology and claims a lot of people should just suck it up and get a job.

This would cause heads to butt more and more especially as he withdrew from his role in the family. On nights, he’d come home and isolate in his study, listening to records and keeping to himself. Amelia on the other hand, would do her best to be there for both of their children but it wore her down. The fighting increased but they tried to not do it in front of the kids, but that wasn’t always successful. Isaac would begin to take his frustration out on Paul, as he viewed him to be too soft (despite being a child) because of him mostly hanging around Amelia and Jen. This would result in verbal abuse that made it so Paul avoided him as much as possible. Amelia of course found this to be horrible, but did little to intervene in the moment. 

This would all accumulate until around 1970 when the two filed for divorce, Amelia getting full custody of both children. Isaac had no interest in fighting her on that, ultimately being  absent from their lives post-divorce. 

Amelia did everything she could to make things as painless as possible for her kids, and through alimony they were able to still live a fairly comfortable life and send both of them to college. She didn’t try to keep much contact (outside of any legal obligations) with Isaac after everything until he reached out in 1987 to tell her he had been diagnosed with cancer and wanted to make ammends. She would let him stay with her in 1989 up until his death, cared for by hospice nurses in the guest bedroom.

Jennifer

Jennifer Allen is Paul’s older sister (6 year gap), she took on a lot of responsibilities after their dad left including babysitting Paul a lot. She’s always been protective of Paul and of course never wanted him to believe he had to fight his battles alone. After an assault in college, Paul begged her not to tell their mom and she obliged. A part of her still wishes she had, wondering if she only made things worse by not pushing him to seek help. As he got older, a rift began to form between them especially after their dad was back in the picture. Jen does her best to keep them close, and Paul similarly but there will always be something lost.

The one thing her and Paul truly disagreed on was their dad. Jen had 6 years on Paul and thus, had a different experience of their dad before things went downhill. Blinded by nostalgia, she can’t bring herself to fully hate him like Paul can so when he tries to make ammends, she scolds Paul for refusing. This has always been a thing between them, even as kids when she blamed him for the divorce. In her early teen mind, he came along and caused strain and she wasn’t afraid to tell him that. She grew past this as she got older and feels guilty for how she treated him, but doesn't broach the subject.

Jen studied fine arts and now runs her own small studio. She also volunteers a lot to help foster kids find homes, having a soft spot for them despite having no interest in having her own.

She also cannot stand Patrick and has voiced her views of him to Paul in private. But really, it's not very subtle anyway. She's happy Paul's not as in the closet but he could do better in her opinion.

Both her and Amelia know Paul's gay. Amelia walking in on Paul kissing a boy he had over in high school and Jen finding out shortly after. His mom was embarassingly supportive and both tried to coax him into living as his authentic self (something Paul doesn't truly feel he can ever have if he wants to keep his current lifestyle). Jen being bisexual can relate to Paul's conflicted feelings about this, but is nowhere near as in and out of the closet.

Other things about Paul

Paul got carsick a lot as a kid. Like he threw up more than once to the point where his mom would have to pack plastic bags and medicine.

He has curlier hair, but would straighten it in high school. In college, he let it go and by his late twenties he gelled it down.

Since he was a teen, Paul was a huge hair metal/ heavy metal fan. His favorite bands being Motley Crue and Judas Priest.

Paul would sometimes read comics with Jen, who was much more into them than Paul was.

Despite not having much of a connection to religion, he does get together with his mom and sister for Yom Kippur, Passover and the weekend nights of Hanukkah. Mostly because their mom wants to celebrate and be with them like when they were kids.

He'll never say, but he always worries about becoming his father. There are moments he can see such a thing happening, but he can't stand thinking about it too long.

#paul allen #hi lol heres the dump #lore notes #this is also just nice as ref for myself ngl

[lalalenii]

For the past year and a half, I really struggled taking care of myself, especially when it came to cooking. I used to live with an elderly roommate who unfortunately was hospiced due to her COPD about two years ago and died shortly after. I lived with her for over five years, and from the beginning, we had a very close relationship that felt more like family than anything. I cooked almost every night. After coming home from work, I used the time in the kitchen to unwind, I loved trying out new recipes and navigating my vegetarianism and her weirdly specific food preferences. I liked the physical work of it and the act of service it let me provide, especially during covid and when she kept getting sicker.

After she died, and I moved to my own place I stopped cooking. It was probably for a multitude of reasons. Grief I didn't recognise as such, my relationship hanging on a thread and all the energy it took from me. Me having to navigate living on my own for the first time, navigating a household on top of my 40hr week + 5ish hours for my side job, but sadly probably also that I tend to feel more motivation when I perform tasks for anyone other than myself. Even though I knew that I enjoyed cooking, I just rarely did it. Instant noodles and ready meals, ordering takeout... it just all felt so much easier. I was also away from home a lot so buying groceries would often result in them going bad.

So for the past 1.5 years, I frequented the pretzel stand at my local train station a lot. I got breakfast and/or lunch there multiple times a week. So often, that the people working the stand would recognise me. There was this elder Turkish woman, who had a really kind face and was always nice, even though she probably gets paid jack and has to get up at 5 or something. But seeing her always kind of made my day. I always walked away with a smile, feeling a little bit better about everything. She was so unpretentiously optimistic, a hard worker and as far as I could tell always nice to her colleagues. She always greeted me and wished me a nice day. Until one day, she told me that tomorrow would be her last day.

I was really touched that she considered to let me know. Let me know that she wouldn't be part of my routine anymore, despite us never exchanging more words than "one spiced pretzel please" "that would be 1.50" "with card please" "thank you have a nice day" "you too!"

I hadn't actually planned to go get pretzels again the next day, but I just had to, and I also took the opportunity to tell her how much her kindness meant to me. That I saw her kindness and that I appreciated it and that her smiles made my day better.

That was that. The following week she was gone and I went about my life, buying pretzels, struggling through my job and my relationship. I saw her every once in a while helping out at the stand – I was so elated every time and even if I didn't buy pretzels I made sure to at least wave at her in passing.

Months later, things changed. I gathered the courage to quit my job, to uproot my life. It was a risk but it paid off. My commute changed. From one hour to 25 minutes – what a luxury. My commute also now runs in a completely different direction. I take the underground to the town over and then get onto the bus. The added free time from the shortened commute is such a relief and while at least I manage to pack lunch every day now I'm still not very settled in, so I hit up the local bakery for some breakfast. I always get the same thing and after the salesperson stopped asking whether she can snap the cheese pastry in half to make it fit into the bag when I came in for the fourth time this week I decided I needed to change it up. I didn't want to become the cheese pastry girl. So on Friday, instead of the bakery I went to the local pretzel shop. I didn't even think about it too much. It's really the only other option near the station I switch to the bus. I was in a hurry to catch the bus, hoping that the woman and her child before me wouldn't also go into the shop, because if I missed the bus I'd have to walk and I'd be later than intended.

So I walked in. And what happened next honestly felt like the most stupid and clichéd movie scene. I did an actual double take. Because there behind the counter was my lovely, elder Turkish pretzel sales woman. I didn't even consider she just switched to another shop, I assumed she retired or did something out and only helped at the other stand occasionally to cover shifts or help out during rushes. But there she was, in all her glory. And when she saw me, we both laughed. It felt so ridiculous. We have no connection besides her selling me pretzels but the familiarity she brings into my life and into my morning routine was such a comfort. I don't know how she sees me, if she has a lot of customers like me but I do know she recognises me.

"I work in the neighbourhood now" I said as I stop laughing and she bags my regular order. "I'm stationed here now" she says and I tell her I'm happy to see her. I genuinely mean it.

"See you on Monday then," she says cheekily and although I was planning to cut the habit of getting breakfast at the bakery I make a promise to myself to stop by at least once a week. For the god-awful addicting spiced pretzel and for the kind woman who makes my day brighter without even meaning to.

#story time with leni #my coffee is cold now

[space-mermaid-writing]

The witchling and the god [Loki x Witch!Reader] Chapter 6

Summary: The Avengers were looking for someone to help Loki fit in with the team. To become socially acceptable, so to speak. He had been given the choice of sitting in a cell in Asgard or serving some sort of community service probation on Midgard. The Avengers and Shield both felt that as long as Loki was on Earth, he should be under supervision. This is now your job. Why? Because you’re a witch. You’re not sure why this qualifies you, but here you are, giving it a shot. What could possibly go wrong?

Tags: Witch!Reader, Magic, Witches, slow burn, everybody lives in the tower, character development, Loki‘s redemption, Stephen Strange is a friend, Loki and Stephen are frenemies, Tony Stark is a good bro, kids love Loki, Tony has stupid nicknames for everybody, eventual smut

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Read it on AO3 | Previous | Next

Chapter's Note: I know that 'Make a wish' and 'Meet your hero' are two different things but for the sake of this story I do not care. You know what is meant. More kids loving Loki in this chapter. Beta by @zaria-04 <3

Chapter 6: Make a wish

The next few days pass by quite uneventfully. However, there is one thing you can't get out of your head and that is how easily Loki dealt with the child. And after some thinking, you have an idea.

"Do you know what the 'Make a wish foundation' is?" you ask the God of Mischief one morning.

"I do not. But from the name, I would guess that this foundation makes wishes come true."

"Exactly. It's for kids with serious illnesses. One part of it is where kids who have to stay in hospitals permanently or long-term can meet their idols. Right now, Spider-Man is very popular, but there are also meet and greets with singers or famous artists," you explain, showing him some videos and pictures of these meetings on a tablet. "Sometimes just a double or an actor who looks like the idol comes in."

"And you want me to do something like that?" Loki laughs, but not amused. "That's something for your so-called heroes. Why would anyone want to meet me, the evil one?"

Some day you should talk to him about how he sees himself. "You wouldn't go there as a villain, but as a Norse god," you explain. "A lot of kids are interested in mythology. Especially when they're sick and are looking for comfort or answers. I went through a Roman phase myself when I was young, and I just devoured all the myths and stories."

"Pah, Jupiter is no match for us," Loki retorts dismissively, but seems to be thinking about your words, because he tilts his head and stares at a vague point. He usually does this when he is lost in thought. You give him all the time he needs.

"I'd better not ask. I don't know if I could handle knowing that more gods are real. I'd have to ask you about Jesus." You speak more to yourself than to him, but of course Loki opens his mouth, which is why you quickly add: "Please, don't answer that."

Amused, he closes his mouth again.

"You don't have to decide right now, okay? Just think about it for a little bit. I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't think it was a good idea," you say, "It's about the kids. So it will be absolutely necessary that there are no incidents. There will be some rules put in place. But it would be a good opportunity to build your reputation. And I imagine you might even have fun doing it."

"I hardly think so," the Asgardian retorts.

"Why not? A room full of little Loki fans adoring you should just be to your liking."

Your words make him think. "When you put it that way, it actually sounds tempting. Fine, I‘ll do it."

That's how quickly it's decided.

You'd discussed the idea with Tony beforehand, of course. Surprisingly, he had no objections, and now that Loki has agreed, you can get down to the actual preparations and planning.

~~

It takes a little while until everything is organized. With the help of Doctor Stephen Strange you found a children's hospital with integrated hospice, which is outside of New York and perfectly suited for your project. You got on the phone with the staff and after a few calls you were able to set a date. They already had experience there with this type of meet and greet, although there had probably never been a god among the idols.

You did not reveal that he is a literal god. It's about the kids and you don't want to stir up suspicion in advance.

A driver takes Loki and you there, along with two agents in civilian clothes. That's standard procedure and SHIELD insists on it. The two would keep a low profile, but could step in if it became necessary. Even if it was just to keep out unwanted onlookers.

To quote the team leader, "You'd be surprised by some of the strange incidents we've had."

In the car, you give Loki a final briefing.

"It's important that you stay calm, no matter what," you remind him. "And no magic!"

"No magic that anyone notices as such," he corrects you.

"No magic that anyone notices as such," you repeat, adding, "And no chaos. I know chaos is a part of you, but in this case, please keep it to a manageable minimum."

"Yes, ma’am." Loki salutes mockingly. "No chaos, no deaths, I won't even set a single fire."

You're glad he takes it with humor and isn't offended. The truth is, you're probably more nervous than he is. This is a big deal. Not a simple lunch where the two of you are more or less alone. He's about to stand in front of kids and interact with them. Kids are unpredictable, but you trust your instincts. You wouldn't do this if you had a bad feeling about it.

"I'm sorry, I know you'll do a good job," you smile apologetically. "I trust you."

Loki's expression changes as he looks at you and nods. You get the feeling he's never looked so sincere before.

How long has he been waiting for someone to say those words to him? And mean them. Such simple words, but with a big impact.

Your attention is drawn from each other as the car stops.

You enter the hospital as a group and at the reception desk you meet the administrator and the head nurse, with whom you had spoken on the phone. A few minutes of shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries follow. Loki takes the lead on this and you let him.

He has dressed up especially for the occasion. He wears fine, Asgardian clothes, ornately decorated and an aura of royalty surrounds him. It is hard not to be captivated by him and your eyes keep wandering to him.

The head nurse - she has introduced herself as Nurse Chapel and belongs to the kind of person who is cordial but does not tolerate nonsense. You take an instant liking in her - leads you to the second floor.

"The kids are all between eight and eleven years old," she tells you along the way. "Their conditions go from cancer to genetic defects. But it has been a good day so far."

Loki doesn't know these disease names, but you explained to him ahead of time why the kids need to be here in the hospital.

"How fragile are they?" he wants to know.

"Probably less than you think. Go ahead and make them laugh from the heart. It's good for them." Chapel stops in front of a door. "Ready?" she asks Loki.

He looks briefly at you, then nods. "Yes."

The head nurse walks in first and announces Loki, who follows her promptly. You fall back a few steps and enter the room unobtrusively. The two undercover agents remain in the hallway.

The room is comfortably furnished, almost like a living room of sorts, with several seating options. Eight children sit in a semicircle in the middle and you spot two more nurses with them. The children all look far too pale and thin for their age. Most are wearing scarves tied around their heads instead of hair and one boy is pushing an IV around. But their faces are all beaming as their attention is on Loki. He has joined them in the circle and is about to answer their questions, which they immediately throw at him.

"Why isn't your hair red?" asks the boy with the IV. His voice croaks a little. "I thought Loki was a ginger."

"I'm over a thousand years old. It’s boring to always have the same color of hair." Loki puts the flat of his hand on his hairline in his forehead so that it covers it, then slides his hand up a bit. The hair underneath suddenly appears orange-red. "See. It's easy." When he moves his hand back, the area is black again.

So much for no magic.

The kids make a general "Ooooooh!" sound.

"Can you make my hair longer?" a girl asks who has no scarf but just a short, light fluff on her head.

"Your hair is wonderful, little lady. I've rarely seen such a beautiful shaped head."

The girl giggles, but before she can object further, another child interjects with another question. "Is it true that you gave birth to a horse?"

Loki raises his index finger. "Ah, that's often said, but actually the story goes quite differently. Would you like me to tell you?"

"Yeees!"

"So listen well, little ones. This is the story of an adventure! Long ago, a wall was built around Asgard for protection. But the master builder, a Hrimthurse, deceived Odin and shortly before the completion of the wall he demanded the goddess Freya as his wife, as well as the moon and the sun. This was an outrage beyond comparison. My brother Thor and I hatched a plan to prevent this.

One night I kidnapped the Hrimthurse's horse, which was a very strategic move and allowed Thor to defeat him in battle. But, alas, I did not know that the horse was pregnant and it gave birth that night to Sleipnir, the eight-legged horse. I brought both animals home to the royal stable. The horses of the Hrimthurses are wild beasts, and very strong. But I managed to raise and tame Sleipnir. And when it was big enough, I gifted it to Odin, so that he could ride it to war."

You sat down on a chair near the wall, near the two nurses, who actually wanted to drink a coffee, but now - just like the children - listened spellbound to the narration. You also hang on to his every words.

Loki has truly earned his name silvertongue. He remains seated among the children and doesn't even use much gesticulation. He doesn't need to emphasize his story. His voice and words alone are perfectly sufficient for that.

You have heard some myths about the eight-legged horse Sleipnir, who is supposedly Loki's child. But it is something else to hear directly from him about what happened. He manages to make it seem as if you yourself were present at the ruse, when Loki conjured up mist in the middle of the night and crept in the darkness to the Hrimthurse's horse.

"Does that mean you can't turn into a horse at all?" one of the children asks curiously.

"Oh, I am absolutely able to do that." Loki's eyes flash mischievously at you and for a moment you're afraid he's really going to do that, as he demonstratively looks around. "However, I'm afraid it's a little too crowded here for a horse. You wouldn't want to be responsible for me knocking over all the furniture, would you?"

"No!" - "Yes!" resounds simultaneously from different mouths.

Fortunately, the nurses don't seem fazed and think it's all great fun.

"Tststs," Loki playfully scolds. "You little rascals." Suddenly he has a pair of dice in his hand, which he wills into the air and deftly catches again. "Have you ever heard of Loki’s Dice?"

"No."

"No? Well, let me tell you: it's a great game. And not just because I invented it. How about this: whoever beats me at it, gets a great prize. Who wants to try first?"

Several children's arms shoot up. Loki puts a finger to his lips and everyone is quiet as a mouse. He has this presence that grabs everyone’s attention.

He makes a show of making the dice disappear in his hands and reappear somewhere else. He'd be a really good sleight of hand magician. Along the way, he explains the rules, which are basically pretty simple. He even wrote a song about it, which he performs.

He has a wonderful singing voice. Like honey. And you feel like the fly that's caught with it. You could listen to him forever.

Loki throws the dice. The goal is to hit six. He throws a seven.

Loki throws the dice. All eyes are on the dice. He makes the bet disappear.

Loki rolls the dice. All sides show ones. He is the trickster.

It warms you to watch him. There's something very kind, but also a bit mischief about his interaction with the kids. They love it and he keeps them entertained and for a while makes them forget their pain, the various reasons they are here for. There is no trace of his arrogance or even the criminal that many see in him. You can get used to this Loki you're watching here. You wish to see this side of him much more often.

Hearing his rich laugh, seeing the twinkle in his eye just before he makes a great joke.

As indicated in the song, it's hard to beat him at his own game. Time and time again, the dice show a picture that shouldn't be on them at all. But one child after another finally makes it and Loki gifts each one of them a cube of their own afterwards.

"Do you dance?" a girl asks Loki afterwards. "Other heroes always dance when they visit us."

Loki's gaze darts to you briefly, noticing that you're watching him, amused but intrigued. He winks at you and it makes your heart leap. "I'm no hero, but I can show you a dance that is popular at feasts in Odin's halls," he says, turning to the girl. "But I need a partner for that." He holds out his hand to her and she jumps to her feet, giggling.

They begin with a bow to each other. Then they place their palms together and Loki softly hums the beat. They take a few steps in one direction, then he leads her into a turn and right back again. They are an uneven pair, the girl barely reaching Loki's waist, but she makes up for it with enthusiasm, swinging her feet with laughter.

Loki hands her his other hand and they dance a not-too-complicated pattern around each other. At one point the girl stumbles, but the Asgardian elegantly catches her and sets her back in her seat. He then bows to her.

"M'lady."

She giggles while another child holds up his arm.

"Me next."

Loki looks at the faces and puts his hands on his hips.

"For it to be a real party, everyone has to dance."

The children are immediately in it and scatter to their feet. Loki helps them form pairs and then shows them the steps again.

Shortly after, most of them are just jumping and laughing wildly, having great fun. Even the nurses are clapping along to a beat.

Loki appears at your side and before you can protest, he has grabbed your hand and pulled you among the dancers as well. Continuing to hold your hand, he places his right on your waist and leads you to the music of the laughing children. His eyes flash down at you in amusement.

This is not what you imagined for this day. Somehow it's much better.

Finally, the visit comes to an end. Loki takes his time saying goodbye, realizing the significance of what it means for the children to have to go back to their rooms and beds. He may also be intentionally delaying his departure a bit to keep them in the illusion of a normal, healthy day a little longer.

Nurse Chapel steps up beside you. "He's great," she comments quietly, glancing at the Asgardian.

You smile proudly, for you are happy for him. "Yeah."

"We have another boy here, Felix. He's fourteen and a big fan of Norse mythology. Unfortunately, he's too weak to leave his room. I know it wasn't part of the agreement, but do you think your Loki could pay him a quick visit?" She hesitates briefly while you still let the phrase 'your Loki' sink in. It sounds good. "It's not a sight for the faint-hearted," the head nurse then adds.

You blink and push the thoughts out of your head. "I'll talk to him," you promise her and she thanks you with a nod.

You go ahead and step out into the hallway. One of the SHIELD agents is sitting on a bench at the wall, looking up as you close the door. You spot the other standing at the end of the hallway.

"Are we done?" he asks you.

"Almost. How was it out here?"

"All quiet."

A few minutes later Loki comes out of the door, grinning and with his arms outstretched. He looks very pleased with himself and his gaze wanders to you.

“What do you think?" he asks you, "Did you enjoy the show?"

"You were great. I knew you would ace it." You beam at him and he seems satisfied with that answer. Then you bring up the head nurse’s request. "Nurse Chapel just asked me if you could visit another boy who is not allowed to leave his bed. Would you do that? If you rather go back home, that's totally fine and nobody wil-..."

"I'll do it," he interrupts you.

You smile at him. "That's very kind of you."

"Well, I am a generous god," he says cockily, but his tone is affectionately sarcastic.

You beckon Nurse Chapel to come over and share Loki's response with her. She gives him a grateful smile and leads the way. It's on another floor at the end of a hallway.

"If you could wait outside," she says, addressing you. "Too many people drain him."

"Of course." With a final pat on Loki's arm, he follows the head nurse inside while you and the two agents stay in the hallway. The door is just ajar and you hear the dark tone of Loki's voice. It's muffled and you can't make out any individual words. There is also a soft, steady beeping and something that sounds like a ventilator.

You think about stopping somewhere on the way home and grabbing food for everyone. They had earned it. It had been an extremely successful day. Loki has proven himself, you are very pleased with his performance. He seemed to have had fun as well, and you're already thinking about what project you might approach next. After today, your goal of having him join the Avengers team doesn't seem so unrealistic anymore. Maybe you should just tell him to think of them all as kids. Then maybe he'd get along with them better. The thought makes you chuckle.

Suddenly, you hear an alarm at the station and look up. You register that the soft, steady beeping has turned into a piercing sound. Several nurses and doctors come running up and into the room. The two agents have jumped up from their seats, but neither of you wants to stand in the way of a medic. Only when the way is clear do you rush into the room as well, ignoring Chapel's previous warning to wait outside.

In here, the sound is louder, almost ringing shrilly in your ears. There is only one bed in the room. You can't see the figure on it, because it's surrounded by doctors and nurses performing CPR. Loki is standing with his back against the wall, as if he had backed away. His face is pale - paler than usual - and horrified. He raises his head just as you enter and your eyes meet. In the next second, he vanishes.

Shit.

__________________________________

Tag List: @lokisgoodgirl @lokixryss @itsybitchylittlewitchy @yokshi-unbeliebubble @fictional-hooman @elennair @all-envy-suyu @purplekitten30 @elisadmaggiore @nothing2113 @baebeepeach @ceo-of-stfu @moonlightreader649 @ronipiamka @fluffybunnyu @ninjarose23

#loki x y/n #Loki x reader #loki layfeyson x you #loki laufesyon x reader #Loki x you #imagine loki #the witchling and the god #imagine marvel #mcu prompt #loki odison x reader #marvel x reader #mcu x reader #loki fanfction #slow burn #loki odinson #loki laufeyson

[seelifethroughmyeyesyear3099]

tell us what happy moment shaped who you are or gave you strength in difficult times.

I remember I was the light of a lot of people's lives. I got told daily that I was like sunshine. Crazy unpredictable but cared about everyone more than myself. I remember thinking about the world we live in and how a lot of people bring you down or get angry at you for nothing (The man that gets mad about his order in the drive thru that takes too long or the old lady yelling at you about not taking her expired coupons) they're not mad at you. They're mad at themselves. I wanted to do the exact opposite I wanted to make everyone's life for the better and bring them up to be their best selves. I started taking nothing to heart and thinking about them. They are probably never going to see me again. Before I wore my heart on my wrist...that quickly changed. Three different life altering times in my life, I may only be only 22 but I feel like I've lived five lives.

I remember I bought a book of kindness every single day for a year; I made sure to do one of the pages of the book and if I ran out of pages I would look for a 30-day challenge of kindness. I didn't let anybody know but I even got five of my friends for our senior project to do it on humanity. We went down to the homeless shelter and passed out sandwiches that took us hours to make and talked to families. We asked how they got there and what they needed. I completed all those tasks and I understood how hard life can really be in a moment with the wrong people or having not having any support.

Another time I remember I was 15 and a half at the time and I'd barely gotten my license and an owner of a business wanted me to be the face in the front. (I was dating his son at the time and said business partner or dump my son) (I learned personal and business never mix) I left that company for more opportunities. Later on I became a driving instructor at 21 at the same company teaching 1,500 students how to drive in California, probably one of the most impactful things I've done in my life.

In between that job and going back I was a caregiver in 2020 when COVID hit, I was with a lot of elderly and most of them were in hospice only a week or two. I got to hear stories about their entire life, what they regretted, and got to be there even if their family wasn't there; I held their hand until their end of days. This went on for almost a year until my own father passed away in 2020. I couldn't handle anymore death after that.

Every stage of my life has been impactful, important, and beautiful even if I did not see it in that moment.

What gives me strength is knowing that I can be anything that I choose to be. People might think these are far-fetched dreams but they are not. I believe you are who you believe you are, but as long as your actions match up. That is who you are. All the things that I've done have led me to who I am and where I am and I'm pretty happy with that now. Of course there's always room for improvement, but I'm pretty happy.

Everything that you thought was going to break you down will actually build you up. It felt like my world died when my dad died and I felt like I lost myself. This was for 3 years and even though I was helping others, I wasn't helping myself out of the situation. Until I realize nobody's going to come and save me but myself. It is crazy how you can mentally be struggling for so long, your brain can still pull you mentally out of that. That takes a lot of support from others that are positive. You just have to rebuild yourself. Listen to podcasts and things that you want to be and start making daily habits of them until you become the person you want to be again.

[secondjulia]

Just Need to Catch My Breath

Help. I have a chronic daydream about Death & Hob being bffs because of all the times they've met on the battlefield.

I don't even know if I could put it into a fic because it's just this sprawling weed that's grown up in my heart, about how like Hob keeps seeing this same woman — an angel probably, then maybe he reads about the Valkyries after getting into printing, could that be it? They just have these little chats every time Hob winds up around the devastation of war & honestly, just life. Always say hi to each other. Every time she offers him a friendly smile and a hand up, but every time he just has to catch his breath, just staunch this wound for a bit longer, stuff his innards back in (he was only a little disemboweled), just rest a moment...

Over the years he's lost so, so many friends. And it still hurts, but the thought of that friendly face guiding them on makes it a little easier to bear.

He probably already knew her by the time she walked into the White Horse with Dream (maybe... on purpose? If someone could get Dream to listen to the people it'd be that guy who could chat up a rock [Seriously, she may have seen him actually talking to a rock once at Verneuil; probably a bit concussed.] ) She stayed back — they'd meet soon enough again, and Dream needed this.

Hob might've been a better person for it. It was a comfort to know she was taking care of those he'd loved and fought beside. But... after like a century (the Wars of the Roses were hell for everyone), he maybe feels a bit ashamed about just how many people he's sending to her personally. She's never judged or chided him, but every time his sword falls, he knows she'll see the aftermath. Part of a reason he gave printing a shot (even though it'd never really catch on) was to not feel that little squirm of guilt so often.

He didn't see her quite so much after taking that job with Caxton, though even life at peace in early modern England provided some opportunities to catch up.

After his star rose and fell and then he clawed his way out of destitution, his life became comfortable again, and he rarely saw his old friend. Wealth captured his attentions; he spent little time around the destitute or dying, and he hadn't picked up a sword in ages.

He is on one of Those Ships the first time he sees her in a long while. In an instant, the little squirm of shame explodes like a sea serpent inside him (I mean, where the fuck was it before, Hob?) He's had blood on his hands for centuries, but this isn't a battlefield, there is no fight, the dead and dying here have no blades or banner to fight under. Hob is suddenly — fucking finally — horrified, he's puking over the side of the ship and shuddering with the magnitude of what he's done.

And she doesn't even spare him a glance — why would she? There are too many souls to tend to.

He mumbles something about shipping to Dream the next time they meet, but he has already extricated himself from the business and done what he could (not enough, not ever enough) to repair the wounds he's opened in the world.

He sees her still less and less as the years go on. He rarely sees lives end now. He doesn't miss it — really! — but he does miss his old friend.

Volunteering in old folks homes and hospitals and hospices has given him an appreciation for life that he never quite had, even after hundreds of years. He's developed a gentleness and compassion that he hadn't quite grasped in his first several centuries of life. And every once in a while, he gets to see a kind smile and a familiar friendly face.

He's never told his stranger about his battlefield friend. Not sure why. But maybe one day, when they're reconnecting, there's a freak accident at the New Inn...

Like I really can't keep going because it will not stop!

#I really did not mean to write so much but like this is what is happening in my head and I can't stop it #Sandman #hob gadling #dream of the endless #fanfic #fanart #my Sandman fanart

[limerental]

ficletober day 16 - steddie future fic

(but finished late and it's already on ao3 here and it's for a fandom i'm not in for a media i haven't really watched i was possessed ok i'm normal) It's ten years later. Steve's a hospice nurse. Eddie's got the virus. It's kind of weird and sad and strange and inevitable. Or something. And not as sad as it sounds. we interrupt our regular programming for whatever the hell this is. content warning for hospitals and death but no MCD beyond ruminating about it. also, disordered eating, illness, yuckiness, and grossness. explicit blowjobs and glow in the dark condoms. etc

One of Steve Harrington's patients dies on a Wednesday morning.

Which isn't unexpected, given he's a nurse at a hospice facility, you know, they're all bound to croak at some point. His job's about making it a little easier, a little quieter. Not saving anybody or saving the world, just easing the pain. It's not like he's head over heels for the job, but it beats his other options. College flunkee who doesn't dare give his rich asshole father the time of day, no matter what job opportunities making nice with him could buy.

Would rather change catheters and wipe old people's diarrhea his whole life than resort to that.

It's hospice. They don't get better. Sometimes they go home a while and come back, but they all die. Losing patients is a breath of relief. Their suffering finally over. His job– making dying seem easy –complete.

So, its not unexpected when he walks in on Wednesday and reads the night shift's notes. That the Turner kid's probably on his way out.

It's not a surprise at all. The guy's been lingering for a week now, barely conscious. He's an AIDs patient, riding the last wave of compounding infections and failed drug cocktails.

Palliative care is a strange sort of thing, like compassionate neglect. It's not a kindness to pump a failing body full of fluids as their organs shutter out one by one. Fluids restricted, no feeding tube, nothing but pain meds and the hush of the ward. Let them die of dehydration instead of drowning.

What's unexpected is walking into Turner's room and finding Eddie fucking Munson sitting in there with him, gripping Turner's hand.

"Munson?" Steve blurts. It's been years. It's been a damn decade, but the guy looks almost the same. Steve's living and working a few towns over from Hawkins and most anyone who meant anything to him there has moved away anyhow, so he's out of the loop in a way that feels nice but also means he's lost track of a lot of people. It's just weird that Munson's still kicking around here when Steve had pegged him for one of those who'd ditch the whole state the second he could.

His hair's a bit different, more mullet than shag and he's got something of a mustache going, but he looks the damn same. A touch of grey at his temples maybe. A wrinkle at the corners of his mouth.

"Jesus," says Munson, looking at him all bug-eyed. "Is that Steve fucking Harrington? In baby blue scrubs? In a hospice ward? In bumfuck Indiana? With a buzzcut?"

"Colonel Mustard in the ballroom with a candlestick," jokes Steve, and Munson keeps gaping at him. Maybe because he just made a dumb joke at his friend's deathbed.

"Geez, I never thought– you a doctor?"

"Nurse."

"Geez," he says again. "You're a sight for sore eyes. I can be here, can't I? They told me he's… you know."

"Yeah, sometimes it takes a while though," Steve says, but by the looks of things as he flips through the chart, scribbling down vitals, it's any time now.

What happens next is what always happens. Not that everybody's death here is the same, but that every patient he's ever had does it eventually.

Die.

Sometimes in a huddle of family, sometimes alone, but usually quietly, slowly, and suddenly. The dying man breathes and breathes and then doesn't.

None of it takes very long in this case.

Munson is sitting with both hands held over one of the Turner kid's when it happen, watching him die with all the somber sort of silence moments like this demand from anyone. He's sitting there more still than Steve ever remembers him being, but then again, it's been a decade. Maybe his theatrics have mellowed out. Maybe he has some normal, adult job now like. In finances.

Steve looks again at Munson, tattooed up his whole neck and wearing a jacket held together by safety pins.

Ok. Maybe a normal, adult job at a biker bar.

"Were you two close?" Steve asks in the quiet as he turns off the noise of the machines.

"No, he– I didn't know him. But there's this support group I'm in, and one of us tries to be there when– well. It was my turn. Or not my turn, my turn, you know, not like it was his turn but it will be. Someday."

"You–" It's like something big and cumbersome gums up inside his chest.

"Yeah," says Munson, shrugging. "Me."

"Shit, man," says Steve, because he's great with handling the dying and increasingly worse with the living, let alone the living dead.

"Yeah, very sad. Woe is me. You wanna swing by my place after your shift and drink some beer about it?"

And they aren't friends exactly, really never were, but Steve figures it's kinda just polite to accept an invitation from somebody you used to know who just roundabout confessed to being riddled with deadly disease. Or something.

And there's a part of him that remembers being eighteen and studying Eddie Munson like an unsolvable puzzle, thinking about him and his knobby weird wrists and long tangle of hair and the ridge of his Adam's apple and his tar-black eyes, sometimes at times he shouldn't have, at times he really really shouldn't have, and then burying all that and doing nothing about it and then a whole decade passing in a blur.

His teenaged self feels very, very far away, and now he knows intimately what happens to people who don't take that leap and be brave and cling to the shit that matters while they still can.

They die alone. Or with strangers sitting next to them, measuring their last vitals.

"Yeah, sure," says Steve.

Can't hurt, he thinks.

Famous last words.

Munson still lives in Hawkins in the same trailer park, but he's prettied his uncle's old trailer up some, a strangely grandma kitsch aesthetic for a man who has several visible gory skull tattoos, one with curled goat horns stamped high on his throat.

He's got a mosquito plant growing in an old sherbert container and a listing aloe. There's tomatoes and jalapenos in buckets and kitty litter containers. A half dozen bamboo windchimes and dangling bells cluster in the rafters of the old porch, and a painted rocking chair sits beside a six foot cactus, its reaching branches segmented into flat, spineless pads hung with leftover tinsel from Christmas, its pot used as a heaping ashtray.

"This is Henry," says Munson. "He's my roommate."

"The cactus?"

"Yeah, man, he's decent company. "

He pats the plant a bit too hard, and a piece falls off. Without comment, he fishes it off the porch and shoves it into a yogurt cup of dirt sitting beside a dozen others.

"I give these suckers away like candy," he says. "Everybody and their grandma loves a free cactus."

"Sure," says Steve, who is fairly certain even a cactus would die a miserable death in his care if he looked at it wrong.

There's a white plastic chair fallen on its side in the overgrown yard, greyed with mildew spots, and Munson tugs it up from the grip of the grass growing through the spokes of its backrest and plops it down beside the rocker on the porch. He swipes off the spider webs and dirt and gestures with spread arms to the shitty chair, bowing like it's a throne.

It's over the top. It's weirdly familiar. Everything else has marched on, has changed, has aged or whatever, but Munson's the same fucking weirdo he was ten years ago.

"Sit down, buddy, stay a while. Though I can't say I'm the greatest host. Don't get paid until Friday, so it's just cheez whiz keeping me goin' mostly. Hell, half of this place might be held together by cheez whiz."

Steve thinks it's probably a joke, that all he's eating is processed cheese, but he wouldn't be surprised. Munson looks sallow and skinny. Not a lick of muscle on him, and he's wearing a pit-stained wifebeater and little denim shorts. Anywhere his skin's not sickly green with fading tattoos, he's so pale it's almost blinding and purple-veined under his red-rimmed eyes, and Steve's not stupid. He does this for a living, watching people hollow down to nothing and then snuff out, and he can see pretty clearly when someone's one foot in the grave. It's not even the virus that does it usually, it's the compounding trauma of it all, the drugs, the loss, the slow starvation both literal and spiritual.

He doesn't even like Munson much, doesn't know him too well and barely did back then, but it's--it's sad. It's heart-breaking.

He wonders if one of Munson's support group is already lined up to sit beside him at the end.

Steve's looking at him rocking in the rocker beside Henry the six foot cactus, little tinsel pieces blowing cheerily in the breeze, and can't even fucking think about it.

"Sit, Harrington, sit, sit," he insists when the silence stretches, and Steve's still standing on the stairs. "You're giving me the willies just staring at me all puppy-dog eyed. I'm not going to keel over tonight. Sit down! Sit!"

Steve sits. The plastic chair groans ominously.

"You've got a lot of plants," he says for want of something to say.

"This? Naw, this ain't anyhing. You should see what I have growing over the ridge in that cornfield."

He's high right now, Steve notices, hard to tell how wide his pupils are with eyes that dark, but he's got this molasses slurred energy to his movement that is unmistakable. Steve gets drug tested too often at work to smoke much these days, and it feels a little desperate to do alone anyway, like an admission that his life's shit enough to need to get high to escape. He thinks like, what do people do when they hang out anymore? What do people say?

"I like your… bell things," says Steve.

"Ah, they're handmade."

"Cool, cool. How's um… life?"

Munson laughs at him. More like cackles, rocking back and forth in the chair slapping his knees.

"I live in my dead uncle's falling down trailer," he wheezes. "I'm thirty whole years old and work washing dishes and have two bucks to my name. I sell coke to high schoolers out of a van. My best friend is a cactus. I'm dying of the virus one day at a time. You know man, it's peachy. How's your life, then? Successful, I bet, Mr. Bigshot. Fancy medical career. Cute little family. Picket fence."

It's Steve's turn to laugh, feeling the surreality of how off base Munson is.

"Naw man," he says shaking his head. "None of that. Life's just…" He shakes his head some more, runs his hand along his buzzed scalp. It still feels weird to skim his hands along soft peachfuzz. "It's lonely, I guess."

Munson makes a face, watching his hands.

"Why'd you buzz it?" he asks, and Steve grins, knowing he'll get a kick out if it.

"Started going bald."

"No shit!"

"Yeah, no shit."

Not too badly yet, but it had felt a little pathetic, watching his hair thin in the mirror and clinging to it as some kind of. Immutable piece of his identity. Some kind of symbol. What it symbolized, he's got no clue, but it's in the past now, it's over and done.

"Your mullet is really showing me up, Munson," Steve says and gets an eyebrow waggle and a dramatic shake of his hair in return.

"Read it and weep, Baldy."

Munson waves at a neighbor walking her dog, and she waves back cheerily. There's a mockingbird yelling out repeating bird calls from somewhere nearby, a pair of wasps flitting about in the eaves of the trailer, and a big, ugly thunderhead cruising the summer sky. The air smells like ozone and cut grass and the tar cooking in the asphalt, and Steve's realizing he doesn't really know how to talk to someone who's dying but not actively.

Not that it's always a death sentence. The virus.

There's plenty of treatments now, experimental and otherwise. No cure yet but maybe soon. Steve's seen it enough times to know the virus doesn't really discriminate either. It takes gay and straight the same way in the end.

He wonders about Munson. Is he–? But then, it's none of his business really. Still, he remembers being eighteen and thinking he'd like to bite down on the white pudge of Eddie Munson's inner thigh and chew on the taut tendon there like a chicken wing. And yeah, he thinks that's still as messed up as it was then. And he still wants to, probably.

"You heard from the kids lately?" Munson asks. It surprises him.

"Hardly kids anymore," says Steve. "You haven't?"

"Not really," he says, nabbing a Zippo from one of Henry's branches to light a cigarette. "Not in a while."

It surprises him. He figured, out of all of them, Munson had the biggest chance of keeping up with at least some of them. Half because he always acted like he'd stay a kid forever himself. Peter Pan to their lost boys.

"They're OK, I think," he says. "Moved on. It's been a while for me too."

Munson looks at him, and his big eyes are all sad and wet. Or he's just really high.

Steve doesn't know what he's doing here, not really. It feels like a fragment of another life. One where he's Eddie Munson's old buddy, catching up after years apart, and it's a Wednesdsy in July with evening creeping in and he's got most of his shit together and knows what he's doing with his life.

"You want me to go pick us up some food?" Steve asks, clearing his throat, and doesn't ask you been eating, man?

"If you're paying, I'll pick it up."

"You're trashed."

"Driven worse," Munson shrugs, and he's up, keys slinging around his fingers before Steve can protest. "I'll go to Skeeter's down the road. Gimme your wallet."

He makes grabby hands, and Steve, the idiot, slaps his worn wallet into his waiting palm.

"Just as easy as that?" he says, guffawing. "Give the broke, ailing druggie trailer trash your credit card?"

Steve just kinda figures Munson's decent. It's been a while, but he can't have changed too drastically and he seemed decent back then too. Steve thinks of Munson sitting quietly beside a dying stranger this morning and thinks maybe that's not something someone would do if they were a bad person, but hell, he could be wrong.

Maybe stealing someone's credit card when you're flat broke with some very expensive drugs the only thing keeping you alive has nothing to do with being a good or bad person. Maybe Steve's just kind of an idiot.

"Get a lava cake too," he says. "My treat."

"You're a decent guy, Nurse Harrington," says Munson. "Not too bright, but you're decent."

"I could be waiting to rob you blind."

"Oh," he coos like one would at a pig-tailed toddler. He taps with a long finger against Steve's forehead. "Lights are all on but no one's home. Good luck scrounging anything up in there. Like I said. Cheese whiz."

The beat up van squeals away into the settling evening.

The mosquitos have stormed out in force as dusk sets in, Munson's scrawny little plant not quite enough to hold back the hordes, so Steve lets himself into the trailer, hoping maybe because Munson said that stuff about scrounging around that he's not overstepping a boundary.

Munson wasn't lying about the cheese whiz.

Not that it's being used like glue to hold together bits of crumbling infrastructure or caulked along the baseboards or whatever but that a siingular can of the stuff, plus some assorted condiments and a weirdly fuzzy pickle floating in a half empty jar of brine, are the only things in the fridge. Plus, a handful of Budweisers in the door.

The trailer otherwise is atrociously cluttered, a loose spill of eclectic detritus. Dirty laundry and crusty dishes and a whole lot of loose cassette tapes and dog-eared books with wizards and unicorns on the covers. Prayer flags strung across the ceiling and posters slathered on the walls. A privacy bead curtain to the back bedroom. Some illicit drug paraphernalia intermingling with pill bottles.

He picks one up to read the label and recognizes it, then starts picking out all the little bottles from the clutter and setting them together on top of the magazines on the coffee table.

He's got most of the full ones arranged together when Munson busts through the door with a doggy bag.

"If you want some real fun drugs, I've got some in the back," he says. "Those aren't really any good to snort."

"Sorry, sorry," says Steve, pulling his hands away.

"No, you're fine. I do have a system but it's a bit. Chaotic. Probably would make a good little nurse like you cringe."

"Some of these are expired," says Steve. "Are you taking them? What's your viral load?"

"Buy a fella a drink first, golly!" Munson presses his hand to his chest in mock offense. "You don't have to mother hen me. I'm a big boy. I've had this thing for years, and it hasn't got me yet."

"Sorry," Steve says again.

They go back out onto the porch with dinner and some cold beers. Two dozen wings and a thing of large fries. Munson plugs in an electric bug zapper, immediately glowing and crackling with vanquished mosquitoes and moths and craneflies.

Skeeter's is a dive bar, but their wings are still as damn good as Steve remembers. Eating wings is messy as shit, and Munson forgot napkins but drags out some bandanas from some musty drawer in his trailer. After a while, they both get tired of playing polite and wipe their mouths with the back of their hands and gnaw shamelessly on the gristle of spent bones they drop to the weathered porch.

It's full night and it's summer and it doesn't quite feel like real life. Munson lights a cigarette, and the ember of it hovers like a glowing eye in the crook of his fingers, pulsating.

The flickering orange of the streetlight doesn't quite reach onto the shadow of the porch, and Steve looks at Munson leaning in the rocker with his legs sprawled out and thinks about his unrealized boyhood fantasy. Of slumping on his knees between the guy's legs and–

It's not hard to imagine that maybe it's still '86, and Steve's burning up with energy that has nowhere to go, untethered from whoever he used to be with no real way forward. Still pretty sure there is a way forward, a tomorrow, a next chapter where something good happens. Something not awful at least. No more monsters, no more bloodshed, just– a life. Love. Something fulfilling and peaceful enough and–

He slips down off the shitty chair and onto his knees on the porch. It hurts like a punch up through his joints. He's not even thirty, and he's old as shit and not even happy and well-adjusted. He wants to whine about it, scream about it. Munson's thirty, and he might not make thirty-five. He wants to scream. He wants to–

"Munson," he says, because the guy's got his head tipped sideways with the cigarette dangling on his lips, looking at him like he's insane. "Muns– Eddie," he says. "Eddie, is it chill if I– I don't know. I've always wanted to– Can I– you got condoms?"

"Steve," says Eddie and touches his buzzed head with his fingertips like he's checking if he's real. "Steve, did you really just ask if it's chill to suck my dick?"

"Yeah. I guess."

It's weird. It's like a dream. Eddie gets a condom and shimmies his shorts down his bony, weird legs and drops back in the rocking chair. Steve's been sitting there on his heels the whole time he scrounged through his trailer. Like a pet, waiting.

"Are you even gay?" Eddie asks.

"Are you?"

"I've got the virus, Steve-o."

"So? Lots of people do. It's not a gay disease. It's not the act of a vengeful God. There's nothing wrong with being gay. There's nothing wrong with either of us."

He kisses Eddie on the inside of his thigh just past his knee when he says it and the skin is so soft under the firm touch of his lips that he regrets how bad his fresh shave is going to burn.

"That's very sweet, Steve. Real cute. But you're sucking some random guy's dick in a trailer park, and I'm high enough that I'm feeling kinda nervous with Henry watching. There are a few things wrong with us."

"Don't be nervous," Steve says and smooths both palms down his bare legs.

"Sweet as sugar, I'm telling you."

The hair on his legs is fine, barely there, but Eddie's pubic hair is coarse and thick and Steve's not too sure he's showered recently. Which should be gross really, should be a lot of things, but it mostly makes Steve want to pick him up by the scruff of his neck like a kitten and wash him off under the trickle of the kitchen sink.

He hasn't really sucked a dick before, just thought about it a lot and he's watched a few pornos. It seems straight-forward enough. Eddie's penis is right there and not really that hard yet, nestled snug against his balls in coarse hair. He's uncut, a little shine of fluid hanging at the blunt tip pushing beneath the hood of his foreskin, and it seems like it would fit pretty decent against the roof of his mouth. It's cute even. A little tough to see in the faint light, so Steve plants his palms on Eddie's knees and spreads him wider to look.

He bends close enough that Eddie must feel his breath. In his old fantasies, he lapped at him in slow licks like a dog, savoring the taste.

Eddie flicks him in the center of the forehead.

"Condom, you ding-dong."

"Right, yeah, right."

Munson pulls at himself, a harsh, weird tugging in a way that hardens him up fast. Steve skirts his fingers along the back of Eddie's knuckles as he does it. It's fast enough that the condom goes on smooth in no time, and then Steve's fingers curl to take his place. Latex shifts under his grip, dulls the heat but not the weight of it, and Eddie sighs and shifts up and the rocker tips back.

Steve puts his mouth over his covered erection and tastes rubber, mostly. It doesn't fit as nice in his mouth as it would have flaccid, but he rubs the head back and forth against the ridge behind his teeth and a little further. Real careful.

"What's gotten into you anyway? Jesus."

Maybe Munson's sobering up. Steve looks up at him through his lashes, and Eddie swears a colorful string of really made up cursewords and then bites his own fingers to keep quiet.

It's barely 10PM. There's kids living nearby probably. Little old ladies. Or maybe there's worse stuff someone could hear past dark in a neighborhood like this one.

Steve takes Eddie's dick most of the way down his throat.

"You into death, Harrington?" Eddie gasps. "You into like. Dying people. You never looked once at me before. You into finishing the job? Because you are literally killing me right now."

Steve pulls off.

"It's not like that," he says. "I looked at you all the time. Before this. I wanted to do all kinds of stuff."

"Oh," says Eddie. "Like what stuff?"

"Like this."

Steve leans past his stiff dick into the shadow of his gaunt pelvis and presses his mouth against the crook of his thigh. It's as doughy and soft as he imagined, probably fish-belly white too beyond the wiry hair, and Steve opens his mouth and bites. Eddie rocks up, the tendon in his teeth flexing into a taut cord and his cock jumps hard against Steve's cheek.

"Holy Christ, you're a fucking weirdo," Eddie chokes out.

It makes Steve feel a little dizzy, like he's seeing double vision. His decade old fantasy of biting at some vital, thrumming, secret part of wild-eyed, crazy-haired, full of life Eddie Munson blurring with the Eddie who's cast in shadow on a warped porch, pantsless, bare ass on his rocker, sauce-stained wife beater shrugged up his little pudge of a belly, bright yellow condom glowing in the dark.

"I don't know why I wanted to do that so bad," Steve says, muffled as he kisses up Eddie's twitching belly. He twists his fingers around the base of his dick and rubs up and down a few times just to watch Munson arch his back against the chair. "Hey, the condom glows in the dark."

"You just noticed?"

"Looks a little radioactive."

"That's only how it looks in movies."

"You sure?"

"This place is not a place of honor," Eddie gasps, rolling his hips up against Steve's hand.

"Huh?"

"It's… nevermind. You're a weirdo, Steve Harrington. You're a real weirdo."

"Is this what dirty talk for losers is like?"

Eddie skims his buzzed hair with both hands. He holds them there and tugs his head up, looking. The orange streetlight glow catches in his black eyes and hides the dark bags under them, accentuates the groove of wrinkles at the frown of his lips. He's damn pretty. Steve wants to lap him clean and chew on him some more.

"Guys like me are shunned for a reason, you know. I'm worse than a freak now. I'm a ticking time bomb. I could take anyone who gets close enough to love me down with them."

"Oh I love you now?" Steve jokes, and Eddie doesn't laugh. He's sober.

"It's dangerous, Steve. You should stop."

"Are you telling me to stop?"

"No. I'm saying you should want to."

"I don't want to."

He wraps his lips back around Eddie's dick.

With his eyes open, he can blurrily watch the bright yellow glow of the condom dim and brighten as he moves. The light looks sickly against Eddie's soft belly and thighs. Steve thinks danger.

He wants to ask if he knows who gave it to him, but knows that's rude and also not very sexy. They're probably dead now. It's not a very sexy thought at all, but Steve pushes the heel of his hand against the front of his jeans and rocks into it. He's not sure what comes next in his old fantasy. Suckle at Eddie Munson's inner thigh and then– And then, he–

Like all his dreams, they evaporate into thin air before the end. He still doesn't know what he wants to do with his life. He still can't get a handle on what he even likes. Does he like nursing people through the very end of their lives? Is it just a thing he fell into by chance and keeps doing because he doesn't have any clue what else there is?

If he'd been braver ten years ago and actually got to sucking Eddie's dick when his knees still worked perfectly and nobody was sick, what would have happened? Would it have been just once, a quickie, a satisfying good time but that's it, that's that? Would they have have had some gross whirlwind romance, caught up in each other, acting like lovebirds, overflowing, sticky-sweet and disgusting? Would they have been lovers, calling each other baby and sweetheart and pookie, standing against a world that goddamn hated them like nothing else, but all of it a little more tolerable and meaningful together, maybe? Would they have crashed and burned, Steve too indecisive and scattered, Eddie too wild child and unstable and hungry for the whole world, for fame and sex and drugs and all of it boiling up and ending quick and bright and permanent?

None of that would have passed his mind back then. He'd only seen people die blood and messy and sudden, not slow and inevitable with a little breath of relief.

"Steve," sighs Eddie, fingers digging into his scalp like he's trying to grip at his hair. "Steve, Steve, Steve."

Steve hollows his cheeks and tries to make it good for him. He really hopes it's good for him even it never happens again. Not like. For truly morbid reasons, but he supposes that's always possible too. That Eddie just dies. That he conks out and snuffs it.

It sucks. It makes him pull harder with suction at the dick in his mouth, moving his tongue with more determined purpose, laving along the latex-covered condom. He imagines the yellow glow staining his cheeks and tongue and hands. He wants it to. It's silly.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," swears Eddie and bucks his hips and goes taut, riding out the wave of an orgasm. Steve feels it as a warm weight pulsing against the skin of the condom held against his tongue. It's weird not to taste it, feel it. He rubs his palm against his own cock trapped in his jeans, and it only takes a second before he's coming off too. Maybe it's been a while. He leans his forehead against Eddie's bare thigh and gasps his way through it.

Eddie pushes him back and pinches the condom off and ties it, flinging it away somewhere out into the grass. Steve wonders how safe or sanitary that is but doesn't comment. He doesn't think wandering stray dogs or raccoons can get HIV. Probably. It's maybe just as gross as anything else about Eddie's life.

"You good?" Eddie asks and cradles his head in his hand. His dick's gone limp and small and spent against his pale thigh.

"Lava cake," says Steve. His lips feel dry from the latex and the lava cake is still sitting at the bottom of the doggy bag and the porch is covered in scattered chicken bones and Steve's knees hurt something awful.

"It'll be cold. Just a big brownie."

"Still chocolate," he says. "I don't care."

"You're really weird," says Eddie. "If I haven't said it before."

"Life's weird," he says. Eddie Munson's eyes shine.

"Yeah," says Eddie, fishing the bag of lava cake off the porch, still pantsless and sweaty. "Yeah, you're damn right about that.

They eat chocolate cake together with the bugzapper zinging overhead and a dog barking somewhere over the horizon and the streetlight glow haloing their bent heads. They lick chocolate from their fingers and then each other's fingers.

It's July. It's past midnight in a nowhere trailer park in bumfuck Indiana. It's ten years ago and it's the future.

Maybe five years on, Steve's holding Eddie Munson's hand while he finally dies after weeks, months, years of wasting away to nothing.

Or maybe not.

Or maybe not.

#steddie #i didn't like. intend to write this the image of thigh chewing just gripped me so tight i couldn't... not #i still don't know what stranger things is about #i did enough of a deep dive to get the character voices down #sowwy #also someone was already rude to me on ao3 about this fic it's a new record #i waltz into a fandom late with starbucks and get booed out #i'm not tagging this too intensely either it's embarrassing someone should feel embarrassed for me #my fic #ficletober 2022 #sort of

[commaclear]

warning: isnabity

Oh Q oh poor poor poor q 😭 what's that 1 quote "always the bridesmaid but never the bride?" well FUCK that q's always on the sidelines always being supportive but never the one having his moment to live life and be cared for and he IMMEDIATELY went to caring so much abt Wil like any of his family members or patients once he learned of Wil's "upbringing in a cult".

maybe he's more like a ghost than a ghosthunter bc I feel like he'd be the type of kid who would never make any scene or ask for anything in his youth bc he felt like his parents were burdened enough looking after his mother to the point that he wouldn't ask to go out to any festivals or anything that could complicate his parents' lives and would just stay in his room trying to do good with his studies and find a different kind of positivity in his life thru books and the internet in his own little world, while he just hoped his mom and other family members were doing alright.

look at how quick he was to say he understands if Wilbur doesn't want to be around him anymore!! he thinks he's a burden! He's ready to disappear from Wilbur's life if that's what Wilbur wants or even if Wilbur doesn't want that he's probably got the conviction to do it anyway if Tammy says it's what Wil needs.

I think, ultimately, q feels powerless. he felt powerless to do anything for his mom, he works in the hospice for people who are beyond saving but still need comfort, he runs a ghost hunting youtube channel where he probably never got an even slightly convincing ghost event before Wil came along, but he's still such a kind and generous person who probably did all he could to support his mom, is clearly VERY passionate about his hospice job, and who always jumps at every single opportunity he gets to get even a SLIVER of proof that Ghosts exist and that he could communicate with them to the point that he almost got himself killed in like chapter 2. He donates to homeless ppl on the streets that he can't help get a job and a roof to live under but can hopefully help eat one meal.

he was terrified that Wilbur regretted trying to hook up with him but decided to go to his apartment anyways to see if he was okay, nevermind if he's absolutely humiliated and gets his heart broken by being kicked out of the apartment and yelled at in the hallway by Wilbur when he says never wants to see him again. he never had a chance to have selfish want growing up and now he's fallen for a Demon that he'll have to break his own heart to protect because he'd still never consciously try to harm him even if that's what Wil wants and even if a demon more than anyone else would understand and not hold it against him to be selfish bc ultimately he feels powerless but instead of giving in to his hereditary depression he feels like he needs to continue fighting this battle he can't win, pushing the Boulder up the hill, and trying to be as worthwhile and impactful of a person as he can for the sake of his friends, his family, and the world by putting others first and making it his midsion to help others until his body finally fails him.

WAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHHHHH

- cooler wuacjity apologist anon

Well damn, looks like qaa has some sharp competition bc this is a top-tier analysis

And accurate, I might add. Yes, it's been like 15 chapters, but I've finally gotten to reveal why this Quackity is so wonderfully tragic

I love him

#anons my beloved #the cooler qaa #and they were ghosthunters

[deafchild2000]

Watsford Women: Headcanons of Gracie and Annette

(Or basically, every headcanon I created regarding the two!)

Gracie gave up her tail and distanced herself from Julia, Louise and Max so she wouldn't feel guilty about her choice.

However, Gracie felt a pull to go to Mako Island whenever she passed the island, whether it be from boat or from the mainland.

A few years later, Gracie married a navy officer, Walt, whom she met after a night of dancing at Cloudland and moved to a military base in Darwin, far away from her past and Mako Island.

Not long after that, she gave birth to Annette Sharon Watsford in November 25th, 1965.

Gracie frequently enjoyed taking Annette to the beach and taught her how to swim.

She lost her husband in an accident and moved off the base, taking a recommendation from a friend to take a hostess job at a restaurant in Brisbane, Queensland.

Mother and daughter moved into an apartment in Brisbane, which brought some comfort in familiarity and distance from Mako.

Gracie's enthralling personality brought in many customers and had her quickly rise through the ranks to Assistant Manager.

Annette became obsessed with cooking after learning from the chef after hours.

Gracie and Annette, were caught up in the Brisbane Flood of 1974. Stayed with family and friends until the floodwaters subsided.

Gracie found work - part-time as a seamstress and another as a waitress. She refused to move back to the Gold Coast.

Annette grows up to be a precocious, delightful outspoken young woman (who clashes with Gracie's free-spirited nature when necessary).

Proceeds to make dresses for Annette after she entered high school in the 80s. She had a love/hate relationship with 80s fashion and store-brand names.

Gracie meets up with Julia while she and Annette were out Christmas shopping. Its the first and last time she and Annette meet anyone from her past.

Watched "Splash" when it first came out in 1984 (Annette is 18/19). Gracie found the entire film hilarious, if not surprised by how on point Madison's mermaid tail and abilities mirrored her own once upon a time.

Gracie considers retiring early since Annette acquired a scholarship and takes to making handmaid jewelry from items she (reluctantly) has ordered from the Gold Coast.

In the late 80s, Annette introduces Gracie to her boyfriend, Charles - a marine biologist, whom she eventually marries. Gracie wonders if the universe is trying to tell her something.

Charlotte Elizabeth Watsford is born in 1991. Gracie named her for Charlotte's Web, her favorite book (and because Annette and Charles couldn't decide on a name prior).

Annette and Charlotte witnessed Charles die from a dolphin attack, which scarred Charlotte to the point she developed a fear of dolphins and the sea.

Gracie took care of her while Annette worked and told her stories about the ocean to help Charlotte overcome her fear of the sea but never of dolphins.

Gracie develops late-stage cancer that already spread. She's made peace with it despite Annette fighting with her to live.

Gracie is moved into a hospice in 1997 for the end of her days and Annette & Charlotte visit when they can. She's asked if there's anyone that she wants to contact (distant friends or family) before she goes, but refuses the opportunity.

Gracie Watsford passed away at 57 with her daughter by her side, before she goes home to tell Charlotte - who becomes inconsolable. Her body was cremated and kept in an urn Charlotte painted.

#h2o just add water #charlotte watsford #h2ojustaddwater #gracie watsford #annette watsford #h2o headcanons

[careskillstraining]

I'm interested in a career in care work, but I don't have any experience yet. What are some ways I can overcome this hurdle and get started?

Even without prior experience, there are several paths to take to care work! Here are some options to get you started:

Getting Trained on the Job: Many care providers offer on-the-job training for entry-level positions. This allows you to learn from experienced caregivers while earning a salary. Seek out job ads mentioning "on-the-job training" or "not requiring experience necessary." What carer training do I need?

Care Work Apprenticeships: Apprenticeships blend paid, hands-on training with classroom education, resulting in a qualification in care labour. This is a tremendous way to gain experience and a recognised qualification.

Volunteer Your Time: Volunteering at a care house, hospice, or disability support organisation gives valuable hands-on practice and aids in developing your caregiving abilities.

Showcase Your Transferable Skills: Despite not having direct caregiving expertise, emphasise transferable skills that sparkle in care work:

Communication: Active hearsay, clear communication, and building rapport with patients are crucial.

Compassion and Sympathy: A genuine wish to help and understand others' needs is important.

Patience and Adaptability: Care work demands patience, as you'll be backing people with intricate requirements.

Organisation and Time Management: Staying organised and effective time managing is vital when taking care of several individuals.

Reliability and Trustworthiness: Building trust with patients and their families is a necessity.

Enhance Your Qualifications: While not always mandatory for entry-level positions, a few basic qualifications can bolster your CV and unlock opportunities. Consider these choices:

Care Diploma: This fundamental qualification offers a ground in care work principles and practices.

Essential Aid Diploma: Having primary first aid knowledge is a valuable asset in caregiving roles.

Expert Care Diplomas: Relevant certifications can further enhance your profile, depending on your area of interest (e.g., distress care or childminding).

Resources to Get You Started:

The National Careers Hub: https://nationalcareers.service.gov.uk/ gives information and resources for care careers in the UK.

Care Skills Training: https://careskillstraining.org/ delivers CPD-accredited courses, many blog resources, and backing for the social care workforce in England.

Remember, the most vital qualities are a passion for supporting others and a willingness to study. With commitment and the right approach, you can construct a rewarding career in care work!

#social care #health care #adult care #socialcare #carers #care workers #vulnerability #childcare #hospitality #caregiver blog #cpd #personal development #professionaldevelopment

[tafsircareercounselor]

Kickstart Your Career with PSW Training at ABM College

Are you passionate about helping others and looking for a rewarding career in the healthcare industry? A Personal Support Worker (PSW) certificate may be the perfect fit for you. And with ABM College's On-Campus program in Toronto, you can receive hands-on training and support to kickstart your career as a caregiver.

What is a Personal Support Worker Certificate?

A Personal Support Worker (PSW) certificate is a recognized credential that prepares individuals to provide care and support to individuals who are elderly, ill, or have disabilities. PSWs work in a variety of settings, including hospitals, long-term care facilities, and private homes, to assist clients with daily tasks and provide emotional support.

Why is a Personal Support Worker Certificate Important?

The demand for PSWs is on the rise, with an aging population and an increasing need for healthcare services. According to the Government of Canada, the employment growth rate for PSWs is expected to be above average in the coming years, making it a stable and in-demand career choice.

Moreover, a PSW certificate provides individuals with the necessary skills and knowledge to provide quality care to clients. This includes understanding medical terminology, administering medication, and providing personal care such as bathing, dressing, and feeding.

Why Choose ABM College's On-Campus Program?

At ABM College, we understand the importance of hands-on training and personalized support when it comes to preparing for a career as a PSW. That's why we offer an On-Campus program at our Toronto campus, providing students with the opportunity to learn in a classroom setting and gain practical experience in our state-of-the-art lab.

Hands-On Training

by Alvin Mahmudov (https://unsplash.com/@alvinmahmudov)

Our On-Campus program allows students to learn and practice essential skills in a simulated healthcare environment. This includes learning how to assist with activities of daily living, providing personal care, and using medical equipment. Our experienced instructors provide one-on-one training and support to ensure students are well-prepared for their future careers.

Personalized Support

At ABM College, we believe in providing personalized support to our students. Our small class sizes allow for individual attention and support from our instructors. We also offer career services to help students with job placement and resume building, ensuring they are ready to enter the workforce upon graduation.

What Will You Learn in the On-Campus Program?

The Personal Support Worker Certificate program at ABM College covers a wide range of topics to prepare students for a career in the healthcare industry. Some of the key areas of study include:

Introduction to Healthcare

Anatomy and Physiology

Medical Terminology

Personal Care

Assisting with Medications

Nutrition and Meal Preparation

Mental Health and Cognitive Impairment

Palliative Care

Infection Control

Safety and Mobility

Communication and Documentation

What Are the Career Opportunities?

Upon completion of the program, graduates can pursue a variety of career opportunities in the healthcare industry. Some of the potential job titles include:

Personal Support Worker

Home Support Worker

Long-Term Care Aide

Community Support Worker

Hospice Worker

Respite Worker

Personal Care Attendant

How to Apply?

To apply for the Personal Support Worker Certificate program at ABM College, follow these simple steps:

Fill out the online application form on our website.

Submit all required documents, including high school transcripts, proof of English proficiency, and immunization records.

Attend an interview with an admissions representative.

If accepted, complete the registration process and pay the required fees.

Take the First Step Towards a Rewarding Career

by Soliman Cifuentes (https://unsplash.com/@aleexcif)

If you have a passion for helping others and want to make a difference in people's lives, a Personal Support Worker certificate may be the perfect fit for you. With ABM College's On-Campus program in Toronto, you can receive hands-on training and support to kickstart your career as a caregiver. Apply now and take the first step towards a rewarding career in the healthcare industry.

#PSW Certificate #Personal Support Worker Course Toronto #PSW Course in Ontario #PSW Program in Ontario #PSW Course in North York #PSW Courses in Ontario

[medcadre]

The Future Outlook for Certified Nursing Assistants

The healthcare industry has witnessed a remarkable shift in its dynamics. Among the various professions that play a pivotal role in this sector, Certified Nursing Assistants (CNAs) stand out as indispensable pillars. As we gaze into the future, it becomes increasingly evident that the role and significance of CNAs will continue to grow. Let's delve into the promising future outlook for Certified Nursing Assistants.

Increasing demand

One of the most striking trends is the escalating demand for healthcare services due to an aging population. As baby boomers continue to age, the need for skilled nursing care is surging. CNAs, with their specialized training in patient care, are uniquely positioned to cater to this demographic. Whether it's in hospitals, nursing homes, or home care settings, CNAs will remain in high demand, ensuring that patients receive quality care.

Diverse career opportunities

Gone are the days when CNAs were confined to traditional healthcare settings. Today, CNAs have a plethora of career pathways to explore. From working in specialized clinics, rehabilitation centers, or hospice care to venturing into educational roles or administrative positions, the opportunities are vast. This diversification not only offers CNAs a chance to explore varied roles but also enhances their professional growth and satisfaction.

Technological advancements

The healthcare landscape is undergoing rapid technological transformations. With the advent of telehealth, electronic health records, and advanced medical devices, CNAs will need to adapt to these technological shifts. While technology will augment the efficiency and effectiveness of healthcare delivery, it will also necessitate CNAs to acquire new skills and competencies. Embracing technology will be pivotal for CNAs to stay abreast of the latest advancements and deliver optimal patient care.

Enhanced training and education

Recognizing the evolving nature of healthcare, there's a growing emphasis on enhancing the training and education of CNAs. Accredited programs focus on equipping CNAs with comprehensive skills, including advanced patient care techniques, communication skills, and cultural competency. Moreover, ongoing professional development opportunities, such as certifications and workshops, will empower CNAs to elevate their expertise and adapt to changing healthcare dynamics.

Advocacy and recognition

The invaluable contributions of CNAs to the healthcare system are garnering increased recognition. Advocacy groups, policymakers, and healthcare organizations are championing the rights and welfare of CNAs. Efforts are underway to enhance job satisfaction, improve working conditions, and advocate for competitive remuneration. Such initiatives not only uplift the morale of CNAs but also reinforce their integral role in ensuring patient-centric care.

Collaboration and interdisciplinary approach

The future heralds a collaborative approach to healthcare delivery. CNAs will play a pivotal role in interdisciplinary teams comprising nurses, physicians, therapists, and other healthcare professionals. This collaborative model emphasizes seamless communication, shared decision-making, and holistic patient care. By fostering teamwork and interprofessional collaboration, CNAs will contribute significantly to improving patient outcomes and enhancing the overall healthcare experience.

How MedCadre Will Help You Land Your Next Certified Nursing Assistants Job?

MedCadre revolutionizes the CNA job search by offering a seamless and personalized recruitment experience. By simply submitting your CV, MedCadre's dedicated team meticulously analyzes your profile, aligning it with tailored job opportunities that match your skills and aspirations. This proactive approach ensures timely communication and guidance, streamlining the application, interview, and onboarding processes. With MedCadre's expertise and expansive network, CNAs can navigate their career path with confidence, knowing they have a trusted partner committed to their professional success.

Visit our website and submit your CV: https://medcadre.com/careers

Looking ahead

The future for Certified Nursing Assistants (CNAs) is bright and full of opportunities. With the growing demand for healthcare services and the pivotal role CNAs play, their importance will only increase. Platforms like MedCadre further simplify the job search process, ensuring CNAs find roles that align with their skills and aspirations. As the healthcare landscape continues to evolve, CNAs can remain confident in their vital role and the support systems available to them, paving the way for a rewarding and impactful career in healthcare.

#certifiednursingassistants #certifiednursingassistantsjob #nursingassistants #certifiednursing #cna #medcadre

[adamshealthcareandstaffingll]

In the realm of healthcare staffing solutions, our agency stands out in connecting healthcare employers with qualified job seekers. Our expertise lies in bridging the gap between talented healthcare professionals and the assisted living institutions that need them.

#Healthcare Industry #Staffing Solutions #Professional Caregiver