#ceiling hoists for disabled
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Ceiling Hoists For Disabled | LIFTABILITY
LIFTABILITY provides ceiling hoists for disabled people, allowing them to regain independence and freedom. Shop now for the best selection and quality of ceiling hoists.
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Details Presentation about Midwest Mobility Ltd
We provide impartial information and advice about everyday mobility equipment and living aids for the elderly and disabled. Our experienced team offers advice and support to both individual and commercial clients.
GL51 6TQ Cheltenham
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+44 1242 506240
https://midwestmobility.co.uk/
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are you comfortable posting about hoist/hoist track? curious know how work+what look like. if not is okay!
Okay this ended up being quite long but here goes
Here’s what the hoist and track look like:
ID: a pink and white hoist running along a ceiling track with a black spreader bar hanging down. The spreader bar is a metal pole hanging from a strap in the middle. The bar is padded with black foam. At each end of the bar are three hooks. /end ID
The track is like a metal train track that goes from one end of the ceiling to the other.
The hoist runs along the track and has a spreader bar that is lifted up and down by some kind of winch system. I wear a sling that has loops which connect to the bar and allow me to be lifted up and down and moved from one position to another.
We position whatever I’m moving between (like my wheelchair or shower chair) under the track and this allows me to move between them in a way that is safe for me and my carer.
You can get fancier tracks which have and x and y axis which enable you to move to any point in the room. These are common in changing places toilets where it’s not possible to position everything (wheelchair, changing table and toilet) in a straight line under a single track. Unfortunately for me I don’t have one at home because they are even more expensive than this set up.
Here’s a picture of me being lifted (the sling is supposed to support my head a bit better than shows here but got a bit bunched up and we weren’t doing a proper transfer so left it):
ID: echo being lifted by the hoist. He is supported by a black hammock like sling which hangs from the spreader bar. /end ID
The whole thing is powered by a remote control with buttons for up down left and right. Some are only powered up and down and a carer moves the hoist along the track manually. Having it powered along the track means that when I’m able to (i.e. if I’m not wearing my splints and I’m having a good strength/ motor control day) I can control all the movement up, down and along. When I’m not able to use the controller my carer does everything for me.
You can also see one of my slings in this photo. The sling you use will be specific to each person based on your size, height, mobility and how much support you need. It looks quite simple, but there’s a lot more to it than it might seem.
Some slings support your entire body including your head while others just go under your legs and lower back if you have enough trunk control. Many slings, like mine here, come with different length loops which are colour coded and allow different seating positions (from sitting upright to laying right back). An OT should be able to tell you the sort of sling you need, how to fit it and which loops to use when.
In general it is often safer to use a sling which doesn’t stay under you while in your wheelchair but is instead removed at the end of each transfer and fitted at the beginning of the next one. This is because sitting in the extra fabric and lack of air flow can cause issues with pressure and skin breakdown.
For me this isn’t possible because I can’t safely lean forwards to allow the sling to be positioned behind me. Because of this I use an in situ sling (which you can see in the photo) This provides a lot of support and is made of special fabric that allows it to circulate air and reduce the risk of skin breakdowns while it stays under me in my wheelchair all day. This particular sling is also designed to safely allow for contractions and involuntary movements in a way I don’t understand but definitely works.
I also have a separate toileting sling which has an opening in the bottom to allow me to use the toilet while still having the support of the sling/ hoist.
If any of this wasn’t clear or anyone has any other questions feel free to ask and I’ll do my best to answer.
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I wish wheelchair bound wasn't a point of contention. I'm literally strapped into my wheelchair and so are a lot of other full-time chair users, so while they mean freedom, there's also a high level of restriction and like... actual binding involved and the feelings that brings up. There's a lot more logistics involved in it too, I have to have someone help me in and out of bed and on and off the toilet, into and out of my shower chair that's also on wheels. We need specialty cushions to prevent our skin from breaking down or our bodies permanently changing in a way that causes more pain. Some people have to be moved on slings that hang from the ceiling and can only leave their wheelchairs if they're in a place with ceiling hoists so even routine medical care is different. It's complicated and weird, and a lot of people just don't Get that.
Please don't forget non-ambulatory wheelchair users in your disabled activism.
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Wildfire • Ember
When Hawkins opened up and slowly slipped into the Ether, you were there on the front lines. Now, nearly two years later, after the tragic loss of your best friend, you're left without a partner and a rage building inside you like a wildfire. When you're given the option to retire or partner with your rival, Steve Harrington, you struggle to put aside your differences for the sake of the world.
Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader
Chapter Wordcount: 11,315
Warnings: enemies/rivals to lovers, second chance romance, slooooowburn, unrequited love, so much pining, blood, gore, character death, best friend!disabled!Eddie Munson, character injuries, trauma, PTSD, hallucinations, drowning, concussion, hurt/comfort, fire
Fic Masterlist • Navigation • Masterlist
Chapter Two: Spark
---
THEN
March 1988
A strong forearm caught your waist, ripping you backward and back to reality. The ringing in your ears faded to the crackle of fire, the roar of an engine, the gut wrenching wails of heartache. You resisted the force at your ribs, rooted to your spot, slack jaw tightened, hands clenched into fists, but they were stronger. You were lifted off your feet, kicking, clawing at the air, desperate to reach the figure thirty feet in front of you. Your best friend lay there, pale skin to asphalt, shock of red hair caked in mud, a pattern of thick black veins across freckled features. Your nostrils filled with the acrid stench of charred flesh. Your mouth tasted of blood and ash and bile.
“She’s gone,” Harrington’s voice roared in your ear, chest pressed to your back as he wrestled you toward the Getaway. “We’ve gotta get out of here. We can’t risk infection. Let’s go!” He loosened his grip to hoist himself into the truck bed, extending a hand to help you up.
You had every reason to stay, every reason to hold her head in your lap and scream and sob and apologize for what happened to her, for what you did to her.
Harrington yelled your name, drawing your attention back to him. His skin was stained black around the edges, coated in grime and oil slick with sweat. His jaw was clenched, hand still extended, and you noticed the flash of his eyes into the bed behind him.
Wheeler was there, and Byers, both staring at you wide-eyed, jaws clenched. Wheeler’s hair had never been bushier. The circles beneath Byers’s eyes never deeper. And in their arms, Robin buried her face and muffled her sobs in the crook of an elbow, blue eyes flooded, tear stains streaked through ash and char across freckled cheeks and down her chest.
What had you done?
You swallowed.
Then, Robin reached a hand out, beckoning, commanding, begging for you to get in the truck. Her fingers trembled.
Something deep, something hidden, subconscious, compelled you to grip Harrington’s forearm and allow him to hoist you into the truck bed, and with two slams of Byers’s fist to the roof, you were off, nearly teetering off the side as you found your seat on a wheel well. Fingers found your palm, wet, and you glanced up to gape at Robin, throat filling with too much emotion to make sound. But she held your gaze, those soulful blue eyes locked on yours so you couldn’t look away, couldn’t watch the figure of your best friend’s lifeless form fade into the horizon.
—
FIVE MONTHS LATER
August 1988
The smoke from Hopper’s cigarette wafted passed the bottle brush mustache and receding hairline until it hit the yellowed ceiling of his office and permeated the room in a thick fog. The smell, acrid and unfiltered, reminded you of your paternal grandmother’s kitchen, and it mixed with the spice of sweat from the boy perched beside you.
Harrington sat too far forward, broad shoulders hunched, apparently fresh from the gym. You spotted the wet patch staining his t-shirt between his shoulder blades and under his arms. Beneath an elbow, his hairy thigh bounced at an unrelenting pace. You thought his sneakers might rub a hole through the linoleum flooring, clear to the Upside Down.
It took everything in your power not to slam a hand down to his knee to stop the anxious movements, your own hands clamming with sweat. You restrained, remaining poised, stoic, as you peered over Harrington’s shoulder while he rubbernecked the paperwork Hopper leafed through.
A photograph had been paper clipped to the inside cover of a forest green envelope. Two faces, pinched in stifled laughter, stared back at you, bright-eyed and bushy tailed. You recognized yourself and your best friend, full of innocence and zest and life. Hop’s meaty fingers slammed the folder shut. You swallowed.
“What’s going on, Hop?” Harrington finally vocalized, his voice a little strained.
Hopper didn’t acknowledge him, merely stared right through the younger man to make eye contact with you, steely blue with a hint of mischief you’d maybe once appreciated. Now it made your blood run cold. “You passed your psych eval. Flying colors.”
You could feel your heart in your chest, taste the smoke on your tongue.
Harrington’s movements stopped in your periphery.
Hopper leaned back in his seat, the metal groaning beneath his frame, and he scattered a few ashes into a full-to-the-brim ashtray. “And, as I’m sure you’ve heard, Buckley retired last week.”
Your heartbeat halted. You wet dry lips, ventured a glance Harrington’s direction.
He rolled his eyes, looked away, caught. A scoff spilled from his mouth.
You hadn’t known. You hadn’t spoken to Robin in months. How could you, after what you’d done?
Hopper continued before you could respond. “So I’ve called you here with good news.” Again, mischief. The man seemed as jolly as ole Saint Nick, downright chipper. “You’re going back out there, kid.”
You’d been asking for months, begging on bended knee, desperate for a taste of that sickly sweet air, for ash in your lungs and sweat on your brow. You’d worked your ass off for months, and yet the news, matched with the look on his face and Harrington’s presence bittered the taste of relief in your mouth.
Again, the commander spoke before you could open your mouth to respond, his words strained through smoke blown upward. “The two of you need to log a hundred training hours starting tomorrow. After that you’ll be trialed, and you’ll undergo a double psych eval. You know the drill.”
As his words set in, with the curl of his upper lip, your words finally burst forth, spilling from your before you could hold them back. “Are you fucking insane?”
Slow on the uptake, Harrington’s arms swung out in front of you, and droplets of sweat from his temples splattered against your cheek with the velocity of his head shake. “No, no way. Absolutely not.”
Hopper sighed, sitting upright again to punch out the butt of his cigarette. He shuffled the papers on his desk once more, tossing them onto a nearby filing cabinet with a hearty thwack. “Knock it off.” A meaty finger pointed directly into Harrington’s face, and the boy merely gaped at it, all sass, no action. “You two will do this because I know how bad you want back out there.”
“Besides,” Hopper made eye contact with you again, over Harrington’s shoulder, and the mischief had burned to pity, “no one else has gone through the shit that the two of you have been through.”
It hurt too much to look at him, eyes bleary and throat lumped, so instead you stared at the back of Harrington’s head, where his hair stuck up at odd angles, where it met the collar of his t-shirt. A part of you, small, wondered what exactly he’d been through, if he’d held Robin while she wept, if he cried too. A much bigger part of you tasted the anguish as it burned in your lungs. You blinked away the emotion and tried to swallow back the disdain. He’d never understand, never know what you’d been through.
“The good news is, you’ve got a hundred hours to learn to like each other. I want you closer than the fucking Sinclairs. You hear me?” Hopper broke the tension with another groan of his chair while he reached to another stack of file folders in a little metal inbox. “Bad news is, we’ve got northbound spread and my two best Scorchers have been out for months.”
You glanced at the map behind Hopper’s head, black spreading north to the lakes, vines creeping ever closer to Chicago, Green Bay, too far. No one was safe.
“We’ve all got work to do. So get the hell out of my office,” the receiver of his phone rang when he picked it up, pressing the plastic to his cheek while he began punching numbers.
Harrington was up first, an exaggerated sigh falling from his lips while his slender frame made for the door. His jaw and fists tensed, brows furrowed, and he glanced at you before eliciting an eye roll that would make Wheeler envious. He turned the handle and the smoke escaped from the top of the door in a pool above the bounce of his hair.
You matched his sigh, peeling yourself from the vinyl chair backing to exit the office. You caught a few of Hopper’s grumblings over the phone in snippets before he called your name. When you turned on your heel, he held the phone between large hands and kept a crease between his brow.
“I know you can do this,” he nodded, “Munson said - “ He was cut off by the voice on the phone and waved you off before he could finish his thought.
He’d said enough to get your blood pumping. You grit your teeth and exited, ready to make a B-line from Hop’s office to the War Room to enact revenge on one Edward Munson.
Only, one meathead stood between you and the stairwell, hands poised on hips, lips upturned into the bitchiest snarl you’d seen since junior high.
“What?” You barked, no longer having time for him when you had flatter asses to chew. You slipped past him, barely, into the well, the slap of your sneakers echoing up and down tens of floors.
“I work out in the afternoons,” Harrington responded, long legs keeping pace.
“Yeah, no shit,” you gestured to his get-up, sweat stain on his tee now dried to a normal shade of blue.
“So, sparring mats at 2?”
You halted your mission at the floor you needed and barred him from exiting before you. The heavy door swung closed against your hip, and you crossed your arms over your chest with a snort. “No, no way. I run in the mornings and then do weight training. We’ll spar at 5.”
“Absolutely not,” Harrington offered a sour laugh.
“Scorchers drop at 4.” You hoped he didn’t notice your confidence falter. It’d been so long, months, you didn’t know if they’d changed it without you, accommodated others.
“Fine,” he seethed. “Can you swim?”
You rolled your eyes. “Relevance? No water in the Upside Down.”
“Seventy percent of the gates are in bodies of water. If we get stuck on the other side, our best way out is up.”
You hated that he had a point, hated the ice that filled your stomach at the thought, hated the way your mind flashed back to that place, that time, wondering if there were any gates you missed.
“So we should split our hours evenly between the gym, swimming, and scorch.”
Your mouth went dry, considering the heft of a fuel pack, the trigger beneath your forefinger, the acrid smell of burned flesh, the screams.
You stumbled back against the door, but the steel didn’t sway under your weight. Harrington’s oversized hand was holding it closed, his face inches from yours, dark eyes observing your features with scrutiny.
“How’d you pass your psych eval?”
You blinked back at him, chill ever-present at the base of your neck. “Excuse me?”
He stared down at you like he could see her too, like he felt her lingering thirty feet behind him, fire red hair and a crooked smile - uncanny. His nostrils flared like he smelled her too, hair on fire, skin bubbling.
You felt frozen against the steel door, stuck under his gaze, avoiding eye contact with the nightmare over his shoulder, the expanse of grey and red just beyond.
“Nevermind,” he sighed, releasing the door and giving you a few feet of space.
You stumbled when the door swung wide, but caught your footing along with your breath to watch him run two hands over his face, scrubbing at tired eyes.
“Mats at 5.” He clenched his fists and made his way up a few steps, presumably headed back to his dorm.
“Fine,” you shot back, hating the rasp in your voice, the saliva filling your mouth.
He halted his movements, wrapping his knuckles against a metal railing before turning back to face you. “Do me a favor? Tell Munson I’m busy tonight.”
You wanted to retort, say something childish about not being a messenger pigeon, but the words stopped at your tonsils when you saw Harrington glance once more down the corridor, down to where you’d seen her, Vicki, mouth agape, hand outstretched, before he clambered up the staircase, leaving you all alone.
—
Munson hadn’t been in the War Room, but you’d managed to distract yourself by listening to a strategy lecture being bounced off a bunch of trainees. You’d disguised yourself well-enough to be called upon to offer a few ideas, and were pleased when the instructor awarded you with praise.
High from your distraction and the news that you’d be out there again, fighting, burning, doing what you were meant to do, you’d almost forgotten about Eddie entirely until you’d punched your meal card for dinner and found his in your cargo pocket.
“Have you seen Munson?” You asked the girl manning the machine, and she glanced around the room with pursed lips. With a sigh, you punched his card and loaded both arms with tonight’s slop and two cold beer cans.
You took the climb to the dorms two-at-a-time and wrapped your knuckles against the cold steel of his door until you heard a muffled commotion on the other side.
“Eddie, it’s me!” You called, shifting the weight on the orange dinner trays to be easier to hold in two hands. You heard the buzz and waited for the door to swing open before you allowed yourself to step inside, placing both trays on a rickety card table that had been set up just inside.
“Sweetheart, to what do I owe this honor?” Your friend’s walker squeaked against linoleum at his approach, and you looked up to see that Cheshire grin spread across pale features.
“Brought you dinner,” you gestured to the stew and steamed vegetables partitioned on a styrofoam plate. “We got mystery meat and I hope that’s corn, and your favorite: sawdust mashed potatoes.”
He laughed that familiar, boisterous laugh, and shook the hair from his eyes. “As delicious as that sounds… I’m going out with Steve.”
The mention of his name sent reality spilling back into your mind. You bit back the initial sting of betrayal and moved to fill yourself a glass of water from Munson’s room sink. The countertop was piled with dirty mugs, cigarettes, nudie mags. You waited to chug an entire cup’s worth of water before you responded. “Harrington’s busy.”
“How do you know?” He asked, voice thick with the cafeteria food you knew he couldn’t resist.
“He told me.” You explained, crossing back to pull out his chair for him.
Eddie didn’t move. He just stared at you, hands gripping the handles of his walker, brown gravy on the corner of his mouth. A mouthful went down with a gulp, and he blinked back at you.
“Had a meeting with Hopper today.” You elaborated, helping Munson from his walker to his chair, carrying his weight with ease.
“If you poisoned me, they’ll know it’s you,” he pointed out, poking through the sludge with a spork. “You have a track record.”
“Fuck off,” you growled, joining him at the table.
He held his hands up in surrender, a bit of corn careening your direction. “Okay, too soon. I’m sorry.” He snickered anyway.
You poked at your own meal, annoyed that you couldn’t stay mad at him, despite his betrayal. He was all you had left, the only one that understood.
“So Hopper demanded you two kiss and make up,” Eddie reached across the table to crack the tabs off each of your beer cans. “And then what happened? Don’t spare the gory details.” He clinked the two cans together, and slurped the bubbles loudly from the top of his own.
You picked yours up with a sigh, adjusting the tab to align with the printing on the aluminum. “Nothing yet. We’re sparring first thing tomorrow.”
“Ooooh, can I watch?” He cackled.
“Absolutely not.” You took a sip, the bubbles tingling your nose with a sense of nostalgia for what once was. You remembered early mornings at the mats, dripping with sweat, pinned and pinning, Munson taking bets left and right. You’d pinned them all: Wheeler, Byers, Harrington, Buckley. You took another drink.
You nearly jumped out of your skin when Eddie touched you, a hand to your forearm, calloused fingertips and sad brown eyes. God, you hated that look.
“How long have you known about Robin?” Your voice came out a croak, sounds your mouth hadn’t made in months.
He turned back to his meal, shrugged broad shoulders. The downturn of his lips gave it away. He’d known for months. “I didn’t think she was serious.”
The betrayal stung. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It wasn’t my place.” He shot you a pointed look, sass that rivaled Harrington’s. “You should have heard it from her.”
You weren’t here for a lecture. You snapped back, spooning yourself some potatoes. “But it was your place to tell Hopper to pair me with Harrington? When you know what I’ve been through with him?”
Eddie slammed his can so hard against the table bubbles fizzed from the top.
You startled, dropping your spork back to your plate. Gravy dribbled across your chest, up your forearm.
“You’re the one who wanted to go back out there,” he pointed an accusatory finger your direction. “Your lucky I didn’t tell Hopper to bench your ass.”
You scoffed, licking beefy juice from your fingertips before standing to retrieve a roll of paper towels. “Like that’d stop me.”
“Yeah,” Eddie laughed wryly. “I know it wouldn’t, and since I can’t get my legs working enough to come after you, I had to find the next best person.”
You looked up at him from the mess you were mopping and noticed the fondness in those big brown eyes, the crease carving itself beneath pepper speckled bangs.
“I mean, think about it. Roles reversed, who would you partner me with?”
Although you’d never admit it aloud, Harrington was the most capable fighter in your motley crew, second only to yourself. He was a tactical master, and his heart was unmatched. He worked with speed and precision, efficiency, and you’d never seen another person go that cold in the face of the evil you’d seen.
“Besides, haven’t you two already fucked? Just stir up some of that old sexual tension and make peace with each other.”
You smacked him with your spork as hard as you could, just over his left eye, and he swatted your arm away with a voracious laugh. You fought back the warmth spreading up your throat and to your ears, drowning more memories in a gulp of beer before they could surface fully.
“Speaking of fucking,” Eddie changed the subject, eyebrows waggled beneath his curtain bangs. “I talked to Sandra today.”
You smiled into your sweet corn, the gentle buzz of relief settling over your shoulders. “Don’t you talk to Sandra every day?”
“Well, sure,” And Eddie Munson proceeded to tell you about the exciting escapades with him and one of America’s Finest.
And although you chewed, and laughed, and swatted at his arm, you couldn’t help but feel the tug of nostalgia just behind your molars. The memories that fizzled their way to the surface, of girls touching and laughing and nose-to-nose, cheek-to-cheek. Of dares. Of too much beer and too little pizza. Of arm-wrestles turned to leg wrestles, turned to sparring matches on dorm room floors. Of the freckles that lined faces and moles that cast a constellation across cheekbones and collar bones. Of breathless laughs and wandering touches. Of heat like wildfire, that fanned your skin and spread. Spread like vines and decay and smoke and ash.
—
Harrington beefed up, shoulders impossibly square, chest broad, centered on the balls of sneakered feet. And alongside the wall of muscles, he’d grown relentless. You swung again, and again, and again, huffs of disdain escaping your lips with each stuttered breath, and your fists were caught, forearms blocked, shoulders checked. He worked lithely, without effort, all defense, prepared, like he’d been studying, but not just the fight, studying you.
You’d sparred before, sure, dozens of times over the past two years, and you’d always managed to pin him. Your fights would end in cackles from onlookers and sweat wiped from his upper lip. You’d pull him upright with a grin on your face and pride fluttering beneath your ribcage.
Now, all mercy had been removed, any friendliness left his dark eyes cold. His jaw flexed, arms crossed over his chest while he waited for you to take a drink of water, quenching the dryness at your throat. He even dared that signature Harrington eye roll, which had the water dribbling from the corners of your mouth and down your throat, a soothing damp.
“What?” You snapped, chest heaving, plastic water bottle crunched beneath your fingertips as you sprayed more into the back of your throat.
“I didn’t say anything,” he responded, arms still crossed.
You swished before your swallow and set your bottle next to the oversized cushion of the grey vinyl mats. The floor had already been sneaker-marked and sweat stained. You bounced on the balls of your feet, trying to bring feeling back into the numbness of your wrists and knuckles.
Harrington readied himself, squared his stance, but remained limp. Honestly, he looked a little bored.
You grit your teeth and rounded to the right.
He mirrored you, arms up, patient.
You took a deep breath through your nostrils and released with a right hook.
He dodged, caught your wrist, shoved you to the other side of the mat.
You stumbled, caught yourself, took another deep breath, steadied yourself.
“Again,” he called you, gesturing for you to go again, to come at him, arm’s swinging wildly without making purchase for the thousandth time.
You were exhausted. You’d been exhausted for months, but memories crept along dorm walls the night before, and that familiar face smiled back at you from the far corner, ever-present, watching, waiting. You hadn’t sparred since then, hadn’t struck another human, hadn’t found purchase. Not since then.
You shook it off, rounded to the left. “What’s the matter, Harrington?” Your voice brought some life back into his eyes, interest piqued. Yes, this was better, this was safe. “Scared to hit a girl?”
You swung left, and he dodged, but you felt the hairs on his cheek prickle your wrist. You swung right, but he’d predicted it, catching both wrists and pulling them up and over your head.
His face was inches from yours, glistening with sweat and rough with stubble. The bags under his eyes were more prominent from this distance, and you wondered if he’d slept at all himself. “I want you on the offense before I even consider teaching you defensive moves.” He shoved you back again, readying his stance. “Again.”
“Teaching me?” You balked, resting your hands on your hips to catch the breath that had slipped away. “I seem to recall pinning your ass on the regular.”
He grimaced at that, upper lip upturned in disgust, and he shrugged, gesturing to the ground between you. “Feels like you’ve lost your touch.”
You swung wide, angry, fist flying through the air toward his chest.
He caught your forearm. “Looks like I can still count on you to be hot headed.”
“Shut up,” you snapped, stepping back into a ready position. You hated that he was right, hated how he always managed to find his way under your skin.
“Take a breath,” he took a step to your left. You countered. “Anticipate me anticipating you.”
You kicked out, knowing he’d expect another swing, but he caught your calf at his waist and held it there, pushing you backwards until you’d nearly lost balance, hopping on one leg.
“No,” he grit his teeth. “Come on. You’re being predictable.”
“Let go of me,” you wrestled your ankle from his grasp, nearly falling on your ass in the process.
“I know your moves,” he explained, voice unnervingly even. “You’re a one-trick pony.”
You released a grunt, threw elbows at his opposite side, and he managed to grab you around the ribcage, holding you tight to him, your back to his front, two feet off the ground as you struggled under a vice grip. You struggled, wind nearly knocked out of you.
“We aren’t moving on until you can take me down.”
“Fuck off,” you gasped.
He released you.
You stumbled back to your water bottle, taking a few breaths until the blur left the peripheries of your vision. You gulped between gasps, trying to strategize, trying to ignore the heated emotion prickling at your throat, behind your eyes. You couldn’t look at him, feeling like a child scolded by a school teacher, and what gave him the right?
“Did she use it against you?” His voice came softer than before, just behind your left ear. You could barely hear it over the rushing of your pulse in your skull.
You swished, swallowed, took a moment for his words to sunk in before you turned to face him. “What?”
“Your predictability. Did she use it against you?” Harrington stood with arms crossed over his chest again, the shield he bore.
Your mind flashed to that night, flames fanned your face, all encompassing heat, structure engulfed around you. You’d gone for a hit, frantic, not in your right mind, panic icing your veins, and she’d caught your fist, just as your new partner had. Vicki’s eyes were just as cold, just as dark, a black void where your friend used to be.
You swallowed, blinked back tears, and tried to ignore the figure growing in the corner of your mind. Harrington came back into focus, arms folded, shoulders square, sweat staining the collar of his t-shirt a dark grey.
With steady breaths, you crossed the mat to him until you were close enough to make out the pulse in his throat, a steady beat beneath a chiseled jaw. He stared down his nose at you, contempt across features you’d once swooned over.
You felt the emotion start to well, blinked back anything that threatened, avoided his frigid gaze for half a moment, and when you glanced back, you noticed the most minute indication that he’d softened. His shoulders relaxed, chin tilted downward to look at your properly, and you remembered that everyone has a weakness.
You sucked in your cheeks and willed a single tear to fall, just one, a hot bead that mixed with sweat as it streaked down the plane of your nose and rested, salty on the bow of your upper lip.
Harrington’s eyes were wide, brown, soft. His nostril flared, in pity or disgust, it didn’t matter which. You’d hooked him.
You turned your back to him, allowed your shoulders to shake with your exhale.
A sound of indignation fell from his lips, a warm breath cast upon the small hairs on your neck that sent goosebumps down your spine, and then you felt it. The softest of touches to your wrist, fingertips to calm your pulse points.
You took the opportunity, grappled his forearm and sent him flying over your left shoulder until a large body hit the mat with a satisfying thud. While Harrington gasped to earn his breath back, you pinned his shoulder beneath the toe of your sneaker, holding him to the mat. You wiped the tear from your nose with the damp collar of your t-shirt and stared down at him.
“You’re a fucking psychopath,” he spat, shoving your foot from his chest to sit upright.
With a sigh, you grabbed your water bottle and retreated, shoes scuffing the linoleum. “Same time, same place tomorrow, Harrington. Bring your A game. ‘We aren’t moving on until you can take me down.’” You mocked him as you sauntered off to the showers.
You paused momentarily when passing the double doors that exited the gymnasium into a gravel parking lot. Rusted vehicles were cast in the tangerine light of golden hour. And just beyond, under the cover of dense woods, you swore you could make out Vicki’s proud smile, engulfed in flame.
—
“How are things with Mr. Harrington?” Linda asked as though she knew the answer, and Hell, she probably did.
You were sure the exhaustion dulled your features, if not the dark circles under your eyes then the bruises that skated your arms and legs. One shone in browns and yellows on your temple from where you’d taken an accidental elbow. You’d been lectured for that for not ‘watching your space’. That man was lucky you hadn’t throttled him right there on the mat, pulse echoing against your skull.
“Fine,” you lied through your teeth, something you’d grown accustomed to in this cramped office.
Linda, the government appointed therapist, walked from houseplant to houseplant, watering until they’d overgrown the room like vines in an alternate dimension. Blinking fluorescents cast green across the walls, painting her pale skin, making you feel more sick than you felt when you entered on a weekly basis. It used to be three times a week, but you were let off on good behavior.
“How did you feel when you learned that Ms. Buckley retired?”
Your stomach churned, sickly green, and you shifted in the uncomfortable metal chair. It creaked beneath you. “I’m happy for her,” you maintained your voice, swallowed back a waver. “She weighed her options and chose a path that feels right for her.”
Linda hummed from overtop a spider plant, seemingly satisfied with your answer.
You settled in your seat.
“Did it make you question whether or not you’d chosen the right path for yourself?”
The fluorescents buzzed, and you squeezed your eyes closed, pinching the junction of your nose. Your temple began to throb again, and the muscles of your shoulders tightened. You were so tired, run-through, up too early all to get your ass kicked and up all night, contemplating whether or not you made the right choice.
“No one would fault you for wanting a little peace of your own. It’s not cowardly to want space from the things haunting you.”
The monotone of her voice was like nails down a chalkboard.
You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “I won’t find peace as long as the Ether’s still spreading.” A mantra you’d repeated time and time again, face pressed into a pillowcase to avoid the screams of horror plaguing your mind, to shield your eyes from the dense, damp expanse of forest.
“Yes, there’s no doubt you’re dedicated to your cause.” Her tone seemed clipped, almost as if she’d picked up some of Harrington’s sass in their sessions. She set her tiny watering can atop a large wooden desk and moved to sit in the rickety chair across from you. “I just think it’s healthy for you to consider a contingency plan. What would you do if it all ended tomorrow? You’re on the sparring mats and they announce it’s done, they’ve got him, the Gates are closed. Then what?”
You stared back at her, green blurring your vision as you mulled over her question. You’d never actually considered it, never thought what you might do should the fighting cease, should the fuel in your tank run out and you’d have to put away your worries altogether.
“What do you think Vicki would want you to do?”
That stung. Each time her name was said aloud felt like a slice, death by a thousand cuts. You closed your eyes again, tried to will away the nausea, the smell of charred flesh, the screams.
You took a deep, calming breath and imagined a simpler time, soft hands massaging the worry from your scalp, thighs around your shoulders as you pressed tired muscles into the cushions of a threadbare couch. Sweet laughter echoed around you, the wafted smell of popcorn, truths shared under the flashes of a television screen.
Linda’s timer beeped, an alert that your hour was up. She let out a sigh as you bolted upright from your chair. “Think about it this week and get back to me.”
“Unless it all ends tomorrow,” you promised, flashing a grin that you know exposed too much enthusiasm.
She muttered something under her breath that sounded an awful lot like, “we can only hope.” Before she stood to usher you outside. “Have a good rest of your day.” She chimed, always the most chipper exchange of your interactions.
You saluted and B-lined for the stairwell, in desperate need of a meal and an ice pack for the knot between your shoulder blades.
—
The dorm hallways were eery at night, the hustle and bustle of young adults silenced, lights out. Occasionally, a bluish glow would leak from beneath doors, but otherwise the halls were lit only by glowing red EXIT signs and the circle of your torch. You snuck past the common area on tiptoe, terrified of waking the occasional trainee who had fallen asleep during movie night, not interested in asking questions. You skirted around a corner instead, to the stairwell, and began your descent on the balls of your sneakered feet.
Your backpack slumped against a sore back with each step, full of supplies you weren’t even sure you’d needed, scrounged up from a supply closet Eddie snuck you in to loot.
In your hurry downward, you took a wrong turn, exiting the stairwell too early, and stumbled upon too many offices with dust on desktops and upturned chairs. The stillness of this floor reminded you of there and then, everything twisted with vines, particles peppering the air.
Nearly tripping yourself backwards, you kept one eye on your reflection in the glass, and made your way back to the stairwell to continue your run, a little more blind, a little more panicked. Two, three, four floors down you saw an indicator. The exit door was propped open on a brick. The window at a eye level exposed a long, pitch black hallway, and the very end sparkled in a pale blue glow.
You swung the door open and ran, no longer minding the slap of your feet against the flooring, only wanting to be somewhere light, somewhere where you knew you wouldn’t be alone. You almost skid through double doors, humidity smacking you in the face, and you managed to stop inches from where the floor opened up, dark water rippled against aquamarine tiled walls.
“You’re late,” a voice startled you, and you teetered further on the edge, turning to shine your flashlight directly into Harrington’s eyes. He grimaced, shadowing his face with his hand. His hair was already wet, throat beaded in water, droplets dampened and discoloring a red t-shirt.
You clicked off the torch and let your arm fall to your side, your eyes adjusting to the darkness. The only illumination was from the depths of the pool, recessed lighting that glowed cyan. “It’s dark in here.” You voiced your grievance, shrugging your backpack off your shoulder and toeing out of your shoes. The tiles were frigid beneath the balls of your feet.
“It’s dark out there.” He explained and rounded the oversized pool to grab a handful of items from his own rucksack. “Are you ready or do you need to…?” He gestured to you, voice echoing off the rippled water, even soft.
You managed a few steadying breaths. You weren’t nervous, per se, but a certain anxiety fluttered beneath your ribcage. You hadn’t swam in years, not since summers spent at Hawkins Pool with Vicki. You thought she’d dragged you down there to gawk at Harrington in all his glory, red trunks and tank top and whistle and sun kissed skin. She admitted later it was Heather Holloway she’d always had her eye on. The memory of squirted sunscreen and the quench of lemonade on your tongue had your fists clenched.
The splash of something heavy cutting the surface startled you back to reality, and your eyes scanned the wake to see what it was. Your heart raced in your chest.
“We’re going to start with the shallow end,” Harrington explained, shifting your attention back to him. You watched as nimble fingers began undoing the buckle of his watch. He toed out of his sneakers.
“I can swim,” you retorted, self-defense growing second-nature between the two of you.
He ignored you, tugging at the back of his collar to pull his t-shirt up and over his head. That soft patch of hair from his navel to the hem of his shorts stood on end beside the gnarled roots of scars that brought your own battle wounds to shame.
He stepped to the edge of the pool, upcast in pearly blues, and dove in. The arch of his lithe frame was perfect in silhouette, minimizing the splash and the ripple as he went in fingertips first to break the surface. You watched the shape of him approach before his head broke through, hair in his eyes, mouth agape to refill his lungs. He scrubbed chlorine from his eyes and pushed wet hair back out of his eyes.
“I dropped a brick at the shallow end, and you need to retrieve it,” he said, sidling up to the pool’s edge at your feet. “This isn’t about whether or not you can swim. You need to be able to get all the way to the Gate and all the way back up from it. This is about form and breath work.”
His voice was the softest you’d heard it, patient. It was the way he talked to the kids, without the snark and the sass of someone pretending to be irritated with them. It was unnerving.
“Can you dive?” He asked, combing his fingers through his hair to keep the front bits at bay, cowlick at the front fighting against him.
“Yes,” you snapped, although no, you weren’t sure you ever really had. Maybe at swim lessons in the third grade, but how in the Hell were you supposed to remember the basics now?
You took a step to the edge before remembering your clothes. You hadn’t brought extras, and you weren’t keen on sneaking back to your dorm sopping wet. With an sigh, you released the button from the fly of your pants, pausing the moment you realized Harrington was watching. “Do you mind?”
“Sorry,” he mumbled and turned his back.
You hated the static that prickled the stubble on your legs as you pushed your shorts down broad hips and thighs. You hated that it clung to the water’s edge, buzzed in your ears, fanned your chest with warmth as you lifted your tank top from over your head. You hated the lump your felt in your throat, exposed in underpants and a sport’s bra, not having owned a bathing suit in four years.
“Okay,” you managed, voice thick, ready for the cool plunge to your heated skin.
Harrington turned back to face you but kept his gaze at ground level, slapping a wide palm to the tiled edge. “Step all the way up here, toes over the edge. Remember you want your thighs to power you, but you need your fingertips to break the surface first. Arms over your ears. Don’t stop until you can touch the bottom.” He spouted instructions too fast, moving to the side to give you room to position yourself for your dive. “The brick’s on the far end. Once you’ve gotten it, kick until you’ve reached the surface. Your lungs won’t let you go anywhere but up.”
You couldn’t really hear him anyway, not over the buzzing of pool filters and the rapid heat rate in your ear. He made some minor adjustments to your stance, but you were on autopilot. And when you thought you heard the word ‘go’, you dove in.
You felt a little awkward, but determined, the third grader in you stiffening. The water hit warmer than you anticipated, the stale underground air keeping everything tepid. When you were submerged, you kicked, lungs straining in a held breath. The faint pool light shined behind your eyelids, too anxious to open your eyes to the blur and sting of chlorine. You just ventured for the bottom, the plaster and tile that you knew would come.
Only it didn’t. You kept kicking, and it was as if the bottom had fallen out, as if the world was swallowed whole, and panic fluttered once more at your chest. You opened your eyes, searching for a bottom, but everything felt too far. Then, a black shape entered your periphery, long, hulking, slender like a vine. Releasing bubbles, a startled scream exiting your lips, you kicked for the top, the sides, seeing the sparkle of the surface and begging for relief for the ache in your chest.
Oxygen filled you, damp and sputtering at the moment your fingertips reached the lip. Panic stricken, you clung to the wall, knees scraping against plaster as you gasped for deeper breaths.
“That was good,” Harrington called from somewhere behind you.
You peered into the dark mist against the sting of your eyelashes. You released a shaky exhale. “I didn’t get it.”
“I know, but your survival instinct kicked in. That’s important.”
You felt uneasy about his comforting words, tones you hadn’t heard spill from his lips in almost a year. You rubbed at bleary eyes.
“Come to the center and tread,” he commanded, softness replaced with the sass you were used to on the mats. “No walls in a lake.”
You grit your teeth and pushed off from the wall.
Harrington had you tread water until your muscles burned, until that familiar hatred for one another stung in your chest and bit in exchanged words, at least then you felt more comfortable. You managed to dive properly a handful of times, making it farther and farther across the pool which each go until you’d retrieved the brick without coming up for air. He took it from your proud hand and tossed it to the deep end.
Your lungs burned and your thighs ached, and he timed your held breath from the side of the pool, feet dangled in the water, broad shoulders slumped. You felt the heat of competition, the dopamine of getting better and better each time. Your final try, brick dumped beside him to scrape against the cold flooring, you wiped water from your eyes and had to fight back the smirk of success you felt itching at the corners of your mouth.
Harrington sighed and slid into the water beside you, bobbing with his head just above the surface. He was close, too close, and you could just make out the freckles across the bridge of his nose in the blue light, the scar etched into his lower lip.
“I’m going to pull you down.”
You blinked back at him, seriousness in his voice tickling your nerves. “What?”
“There are things in those Gates that will try to latch onto you, to pull you into them. I’m going to pull you down, and I need you to fight me off.”
You knew he spoke from experience, you’d heard stories of the things he’d done. The idea of a large, black vine sent a chill down your spine, any competitive adrenaline replaced with cold, exhaustion, fear.
“Go tread water.” He nodded back to the center of the pool, the expanse at which you’d finally warmed up to, a challenge you’d taken so lightly turned stone cold.
You did as he asked, pushing off from the wall until you found yourself in the center once more, legs kicking and arms pushing at the water around you, keeping you afloat. Your muscles ached with fatigue. Your entire being did, eyelids weighed by the sticky atmosphere.
Harrington’s head dunked and a chill shot through you.
You weren’t sure if it was fear, the underlying unease you’d felt around him for almost a year now, that rivalry that turned whispered truths into snapped remarks. Maybe it was this unknown, this fear that he knew who you were, knew what you’d done, and now he’d convinced you to relinquish control. You gulped, glanced around, continued to tread. You could make out the shadow of him, just below the surface, streamlined and agile.
You thought of him enacting revenge, on pulling you down and holding you in his vice grip. Hell, you’d do it if you were him. You’d thought about it already, imagined the swift crush of lungs as you held yourself beneath the surface.
A creak sounded in the far corner of the room, and your eyes snapped to the double doors. They swung slightly, fog from the pool seeping through the cracks where tile met linoleum floors. You swam forward to catch a better view. You thought you saw a light just down the hall, the flash of red and orange, the crackle of lightning.
You wanted to call out, but panic had settled too deep into your bones, and all at once a thick hand had found the meat of your thigh and you were being dragged downward, down, down, down. You gasped a deep breath, but couldn’t take your eyes from the swinging double doors, from the face that stared back at you from behind a window, wide-eyed in terror, just before you were submerged entirely.
The vine had a vice grip around you, and when you kicked, your opposite ankle was also grappled. You squirmed and fought, not-enough air choking at your lungs. Your toes felt the breadth of something wide, a chest, and you tried to push off of it, but down, down, down you went. Your arms struggled toward the surface. Familiar flames fanned the shoreline in oranges and golds, the smell of acrid smoke filling your nostrils, burning your lungs, blearing your eyes.
You fought and fought, but she was staring back at you, that sickening smile on her face, and you knew you’d fought long enough. It was time to let go. You had no other choice.
Your back hit something hard, a crack that jolted the water from your lungs. You sputtered, eyesight dark around the edges, coughing in an attempt to expel whatever remained. You rolled on your side, hair strewn in tendrils beneath your mouth, body numb, mind numb. You weren’t sure where you were, only that it was freezing, and your muscles all began to spasm in an attempt to warm up.
“Why the fuck did you do that?” A familiar voice called out, garbled under the thunder of your pulse in your skull.
You willed your eyes to open, to focus on the sparkling water beneath you, the cyan lights. Harrington’s face was inches from your own, eyes dark, a crease between thick brows.
“Fuck!” He ran a hand down wet features, and you tried to regain any semblance of what had happened before he’d tossed you like a rag doll onto the side of the pool. He swam to the nearest ladder and pulled himself out.
You rolled onto your back, stuttered breath gathering momentum again, and stared at the dark ceiling of the indoor pool. You were here, and you were training, and… You glanced sideways at the double doors. They were still, hall dark just beyond. You lifted a weak hand.
Harrington crouched at your side, pressing a wide palm to the curve of your throat, forefinger finding your pulse. He clicked the fingers of his other hand in front of your eyes, trying to get you to focus.
Annoyed, you swatted him away and tried to sit up.
“Will you slow down? You hit your head.” He spat, pinning your shoulder gently to the tiled floor.
You did feel a pulse where his hand reached to cup your skull, and you reached back with shaky fingertips. The wetness was warmer there, knotted into the hair near the crown. You pulled your hand back to see your fingertips smudged with crimson. You winced.
“Shit,” Harrington stood to procure something from across the room, his red t-shirt, and he shoved the material under your head, applying pressure to stop the bleeding. It just made the dull throb worse. “Can you talk?”
His fingertips found your pulse again, large palm splayed out across your collarbone, honeyed eyes searching your own. His body was warm, ribcage pressed against your hip, and you wanted to curl into him, your teeth chattering.
“‘M cold,” you croaked, the sound producing another fit of coughs that burned like hellfire at your chest, rocketing you nearly into his nose.
He grabbed your wrist and placed your hand firmly to the t-shirt soaking your blood and stood to pull something from his bag on the floor.
Your coughs sent you sideways again, spewing more liquid onto the ground beside your head. The tiles had begun to swirl with blood.
“Hey, hey, look at me.” His grip on your shoulder rolled you back to make eye contact. The room clouded around him, and you squinted, feeling your eyelids grow heavy. “Shit. Don’t fall asleep on me.”
Your body rattled. It took too long to process that he had wrapped you in a towel and was trying to warm your arms with the friction of his hands. Exhaustion crept into your bones, a slip of warm darkness that you could find in his embrace, safety.
“Whoa, stay awake. Come on, let’s get you up. We have to take you to the Med Bay.”
Your head throbbed as he pulled you upright, and you winced, pressure loosening on your skull. You groaned and tried to think through the fog, although exhaustion fought to win.
Strong hands wedged themselves beneath your armpits and hoisted you upright, and you struggled to get your legs to carry your weight beneath you, but they did. Your body obeyed as your head throbbed, and you felt a trickle of warmth cascade down your spine while Harrington scrambled to grab the rest of your belongings.
You stared back at the double doors, wincing as your torch lit up, light reflecting off of their insulated windows. “There’s someone out there.” You croaked, swaying on weak knees.
“It’s just the flashlight,” your partner snapped from beside you, one arm gripping your bicep, the other placing the ice cold metal of your flashlight into your weak hands. “Hold this.” His other hand met the t-shirt at the back of your skull to keep pressure.
“No,” you swallowed, throat raw, coughs emitting with each attempt to speak. “I saw them. I panicked.”
“Yeah, no shit,” he scoffed, leading you slowly out of the room and into the black hallway beyond. “Hopper’s going to fucking murder me.”
You shined your light toward the stairwell, crisp white against a grey background. You saw no movement, heard nothing but the soft patter of your feet against the floor.
“Nope, elevator. I’m not carrying you up fifteen flights of stairs.” Harrington steered you the opposite direction, toward a massive elevator on the North side of the building. It was old. The pulley system too loud against the thundering in your skull once the doors pulled themselves open.
You allowed him to lead into the square box, eyes wincing against the overhead lighting. You let him hold you upright against the railing on the back wall, relaxed easily into his hold, one hand catching on his forearm.
He leaned forward to press a button, and just as the door slid closed, you saw a face, glowing blue in the light from the pool, eyes dark and smile menacing.
—
For the first time in two years, you’d managed to fall asleep the moment your head hit the pillow, and what would have been the best night of sleep in your life involved a nurse coming in at every hour to wake you from your slumber. Your body ached, and your eyelids were heavy, and with every soft prod, you wished you had the strength to lift your fist and strike at the woman with brute force.
You were released after twenty-four hours, lactic acid stiffening your joints and ten times crankier than before, and you limped from the med bay up the stairs to your dorm for some peace and quiet.
Each dorm unit contained a bed, a closet, a sink and countertop, an aluminum table and chairs. Some people had couches, others managed lazy boys and a television set. Your new room had been kept at a minimum: bedding stark white, trash can piled in the corner, belongings shoved into a green duffle bag in the corner. The only bit of personality was tucked away beneath the covers of a photo album on top of your bedside table. You hadn’t opened it in months.
You shrugged out of your military issue clothes, peering at your reflection in the mirror above the sink. Your body, though stronger than you’d ever looked, was covered in bruises and scars. A long burn mark painted your left side, puckered skin. With a sigh, you pulled a tank top and sleep shorts from your duffle and stepped in, considering a shower when you’ve woken up.
You crawled from the foot of your bed to the pillow, sheets just as scratchy as those in the medical ward, but the mattress was far squishier. Your muscles begged for the rest, too stiff around the shoulders and thighs. You sighed and buried your face into the pillow, the throb in your skull only slightly subsided.
Then, you heard a knock at the door.
The red numbers of your alarm clock indicated you’d slept for three hours. The ruckus in the hall indicated everyone had finished their breakfast. You groaned and rubbed the sleep from your eyes, grabbing your second pillow to shove over your head, blocking the sun pouring in from an overhead window and the squeak of sneakers outside.
Knuckles wrapped a little harder. Your name was called along another few words muffled under the fluff of your pillow.
“Go away!” You called into the abyss, and something in the back of your mind reminded you of the gruff man with the oversized mustache. You groaned and rolled, painstakingly, out of bed.
The knocking returned, and you limped as fast as you could, calling over their yells for you to hurry up. You grit your teeth past the pain in the back of your head and swung the door open to expose Eddie Munson, hair pulled back into a ponytail, grin etched across sunken features. “Morning, Sunshine!”
You had half a mind to slam the door back in his face.
However, he raised his hand, shaking some poppy seeds off an everything bagel, and your stomach growled in response.
You snatched the bagel from his hand and stepped aside to let him stumble in, walker almost too wide for the doorways.
“Rumor has it Harrington carried you into the Med Bay in your underpants,” he said loudly before you had a chance to shut the door.
You caught the snicker of trainees, and you shot them death glares before slamming the heavy panel into it’s place.
“Glad to see you two made up.” He pulled a cup of cream cheese from his pocket, and it clattered on your table beside a plastic knife. You helped him sit, both of your legs shaky on the descent. The table teetered under his weight, but he managed to remain upright in his chair. “Did he have to pound a concussion into you though?”
You rolled your eyes, tried not to imagine a world in which his teasing could be factual, and shoved your thumb into the seam of your bagel to open it. “As much as I hate to pop your little fantasy bubbles, Edward, that’s about the farthest from what actually happened.” You seated yourself across from him and popped the top of the cream cheese container to start your spread.
“So tell me what actually happened.” Eddie said, voice eerily even, “Because overhearing a total stranger say something about your best friend being held over night in medical is not how I wanted yesterday to go.”
You looked up from your spread and into big, brown eyes. Eddie Munson was known for his jokes, his pleasant demeanor, his incredible ability to strategize. He wasn’t known for his temper, but you’d seen it a handful of times, patience tested, that burn behind his eyes.
You shirked under his stare, sealed the lid back on an empty container, took too big of a bite. You wedged the creamy goodness into one cheek, licking the corner of your lip to respond, hoping to sound more nonchalant than you felt. “It really wasn’t a big deal. We were training in the pool.”
“This place has a pool?” He leaned forward, brows creased, arms folded across a slender frame.
You shrugged, swallowed. “Yeah, lower levels. Anyway, we were underwater, and…” You thought for a moment about what happened, everything blurred under the waves, the pressure in your chest, Harrington’s large hands gripping your thigh, the face staring back at you from the doorway.
“And what? You went bonk?” Eddie snapped.
You blinked back to him and shrugged. The taste of garlic had turned to ash in your mouth. You tossed the remnants onto the tabletop and wiped poppyseeds off on bare thighs. They rolled onto the chair, the ground around you.
“You didn’t do it on purpose, did you?” His voice was quiet now, and when you snapped to meet his gaze, he was staring at the scrapes in the linoleum tabletop, knife wounds that had peeled through styrofoam. “Because I get it, you know? I’ve been there, too. After all those people I hurt…” He trailed off.
You reached across to grip his knuckles in your hand, pulling him to look at you. “Eddie, that wasn’t you. That was him. We all know it.”
“And what happened to Vicki wasn’t on you.” He responded, nostrils flared, strong hand gripping your own.
You swallowed back the lump growing in your throat. “I didn’t do it on purpose,” you said, and you wondered if you’d meant hitting your head in the pool or getting lost in the woods, getting Vicki flayed, pulling the trigger, watching the flames dance, hearing the screams.
You thought of the face above the water, the glow beyond the doors, this fear building in your chest like an ember of something you couldn’t put your finger on, this dull pulse you felt when everything else went away. You looked at your friend, dark hair and dark eyes and made a choice. “Eddie,” your voice shook. “I can still see her.”
He squeezed your hand, nodded. “That’s normal. It’s a trauma response, I think, like a phantom limb.” He patted his thigh, and you recalled the mechanics of a prosthetic ankle beneath the hem of his pant leg. “What did Linda tell you?”
You picked up your bagel again and tore it into halves. “I haven’t told Linda.”
Eddie breathed your name like a warning. “What do you mean you haven’t told Linda?”
You dropped your bagel again and buried your face in your hands. The back of your head had begun to throb, and your eyes ached and crusted with sleep. “Eddie, come on. I had to get back out there, and you know I wouldn’t have passed my psych eval if the shrink knew I was hallucinating on a regular basis.”
“Jesus fucking Christ…”
“Eddie, you can’t tell anyone,” you reached out to grip his hand again. “Please, please. I’m sixty hours from reassignment. I just got a new partner.”
“Does he know?”
You scoffed, tried to mask your eye roll by throwing your entire head back into a stretch. The pounding on your head increased, and you had to cradle your head in your hands once more.
“What the hell is wrong with you? Why have you now dragged me into this?” Eddie hissed, and when you peered through your fingers, you saw his stance mirrored yours, hands in his hair, annoyance stretched across thin features.
And you debated keeping it from him, hiding that fear that had fanned the flames in the back of your mind for months now, but it was surfacing, each day coming closer and closer to having you by the throat. “Because I saw something else at the pool, someone else was there with us,” you let out a ragged breath. “And I don’t think it was…” Your throat caught on her name. “Her.”
His expression dropped, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. He glanced around your dorm room, crossing his arms over his chest before he looked back at you. “What are you talking about?” His voice trembled.
You shrugged, shook hair from your eyes. “I don’t know, Ed. There was someone else down there. I saw the door swing open. I could see a face staring back at me from over the surface. There was someone in that room, and when I came to, they were gone.”
“Did Steve see them?” Your friend frowned, leaned toward your once more.
As if on cue, a loud knock wrapped at your bedroom door. You both startled upright, your heart beat racing in your chest. “Who is it?” You called, hands gripped the tabletop to stop them from shaking.
“Steve,” came the short response, muffled through the thick door.
“Steve who?” Eddie joked, lifting himself from his chair with some difficulty, any worry or hurt erased from the expression on his face. You hurried to help him before using one hand to open the door.
“Sorry, I can come back,” Harrington’s features were etched in that signature scowl, dressed in uniform, bright orange breakfast tray loaded under one arm.
“No, no,” Eddie waved him off. “I was just leaving. You can have her.” He leaned to press his lips to the shell of your ear before whispering, “we’ll finish this later.”
You squirmed under the heat of his breath, and Harrington stepped aside to let Eddie through and into the hallway.
“Be gentle with her this time, will ya?” Eddie’s mouth split into a grin.
Your eyes nearly rolled back into your skull, and you flipped him the bird. “Fuck right off.”
Once your best friend had cackled his way down the hall, sneakers and walker squeaking, and a familiar, anxious buzz had settled into your bones, you gestured for Harrington to enter your little apartment. You closed the door behind him and felt suddenly self conscious of the trash piling up and over the can, the dishes dirty in the sink, the cream cheese smeared across your tabletop.
“You should be resting,” he chided, sliding the orange tray onto the table beside your breakfast.
“Eddie brought me food,” you explained, as though you needed an excuse.
“A bagel isn’t food. You need protein and electrolytes, vitamins.”
You glanced at the plate he brought: bacon and eggs, roasted potatoes, a glass of milk, a small orange. “Thanks, Dad.” You rolled your eyes and crossed your arm over your chest, suddenly aware of the breeze against your bare thighs, the pebbling of your nipples beneath a thin tank top. You swallowed.
“How’s your head?” He asked after a long moment’s pause, vowels stilted like he’d forgotten how to be nice to you. You suppose you both had. It’d been so long.
You swallowed back an innuendo, shrugged, reached to itch at the bruised skin around the scab. “She said it just a minor concussion. Should be good to get back to work by Monday.” You felt yourself shift on uncomfortable feet, the air buzzing with that odd static you felt in the pool.
Harrington nodded, hands shoved into the pockets of his tactical pants, rocking on the balls of his feet.
You felt sick, knowing it’d come to this, that you’d been brought to awkward conversations and niceties. You used to be close, dangerously close. You used to be able to reach out and touch him, to push that stray hair out of his eyes. You used to make jokes, to laugh. You released a scoff, shook the memories from your pounding head. “Look, we don’t have to do this.”
He looked up at you then, jaw clenched, broad chest steadily rising and falling.
“You don’t have to pretend to care about me. They partnered us up because we both want to get back out there. We have sixty hours of training left. The rest of the time doesn’t need to be spent together. You can be my drill sergeant and after training, we go our separate ways.” You confirmed, crossing to your duffle bag to retrieve a sweatshirt. You shoved it aggressively over your head and put your arms through, sick of feeling scrutinized under his gaze.
“Drill sergeant?” He seethed, rounding the table to meet you near the foot of your bed.
“Oh come on, Harrington,” you rolled your eyes. “You’ve been chewing my ass like fucking beef jerky since we left Hopper’s office. You’re acting like you’re training me for the Olympics, and I’m letting you, by the way, because it’s easier to keep the peace and take your bullshit than argue with you.”
“Oh, right,” he scoffed. “You’ve been ‘keeping the peace’. Please, explain to me the fight-back I get on everything I say. Enlighten me, princess.”
“Don’t call me that,” you shoved at his chest.
He didn’t budge. “Push through me.” He instructed.
You grit your teeth and did as he asked. The heels of your hands made contact and had him stumbling back a good five feet.
He caught himself on your chair. It creaked under his weight. “Good.”
“Shut up,” you stood at full height, clenched your fists at your sides, ready to swing.
“Did you ever consider that I’ve been bossing you around because I don’t know if I can trust - ” He swallowed, broad chest heavy, eyes scanning your features.
“What?” You narrowed your eyes, fear crawling up your esophagus, burning in your throat.
“…you.”
All of your fears confirmed, that you couldn’t be trusted, that it was all your fault Vicki got lost, all your fault she was flayed, all your fault you couldn’t handle her, couldn’t take her, all your fault she died. All your fault your friends abandoned you. All your fault you lost him, too.
Flames fanned your skin. Your eyes glazed over, your hands trembled. You tried to reason with him, with yourself. “I didn’t mean for… any of it. I didn’t ask for it to happen.”
“But it did.” His tone was dark, low, unyielding.
You glanced back at him in time to see his hand run through his hair.
He released his shoulders in a deep breath. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we’re better on the field than off. I was really just coming to see when you’d be ready to get back on your feet.” He wrapped his knuckles against the tabletop.
You shivered under his frigid monotone.
“We should start with Scorch on Monday. I think we’re supposed to get a heatwave, so let’s try for the evening again.” He was commanding, cold, walking to your bedroom door.
“Okay,” you managed. Your neck ached from the whiplash of the encounter, of the last week of your life, the last year.
“Get some rest.” He said before exited, a command.
When the door clicked closed, you let out a yell of frustration, swatted at a nearby chair until it tipped to the ground, clanging loudly as the metal bounced.
---
Chapter Two: Spark
[A/N: I've honestly been working on this fic for so long. It's my baby. I've grown too attached. And I honestly cannot wait to share it with the world. Thanks so much for reading xo]
#stranger things#steve harrington#steve harrington fic#steve harrington wip#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington angst#steve harrington enemies to lovers#eddie munson#robin x vickie#stranger things fic
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Legacy CH 2 - Lae POV
The singing corpses haunt me, my body gasping, shocked, convulsing in a curled-up ball in my chair. In a moment of procedural clarity, I unclasp my seatbelt and tumble cumbersomely onto the floor, the cool metallicity providing some calm as I lay my cheek against it. I can hear blood rushing to my ears, and I feel wet drip from my face onto the floor, sweat turning into tears as I tremble. Rationally, I know what’s happening. I’m having a panic attack, but the rational part of my mind is having a difficult time peaking through the cloud stupor coursing through me.
In my haze, I hear Dad’s voice calling out to me in the halls; he must be able to hear me.
Coughing raggedly, I rasp his name while I watch through my periphery as he spots my pitying form, dashing up to me.
He grasps my arms and pulls me into an embrace, one I’ve always found comforting and congenial; now utterly lacking. My harsh breaths are marred by the shirt I’m inhaling into, trying with all my gusto to explain why the hells I’m falling apart like this.
Some wild gesture must have worked, though, because I see the blurry figures of two of his operatives stride wearily towards the window at my frenzied request, and keel back when they catch sight of the—
I vomit again, luckily missing most of my dad and adding to the abstract portrait I’ve constructed with my bile.
“HolyfuckingMaker,” the Legionnaire I now recognize as Jayce Krin spurts, placing a tentative hand on the wall next to her head.
My head is clearing, the hysteria seemingly going as quickly as it arrived. Dad hoists me up by my underarms as he used to do when I was young, keeping a hand at my elbow to stabilize me. He cranes his neck, gaping when he catches what we’re all rocked by.
“That would explain the lack of response,” he mutters, stepping over my vomit and placing himself carefully in my flight chair, not bothering to buckle in.
He expertly disables the alarm sirens, and the remaining panic dissipates swiftly, my shoulders slumping in relief. I was taught to always approach a problem from a level-headed and grounded place, and that feels more feasible now that I’m not sobbing on the floor.
“Lae,” he starts, though we both know what he’ll be asking, “Are you—”
I cut him off, “I’m fine, Dad, I swear. I’m coming with you.”
He peers at me for a moment before nodding gravely and turning back to the console, entering a few commands and then standing up, motioning for us all to follow him.
His subordinates eye me carefully, no doubt having heard of my excellence, only to find me rolling on the floor in a rather sorry state. I just roll my eyes; they can think whatever they want, but that doesn’t mean they’ll be correct.
“Docking bay was left open,” Dad explains as we meaner into our pods, me into Dad’s as his flyer.
“By whom, though?” I say distrustfully, strapping into my spot.
I’m sure that, as I look around, there’s got to be some sort of hands-off communication system in here, and my suspicions are confirmed when I hear a crisp voice come from the ceiling, “What the hells does that mean; by who? I’d assume the dead people.”
Dad butts in, “It’s whom, and there’s no reason to assume that. There must have been someone else on that ship at some point, so what’s to say they aren’t still there?”
I don’t hear a response after that, smirking lightly as my dad and I share a look.
Launching out of my Chimera, his Legionnaires pulling behind us into triangular formation.
We shift into the docking bay cautiously, smooth in formation just as I was taught, when out of my periphery, I watch Cassian shoot off into the Fold, leaving our two ships, the only whisper of its remnants; the soft glow of debris in its wake.
Dad notices this, glancing worriedly in my direction before he yells out to Jayce, “Get ahold of him, please!” The little flashing dot signaling its location now vacant from my set.
The response from Jayce comes quickly, verifying what we both already know, that for some stupid reason, that Legionnaire has made some dumb decision, and of himself; an enemy of the Legion. I’ve heard enough of my parents’ stories to know that that is not the most brilliant idea.
As though a thought from the Maker Themself compelled them, the bay doors snap shut ricketily, certifiably shutting us into the deathtrap. Dad does the smart thing, as usual, and radios command, letting them know that this is no longer a silly situation and is now a real conspiracy. I always used to love hearing my dad’s stories about when he was younger, a fresh graduate on the run from every government body everywhere, ragtag group of friends and such. Every time, though, after he’d finish telling me about some close call, he’d remind me that although it seems cool and valorous now, at the time, he was bruised beyond recognition and living off of crackers and spite. That’s kept me on the straight and narrow most of my life.
When he’s done talking with De Stoy, Dad turns back to me and says sternly, “I want you to get out of here, Kiddo. This is real stuff, and your mom would kick my butt from here to tomorrow if anything happened to you. I’m serious.”
“I’ll be fine, Dad, I’m the best flier in my year. I grew up with you, for Maker’s sake. I’m not a little kid.”
He peers at me for a moment more, “You can stay here,” he points to exactly where I’m standing, “No moving at all; you need to be able to get out of here. I’m serious too.”
I raise my hands in surrender, “Deal.”
He just nods once, piercing me with what I can only call a parental warning, and walks out of the port and onto what could very actually be enemy territory. It comes to me, rather embarrassingly late, that he clearly doesn’t think it’s too big of a threat, though, because the damn bay doors are closed.
I’ve waited for ten minutes when Dad’s voice echos in our pod, “Lae? Open the doors, please.”
I do just that, leaning over to the button from my chair, turning my head in the direction of the hall he’ll be coming from when I hear fraught voices speaking in Syldrathi.
“Dad? Is everything okay?” I can hear his calm responses as he links me assuringly. When he pulls around the corner, I see that he is followed by three Syldrathi women, the youngest looking maybe sixteen, and the oldest well over fifty, though it can be hard to tell. The elder one has something familiar about her, which I dismiss when I notice that she’s covered in blood as just the fact that there aren’t many Syldrathi at the Academy. She looks at me for a second, and almost seems shocked, and when I glance at Dad, his expression mirrors hers.
Check me out on AO3 :)
Legacy Chapter 1
Legacy Chapter 3
Masterlist
Sorry this chapter took so long, life has been very hectic lately and writing went to the backseat for a while.
#the aurora cycle#aurora rising#aurora burning#aurora's end#tyler jones#saedii gilwraeth#finian de karran de seel#scarlett jones#aurora jie lin o'malley#kaliis gilwraeth#lae gilwraeth jones#evalie gilwraeth o’malley#dariel jones de seel#fanfic#legacy by gergthecat
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Disabled travel: finding accessible places to stay is the main problem
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Organized Chaos
Ectoberhaunt Day 3 - Order & Chaos
Summary: Vlad's suffering makes a great birthday present for half-ghosts.
Ao3 Link
“Agent Terminator, are you in position?”
“Roger that, Agent Disaster.”
“I told you, I’m Agent Die Hard.”
“You hate Christmas.”
“Die hard isn’t a Christmas movie, it just happens on Christmas!” Tucker gave a disbelieving hum. “Tucker, I swear, if I have to go over the whole plot of the movie again—”
“Agent Tingle and Dingle, shut up. The target has left.”
Danny and Tucker quieted as they waited for Sam’s cue.
There were a few quiet snips heard through the Fenton Phones before Sam spoke again. “Okay, human security system disabled. Tucker?”
“It’s Terminator. And you forgot the Agent bit,” he mumbled. A door creaked open over the line and a few moments later, rapid typing began. “Give me a couple minutes here. Agent Disaster, are you above the roof?”
“Die. Hard.” Danny floated invisibly out of the bushes scattered around the massive backyard. He stopped a few metres above the roof. “I’m ready when you are.”
“And the camera?” Sam asked.
“As if I could forget that.”
“You’ve forgotten dumber things.”
“Okay yes, but this is different.” There was silence over the line. Danny sighed. “Yes, I have it.” He held up the video camera in his hand despite his friends being unable to see it.
“Great. T?”
“Just about… got it!” he exclaimed. Danny and Sam shushed him and he laughed guiltily before whispering, “Sorry, sorry. The anti-ghost security system should be disabled.”
“Alright, I’m going in. Agent Die Hard is going full radio silence from here on out. Don’t make any stupid jokes Agent Terminator.”
“Copy that, Agent Disaster.”
“Die Hard,” Danny grumbled. He slowly phased through the ceiling head first and surveyed the room below him.
It was a large library with old looking furniture and bookcases covering every wall of the room. It had two floors and the only lights in the room were several wall mounted oil lamps that were periodically set between bookcases. Both floors had shiny wooden floors with a large red rug placed in front of the fireplace surrounded with a couch and armchair that looked absolutely heavenly to sleep on.
Maybe just… a few minutes.
“By the way, Dingle, if you pass out on one of the sofa’s, I’m leaving you here.”
Danny mimed snapping his fingers and mouthed the words ‘foiled again’ before turning away from the fireplace.
He floated around the room, scoping out any good angles to film from to capture the whole room. He found one spot—a small nook between bookshelves on the second floor, above the door to the hallway—and decided that was good enough.
He phased through wall after wall, repeating the same process with a bedroom, a sitting room, and a bathroom that had no business being as large as it was, before Sam spoke up.
“Oh, just thought of something, hold on.” Danny paused in his search of a suspiciously badger themed bedroom. There was the sound of tape ripping over the line. “There. Tingle, put an X made out of tape on the inside of the door so Danny knows which rooms we’re setting up in. That way he doesn’t have to search every room.”
“Ahem, Terminator.”
“Terminator, what ever.”
“Thank you. And yeah, I’ll get on that.”
Danny set to work looking for rooms with duct tape. He found one on the back of the front door where a small catapult was set up, a specter deflector sitting innocently in the bucket, and hundreds of marbles spread out over the floor. He found a nice spot in the corner above the cat tree by the front window.
He checked the two door room not far away, phasing through the wood to see a large office and Sam pouring oil into a bucket before throwing out the empty bottle.
There were three buckets tied to ropes hanging above the door with the ropes thrown over one of the exposed ceiling beams. He watched Sam tie a hanging rope to a fourth bucket of oil and hoist it high up in the air before checking where the four ropes connected to a pulley system around the door hinges.
Sam had said she bought eight bottles of fancy cooking oil for this prank. She also said she made sure to buy the ‘extra virgin’ kind since it fit Vlad so well.
With a quiet snicker, he phased through the door into the hallway and saw a bit of wispy air flowing out from underneath a door a few rooms down. Inside he found Tucker setting up a massive fan behind a bowl with a huge hunk of dry ice sitting in it. There was a hammer held up by a thin piece of string over the ceiling beam (what was it with Vlad and exposed ceilings?) that was connected in a loose knot around the door hinges.
Tucker quickly flipped the fan on and off to check it was working and grinned. Then he glanced at the closed door and the hinges, trailing his eyes along the string to the hammer before sighing.
“Agent Dis—Die Hard, I need a pick up.” Danny rolled his eyes and grabbed Tucker, phasing him out of the room. “That was quick. Though my bag is still in there.” He quickly popped back in and out, then dropped the bag at Tucker’s feet. It made a small popping noise. “Dude, if you popped my Doritos bag, I’m not sharing and you’re phasing all the dust off my PDA.”
Danny turned his mouth visible and stuck his tongue out at Tucker. Tucker mirrored him and Sam’s voice rang out from the hall, “Real mature, Dingle and Tingle,”
Danny and Tucker both turned to face Sam as she was carefully squeezing herself out of the doorway and Tucker blew a raspberry at her. As if she was any better than them at being mature. She was the first one to agree to this!
And Danny was so getting some Doritos, he knew how to sneak some from the bag. Getting the dust out of Tucker’s PDA would be a pain though, even with his ghost powers, Tucker always would make him do it a bunch of times until he was certain that every speck of dust was gone. Danny was definitely teasing him over it later, his friend was almost as bad as Vlad—
Danny paused. As Sam walked up and punched Tucker in the arm, an idea popped into his head and he flew behind Sam.
Danny rummaged around in Sam’s backpack and pulled out a pen and paper. “Dingle, what are you doing?” He quickly wrote out a few things he thought they should add to the hallway and library to make Vlad’s suffering worse.
He turned the paper visible and flapped it in front of Sam’s face. She grabbed it out of his hand.
He watched over her shoulder as she read it. “You couldn’t have just said that?” Sam said, annoyed.
Danny wrote down ‘RADIO SILENT’ at the bottom of the paper. He underlined it three times.
“Tucker turned off the ghost security, there’s literally no reason for you to be silent.”
Danny wrote ‘CRITICAL MISSION, CAN’T RISK ANYTHING’ in the corner. He underlined it three times.
“And you call Vlad the dramatic one.” Sam sighed, but when Danny floated in front of her, he could see her holding back a smile. “Sure, we can do that. Tingle, you still have the glitter and ghost sulfur you were saving for Halloween?”
Danny wrote ‘WHY DOES TUCKER HAVE GHOST SULFUR?’ at the back of the paper. “Don’t worry about it,” Sam and Tucker said in unison.
Despite the numerous underlines he added, neither of them said a word as they finished setting things up, re-armed both security systems, grabbed the cats, and slid out the back door. Danny grumbled silently to himself as he lay in wait for their target to arrive.
---
Not thirty minutes had passed before there was a jingle of keys and the lock was turning.
Vlad opened the door a smidge, placing a small plastic bag beside the door before peering through the crack. He sighed after a moment and said, “Thank goodness.” He pushed the door wide open and stepped on a slightly raised part of the doormat. The doormat pressed down and Vlad looked down, confused for a moment before seeming to ignore it.
He turned and closed the door, calling, “Girls, daddy’s ho—!” before getting cut off by the catapult shooting the specter deflector directly at him.
“What the—” Vlad was cut off again as the belt wrapped fully around his waist, shocking him and causing him to stumble directly onto a group of marbles. His feet rolled every which way as he tried to right himself, periodically being shocked every time he tried to use his ghost powers and making him stumble even more.
The man finally fell on his ass and groaned. Danny struggled to hold in his laughter. It got much harder when Vlad failed to get up on his own and the belt shocked him as he tried to use his powers again.
Eventually, with much cookie cursing, Vlad cleared a space for himself and stood up. He carefully made his way to his office and sighed once he reached the door.
He slowly opened the door a crack and peeked inside. “Okay, just carefully go inside and get the small laser to remove this blasted belt.” He opened the door wider and stepped over the first few floorboards. “Simple. There will be time later to get revenge on Daniel, Vladimir. There will be time later.”
The buckets directly above Vlad fell and absolutely drenched him in oil before dropping on top of his head and arms.
“What in the world?!” He knocked off the bucket sitting on his head and grimaced. “Is this oil?! Why is there oil—” Vlad stumbled towards the nearest bathroom, trying to wipe the oil out of his eyes as he went. He opened the door and Danny quickly followed, watching with half of his body phased through the wall as the hammer dropped and smashed the dry ice to bits. The fan turned on at full intensity, but thanks to some special modifications he swiped from Skulker, it made no noise.
The fog quickly covered the room as Vlad waved his arms around blindly. “Sugar cookies, where is that sink?!” He shivered. “And why is it so cold in here all of a sudden?”
It took barely a few minutes before the oil started to freeze, but it was only really making a thin layer of frozen oil so Danny decided to help out a bit.
He pointed a finger at Vlad’s back and shot a small beam of ice, turning Vlad into a frozen statue. Perfect.
The fan blew Vlad back out the door, into the hallway and Danny pulled out a button from his pocket. He held it in front of the camera and pressed it, causing a long panel to spring out of the wall and send Vlad sliding further into the house. He pressed it again, causing a curved ramp to pop out of the floor and direct Vlad into the open doors of the library.
The camera automatically switched to night vision mode as Danny followed Vlad. The man’s frozen form stopped by the large table in the centre of the room.
A short burst of electricity cracked the ice around his waist and the belt was slowly becoming unrecognizable while the ice and frozen oil were rapidly melting. Steam literally poured off of Vlad “Oh, that horrible horrible little boy. He is going to regret ever having crossed me. He will learn not to step foot in this house without explicit permission—” Vlad continued his ranting, but Danny ignored him, far more occupied with recording the rest of the room.
Danny zoomed in the camera and slowly panned across the room to an array of small balloons taped across the walls and furniture in the library, with a large group of them centered around Vlad’s shoes.
“What is that awful smell?” He turned his head, searching the room before a large, heavy looking balloon—something bigger than the size of his head—fell from the ceiling, attached to a thin line of string and glowing an ominous bright orange. “Oh, cheese logs.”
The room exploded in multiple small blasts of foul smells and orange glitter. When the dust cleared, Vlad was laid out on his back completely knocked out and looking absolutely stupid covered in bits of half-frozen oil, singed hair and clothes, and glitter absolutely everywhere.
Danny patted the video camera with a grin. Ellie’s gonna love her birthday present.
And he was right, Ellie laughed so hard she started crying and accidentally turned herself into a puddle. It took her a good while to calm down so they spent the next half an hour going over the logistics of pulling off the prank while she listened raptly in a bucket in water form.
#danny phantom#nemo the writing ho#Ectoberhaunt22#EH Chaos#Day 3#Chaos#btw Ellie has a water core#to make the ending make sense
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OH 2 AND 13 FROM CRIPPLE ASK GAME PT.3 PLS THNXS ILY KEEP GOING I'M SO PROUD OF YOU
-🐻
2. something no one talks about that you wish had more discussion about how it could be more accessible?
america needs to step up it's accessible bathroom game. all we get are stalls that are slightly bigger and have (often dirty) hand rails, if we're lucky it's a separate room but only really has the grab bars (and often baby changing tables, which i think is weird bc it means disabled people have to wait if someone's in there changing their baby). i want sharps collection bins, i want adult changing tables, i want ceiling hoists, i want emergency pull cords, the whole 9 yards. we deserve it
13. advice for people who are only just discovering theyre crippled?
as you try to seek treatment, ur gonna have to be an advocate for yourself bc doctors will try and tell you there's nothing wrong. you know your body better than anyone else, and only you can say how bad your condition is. if the first doctor you go to dismisses you, find another. keep doctor hopping until you find one who takes you seriously, because they are out there but unfortunately are hard to find. also dont be aftaid to try out mobility aids!! its scary at first but they can make a world of difference in your pain/fatigue/other symptoms
thank u!!
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Our hoists help you to effortlessly lift people with mobility issues, including the disabled and the aged. For #HoistsforAgedCare, click: https://paramobility.com.au/luna-ceiling-hoist/
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NDIS Services Providers in Ballina
Getting rid of dodgy providers and harsher penalties for rorters is at the heart of a new package of NDIS reforms. The NDIA also wants to gather better data on the market and its reliance on unregistered providers.
The NDIS has updated the High Intensity Daily Personal Activity (HIDPA) Skills Descriptors to include a new section for enteral feeding support. This will help participants access quality and affordable services. To know more about NDIS Services Providers, visit the Dabba Mallangyirren website or call 0403856995.
A new state-of-the-art independent living home opened in Ballina this month. The home was commissioned by DPN Casa Capace and built to the NDIS ‘Robust’ and ‘High Physical Support’ requirements. It is also designed to support a range of assistive technologies such as automated blinds and doors, ceiling hoists and height adjustable benchtops.
The smart home features appliances from leading brands supporting accessible functionalities that work with Apple HomeKit. This allows occupants to control lights, blinds, doors, entertainment and air conditioning using the Siri personal digital assistant on their iPhone, iPad, Apple Watch or Mac.
DPN Casa Capace is a registered NDIS provider incubated by property investor DPN Group. It secured a cornerstone investment last year and recently completed its first smart multi-dwelling homes for people with disabilities. These homes are located in south-western Sydney and feature six bedrooms across two dwellings for NDIS participants to live together at fully-accessible and high physical support levels in Specialist Disability Accommodation (SDA). These SDAs are a mix of one, two and three bedroom homes accommodating 28 NDIS participants.
Dabba Mallangyirren is a trusted provider of a wide range of NDIS disability support services. These include High Intensity Personal Assistance (HIDPA) and a range of social and recreational supports. The organisation also offers respite and day programs for people with disability.
Located in Ballina, this organisation specialises in offering a range of disability support services in Ballina and surrounding areas. These include in-home and out of home support. They offer a person-centred approach to assist participants with daily activities such as bathing, dressing and grooming. They can also assist with shopping and attending medical appointments.
The organisation also offers a variety of out of home programs such as Music and dancing, Strikers Bowling League, North Coast Fun Club, BBQ’s and picnics and respite. They can also provide positive behaviour support, which is a person-centred approach to supporting individuals to address their behavioural needs. This approach is designed to avoid the use of restrictive practices, such as seclusion, chemical restraint or physical restraint.
In Ballina, a popular tourist destination in Northern Rivers of NSW, there are many options for NDIS participants to receive disability support. These include Byron Care Stay, a retreat that offers a range of services from respite to home care. This option provides a range of benefits for those living with disabilities, including social engagement and community participation.
The service offers preplanning support, as well as NDIS Support Coordination for participants to activate their plans. It also has a team of trained and experienced staff who can provide assistance to people with disabilities in the local community. The company has offices in Ballina and the Northern Rivers region.
The NDIS needs to make sure all providers are held accountable for their behaviour. That means publishing codes of conduct and service garantees. It also needs to employ advocates for every participant. That way, they can double check and put predatory providers on notice. They can also keep an eye on all invoices and services. They can also help the participant get the best value out of their supports.
Dabba Mallangyirren offers disability support services that put participants first. They offer social and recreational activities to help people connect with others and explore the community, as well as specialised accommodation options. Their Summerland Farm in Alstonville is a popular tourism attraction and provides opportunities for people with disabilities to work on the macadamia and avocado farm.
The organisation also offers 'Preplanning Support' to provide general NDIS information and assist people to connect with formal and natural supports. Allied health and community access are also important areas of their work. To know more about NDIS Services Providers, visit the Dabba Mallangyirren website or call 0403856995.
The Byron Bay Shire is located south of Ballina and east of Lismore. The region is renowned for its beautiful beaches and fishing. It also includes the towns of Alstonville, Lennox Head, Wollongbar, Tintenbar, Wardell and Newrybar (shared with Byron Bay). The area has a population of 41,790 and is home to many beautiful parks and local landmarks. It is also a popular tourist destination and has an abundance of local businesses.
#disability services ballina#disability services provider ballina#ndis services#aboriginal lismore#disability services#disability services lismore#ndis lismore#disability lismore#disability services provider#ndis services ballina#Disability services#disability services brisbane#Disability services provider#NDIS services#ndis services providers#NDIS services providers
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Ceiling Hoists For Disabled | LIFTABILITY
LIFTABILITY provides ceiling hoists for disabled people, allowing them to regain independence and freedom. Shop now for the best selection and quality of ceiling hoists.
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I’ve finally found a solution to one of the most annoying parts of having a ceiling track hoist.
Because of where the charging point is on a ceiling hoist, the spreader bar ends up banging against the wall which is loud and makes the wall look like this:
[ID a photo of a white wall with lots of black marks from being hit by the spreader bar of a ceiling hoist /end ID.]
With the help of my carer I have stuck a chopped up yoga mat over the part of the wall that gets hit by the hoist like this:
[ID: a photo of a wall with a grey yoga mat stuck upright to the wall which protects the wall from the ceiling hoist which is also visible in the picture /end ID]
Then because I didn’t like how it looked we covered the yoga mat with a cool wall hanging I found online. So the final result looks like this:
[ID: the same wall with a large wall hanging that shows a picture of a path going through a forest. The yoga mat is completely covered /End ID]
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NDIS Accommodation and Tenancy
The Melbourne Disability Institute and Brotherhood of St Laurence are funding a new resource to help develop pathways to secure housing for people with disability. It will showcase the many different options available.
NDIS participants can access NDIS accommodation that is specifically designed to suit their individual care requirements. This includes a range of accessibility features and 24/7 support.
Shared NDIS Accommodation
Short and medium term NDIS accommodation allows participants to stay away from their family home for a few days or weeks. It is a great opportunity for participants to experience a new living environment and make friends while having their disability support needs met. NDIS respite care accommodation is also available and can offer carers a temporary break from their regular caring duties.
These facilities provide a safe and supportive environment that helps individuals to build skills and develop independence. Some also have access to therapeutic and recreational activities. In addition, some residential services provide a variety of meals and have access to medical services.
This is a housing alternative for participants who are waiting for their long-term NDIS accommodation to become available or to be built. It can be paid for using core NDIS funding. The NDIS Pricing Arrangements for Specialist Disability Accommodation (SDA) provide more information about this type of housing. It’s important to consult with your NDIS planner before deciding whether this option is right for you.
Individualised Living Options (ILOs)
Individualised Living Options (ILO) are a new way of providing NDIS accommodation and tenancy Melbourne. This is an innovative approach to support that enables participants to live more inclusively by moving into regular houses in welcoming communities.
You can choose to live alone, share a house with friends or housemates, or a combination of both. In this arrangement, you pay the rent or mortgage with your own funds. Your ILO support provider will help you find a place to live and then you can get your own supports in the way you want.
To explore your home and living support options, you can include a home and living service proposal in your plan during the exploration and design stage. You can also use capacity building support coordination funding to initiate this process. Contact your local Area Coordinator or NDIS Planner for more information.
Group Homes
Group homes are a form of NDIS accommodation that offers comfort and support in warm, home-like environments. They provide a safe place to live with access to specialised services, including healthcare, meal preparation, and activities that promote self-sufficiency and independence.
NDIS participants with high-level needs can receive funding to live in a home specially designed for them. This includes specialised modifications to accommodate things like wide doors and hallways, ceiling hoists, or wheelchair accessibility.
The NDIS has a lot of work to do to increase the availability of new Specialist Disability Accommodation (SDA) places. At the moment, there is a mismatch between demand and supply, with many SDA dwellings sitting vacant. This is because it can be expensive to make the necessary modifications to a property to meet SDA standards. This can be avoided by converting an existing property into a group home for NDIS participants. The returns on this type of investment can be significant but it is not without risk.
Supported Residential Services
NDIS participants often need specialised accommodation that offers healthcare services and a supportive environment. Designed to promote independence and foster a sense of community, these homes offer tailored assistance that is customised to your unique care needs.
Supported Residential Services (SRS) are privately owned residential houses in NSW, ACT, Victoria and Queensland that provide housing with support services for people who need assistance with daily living, including personal hygiene, cooking, cleaning and shopping. The homes are inspected and regulated by the Department of Families and Communities.
SRS are also referred to as 21st century poorhouses by watchdog groups because they can be subject to abuse, neglect and exploitation. However, SRS is an affordable option for those who cannot afford to pay for private housing or who do not meet the minimum livable standards for self-contained dwellings.
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Specialist Disability Accommodation (SDA)
Specialist disability accommodation (SDA) is a type of housing designed for National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS) participants with extreme functional impairment and very high support needs. This article will discuss what SDA is, how to find an SDA provider, and the process of getting SDA funding.
SDA is usually in a shared home which helps to build friendships and lessen loneliness for participants. This is an important consideration when considering SDA as a possible option for your NDIS plan.
The purpose of SDA
Specialist Disability Accommodation (SDA) forms the ‘bricks and mortar’ capital component of accommodation supports funded by the NDIS. It is designed for National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS) participants with extreme functional impairment and high support needs to make accessing community supports easier.
SDA is usually a shared home, but it can also be for individuals living on their own or in other types of supported housing. SDA is separate from the SIL support you receive to help with daily activities, and you will need to pay a flat weekly amount called a Rent Contribution to live in your SDA home.
Choosing an SDA provider is an important step towards building a better life for yourself and your family. There are several things to consider when selecting an SDA provider that best suits your circumstances. These include:
What is an SDA?
Specialist disability accommodation (SDA) is one of the most popular tenancy and living support options available through the NDIS. It supports people who have extreme functional impairment or very high support needs and who meet specific eligibility criteria. SDA funding can be used to purchase a new specialised home or building or modify an existing free-standing house.
The customised homes can include features such as wheelchair ramps, ceiling hoists and specialised kitchens and bathrooms. They can also include architectural designs to accommodate different abilities and lifestyle preferences. These personalised homes can offer individuals with disabilities increased independence, improved safety and security and enhanced social connection.
Currently, SDA can be found in a range of settings from group homes to individual independent houses. Typically, you will need to go through a process to determine whether SDA is an appropriate option for your individual circumstances and you may need to get a number of assessments. This will usually involve a home and living support coordinator who will help you explore what is available.
Finding an SDA provider
If you’re looking for an SDA provider, it’s important to know what to look out for. First, make sure they’re NDIS-registered and qualified to offer SDA housing. Next, consider what’s important to you. For example, you might want a provider who offers a specific type of specialised equipment or is close to family and friends. It’s also essential that you find a home that feels like your own.
Getting a new SDA home can be a challenging process for individuals with disabilities and their families. Often, the demand for SDA homes outstrips supply, leading to long wait lists and limited availability. This is why it’s crucial to work with a provider who can help navigate the process.
SDA funding
SDA is the ‘bricks and mortar’ capital component of disability accommodation supports funded by the NDIS. It is specifically for people who have extreme functional impairment and very high support needs. Only around 6% of participants have SDA funding in their plan.
To access SDA, you’ll need to apply through an NDIS service provider. This process involves working with a Case Manager to write a support plan that outlines your goals. You’ll also need an Occupational Therapist to complete a functional assessment to help you paint a picture of the things you can and cannot do at home.
Once you’re approved for SDA, your NDIS provider will help you find an enrolled SDA dwelling that meets your requirements. You’ll be required to pay a contribution towards the cost of living in your SDA, but this is usually much less than what you would spend renting or owning a normal house. It’s important to note that SDA only covers the cost of the house a Participant lives in and doesn’t include the services or support they might receive.
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PHASE Provides NDIS Community Nursing Services to Hillcrest Health
PHASE offers comprehensive disability support services that help clients lead an independent life. Their staff is dedicated to the well-being of their clients and upholds their rights to social and economic participation.
Jemma has Parkinson’s disease and diabetes and has a surgery wound that needs dressing. Her NDIS planner decides that 3 extra care worker visits a week are reasonable and necessary based on the NDIS funding criteria.
PHASE
PHASE is an in-home NDIS community nursing Hillcrest service available to NDIS participants. The service helps with daily living activities, including meal preparation and domestic tasks. It also assists with arranging appointments and maintaining access to disability supports.
Sanity Care nurses are highly skilled and compassionate professionals who embody the values of the company – respect, person-centered, integrity, and collaboration. They are all highly qualified, have extensive experience and expertise in nursing and maintain up-to-date police checks and working with vulnerable persons screens.
Complex care support focuses on providing direct healthcare support, coordinating healthcare services and collaborating with patients and their families to help them live active and meaningful lives as independently as possible. The service is only available to NDIS participants with an assessed need for complex care.
Hillcrest Health
Hillcrest Health is a senior living & health care development & management company providing a full continuum of innovative & exceptional senior care choices. The company has 900 team members across seven service lines and is experiencing tremendous growth. The need for formal leadership development became evident and a new program was needed to sharpen the competencies of existing leaders as well as identify future leaders. NBDC was selected to provide the program and interviewed staff in various service lines to understand the organization’s needs. The result was a program that has already delivered great results. Hillcrest is reporting that teams are more fully engaged and morale has improved.
The PHASE community is located in a quiet, leafy setting and offers large, purpose-built homes designed to maximise the capacity for independence and support complex and diverse personal support needs. Each home features 3 large bedrooms with fully modified ensuite bathrooms, ceiling hoists, and spacious outdoor areas. Residents enjoy restaurant-style dining, planned group activities, and the peace of mind that comes with knowing that assistance is just a few steps away.
The PHASE community is available to HACC Program for Younger People clients who are not yet eligible for the NDIS and have an assessed need for Shared Accommodation Support (SAS). This service will allow participants to access HACC-funded allied services, home maintenance, and other supports while the NDIS rolls out in Victoria.
Disability Support Services in Perth
The staff at PHASE is committed to providing a high level of service to their clients. Their team members have a diverse background, and they work closely with their clients to understand their needs and goals. They also help their clients select local disability support services that are tailored to their specific needs and circumstances.
Lifespan is a leading not-for-profit organisation that provides a range of disability support services in Perth. They are an NDIS registered provider that focuses on customer-driven support. Their services include everything from Daily Living Support to Recreation & Leisure Disability Activities. They are committed to helping their customers achieve their goals and lead a fulfilling life.
They provide a wide variety of disability support services to individuals with physical, sensory, psychosocial, or cognitive disabilities. Their community-based programs are staffed by qualified professionals, including speech, occupational and physical therapists. They also offer a variety of social and recreational activities to help their residents feel happy and connected to the community.
Complex nursing care is available through the NDIS for participants with clinically complex needs. This type of disability support helps you live as independently as possible while ensuring that your medical needs are met. It is important to check if you are eligible for this kind of disability support before you start looking for a provider.
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