#that the aunt was infected and the kids had been there

[elizabethemerald]

Summon the Cat: Part 6

Master Post

Danny crouched, looking down at the McMansion from a neighboring roof. The house was ostentatious to a fault. He wasn’t much of an expert on architecture in general but he had studied this building’s design extensively. It had been built to one up its next door neighbor that Danny was currently waiting upon. Due to trying to get the most of the available acreage the mansion pressed up against its neighbors, rather than the extensive topiary gardens the rest of the rich mansions had. 

The house Danny was on had a pool house that once had a beautiful view, except the garage of the McMansion now overshadowed it. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes. All rich people were fruit loops. The continued drama with Bruce just proved him right. 

According to Selina (his new mom!!) Bruce had thrown seven kinds of fits about the Kyle family moving in next door. He had tried to bench Red Robin for selling Drake Manor, but Tim just moved out to his penthouse in Gotham proper and had the occasional sleep over at the Kyle House when he was feeling lonely. 

The kids all seemed happy to have the Kyles and the Sirens so close. Jason and Dick were over every other week, Jason to experiment with his cooking, Dick to train Danny and Jazz in gymnastics. Danny loved Jason’s skill in the kitchen and was paying avid attention so he could learn how to cook, because he certainly didn’t want the Fenton’s terror in the kitchen to infect him. Jazz was content to know that they were both eating nutritious food that they didn’t have to fight. Also, she had apparently always wanted to be in gymnastics but the Fentons considered it less important than ghost hunting and she couldn’t afford the lessons on her own. Danny of course used the lessons during his training with his mom to be a cat burglar. 

Jazz spent a lot of time with Stephanie and Cassandra. Bruce had tried to bench them as well, except Steph had laughed in his face while Cass had stolen any equipment they needed and the pair moved into the Kyle House, more specifically into Jazz’s bedroom. He wasn’t stupid, he knew exactly what the three girls were up to in there, the love bites on Jazz’s shoulders made it obvious, but he didn’t want to think about his sister’s love life, though he was happy that the two girls made her so happy. 

He stuck out his tongue in disgust at the reminder of the one time he had a nightmare and almost walked in on the triad, then groaned quietly as he had licked the inside of his mask. Danny, Selina and the rest of the Sirens worked together to design his new costume. His nose and mouth were covered by a rigid mask and respirator shaped into the rictus grin of the Cheshire Cat. Selina had bemoaned not thinking about covering her face more with her costume. Harley had recommended leaning into his creepy factor, with the grin and slit eyes on his goggles. He could make both glow when he wanted to up the creep factor even more. 

Danny had enjoyed crafting the character he wanted to portray with his mom and his two aunts. He would allow his giggles to get caught on cameras, or the glow of his eyes to be seen. It was fun to be spooky without also getting chased by either his parents or the GIW. He had chosen the name Chesire as his thief name as an homage to his mom’s name of Catwoman. He had heard that there was apparently a villain named Chesire already, but he hoped that considering they were interested in such different crimes she wouldn’t be mad. 

His outfit was equipped with top of the line tools. Some he had made himself, some he had pickpocketed from the bats, including his own father. He made certain that he kept a clear division between when he was out as Chesire and when he was hanging out with the Waynes as Danny Kyle. He didn’t want them to worry about his intentions when he was with them. Harley had sewn his costume and the reinforcements necessary to tangle with the Justice League and the Bats. Ivy had given Danny some toys as well, his respirator could filter out any plant based toxin, and he had some pollens, spores and toxins of his own to knock out guards. 

On top of the mask and goggles he had a loose cowl with cat ears on top that completed his look. The cowl hid his identity without hampering his movement like the stiff ears Batman had would. He loved the spookiness of allowing his eyes to glow through his goggles from the depths of the hood. 

Danny tilted his head as a click sounded in his ear piece. He grinned and jumped across the high fence to their target. Selina was used to working by herself so she kept any conversation to a minimum, relying on small signals to show him when it was time to move. 

He landed lightly on an air conditioning unit, using just a touch of flight to slow his landing and eliminate the sound. He stood on his tiptoes and pulled a screwdriver from his kit. He had rebuilt the small tool himself, making it whisper quiet. Even the small sound of the tool was covered by the whir of the AC unit as he unscrewed the vent above his head. He gently pried the vent cover off, then hooked a cord through the vent itself so it dangled from the opening. 

Danny levered himself up and into the small opening. He couldn’t imagine his mom squeezing through the small gap, even though she had to do that herself when she was younger. Fortunately, he was skinny as a twig and had his ghost strength to lift himself up. Aunt Harley called him wiry. Jason called him a shrimp, though he changed his tune when Danny dead lifted him. 

He crept across the ductwork above the garage, looking down on the cars after he pulled the vent cover back into place with the cord and secured it with a bit of plain Blu tack. Mom insisted that you could have the best tech in the world, but sometimes simple solutions were the best. They had considered stealing the fancy showpiece cars, but cars were much easier to track and they already had Bruce breathing down their necks so they weren’t worth it. That didn’t mean they couldn’t cause some chaos, just for fun. 

Danny hooked his ankle around one of the duct supports and leaned down until he was upside down and took careful aim with a grapple he pickpocketed from Nightwing only this past week. He had been practicing this shot for hours every day for weeks. He took a deep breath, then triggered the grapple. The hook bounced off the concrete under a fake Model T at the perfect angle to hook the top of a storage rack against the wall. The rack was filled with tools and parts so the rich prick who owned the McMansion could pretend he actually worked on the cars himself. 

He reeled in the grapple until the shelf was on the verge of tipping forward, the cable straining against the bottom of the Model T, and he couldn’t help his namesake Cheshire grin. He hooked the grapple gun onto the duct support and playfully tapped the taut line like a piano string. This would make a delightful mess to cover his exit. 

Another click in his ear reminded him that they were on a time clock. Selina had bought them a couple of hours free of the Bat and that time was closing steadily. He finished making his way into the house proper. He found the central control for the house’s security system easily enough. He broke the cover off the panel and quickly bypassed the security. 

Selina had been surprised by his ease with bypassing electronic systems. Danny had learned a lot from Tucker and repeated encounters with Technus, but he had been dealing with the security systems of the Fentons for as long as he could remember. He could rewire and bypass most security systems in his sleep, and they wouldn’t even shoot him if he failed. 

He tapped his ear piece sending a single click and after a few moments he was joined by his mom as she walked in the front door, bold as brass. She smiled at him and rubbed his head, causing Danny to preen and his core to thrum in his chest. 

“Well done, kitten.” She said, practically purring in pride, before she glanced around the ground floor of the McMansion. “Now, Cheshire. You picked this mark, let’s get away with everything we can.” 

The mother-son duo made quick work of the mansion’s valuables. Art pieces and statues were slipped into a bag that Danny had connected to the Infinite Realms. The ectoplasm would short out any electronics or trackers and they wouldn’t have to worry about fleeing while loaded down. He would be able to recover the larger goods later when the heat had all but disappeared. He didn’t have perfect control over his portal abilities, but it was enough to get back and forth from the Realms. Training his powers with Selina and his aunts had really improved his skills. 

The two of them worked in tandem, flawlessly stripping valuables, cracking a safe in the bedroom, and taking everything they could get their claws on. Danny felt flushed with happiness. He was working alongside his mom, stealing from a rich prick who stole from his workers, he felt amazing. 

A click sounded in both of their ears, causing them to pause. Their window of Bat free time just closed. They slung their collection of valuables over their shoulders and began to race back through the house. Selina split off, her whip cracking as she swung off to another building. Danny made his way back into the garage as Robin and Red Robin landed behind him. Danny smiled, and allowed his eyes and mouth to glow for the full Cheshire effect. 

He activated the grapple gun as he passed and with a whir and an almighty crash the storage rack collapsed down onto the vintage vehicles. Red Robin yelped as he tried to follow but was forced to dodge a bouncing tire. Robin was far more nimble making his way through the mess, but he was still delayed enough by the wreckage for Danny to dive through the vent and jump to get back to the roof of the pool house next door. As soon as he was out of range of the cameras he vanished and lifted up into the air, flying silently and invisibly. He carefully moderated his body temperature so he was exactly the same temp as the surrounding night air. He didn’t want to risk showing up on heat sensors used by the Bats. 

Danny followed another crack of his mom’s whip to where she was running just ahead of the Bat himself. He scowled as Bruce threw a pair of Batarangs at her, though he was relieved as she nimbly dodged them. Danny may have had numerous problems with the Fentons, but at least he never had to be afraid of one of them hurting each other. Seeing his mom in danger from the man who should be his dad filled him with a cold anger. He tapped his ear piece to let her know he was free of the mansion and that he was close. 

Selina stopped running and turned, to saucily sashay towards the heavily armored Batman. He had considered making his costume super flirty and evocative like his mom’s but it made him uncomfortable, like ants were on his skin to have people stare at him like that. Jazz had reminded him that he didn’t have to do everything exactly like Selina did, and that it was important for him to carve his own path forward. 

“Catwoman. Enough is enough. I need you to submit to testing. You are being controlled.” Batman growled, and Danny struggled not to growl right back. He wasn’t controlling her! And how dare this jerk growl at his mom!

“Submit? To you? That’s not how our arrangements usually work.” Selina said with a coy smile as she swished her whip across the rooftop, not even acknowledging the rest of his words. Apparently after the past couple of months she had grown bored with trying to argue with him, and she was refusing to be tested for mind control just to antagonize him. 

Also, gross. 

That was another reason he was glad he didn’t copy her flirty persona. His mom was very comfortable with her body and her sexuality and she admitted she got a thrill when she used either to control people around her. Danny, who was still coming to terms with possibly being ace and had all the body issues of a bullied teen, only felt anxious when he tried to flirt. 

He crept through the air towards his mom, pulling strongly on his intangibility and control of his own temperature to make himself completely undetectable. He carefully watched the Bat for any sudden moves. 

“Catwoman-” 

“Don’t you ever get tired?” Selina asked, still playfully swishing her whip across the roof. “You’re so certain you’re right, even after months, even in the face of all evidence. Honestly you’re just like the Fentons. I know you’ve looked into them, think about that the next time you want to have me submit to your battery of tests.” 

Bruce tried to keep his emotions locked down, but Danny could see the micro expression even with the heavy cowl. The small twitch would have been a full flinch in a lesser man. Danny’s scowl deepened as he realized just how similar he was to the Fentons. He just hoped this time wouldn’t end with him strapped to a table. 

“Selina-” 

His voice had softened, but Danny saw his mom move her arm to the side, the signal they had agreed on. He grabbed her, passing his flight and intangibility to her as he allowed his invisibility to roll back enough to reveal his grinning mask. Bruce stiffened, his lips tightening in fury. He reached for some tool from his belt, but Danny wasn’t going to stay around to see what it was. He lifted his mom effortlessly from the roof, and let himself giggle as he rocked his head side to side as his invisibility rolled over him until just his smile was visible, before vanishing completely. 

He flew with his mom in his arms, finding themselves on the other side of Gotham close to Selina’s old penthouse. He set her down and pulled his invisibility back so they both appeared out of thin air. He knew the rictus grin on his mask and the cat’s eyes on his goggles were glowing brightly as his core flared in delight. 

“Amazing job, Chess.” Selina said fondly, pulling him to a hug before she pushed his cowl back so she could kiss his head. Danny held her tightly and let his core purr wildly to show his delight. She pulled back her own cowl, revealing her face and her tight black curls. She looked him over closely to make sure he was uninjured. “Cheshire, you and I are a team made in thief heaven. I look forward to watching your perspective as you went in.”

Danny smiled widely, and pulled his own goggles over his head, and lowered his mask. 

“It was great! I even made that trick shot I was practicing, brought the whole rack down onto his stupid fake vintage cars. Of course if they were real, they would basically shrug it off, but they crumpled! Ruined his whole collection.” 

Danny had started floating as he laughed through his retelling. He transformed with a thought, his ghost form matching his Cheshire costume more and more as the months went by. His tail whipped back and forth through the air as he excitedly paced back and forth above the roof they were on. 

“Danny…” He paused at the solemn tone in his mom’s voice. She had a sad tilt to her eyebrows that he had noticed she had occasionally when she looked at him in his ghost form. 

“Y-yeah?” His voice cracked a little, he was more trepidatious than he wanted to admit. 

“Danny, would you like a grave?” Selina asked. 

He felt like the word thundered through his head, and he found himself landing on the roof next to his mom, his mouth open.

[themultifandomgal]

Tommy Shelby- I’m Not Doing That Again

“Every woman has one” Polly argues while flitting around YN and Tommys shared bedroom getting everything ready for when YN go into labour

“I had one with Charlie, I’m not doing that again. If I shit then so be it” YN cross her arms stubbornly over her large stomach “tell her Ada”

“I’m not involved in this conversation” Ada holds her hands up shaking her head. YN looks over to Esme who’s smiling

“Polly I don’t want an enema”

“Love it stops infection”

“It’s embarrassing that’s what it is, having your husbands aunt shave you then stick a tube in your arse to make you shit. I’d rather just shit the bed while pushing. Ada didn’t have one with Karl”

“He didn’t leave us with much choice” Polly mutters “right I’ll be back later with supper. Please try and relax”

“See you later” Ada gives her sister in law a weak smile before leaving. Esme walks over to her with a mischievous look

“Where has she put the enema kit?”

“Over there” YN frowns pointing towards the box on top of the dresser “why?”

“Well it would be a shame if it went missing wouldn’t it?”

“She will know it was one of us. Thanks though”

“Not if the kids run wild in the house” Esme winks at YN and then takes the enema kit with her.

“I’M GONNA CHOP HIS DICK OFF AFTER THIS!” Tommy hears his wife scream while she’s upstairs in their room giving birth

“Thats what you said last time now where’s the enema kit? I put it up here” Polly stands with her hands on her hips looking at the dresser. She then turns to YN lying on the bed with Esme holding her hand “YN where have you hidden it?”

“I haven’t” not a lie, but YN knows where Esme has hidden the tube

“Well I suppose we will have to do this the old fashioned way, we just need to find….”

“No please Polly, i don’t want one, please I’m begging you”

“Pol look she’s gonna want to start pushing soon, let’s just leave it”

“Fine” YN finally relaxes looking over at Esme.

Downstairs Tommy paces the living room with a whiskey in hand. Arthur, John, Finn and Micheal all sit with their own drinks on the large sofa. All that can be heard is the shouting of profanities and cursing Tommys name

“Bloody hell, she’s a true Shelby’s ain’t she Tom” Arthur chuckles

“Where’s Charlie?” Finn asks

“YN’s mums” Tommy replies still pacing around, then stops when he hears feet running down the stairs. Ada runs past her brothers and cousin and goes straight into the kitchen to get some more warm water

“Are they here yet?” Micheal asks

“D’you think I’d been here running around if they were”

“THOMAS FUCKING SHELBY YOU BETTER RUN ONCE THIS CHILDS OUT OF ME” YN Shelby, the only person Tommy is afraid off. This makes the Shelby’s all chuckle, but Tommys pacing continues

“Will you sit the fuck down? You know YN will kill ya if you wear out her carpet” John says before drinking the rest of his drink. Tommy finally sits down on the sofa as Ada makes her way back upstairs with the water.

After hours of pacing and drinking, the screams go quiet, that is until the cries of a baby can be heard. Tommy lifts his head up as John slaps him on the shoulder

“Congratulations brother”

“Tommy” Polly says walking down the stairs “come meet your daughter” in an instant Tommy is up and making his was to his and YN’s bedroom.

Walking in he sees Esme and Ada tidying up and putting some sheets in a bucket. His wife sat up in bed with a baby in her arms suckling on her breast

“No more Tommy. I’m not doing that again”

“Whatever you want, as long as you and our kids are happy I don’t care if we don’t have anymore” Tommy walks over and places a kiss on his wife’s head.

[lime1991]

those mlp infection aus on tiktok have been alright but heres my idea to consider:

the main characters of the au are the cmc. theyre not the lone survivors, and heres why: the infection almost entirely affects adults. this is just like a book i read in 5th grade, thats where im stealing this from.

Applebloom is the self appointed leader, shes best at foraging for food and growing it as well as building re-enforcements for the shelter (which is the clubhouse. it's higher up so they dont have to worry about most infected ponies reaching them.)

Scootaloo is the defender of the base as well as the group in general. shes the one who handles the weapons and is first to sacrifice herself for her friends to get to safety. She says its because he doesnt want to hold them back due to her disability, they tell her she doesnt have to think like that. but its hard not to.

Sweetie Belle is... not all there. sometimes she forgets the apocalypse has happened and that most of her loved ones are dead. Scootaloo and Applebloom take turns sleeping during the night to make sure someone is always lookout. that, and they can't risk Sweetie Belle unknowingly walking into the dark trying to get home.

Partially inspired by one of the best animes ive ever seen: School Live, Scootaloo and Applebloom sometimes, when Sweetie is having an episode, pretend everything is normal. Is the most they can do for their friend, who is clearly so traumatized that her brain blocks out the reality of their situation. Sometimes, Applebloom wishes that could happen to her.

When the infection started, it slowly took over the elderly first. Granny Smith got sick, fast. Big Mac and Applejack took care of her, but only a few days later she would turn into some kid of monstrous creature. Big Mac did the unspeakable act of putting her out of her misery.

Sweetie Bell was sent to go live with Rarity while her mother was sick. Her father began to feel ill too, and didn't want her to get herself and her friends at school sick as well. She could hear over the phone the conversations her sister and father had. How mom was getting worse, how dad was getting worse. How they stopped calling altogether.

A couple days into the widespread sickness, Scootaloo's aunts took a trip to the store to stock up on groceries just incase a quarantine was issued. They were gone for hours. They were gone for days. They never came back. Eventually, Scootaloo traveled outside of her home by herself, and could never return.

Once Big Mac and Applejack started showing signs of illness, Applejack spoke to cousins in other places wondering if they would be able to let Applebloom stay with them a while. But just like everyone in Ponyville, they were experiencing the same issue. At one point, Fluttershy agreed to watch Applebloom until AJ and Big Mac started to feel better.

After hearing that Fluttershy graciously took in Applebloom, Rarity sent Sweetie Belle off to her the moment she started to cough. She didn't want Sweetie to see her like that. She didn't want her to get sick either, and in fact, she probably transported it from their parents house and into Rarity's. That made Rarity angry. Her last words to Sweetie were about how upset she was that she'd brought the illness to her.

Scootaloo went to Fluttershy herself. She couldn't find Rainbow Dash, so she settled for the next best pony. She was shocked to see her friends had been there themselves the past few days. Scootaloo only managed to stay a few hours, because during the night the crusaders awoke to a crash in another room. Upon investigation they saw Fluttershy hunched over a broken glass. There was blood on the floor.

They went to comfort her, but she wasn't herself any longer. When she turned to face them it already looked like she'd been ravened by the infection. She was so hungry. Why couldn't the jar just open? She was so... hungry. Before she could even stand back up, the crusaders grabbed their things and fled to the only place they knew they'd be safe. The clubhouse.

[seraphicalsuccubus]

I just wanna make a post because I’ve gotten tons of worried asks about my absence and wishing I’m okay and everything (and I will answer them I promise, I do really appreciate y’all checking in on me). but this is going to be a LONG post so if you’re actually gonna read it, strap in babes.

anyways, my life has virtually become a dystopian hell and I’m not kidding you. I feel like a prisoner in my own home. I feel like I’m under house arrest because I’m just not allowed to do fucking anything anymore. I pretty much cannot leave my house, not even to get groceries. I cannot ask my roommate to pick up anything for me on her way home from work because she bitches about it and makes some excuse not to even if it’s something I desperately need. I haven’t had a single human interaction with ANYONE even my former best friend/roommate since the end of January until this week when I just fucking lost it and vented to my aunt and had her get me a dispensary order because I can’t leave my house to get one myself anymore and she came to hang out and spend some time with me and talk about everything for a couple hours. and that’s the bare bones of what’s going on. there’s so much fucking more piled to it but I’ll just give you the gist of it. I literally told my therapist that if I didn’t get the fuck out of here soon, I will probably slit my wrists and bleed out in the bathtub. like if I cannot run away and escape all this shit, I will be leaving this house in a body bag because I honestly just do not know how much more of this shit I can take.

I have been so unbelievably stressed. I have picked every tiny cut, scratch, ingrown hair, pimple, everything that could be picked open, into huge gaping wounds all over my legs and specifically, I had two tiny cat scratches on my stomach from one of my cats kneading on me and not being too gentle with her claws, and i picked those TINY cuts into gaping wounds bigger than the size of dollar coins. two of them. right next to each other. they were so bad that I thought they were legitimately going to get infected and cause me problems. but they’re finally healing and starting to scar because I HAD to bandage them. like if I did not bandage them and change the bandage twice a day, they would have become infected and been a huge problem. that’s how bad those two specifically were.

not only this, but I have also PICKED A FUCKING BALD SPOT ON MY SCALP near my widow’s peak, but thankfully it’s on the side my hair flops over from so it’s covered. but it’s still there and it makes me horribly insecure and I don’t know if it’s like a scab that’ll eventually fall off and something will grow back from it or if it’s a scar and I’ll have this bald spot forever to be insecure of and self conscious of all the time. literally only time will give me the answer to that. but I am fucking 26 years old and have picked myself to PIECES and BALD SPOTS due to stress. I am literally falling the fuck apart.

and not only that, but I was just informed that I need to be conscious and aware of the fact that I may have fucking lupus because two of my dad’s sisters have it (one confirmed diagnosis and the other a suspicion but that’s enough of a reason for me to be worried about it) and I’m too terrified to get tested or whatever to start the process of getting that diagnosis. like the one thing I’ve always been so fucking afraid of is having an autoimmune disease and my fear of that may have fucking manifested one fucking for me and I’m really struggling with the potential that I may have to deal with that, along with my other health issues and mental health issues and shit.

I just. I have been going through a REALLY rough fucking time. and I am sorry, I am so sorry for the lack of posts or explanations or not answering anyone’s asks or messages aside from the two people I talk to daily because I just mentally cannot handle conversations through all this shit, and for making anyone genuinely concerned about me because of my absence and shit. I wish I could say you shouldn’t worry, but honestly, I’m incredibly worried about myself and that reason alone should scare anyone that knows me because I’m NEVER worried about myself. I’m sorry. I wish I could say I’m okay and I’m thriving and my lack of presence on here was a GOOD thing because I’m doing well and not thinking about social media, but it’s not. it’s a very bad thing. I don’t leave my bed every day unless it’s to take care of my cats. I can’t remember the last day I actually ate a meal or even a snack. the only hydration I get is like the 3 sips of whatever I use to take my meds every morning and night. I have no drive to create content so my income has dropped SO dramatically that I am barely scraping by to pay my bills. I haven’t gamed. I haven’t caught up on any of the shows I was excited for and watching before all this. I haven’t done laundry in god only knows how long and I’m literally running out of clean clothes to wear. I literally only brush my hair before I get on FaceTime with a friend or my boyfriend, otherwise it’s a knotted mess. I’ve showered to clean my body because I feel disgusting being dirty but I have not washed my hair since I had these extensions installed. I do not have the energy to wash this much fucking hair right now. and do you know when these were installed? February 12th. I have not washed my fucking hair in over a month and I feel so fucking repulsive because of it. my hair is my pride and joy. I have such expensive quality products for it. I take care of it. I love my hair. and I cannot even find the energy to wash it when I’m already in the shower just to wash my body/face because I just am so depressed that I can’t even find the energy to do it WHILE ALREADY IN THE SHOWER. I usually go 7-10 days without washing my hair to prolong the life of my extensions and my hair dye and shit because my hair doesn’t get greasy quickly or dry so I can push it that long and just do like body wash/skincare showers in between. but it’s been over a month. over a FUCKING MONTH. since I’ve been able to find the energy to just wash my fucking hair even when I’m already in the shower. do you know how pathetic that feels?

I’m sorry this was such a heavy post. for anyone that actually read through it, I’m sorry. I’ve been internalizing a lot of this shit and this isn’t even the icing on the fucking cake. this is the bare minimum of what I’m dealing with. it’s so much more convoluted and fucked up and abusive than I’m explaining on here and I’m sorry for venting about the things that I did. but I’ll leave it there. I won’t get into the rest.

if you read this far, I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time with this long of a post just to get shit off my chest. I hope you’re having a really good day, or that your day gets better, your weekend goes well, and that you have some good karma headed your way. I wish you all the best. thank you for listening. I appreciate it. 🖤

[yevmarie]

Light My Fire | Chapter 1

Masterlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 >

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader

Pronouns: you, she/her

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings:

angst;

mentions of depression;

implied suicidal thoughts;

swearing;

a lot of smoking (by main character as well. Sorry for making it as a social aspect here, I hope you won’t get it as if I encourage you or something);

Merle being pervert;

some differences from the main plot may occur;

poor English (not a first language, but I’ll be glad if you point on the mistakes, also may skip the southern accent as I’m not aware of it too much :( ), and poor written skills in general.

If I miss something, please let me know. I hope you enjoy :).

___

Your eyes are closed and your body trembling, desperately trying to hold your tears.

“Y/N,” The soft and calm woman's voice tells you. “Let’s recall the rectangular breathing. Inhale…” You inhaled through your nose for four seconds and stopped breathing for four seconds as well. “Exhale…” You exhaled slowly and then held your breath again. “Inhale…”

“Fuck it!” you swore and opened your eyes, stretching out your arm to the Parliament pack lying on the kitchen island. You were not happy with this habit but when your life went to shit you didn’t care.

This had been an awful year full of loss which unfortunately led to depression. You visited your psychiatrist regularly and this helped you to overcome a bit. At least you don’t start suddenly crying and coped to move on. Especially when your best friend, like almost your older brother, got to the hospital and there was no good news about his health condition. As an aunt (non-blood relative) of his son, you couldn’t give up just like that. But it seemed if you had a chance, you’d do it.

You lit the cigarette, inhaled, and continued pouring the coffee from Jezve to the small thermos. This was your everyday morning routine. After this ritual, you go to the park and prepare yourself mentally for the new day. Today’s situation was different, you wouldn’t go to the park, but you couldn’t prevent yourself from beginning the day normally at least partially, and for the last time.

The TV was turned on, and the host said with a trembling voice thousands of people got infected with an unknown disease and it led to chaos in several states and yours as well, many people died. Neighbors outside were screaming, children were crying. Everyone was rushing and trying to pack all their lives in their cars. You thanked God your parents weren’t here. Sounds blasphemous, but you couldn’t bear this weight upon your shoulders. When you were imagining the apocalypse while having one of your anxiety attacks, you swore yourself you would end up right at the beginning as this would be not life anymore, but dance with the death you didn’t wish to take part in.

But you are here. Fortunately staying calm (thanks to medication). You already packed your things after your friend (your ex), had called you and asked you to be prepared to move. He told you he’d come to your house and you then follow him in your car. Also, in case he succeeds in grabbing your best friend from the hospital, you can transport him as he was unconscious, and more space was needed for sure.

The man dressed in a sheriff uniform enters your house “Are you kidding? Coffee, really? What about mediation then?” he saw you looking at him with no emotion expressed on your face. He cooled down for a moment. “Have you grabbed the essentials?” you nodded in the direction of the bag laying near the door.

“Is the tank full?”

“As usual,” you mumbled “Shane” you breathed the smoke out of your lungs “Are Lori and Carl with you?”

“Sure, come on. And quit this shit, please.” he pointed at the cigarette and went outside your house.

You closed the thermos, switched off the TV, and went to your garage. In several minutes you were following Shane’s car. Carl turned back to you from Shane’s backseat car window and waved to you. You smiled and waved in response. Thanks God your last lifeline was safe and sound. You switched on the player and drove.

“Time to die

Hammer high

Name your price

And kneel

Hail the apocalypse

All flesh is equal when burnt

We are forgiven

Forgive as we never shall learn

Get down

Hail the apocalypse”

Shane turned to the highway and you nervously turned the steering wheel following him. Your eyes widened in shock. You grabbed the phone and called him.

“What’s the matter?” you screamed.

“My colleagues told me there was a shoout-out near the hospital. Need you all to get to a safer place. We’ll deal with Rick later.” You threw your phone away after the call ended. “Shit”.

The trip was short but unbearably lasting as you were always stuck in traffic jams. You can see the sun already went under. As you saw the road was blocked with cars and people fussing you turned the engine down. Shane got out of his car and went further into the crowd. After five minutes you saw him getting back approaching you.

“We need to stop here, the road is blocked. Let’s have a break and figure out what to do next.” you nodded and got out of your car. Shane went to Lori to tell the same. Carl opened the door and ran to you.

“I’m glad you are with us, Y/N.” said Carl squeezing your waist. You brushed his hair gently with your fingers and smiled in response. “Me too…”

“Carl” Lori called “Could you please come to me for a second?” Carl looked at you, smiled, and ran to his mother while she was looking at you concerned.

You switched your attention from Lori and took the Parliament pack out of your denim jacket, picked a cigarette, and realized you forgot the lighter at home. You started to look around and your sight captured the two men smoking standing near their car in front of yours. You approached them.

“Hey, could I ask for a lighter, please? I forgot mine at home”. The older grinned, sticking the tip of his tongue while observing your hips in black leggings moving his sight up and stopping at your breasts covered with the tank top of the same color as your leggings. He looked up at your eyes and sang “Come on baby, light my fire”. The younger burst out of anger and barked.

“Have ya not slept offa hangover yet, dumbass?”

“Woah, brother,” the older laughed and lowered his voice “Why are ya so tensed?” The younger started nervously biting his lips while the older’s mouth was in front of his ear. “Getting nervous because of the beautiful girl talking to ya?”

“Shut the fuck up!”

You just continued to watch a one-man show.

“Okay, won’t bother ya, my puss,” he laughed and stared at you measuring you up “My brother is such a shy guy. Please keep an eye on him while I go and let off my steam ‘cause of the hotty around” he blinked at you.

The younger looked angrily at his brother going away down to the wooded area near the road.

“What a gentleman…” you concluded.

“I’m sorry,” the younger grunted and looked at you blushing.

“Never mind, at least someone stays positive.” you smiled. The man put his hand in the pocket of his jeans and took out a light passing to you. You lit up your cigarette and inhaled. The lungs burned with pleasure while your head went a bit fainty as you haven’t eaten anything today yet. “Thanks,” you said and then went back to your car. You opened the door and took the thermos with coffee and a small tourist cup. The man was standing quietly and glared at you as if his gaze was an X-Ray that could reveal anything suspicious about you.

“Hey,” you looked at the man while pouring the coffee into the cup “What’s your name?”

“Daryl” he didn’t stop gazing with his cold blue eyes.

“Y/N. Wanna some coffee?”

“No, thanks,” he mumbled.

“Come on,” you approached him “The night will be long, you need to stay on your legs.”

He looked at you thinking the hell this bothers you. You read his thought as his expression was asking and added “Let’s consider this as the gesture of thanks as you saved my life from the lack of nicotine.” You chuckled.

“Thanks” he replied silently not stopping investigating you.

“Bring it back to me when you finish” You pointed at the cup and turned to go away to Shane as he had called you.

The man stayed confused holding the cup and looking at you while you went away.

“What a sweetie, huh? I’d spent some time with her on the backseat” Merle let Daryl know about his presence.

“Fuck off!”

Merle laughed and sang gazing at you talking to your friends “You know that it would be untrue. You know that I would be a liar…”

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 >

[harringtown]

in the sea that’s painted black

a/n: it took an obscene amount of time to finish this fic and even longer to get around to this request so im so sorry for the wait, but me and writers block are currently duking it out in the ring lmao 

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader 

summary: vecna kidnaps the reader, and once they’re rescued, steve helps pick up the pieces (aka how steve and reader lose each other, and how they find their way back) 

word count: 7k

warnings: cursing, violence/torture mention

-

As far as Steve knew, you were a hundred miles from Hawkins when Vecna’s infection bubbled to the surface. You were at your aunt’s helping out with her new baby for Spring Break, far from the incoming chaos.

As far as Steve knew, you were safe.

As it would turn out, though, Steve didn’t know a damn thing.

Steve has broken his ribs more times than he can count, and the same can be said for his nose, and he’s had at least four concussions, but none of that pain comes close to this.

To the avalanche that lands on his chest when they bust through the locked door behind Vecna’s flaming corpse in the Creel house and see you, pale and bruised and bloody and unconscious. You’re alive, but barely—eyes shut, fingertips and lips blue, pulse so slow that Robin initially thinks you’re dead.

The decently laid escape plans every one of them came through the gate with dissolve, and in minutes, everyone on the wrong side of the gate is at the Creel house. Eddie is more blood than boy, and Dustin is limping, and Steve can’t tell who is holding up who. But they’re alive, and they’re awake, and that’s better than Steve can say for you.

“Can we move her?” Robin asks.

Nancy purses her lips. She’s purposefully not looking at Steve.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I think her arms are broken. Legs, maybe.” She shakes her head, and her next words are hopeless. “I don’t know.”

“I’m not leaving her here,” Steve snarls.

“No one is suggesting that, Steve,” Nancy says. “But if we just… run in there and lift her, we could hurt her even more.”

“What the hell are we supposed to do, then?” He asks, and he knows he’s raising his voice, and he knows Nancy doesn’t deserve it, but the girl he loves is half-dead on the floor.

He spent three days believing you were safe and sound, miles away. And for three days, you’ve been trapped in hell.

He should have known. Should have sensed it. Should have taken the damn time to call your aunt, who would have told him you never made it.

“We’ll make a stretcher,” Eddie says. He sways a bit as he comes forward. “We need a big fucking slab of wood.” He sweeps a gaze around. “And anyone with a belt, take it off, and hand it over.”

And though a few days ago, Steve didn’t care who Eddie Munson was, right now, he could kiss him. Instead, he just meets Eddie’s eyes, and gives him one of those dude-nods, hoping he’ll understand. Eddie nods back, already unthreading his leather studded belt.

Nancy and Robin end up ripping the front door straight off its hinges, and Steve, Eddie, and Dustin get to work making something sturdy enough to get you out of here.

You haven’t moved, have barely taken breath, since they found you, but for the moment, Steve lets the task distract him, and pretends it isn’t the girl he loves on the floor, but a faceless person he doesn’t know. It’s the only way he’ll get you and himself and everyone else out of here.

The radio chatter has been nonstop with the kids on the other side of the gate trying to figure out what’s going on, but not a single hand is free to answer the call. Within minutes, a decent looking transfer board with straps is being placed beside you.

Nancy and Robin take one side, Steve and Eddie another, with Dustin at your head to secure your neck.

“Ready?” Nancy asks. Four sets of hands slip gently beneath you. “Three, two, one—”

Your eyes snap forward, wide open, and the whites are almost entirely red from broken blood vessels. The others shift back on instinct—Steve’s instinct pushes him forward, has him reaching for you.

Your gaze finds his, and Steve doesn’t ever think he’s been so relieved in his life. You’re alive, and awake, and—

And you lunge for him, fingers wrapping tight around his neck.

And Steve can’t breathe.

“Get. Out. Of. My. Head.” Your voice is raw and ragged and breaking, and with each word, your fingers close a little tighter around Steve’s throat.

“Oh, shit!” Dustin yells, and if Steve had the capability of speech, he’d agree with him.

“Wheeler!” Eddie calls, in motion while the rest of the room is frozen, taking one of your arms. “A little help over here!”

Nancy lunges, Robin behind her, and it takes all three of them to tear you off Steve. Steve, who just spent a good ten minutes with a vine around his neck, is in no state to help, and even if he was, he still can’t breathe. He can’t breathe, and all he can see is your eyes, red and angry.

Eddie wrangles you back, but you shove out of his arms, throwing yourself back into the corner like a terrified animal.

“Steve—” Robin kneels to help him to his feet, but he shakes her off, hands flying up to rub at his neck.

“I’m fine,” he spits. And he isn’t, and everyone knows it, and maybe that’s why they don’t push it. Or maybe it’s you, trembling in the corner, staring at all of them like they’re monsters.

He takes a step toward you, and Nancy takes his arm.

“Steve, I wouldn’t—” She starts, but a glare from Steve silences her. She removes her hand.

“Y/N, it’s just us,” Steve says. He doesn’t get closer, despite every cell and nerve ending telling him to. “It’s me. It’s Steve.”

You shake your head so violently, Steve wonders if it hurts.

“No,” you say. “No. You’re not him. You’re not him.” You shake your head again. Draw your knees to your chest and loop your arms around them. “You’re not him.”

Steve looks back at his friends. Robin, her eyes glittering with tears. Nancy, who won’t look at him. Eddie, with his jaw clenched. Dustin, trying to shift his weight onto his bad foot and failing.

He doesn’t know what to do. After everything he’s been through, all the battles he’s fought, Steve Harrington has finally come face to face with a wall he can’t begin to imagine climbing.

In the end, it isn’t Steve who saves you from the Creel house. He doesn’t carry you out to safety. He doesn’t comfort you on the way through the gate and to the ambulances; one of them already has Max inside.

Eddie does. The only person you didn’t know before all this started—the only person Vecna didn’t use to torture you for three straight days.

Steve doesn’t have to ask to know that he was the center of the nightmares. The throbbing pulse around his throat is answer enough.

He was forced into a check up alongside everyone else when they got to the hospital—you, Max, Dustin, and Eddie were immediately taken back to rooms to be treated for your more severe injuries—but with so much chaos and carnage to deal with after the alleged earthquake, he’s told he’s free to go within the hour.

He doesn’t go, of course. He can’t. You’re still here. One of the nurses gave him your room number, said you’d be released in the morning. Which means Steve will be here until the morning.

Steve isn’t sure what else to do, so he ends up on damage control. He stops by Eddie’s room, where the Munson boy is wrapped tight in gauze and being pumped full of morphine, and asks if you said anything before he handed you off to the EMT’s. From what he could get out of you, you’d been intercepted on your way out of town. A cop found your car just a few miles from your house, down a gravel road, like you’d followed something.

Something. Someone. Vecna.

Thinking about it makes his blood boil. Makes him want to march back through the gate and burn every inch of the Upside Down back to ash.

He puts off going up to visit you as long as he can. But eventually, he’s called your parents and aunt to update them—your parents left in the evacuation, and your aunt was absolutely panicking, but as far as they know, you were minorly injured in the earthquake, and will call them all in the morning—and he can’t find any more excuses not to go.

It’s almost like part of him believes that the longer he waits, the more likely he is to walk into that hospital room and find you just the way you were when he kissed you goodbye three days ago.

Steve hesitates at the door. Room thirteen. He takes a breath, and steps inside.

He sees you jerk and straighten before he sees your face. It makes him stop a foot from the door.

You sit rod straight in the hospital bed. Both your arms are in casts. You have two black eyes, and more bruises and scrapes than he could even begin to count. But the worst part is the way you look at him. Like he’s a monster.

“I, uh, I wanted to make sure you were—” Steve stops. He should have come in with some game plan. “I wanted to see how you were doing.” It feels kind of like it did before you started dating, when you both walked that awkward tightrope until you realized you were both heading in the same direction. But even then, you never looked at him like this.

Your gaze trails up and down, and when it returns to his face, your expression is tight and tense.

“Steve?” you ask, like you doubt it.

“Yeah. It’s me,” he says. “It’s Steve.”

You gather the blankets up in your lap. “How do I know it’s really you?”

Steve’s lips part, but nothing comes out. He doesn’t know how to prove himself. He doesn’t know how to get rid of that panicked look in your eyes. He sure as shit doesn’t know how to fix this.

So, he just says, “I don’t know.” It’s almost impossible to talk past the choking sensation in his throat. “I would say that you'll have to just trust me, but—” He gestures at nothing. Closes his eyes for a long second. Opens them, and asks, as softly as he can, “But you can’t do that, can you?”

“I’m sorry.” You shake your head. Tears spill down your cheeks. “I’m so sorry.” You lick your lips and avert your gaze. “But I can’t—I don’t—”

Steve’s heart cracks open in his chest. He swallows the lump in his throat and says, “That’s okay.”

“It’s not—” you say.

Steve makes to move forward, but at your abrupt flinch, he freezes. Reroutes. Tries to cull the pain he knows is infecting his face with every breath.

“It is,” he says gently. “It’s okay.” He jams his hands in his pockets as if that will get rid of the urge to wrap his arms around you, protect you the way he’s supposed to. But right now, the only protection you seem to want is from him.

Steve licks his lips. “Look, I know that the last thing you want right now is to see my face—” Your expression twists, but you don’t counteract his words, so he knows they’re true. “—but I’ll be here. If you need me, or whatever, just…” He clears his throat. “I’m here, okay?”

You don’t say anything. You just nod.

And that’s it. Just like that. Steve turns and heads for the door before he breaks down at your feet, but a soft, “Steve,” stops him with his hand on the handle. He catches your eye over his shoulder.

Tears run rivers down your cheeks. A few days ago, Steve could have wiped them away.

“I’m so sorry,” you say.

The knot in Steve’s gut coils tighter, and rage sparks along his skin, but he’s not angry at you. He’s angry at Vecna or Henry or whoever the fuck he is. He’s angry at himself for not taking you up on your invite to get out of town for the week. Most of all, he’s just angry. Angry because he loves you, and he can’t help you.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Steve says, harsher than he means. He tries again, softer, “None of this is your fault. If you can trust anything right now, trust that.”

Then he slips through the door and pulls the door shut behind him.

With everything that happened, the Byers trip has been extended—Steve doubts they’ll go back to California for anything more than packing up and selling the house—and because half the houses in Hawkins were obliterated, Steve’s house becomes the hotel for the Byers, Hopper, and Eleven. He’s pretty sure Eddie will be taking over his couch when he’s discharged from the hospital, too.

He told them he’d be home later when he handed off a key, but he has no intention of going anywhere.

Steve drags two chairs from down the hall, positions them against the wall outside your side, and settles in. He’s immediately uncomfortable, and his back is going to wage war on him in the morning, but laying crookedly on those chairs is the closest he can get to you. After the last few days, he wants to be as close as he can be.

And so, he stays, staring up at the tiles of popcorn above him until he falls into a fitful sleep, full of empty, hollow dreams.

-

You were giddy the first, fifth, and five hundredth time you walked up the Harrington driveway. Tonight, though, the only thing you feel is dread.

To your relief, Steve is at work when you’re discharged, and since your parents are towns away with relatives—and unaware that you had to stay in the hospital at all—it’s Joyce and Hopper who drive you. They, too, are residents at the Harrington halfway house that popped up in the last day.

Jonathan, Nancy, and Argyle took the kids for a lake day to get their minds off things before Argyle has to head back to California, so the house is quiet, but it wouldn’t matter how full it was. Anything you touched or looked at or loved prior to three days ago is drenched in blood no one else can see. Even Joyce and Hopper, who featured less in the rampage of nightmares, make you want to crawl out of your skin.

But they seem to get it, or are just weighed down by their own responsibilities and losses, because they don’t stop you when you head out to the back yard. Sitting on a rusted lawn chair, it takes a second to realize why you chose this spot.

Because Steve doesn't come out here anymore. He hasn’t come farther than the doorway since Barbara Holland died.

Another barrage of tears lines up behind your eyes. If anyone would understand, empathize, it would be Steve. Steve, who has seen more pain than most people realize, and who has shouldered more than anyone should.

Steve, who you love more than you thought was possible.

And yet, when you saw his face in the Creel house, and again in the hospital, you could think only of the sick, maniacal grin on his face as he broke you in every way possible. As he spit venom and broke your bones and twisted every beautiful thing he ever told you.

Steve. Vecna. They are not the same, and they are.

You swipe the tears out of your eyes. The skin is dry and flaky from all the crying, and aches where you irritate the bruises.

But it could be worse. At least you’re alive, and awake, and walking around.

You’re not sure how long you sit out there, staring at the empty pool. It’s been empty almost as long as Barb has been dead. Steve begged his father to have it professionally done, and when the man ignored him, a frantic Steve went at it with buckets until his dad agreed.

At some point, the sun begins to set. A little later, a figure in the window catches your attention.

Steve stands at the back door, his arms folded over his chest, but he doesn’t make any attempt to come outside. You’ve no idea how long he’s been standing there.

He sees the line you’ve drawn in the sand. And it’s obvious how much it hurts him.

You take a breath and look away.

-

The nightmare yanks you out of sleep sometime past four in the morning. Tugging the damp, twisted covers off your legs, you slide out of bed—Steve’s bed, minus Steve, a fact that is both a relief and a disappointment all at once—and pull the hoodie from the end of the bed. It, too, is Steve’s, but it’s been yours almost as long, stolen months ago.

You pad to the door, eager to splash cold water on your face like it’ll wash the nightmare clean. Easing it open, you slip into the dark hallway, and almost trip on the dark figure sprawled outside the door.

Steve Harrington, in all his glory, a spot of drool on one side of his mouth, sleeping on a yoga mat with a ratty pillow and an old quilt.

“Steve?” you ask, louder than you should this late at night.

Steve’s eyes snap open, and he retrieves a knife he has tucked under the pillow, jerking upwards. At the sight of you, he sighs. Tosses the knife aside. Swipes at his eyes.

“Jesus—you scared the hell out of me,” he says. His voice is thick with sleep, and it tugs on soft memories; mornings across the same pillow and warm skin against yours.

“I scared you?” you ask, incredulous. “What are you doing out here?”

He flops onto his back and throws an arm over his face.

“Sleeping,” he grumbles. “Or, I was.”

“You know exactly what I mean,” you say. “Why are you curled up outside my door like a golden retriever?”

“If you wanna get technical, it’s my door—” He removes his arm from his face and scrunches his face up at your expression. “—which, clearly you don’t.” He pushes up to a seated position, shifting to lean his back against the wall. “Look, I get that you don’t want anything to do with me right now, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to just…” He shakes his head. “Ditch you.”

You can do nothing but look at him for a long moment, battling between the urge to run and the urge to stay.

Steve’s gaze falls to the wall across from him, as if he already knows what you’ve decided. A muscle ticks in his jaw. A few inches south, a scabbed line circles his throat. He almost died back there, too.

No one escaped this uscathed.

Maybe that’s why you decide to sit down across from him. Or maybe he just looks so miserable. Maybe you miss him. Maybe it’s all of those things.

You stretch your legs out, and Steve does the same. He rolls his ankle to tap your socked foot with his once before he shifts his legs away. His expression is twisted, a little hesitant, like he’s not sure what’s going on, like he’s worried he’s walked into a trap.

The silence holds longer than it ever has before. No one wants to be the first to break it.

Even before you admitted your feelings, as you skirted around each other like orbiting planets, it never felt like this. Awkward in a heart-wrenching way.

A few minutes, or an eternity, later, you voice the question bouncing around your skull.

“You’ve been sleeping out here every night?”

Steve pokes his tongue into one side of his cheek, making it bulge like he jammed a lollipop in his mouth. A memory of a candy store and sticky, taffy-flavored kisses drifts around you like a breeze.

“Uh, yeah,” Steve says. He rakes a hand through his hair, mussing it up even further.

“Why?”

Steve clears his throat. He doesn’t meet your eyes as he says, “I guess I don’t know what else to do.” His gaze darts to yours, a sad half-smile playing on his lips. “I mean, I don’t really ever know what to do, if the current state of my life didn’t make that clear enough, but I’ve always been able to… bullshit my way through it, you know? Enough to get by.” He shrugs a shoulder. Tips his head back against the wall. Closes his eyes. “But here, with you, I have no idea. And it kills me.”

You let out a breath. “It has nothing to do with not wanting to be around you,” you say. “It’s not that I—I don’t—”

Steve opens his eyes and says, “You don’t have to.”

Once again, patient. Patient like he’s been for almost a week. More patient than you think you deserve.

“I want to,” you say. “I wish I could. I just…”

Steve nods. He goes quiet for a long time, but it isn’t an awkward silence. It’s worse. It’s heavy with grief and wanting and old sentiments for the old version of you both.

You slide your leg across the scratchy carpet and tap his foot with yours, drawing his attention back to you.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I’m sorry I don’t know what to do.”

“Yeah, well, we have that in common, at least,” he says. “Because I have no clue what to do, either.”

And while his actions the last week have made it clear he doesn’t plan on giving up, as he slides down onto his back on his sad little bed, it looks and feels a hell of a lot like surrender.

-

After three weeks, the Byers have vacated Steve’s house—Hopper and Joyce went Westward, back to California to sell Joyce’s house, and the kids with Jonathan at Hopper’s cabin now that it’s been done up.

The only other occupants of the Harrington house, since the actual Mrs and Mr Harrington are still out of town, are Eddie Munson and his uncle, though next week, they’ll be gone, too.

You’re not entirely sure why you’re still here. Your parents asked if you were planning on meeting them at your relatives house, and you told them no.

As much as it hurts to be near Steve, at the same time, it’s also the only thing that feels normal. Which makes no sense.

“We need to talk,” a familiar voice says. You hadn’t even heard him come outside—hadn’t figured he would, since he hasn’t once in the last three weeks. But when you turn, there he is, arms folded, jaw tight. Steve.

You shift on the rusty lawn chair, and Steve doesn’t hesitate before he comes to sit across from you.

“Steve, I’m really not in the mood—“

“Enough.” He shakes his head. “I’ve spent three weeks tip-toeing around you, and I’m done. You have to talk about it. Talk to me—”

Your lips form the beginning of a protest, but Steve presses on before you can say it, like he already knew you were going to.

“—or don’t talk to me. But talk to someone.”

“What do you want me to say, Steve?”

“Anything,” he says. “Anything at all. Because anything has to be better than this. You’ve been walking around like a goddamn ghost for weeks, and I’ve tried to give you space, and then I tried to be there for you, but all you’ve done is push me away.” He lets out the saddest laugh you’ve ever heard. “And then, I hear you on the phone with your parents. I know they asked you to come up to Indianapolis. And I know you told them no. Which doesn’t really make sense, because anytime I’m around, it’s like you can’t stand me.”

“That’s not true,” you say.

“Yeah? Could’ve fooled me.”

Your heart wrenches.

“I’m serious,” you say, swallowing the lump in your throat.  “I still love you as much as I did three weeks ago. But for three days, a… demon wearing your face tortured me. Took every beautiful, kind thing you’ve ever said to me and twisted it. And it wasn’t just that. I saw everyone I love die a dozen times. I saw you die a dozen times.” You press your lips together. “I still love you, Steve Harrington, but I also see the end of the world when I look at you. I don’t know what to do with that, and I don’t know how to make that go away.”

Steve falls quiet, and for a long time, you’re afraid to look him in the eyes. And when you do, you regret it. All that pain and anguish and anger in his eyes, reflected back in your own.

“You can’t save everyone, Steve,” you say softly.

“You’re right.” Steve rakes in a breath. “I can’t save everyone. But I can save you.” He swallows. Grits his teeth. “And I will save you, Y/N. Whatever it takes.”

“Why? Why won’t you just give up?”

Steve goes quiet for a moment. His voice is low when he speaks again. “When you and I—” His brows furrow. “After everything that happened with Nancy, I was no good for anybody. I sure as hell wasn’t any good for you when we first started all this. I was a mess, but you stayed. You never stopped fighting for me.” Steve sniffs and swipes a hand under his nose. He pushes to his feet, and jams his hands in his pockets. “So if you want me to stop fighting, then look me in the eye and tell me, and I will.” He shakes his head. “But I’m never giving up on you, kid. I love you too much.”

The old nickname—you said an eight month age gap hardly warranted the term—from the months you both pretended not to feel what you did for each other, for your own stubborn reasons, stings like a slap.

Then he stands up, takes a tentative step toward you. When you don’t move, don’t even look up, he bends down. Presses his lips to the top of your head. Lingers, just for a second, long enough for your gut to lurch. Walks away.

And when you say, “Don’t stop fighting,” you’re not sure if he hears you before he makes it inside.

-

Another week passes. Steve moves back into his bedroom, and you into the guest room that shares a wall. Steve’s mother returns home, though even when she’s there, she’s not, so it still feels like it’s just the two of you. Circling each other.

On Friday night, you’re settled on the couch under the biggest blanket you could find, when Steve walks through the living room. He slings a jacket over his shoulders and drops onto the couch opposite you as he laces his sneakers.

“Hey,” you say.

Steve’s head snaps up, like he’s shocked you acknowledged him at all.

“Hey. How are you feeling?” he asks. He’s asked it a thousand times. And each time, you consider lying. And each time, you don’t.

“Just tired. Haven’t slept well in like a month.”

Steve nods grimly. “Well, if you feel like getting out of the house, I’m heading to Robin’s to watch some cheesy movie she picked out. She invited you, too.” Steve clears his throat. “You should come. It could be fun.” He shifts his weight, tries a smile. “I mean, not that fun, because Robin insists on that disgusting popcorn, milk duds thing, but, still.”

Your pulse leaps. You’ve barely left the house in the last month, but when you have, it’s been alone.

Your lips part, an excuse lining up behind your teeth, but before you can release it, Steve sighs, and says, “Yeah, I figured.”

He pushes to his feet and jams his hands into his pockets.

“If you change your mind…” Steve trails off, like he knows just as well as you that you won’t. He nods. “I’ll see you later. If you need something, call me, okay?”

You nod, and even though it breaks your heart to let him walk out the door, you don’t stop him. You never do.

That doesn’t mean you don’t wish you had. Wish you were brave enough. Wish that you and Steve were the same versions of yourselves as you were a month ago. But you’re not. He’s not. And there’s no way back to those people.

There’s just before and after.

-

A knock on the door half an hour later rouses you from the couch. You head to the door, expecting to let in Steve’s mom, who forgets her house keys more times than she remembers them.

It isn’t Steve’s mom at the door, though. It’s Eddie Munson.

No longer standing at death’s door, he doesn’t look like the guy who was more blood than boy when he carried you out of the Creel House. And while you’d never spoken before all this, a friendship was born out of the whole endeavor, during late nights on Steve’s couches.  

“Eddie?”

“In the flesh,” he says, sweeping an arm. He flashes you a lopsided grin. “You look disappointed. Expecting someone different?”

No. Yes. You’re always hoping it’s Steve coming through the door, and a little relieved when it’s not. A little sad, too.

“No,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Just figured you had better things to do on a Friday night.”

He shrugs, and steps around you and into the house like it’s his own. With another eye roll he can’t see, you close the door behind him.

“Kind of you, sweetheart, but I’d guess our social schedules look pretty much the same these days.” He leans into the staircase banister. “I’m just here to grab some stuff I left. Harrington said he left a doggy bag just past the foyer.” He says foyer all fancy, an ay instead of an er, and you can’t help but smile.

You jerk a chin.

“Come on. You know where to go.”

“That I do,” he says, and heads into the living room. He locates the plastic bag stuffed with clothes on the coffee table, but instead of grabbing it, he drops down onto one of the couches.

With a sigh, you cross the room and sit on the other couch.

“Make yourself at home,” you say.

“What can I say? This couch and I got close last month.” Eddie grins, but it falters. “So. Elephant in the room. How are you?” He asks. “And don’t give me some bullshit answer. My lie detector is off the damn charts.”

You huff, sitting back on the couch and folding your arms across your chest.

“I’m…” You sigh. “I don’t know how I am. How are you?”

Eddie frowns, and the furrow between his brows is deep.

“About the same.”

“I haven’t slept more than five hours a night in a month. Every time I close my eyes, I’m back in that house. And the nightmares—” You stop, shaking your head.

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” Eddie says, jaw set. “My dreams aren’t exactly rainbows and daisies, these days.”

“And they were before?”

He lets out a soft laugh.

You take a breath. “Sometimes, I think they’re never going to go away. The nightmares. And not just the nightmares, but all of it.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything for a long moment. He just stares at the coffee table between you like it has something to tell him.

And then, he looks up.

“You know, my whole life, I felt like I was at war with the entire world. I had to fight so much, so long, that when I finally didn’t, I had no damn clue what to do.” Eddie licks his lips. “And I know that you’ve been through hell. But you’re not on a battlefield anymore. You have to come home. Get off that damn field before you get stuck there.”

You shake your head. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

Eddie purses his lips. He sits forward, leaning his elbows into his knees.

“Welcome to the club,” he says. “But you’re one of the lucky ones.”

“Lucky?” You scoff.

“Yeah. Lucky.” Eddie sits up. “Back in that house, four people who had every reason to run for their fucking lives stayed behind because you needed help. I mean, if it were up to me, I’d have gotten the hell out of there.” He shoots you an apologetic grin. “But not them.” There’s an unspoken not-him in there, and you’re not sure what surprises you more: that he’s defending Steve, or that you’re having this conversation at all.

The you of a month away would never have believed a word of this. Any of it.

“Look, I’m not saying that anyone is gonna walk in and make all the bad shit go away. Nobody can do that. But you’ve got people that want to try,” Eddie says. “Do you know what I’d have given to have that? What I’d still give?” He shakes his head. “Yeah. I’d call that pretty damn lucky.”

“You have people, Eddie,” you say. “At least, you do now.”

He gives you a wan smile, like he’s not sure he believes it, but he appreciates the sentiment.

“Whatever I have, it isn’t that.” He shrugs. “So, as the person who carried you out of that place, do me a favor and make it worth a damn.”

It’s a sincerity you’re surprised to find from him. Maybe it’s that, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s right, because all you can say is, “I will.”

-

“Look at me.” That voice, the one that you know better than your own, but it’s wrong, all wrong. He is all wrong. Dark and coated in rot.

You squeeze your eyes shut, hard enough to hurt. But that voice just gets louder, and louder, so loud it’s like it’s being projected directly into your brain.

“Look at me.”

“You’re not real,” you say, but you’re saying it yourself more than anyone.

This isn’t real. You know it isn’t real.

But it feels real. Looks and smells and hurts. And that makes it real enough.

A massive force slams into your chest and sends you colliding with the brick wall, but you don’t fall, your limbs stuck to the

Your eyes snap open.

Steve who isn’t Steve smiles.

“There we go,” he says. “I wouldn’t want you to miss a second of this.”

He lifts a hand. Steps forward. And lights every inch of you on fire—

“Wake up. It’s not real. Wake up.” That same voice, but this time, it’s gentle. And the hands on your shoulders don’t pin you down, but guide you up, keeping you from falling right off the bed as you jerk up and awake.

Steve pulls his hands back as soon as you’re steady, but he stays, perched on the edge of the mattress, his expression concerned.

“There we go. You’re okay. It was just a dream,” he says.

You rake a hand through your hair, huffing a breath.

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you up?”

Steve’s lips pull thin, and he gives you a sheepish smile.

“Thin walls,” he says. “I don’t sleep that great these days, anyway.”

And he doesn’t voice the unspoken, the reason he doesn’t sleep well.

Not for the first time, you consider Steve’s side of all this, but for the first time, you’re able to follow the train of thought without panic riding along.

You’re able to see how much he’s been hurting, too. You’re able to see that you broke his heart.

“Thank you,” you say, but you don’t just mean for this, but for all of it. For what he’s given up and left behind because you needed him to.

He nods. Pushes to his feet.

“Anytime,” he says. He clears his throat. “Try and get some rest, okay?”

He starts toward the door.

“Wait.”

Steve stops halfway to the door. He turns, his expression unreadable.

“Don’t go,” you say.

Steve hesitates, like he’s waiting for you to change your mind. But you’re thinking about Eddie, of all people, and what he said earlier. About walking off the battlefield before you’re stuck on it.

And it isn’t as simple as just stepping off, but it’s the only option worth anything.

“I’m so sick of letting you walk away from me. So mad at myself, and mad at Vecna, and mad at you for—for not telling me to screw off.” You rake in a breath. “But mostly, I’m just tired. And I miss you.” You shake your head. “I miss you so much, Steve, and you’re right in front of me, and all of this—it’s all my fault. I messed it all up.”

Steve frowns. Crosses to the bed and drops back onto the edge.

“None of this,” he says fiercely, “is your fault. Do you hear me? None of it.”

You close your eyes for a long moment. When you open them, Steve has his gaze locked on the fraying edges of the quilt curled in your lap.

“I don’t want to miss you anymore. I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t love you as much as I did a month ago just because I’m scared. And I know things can’t go back to the way they were, but that doesn’t mean I don’t wish they could.” You stretch a hand out, touching his own. He stills. “I wish like hell they could.”

Steve lifts his gaze to yours.

“Just tell me what to do. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

You press your lips together. Inhale, and thread your fingers through his.

“Don’t let me go,” you say, and lean closer, dipping your forehead against his.

“Like that was ever possible,” he says. His breath is warm on your chin, and he smells like lemon shampoo and aftershave, and god, you’ve missed it. Missed him.

“Promise?”

“I promise,” he says. “Always.”

You tilt your chin up, just a bit, and press your lips to his. It’s a cautious kiss, but Steve answers with another, steady and sure.

He pulls back a bit. Licks his lips.

“Do you still see the end of the world when you look at me?” he asks.

Yes. And no. Both choices and none of them.

You take his face in your hands, and he exhales softly, leaning into your touch.

“I don’t know what I see,” you whisper. “But I know what I want to see.” You give him a tiny, sad smile. “I want to see the boy who risked his own life to save mine. Who refused to give up on me, even when I gave him every possible reason to.” You lean forward, just a bit.

“And what do you see right now?” he asks.

“I see you,” you say. “Just you.”

Steve shifts back. He’s clearly reluctant to ask, his voice low as he says, “What about tomorrow, when you wake up, and that’s not what you see anymore? When you remember the monster under your bed has my face?”

It’s a valid question. And you don’t have a good answer, because there’s no way to know. There’s just this second, right now.

But really, now is all you have.

You trace your thumb down his cheekbone, to the corner of his mouth, and back up. His eyes flutter shut.

“You fought for me. So, I can fight for you,” you say. Steve opens his eyes. You incline your head and give him a half-smile. “Even if I’m fighting myself a little to do it.”

Steve shakes his head. “Why? Why not just walk away? You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. You can’t tell me it wouldn’t be easier to just leave Hawkins, and all of this shit, behind.”

You nod. “You’re right. It would be easier,” you say. “But I can’t. I can’t walk away, because that’s not what we do. You and me, we save each other.”

Steve pulls his bottom lip into his teeth. After a moment, he says, “Okay. Then we do what we always do. Take it one day at a time.”

“I think I can manage that,” you say.

Steve hesitates, then gives you a smile that makes your stomach flutter.

“It’s not the worst plan we’ve ever come up with,” he says.

And you surprise yourself by smiling.

“Don’t go lumping your bad ideas with my good ones, Harrington.”

“Don’t go crapping on my well-intentioned, but ultimately bad ideas,” he says.

You laugh, probably the first time in a month, and shake your head.

“God, I missed you,” you say.

“I missed you, too,” Steve says. Shakes his head. “So much.”  

There are a dozen more things you should say, but there’s also the time to say it. You’ve been squeezing your eyes shut for so long, you couldn’t see it. The second chance laid out at your feet.

There will be time to say everything. Right now, though, you lean in, and kiss him. A real kiss. You thread your fingers through his curls and draw him close, and he kisses you back.

You’re not entirely free of everything that happened down there. Maybe you never will be.

But you can walk off the battlefield. You will. And this is the first step.

-

taglist: @milkiane​ @spideyboipete​ @robiin-buckley​ @robinbuckleyssgf​ @la-fille-en-aiguilles​ @sunlitide​ @cityofidek​ @isshecrazyorissheclever @peanutbutter-y-jams​ @hellfire1986baby​

[softpine]

ALL THE DIFFERENT GRIFFINS. IM SO. I NEED INFO. SPECIFICALLY ON GRIFFIN WITH A DAUGHTER??? DO U HAVE ANY ACTUAL THOUGHTS ABT THESE DIFFERENT AUS BC IM SO,,,,,

yesssss i would be happy to share each of the griffins lives!! i'll just run through them in order:

[major trigger warning for child abuse, attempted murder, etc. all the typical finn things]

1- inmate: he... did something... that i can't tell you yet... as a kid that got him sent to juvy for a few years. by the time he was released at 18, he had practically no life skills, no formal education, and the only people left in his life were other juvy kids. he tried to make the best of a shitty situation by changing his name, moving states, and starting over, but it wasn't long before he resorted to petty theft to make it by. his crimes escalated until he was eventually caught for armed robbery and sentenced to 25 to life. it was almost a relief to know that he wouldn't have to worry about making decisions anymore. he doesn't feel like he's ever been in charge of his own life, so being in prison is just more of the same.

2- drifter: he's still a teenager here. he successfully ran away from home as a kid, never got attacked, but instead of going to live with his aunt in new york, he's been living mostly on the road and in shelters ever since. he sticks to smaller towns, keeps a low profile, and makes a living doing odd jobs. he's safe, but lonely. asa knowing his name was a huge shock to him, because no one ever cares to ask his name.

3- kid: he hasn't hit the turning point in his life where every tiny decision can have life-altering consequences, so this is just a representation of almost every version of griffin at age 12. in this particular moment, he'd just gotten into a fight at school which he will be suspended for. i just think it's funny how he calls asa an old man lmao

4- survivor: he was obviously attacked. when he was found many days later, he was barely clinging to life. he suffered the most severe brain damage of all the versions of griffin we've seen, lost his eye, and has never quite recovered from the emotional and physical trauma. he has frequent seizures that leave him unable to work. it's rare that he even goes outside alone, so asa approaching him on the one day when he did choose to go for a walk by himself was not great timing. where this griffin differs is that he was adopted by his aunt after the attack, because his parents were actually charged with child abuse and neglect for their actions on the night of his attack (many people believe they were directly responsible, but it was never proven. they pled guilty to lesser charges to avoid an attempted murder trial). so griffin is actually in new york in that picture.

5- dad: he was attacked and left for dead, but in this universe, he was rescued within a few hours. his attacker had stabbed him in the arm with a broken beer bottle (this happened to all the versions of griffin who were attacked. it's why he wasn't able to fight back as hard). while he was being treated in the hospital, the wound got infected and his arm had to be amputated. the long healing process meant he had to rely on his parents for a ton of assistance and support. they were even more desperate to prove that they can be good parents and that they would never hurt their son, so the 3 of them all became pretty codependent. he lived at home with them until he was in his 30s, but then his dad died of a sudden heart attack (brought on by alcoholism, because he never quit drinking) and griffin realized it was time to move on. he married the daughter of one of his mom's friends, the first person he's ever dated, but their marriage dissolved a few years later for... a lot of reasons. they got a divorce before the baby was even born, but griffin tries to be the best father he possibly can be. he absolutely spoils her (you can see that based on the excessive playground equipment he bought for his yard lol) and she's his entire reason for living now, even though he only gets to see her every other week. he hopes she can stay for longer when she's older.

6- mechanic: griffin (and our finn, for that matter) was a huge nascar fan and his dream was to be a professional driver. that didn't exactly pan out for him, but he does enjoy being a mechanic. he's about 40 in that picture. he was never attacked, never ran away from home, and instead he endured the increasingly horrific abuse until he turned 18, moved out, and never talked to anyone in his family ever again. he prefers to be mostly solitary; never married, no kids, not even any friends, but he gets along with his coworkers well enough. he has an extremely hard time trusting that anyone has good intentions. in his free time, he restores & sells old furniture. his dream is to retire and move to the countryside.

7- sex worker: honestly, probably the most mentally stable griffin on this list... like don't get me wrong, he's still traumatized from the same childhood that every version of griffin shares, and i'm not saying his job is easy by any means, but he has a ton of friends who actually understand him and who he doesn't have to pretend with, he lives with his cousin liz who he's really close to, he keeps in contact with his parents but hardly ever sees them in person (which is exactly how he likes it), and he has a real sense of community. he was never attacked. he didn't run away from home when he was 12 like he planned, but instead waited until he was 14 and his parents allowed him to go live with his aunt with everyone's agreement. when liz, who is older than him, moved out to go to college, griffin followed her and they've been living together for years now. she's the only family member who knows what he does for work, so she makes sure to look out for him. oh also he's the only version of griffin we've seen that has a boyfriend?? he was supposed to say something about him in response to asa saying "i have a partner", but i cut it because i don't actually think griffin would offer that info up to a stranger, no matter how strangely trustworthy asa appears to be.

[onyourstageleft]

today has been a day

1a) woke up early as hell to be productive before work

1b) still can't shake a sinus infection so I've been snuffling and miserable through the whole day

2) worked a whole 8 hour day in the baby room at the daycare

3) got a "wanna have sex" text on my way to my car (I did want to) however...

4) get home to my partners mad as hell bc our management company had to kill the vibe and announce our lot rent raise (another $55/month starting in July) so didn't actually get to have sex

5a) started planning to move out by July of next year so we looked at places for sale out of curiosity

5b) found a place we actually really like that is feasible right now

5c) called and left a voicemail for our financial advisor about it and also called an agent and scheduled a tour of the place for tomorrow

6a) as we're discussing what questions we have about the house to ask tomorrow my MIL calls bc...

6b) my husband's aunt just passed last week and they're dealing with funeral planning but deceased aunt's kids are being shitty (stealing her stuff from the house that she lived in with my MIL to sell/pawn)

6c) so husband is talking her down from a breakdown while also telling her to report the Aunt's car stolen bc it's technically held in probate but her son with a very storied criminal past took it from the house earlier today to "keep it safe"

7a) while that call is going on my mom texts me to tell me to approve an Amazon login which (long story short) is fraudulent so

7b) I have to completely reset my Amazon account and tell Mom how to actually deal with the recurring scam charge on my grandmother's credit card

8) finally get to finish making (and eat) the slow cooker dinner I started on before work today

oh and like twice through all of this phlem gets caught in my throat so badly that I have to go to the bathroom to deal with the threat of throwing up mucus. so that's been my day

I'm ready to go to bed

[nacricissa]

I have a friend who has recently gotten into Formula 1, and through texting with her I realized that a street racing AU for twilight could be really good.

> Carlisle is still a doctor, but in this case he specializes in plastic surgery.

> Edward comes from a racing family; both he and his brother Peter started racing young.

> Their parents both died of an H1N1 infection (fun fact this is actually a resurgence of the Spanish flu) because of their HIV positive status making them more vulnerable to infection.

> Carlisle had always been interested in racing, and so had met them through charity events organized by Mrs. Mason.

> Upon her death, Mrs. Mason asked that both her sons be adopted by Dr. Cullen, but he was only able to adopt Edward using the argument that he had inherited a genetic predisposition for AIDS from his father.

> Peter instead got sent to their aunt Maria, who was already a foster parent in Mississippi.

> Esme, in a fit of truly unhinged support for her new son, decided to indulge his desire to vent his emotions by joining a local street racing scene. She was, however, concerned about the relative safety of the practice, and pressured Carlisle to start his own scene in a smaller town to allow for a racing outlet with less influence from other illegal activity.

> After a few years in Chicago, Carlisle has successfully built up a scene in a tiny town in Washington, in a place where the two-officer police department for the region can’t do much to stop it.

> Before they move, Carlisle adopts Rosalie, a foster child who had been sneaking out to hone her skills working on the cars. He hopes to set her up with Edward, working on his car, but she ends up preferring to race her own cars, so Edward is still without a personal mechanic.

> The champions of the scene in Forks are called Vampires, because the prize is free plastic surgery from Carlisle, making winners appear ageless.

> Edward had always somewhat disliked racing, only leaning into it in his teens as a form of depressed rebellion. By the time he’s living in Forks he resents his Vampire status, resents that he seems somehow faster than the previous Vampires, resents that he feels he cannot just give it up without disappointing Esme.

> Down in Mississippi, Peter has also ended up street racing. It turns out Maria has been abusing her position in the foster care system to bring in new drivers, make money off the thriving betting scene while they’re still unknowns, then discarding them as they get too old, in collaboration with Jasper, who came back from Iraq with a silver tongue that got him out of many a field mission and gets the kids into racing.

> Little does Maria know, but Jasper has started dating Alice, the bookie who runs the betting on the races. She’s got him convincing Peter to throw races Maria had bet he would win, and so their business relationship is broken and Alice is run out of town.

> Peter tells Jasper about the new scene up in Forks, which he is aware of because he’s been following Edward’s socials, even though Edward fully burned that bridge in the immediate aftermath of their separation.

> After Jasper starts racing, and Alice starts taking bets on the outcomes, the races get more intense, and more and more local teens start to go out to watch and bet and even race.

> Of note are Bella, who was dragged out by Mike Newton, who thinks he is her boyfriend but is not, and Emmett, who took a fancy to Rosalie and has been following the races ever since she arrived.

> Bella takes an interest in Edward, but after she clears up Mike’s misunderstanding, has no way of knowing where the next race is to take place. She ends up enlisting her childhood friend Jacob Black, who has an interest in fixing up cars and so has been doing repairs for any kids on the res who want to race but can’t get a mechanic to help them out cause illegal.

> Jacob tells her about how the racing scene actually predates Carlisle by decades, and that the winners used to be called wolves. However, Carlisle wrested control of much of the scene from the locals who’d been running it by offering better prizes, and so the locals, Quileute and settler alike generally resented the Cullens.

> Emmett and Bella end up feeling the brunt of this, as their new friends grow distant as their relationships to the two Cullen children get more obvious. Edward is angsty about this.

> One particularly close race sees Jasper force Rosalie off the road, hitting Emmett. While she could have continued driving, her car being undamaged, she instead stopped to rush Emmett to the hospital in Seattle, a choice which saved his life according to the doctors there.

> Edward’s goes full New Moon over this, asking Carlisle to shut down the races and fully ghosting Bella.

> This simply causes the preexisting racing scene to resurrect itself on the res, with the Cullens as persona non grata. Jacob helps Bella get started racing (motorcycle races).

> A girl named Victoria from Chicago comes to the area, intent on getting revenge on Edward, who ruined her boyfriend James’ perfect racing record back when he was at his most depressed, coming off of his parents’ deaths.

> She brings in a bunch of new racers and in the significantly more crowded race Bella is wounded, which Edward feels responsible for and so confronts Victoria to an even more unsanctioned race, which he of course wins, even though he hadn’t raced in months because Rosalie was willing to work on his car, in large part for Bella’s sake, because Bella is worried sick about Edward, when Rosalie told Alice told Bella what he was planning to do.

> Finally, in a twist ending, Peter and Maria get into a huge fight, culminating in a high speed chase that kills both of them, leaving Peter’s secret daughter Renesmee, the reason he hadn’t left Maria, to his only living relative, Edward.

If anyone wants to write this, I’ll send it over to @twibunny Optional element to consider is the dynamic between Bella and Charlie as he hates the Cullens but also does not want his daughter doing illegal street racing. I’m sure there’s more I didn’t think of but I think the translation works better than it has any right to.

[kursedmayo]

I like to think that Leo didn't lose his arm or a part of his arm because it got caught in something or was getting infected by the Kraang and had to be cut off.

I now offer an even worse reason: he used it to feed someone, maybe even several people.

(TW: Blood, death, starvation and implied cannibalism)

Okay.

Picture this.

It's the fucking apocalypse. Food sources are running out everywhere.

You are Leo. You're young, handsome and inexperienced, but you're one of the most powerful people still alive to date. Leagues of people have put your lives in your hand, and you are trying your best to keep everything running smoothly.

You are on a rescue mission.

You were prepared. You accounted for every possible event and prepared for it. You were going to get survivors out of a recently discovered hidden shelter without alerting the Kraang, but the one thing you counted on never happening happened, and now everything went to shit.

Kraang discovered your team, shut down your ninpo, and destroyed your communication device. You lost one of your swords, people died, you got separated from your team, and the adults guarding the kids are missing.

You're fucked.

Day 1.

Isn't it hilarious? You were on a rescue mission, and now you're the one that needs rescuing.

You are still stuck in the shelter, underneath layers of concrete with scared children, all exits blocked. After almost being infected by Kraang, one of your arms isn't responding well to your commands. You suspect the nerves in it have been damaged somehow.

You try your best to assure the kids. It worked, naturally. They seem a bit more cheerful despite the situation.

Lying has always been your forte after all.

Day 2.

It's been 2 days. You don't know when you're going to get rescued, and the children are starving.

They are starving and have been starving for weeks, and now you're stuck with them, hungry and anxious. You've been told that despite the shelter's size and amount of rooms it wasn't supposed to hold this many people in the first place. The supplies are for maybe 6 people at most, enough for a family.

A rich family at that, perhaps, but it doesn't matter now.

What matters is that the supplies have long been running out. Scavenging can only do so much, and the people were counting on being rescued before they all died.

The youngest is five years old and looks thinner than they should ever be. The shelter is now quiet, the kids being too tired to cry.

Bored out of their minds, they just begin to talk- well, whisper more like it, about their dreams.

You keep quiet for now and listen.

One says they want to eat cake. Another says they want to play on the swings again. Someone pipes up and says they want to sleep on their own bed. A fourth kid says they wanna go back to school already.

Their friend jokes that not having to go to school was one of the only perks of being in the midst of an alien invasion.

They fight, you chuckle. Distracted, the shelter becomes a little more lively with discussions and discourse.

...An older kid wants to find their parents' bodies so they could give them a proper funeral.

A silence, but then it goes on.

They miss their brothers. They miss their sisters. They miss their aunts, uncle's, cousins, grandma's, grandpas- they miss the sun, they miss warm food, they miss fresh water, they miss the outside itself. They want to drink fresh water. They want to hug their grandma again. They miss being able to be loud and not have to worry about being found by the Kraang.

It's all "want". It's all "miss". Never "has", and if you fail, it might never be "will".

And guess what? It's all your fault. You dropped the key. You underestimated the Kraang. More than half of NYC is taken over already because of your mistake. It's all your fault.

...It's day 3.

The kids are getting desperate. You had to stop 4 kids from trying to eat chips of concrete, and some kids are so thirsty that they're biting their fingers and sucking on their own blood.

You have nothing to feed them. You have nothing to give them to drink. They're children, if this continues they're going to die hungry.

You can only hope help will arrive soon.

Day 4 arrives.

You can't even move your arm anymore. It's dead weight. What can the Medics back at the base even do? You don't even know why it stopped working. You're no technician, but you know enough to know Ultrasounds need energy that could be used somewhere else, and you sure as hell aren't worth the waste.

…

…You know Donnie would disagree.

Your entire family would.

You couldn't bring yourself to care.

Day 6.

You're desperate.

The shelter is deathly quiet. No one want to talk

anymore- or well, they can't. They have no energy left at this point.

They are definitely going to die of starvation if this continues.

You stare at your arm.

You stare at it hard.

You're desperate. They need to eat. They need to eat, now.

You don't need it anyways.

…But you shouldn't.

It's your right arm, there's still a chance the doctors can figure out a way to fix it. It's going to be awkward relearning how to fight with one arm. In a life of death situation, it's hard to be missing parts and even harder to make aids for it. Not to mention prions, and the whole being a mutant business, you don't know what will happen if a human ingests mutant flesh.

But….

You stare at the kids in front of you, empty eyed, hopeless.

...You shouldn't.

But you do.

You pick up a sword, and slash through bone and flesh. Pain smothers your vision, blood drips down and pools on the cold ground.

There was a hoarse scream. You ignore it. You make a makeshift torniquete and pick it up.

Through the haze of blood loss, you try to remember where to go. You go to the shelter's kitchen and begin to cook.

You'll remember the smell of your own burning flesh for the rest of your life.

However.

As fucked as it is…

It smells like relief.

They're going to live, you assure yourself, and for a while, it soothes your worries. This is the least you can do after all. This is the least you can do to atone.

For what it's worth, at the very least...

They're going to live.

[serpentariusart]

I swear I'm alive! Something I've been working on is redeveloping my older OCs Haelda and co into my Godforged worldbuilding project. So far I've just drawn Acathera and Haelda, but I at least know what I want to do for everyone!

Haelda is a Tenku from a wealthy family. Her father was absent her whole life, breaking up with her mother when he found out she was pregnant and was never seen again. Her mother passed away when Haelda was very young, and she went to live with her aunt, uncle and cousin. Her aunt and uncle always saw her as something of a burden and disliked her for a variety of reasons, which made home life difficult. She is kicked out upon turning 18 despite her cousin's attempts to smooth things over, and forced to find her own way in the world. She's not sure what she wants to do with her life yet, but probably something with animals.

Acathera is a human werecat from the city. Infected when she was a teenager she's honestly pretty chill about the whole thing, she thinks its kinda cool and would shift more often if it wasn't for it being a somewhat painful process. She works at a cafe in the heart of the city, and volunteers at a cat rescue on the side. She has an interest in medicine and nursing but thinks she's too dumb to try it out.

Chigo is a human-deer chimera from a small rural "community". The leaders had a strong obsession with chimeras and were illegally turning infants born in the community into chimeras. The cult was discovered and appropriately dealt with when Chigo was still very young, leaving them in foster care. Chimeric sophonts are very taboo, Chigo luckily passes as a Satyr but despite that had trouble fitting in and struggles with their self-identity. Their foster parents meant well but had a hard time with Chigo's identity and giving them the support they really needed. Chigo started volunteering at the library as a teenager, and pursues it as a career in tertiary education.

Hava is a karura from the same town as Haelda, and briefly even went to the same school as her when they were younger. He aspired to be an athlete and was showing a lot of promise, however an injury took him out of it permanently. He's an optimist though and didn't let that stop his love for sports, coaching kids games and studying sport science.

Jack is an elven shapeshifter who can turn into a dragon. He grew up in a somewhat close-minded town, and while his parents really loved him they had a hard time coming to terms with him being trans + gay, which made his teenage years turbulent to say the least. Developing a shapeshifter form was a way for him to both feel out his identity and deal with dysphoria + dysmorphia, as well as rebel against his parents. He spent nearly all of his time as a teenager in his dragon form, though these days is coming around to his human form again. He's currently in art school.

Midei is a dragonborn from a secluded mountain village that has limited access to modern technology. She eventually moves to the city because she wants to try out this whole "university" thing the youths do and learn to become a teacher. She is incredibly out of touch but sweet and tries her best to fit in, despite feeling like a fish out of water (in more ways than one).

[hermesserpent-stuff]

(Accidental nephew AU) so, nwh home happens. Peter is erased from everyone’s mind. He reaches out to the sinister six, subtly cause he’s still ✨deeply traumatized and thinks everyone is better off which out him✨ who are now hitting very hard and going for kill shots like before.

He be delirious from blood loss and sleep deprivation and like the effects of not having a job or place to live with no record of your existence shows up at Montana’s apartment. Now they realize something’s off after he, tries to, drag himself away after they respectfully freak the fuck out. Montana being the holder of the singular brain cell, brings Pete into the bathroom and stitches him up, which triggers his memories. Or however else you want the memories to come back, maybe Pete manages to leave which causes them to investigate his identity yada yada cue the horror and fluff.

You can do whatever you want with this, this is a cool funky thought exercise so yeah, up to you. Sorry that this isn’t a west hope u don’t mind. I’m sorry I’m like so tired rn. Like. Sorry if I came off as rude or whatever, have a nice car ride!

lowkey, was just gonna just jot down thoughts but then it became a short. Whoops.So obviously the Mcu thing can’t happen the same way, but I vaguely recall Peter making a deal with a demon in a comic that the world would be save from like ending if his wife forgot him. So something similar happened here. No one rembers him. May died in whatever was ending the world that no one recalls. Before poisioned heartbeat for sure

And no! Not rude not at all!! Thank you!

Peter might be dying. Maybe. Ever since the world had forgotten him, everything had been so much worse. Criminals were worse than ever. At least, it felt that way because he knows they could be kind. And now they are trying to kill him again. He misses his uncles. He misses his aunt. He misses clean food and warmth. He misses Aunt May so bad it is a physical ache. He curls up on himself as he sits on a rooftop, stomach chewing at him.

His metabolism hates him. And so does his healing factor everything is so much slower to heal now and more and more scars decorate his skin. He silently chews on his lip. The sound of sirens has him moving despite the ache in his joints and the dirty bandages wrapped infected wounds. But his city needs him. And no one else could do what he could. He would have to force down the pain of not holding back for his uncles. Not his uncles. They don’t remember him. And that is the only way they are safe.

—

Bleeding out and starving are two of Peters least favorite hobbies that he is forced to participate in. The world swims as he stares at his empty first aid kit. He has to find something to wrap up his side. The burns across across his face make him feel half delirious. He stands and creeps out of the condemned building he had taken residence in.

As he moves, rain starts pounding down from the sky. A drumbeat of sorrow against his feverish skin. His fingers slip into his pocket and cling to his keys. Maybe… maybe they would be asleep. Maybe he could sneak in. The fever takes away all rationality as his feet walk a familiar path. Maybe he is just too stupidly desperate to keep going on. He might as well die at the hands of those he knows in a place he loves.

He feels bad that he bloodies the door with his hands as he shakily attempts to put the key in the lock. His fumbling is loud and his ears ring with every tink of metal on metal. He falls into the apartment when the door suddenly opens. He yelps as his decent to the floor is halted by an arm. Peter suddenly recalls this is a terrible idea and starts crying as Montana rights him on his feet.

“Kid?”

Peter sees just about everyone in the room beyond. All of his uncles minus Tombstone. And the weight of being alone for a month snaps his heart in twain. He curls into himself with a muffled sob.

“I’m sorry uncle Montana. I’ll go. I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorrysorrysorry.”

He’s failed. He was supposed to be okay on his own. To be able to make that needed sacrifice. Tears cut across his bruised face as all his uncles just stare. And then Montana straightens and tugs him toward the bathroom.

“Come on son. Nothin to be sorry for. Lets clean you up. Quen, grab some spare clothes outta my room. Dan, get me some ice.”

Peter is too out of it to think of potential ramifications as he is pulled into the bathroom. Montana pauses at the sight of the Spider-Man suit, but then keeps working, hands steady even as his eyes harden. Peter whimpers and cries, but does not try to fight or get away. He is so tired, and so hungry. He knaws on his lip and Montana gently chides him. He finds a spoon full of peanut butter replacing the nervous tick.

Montana leans back after Peter is wrapped and dressed and tilts his head.

“You know me. And have a key to my house little hero. I don’t give those out lightly.”

Peter pulls knees up to his chin. He does not respond to the question directly. All his words are for a man who does not exist anymore. For without memory, are people really the same?

“I missed you. And I knew I would. But I thought I could make it. Save the city and survive alone. But I can’t and I need you unle Montana. But you’re not here anymore. You said I’d always be welcome. But that’s not true. And it’s not your fault it’s not true. I just…”

His words leave him as he is pulled into a hug. He clings tight its his fingers as his nose takes in the smell of earth and metal. For a moment he pretends everything is as it once was.

“Kid… I’m sorry.”

He holds tighter, sure he is going to be sent out again.

“But if I told you were welcome and gave you a key, then your always welcome. Even if my memory is failing me. You need someone in your corner; ain’t right for you to be beaten down and have no body.”

Peter relaxes. Montana gives a gentle squeeze and then speaks again.

“Now, son. What’s your name?”

“Peter. Peter Parker.”

The sound of a distant chime and the smell of brimstone greet his senses and the hug becomes that much tighter.

“Peter! Oh Peter!”

Recognition laces his uncle’s tone. His hair is ruffled and he is pulled closer. He is safe. He is home.

[beegoould]

I want to share how my mom died. I’ll hide it below.

If we’ve been mutuals for awhile you probably know that my mom was a jerk and a narcissist, so our relationship was complicated and I didn’t speak to her for several years. Over the last few years she drove away the rest of our family - my brothers, their kids, aunts and uncles and cousins - which makes the whole thing even sadder.

One day she told my dad she wanted to go to an estate sale. Dad said he thought it was a bad idea because she had balance issues and her asked her a few times to stay away. She insisted, and immediately fell while climbing the porch steps and hurt her knee. Dad took her to the doctor to get it looked at and everything was ok.

A week or two later her knee was painful and swelling. She went to the family doctor and he said it was arthritis and injected cortisone into the area. A week later her knee was even more swollen, red and warm to the touch. They went to the family doctor and he gave her another cortisone injection. It’s arthritis, it’s going to hurt, he said.

The next day she couldn’t get up and dad found out that he couldn’t lift her anymore. They called an ambulance and went to the ER. The doctors determined she had an infection and removed a CUP of puss from the area. Turns out cortisone can hinder healing and recovery from infections, and sometimes even cause them. Who knew. Thought maybe a doctor would but oh well.

She was admitted into the hospital and had surgery to remove the rest of the puss and remove dead and infected tissue. It was pretty awful and she was in a lot of pain. The infection had spread to her blood so she was getting iv antibiotics. She immediately alienated herself from the people providing her care by complaining about everything, including them, all the time. She insisted that they change rules and regulations for her. My sister in law talked the her nurse who was trying to explain some of the treatment issues they were running into without saying anything negative about mom. SIL reassured her by stopping her and saying, “I’m really sorry.” and that was enough.

Mom moved to a rehab center, the worst one in town because that was all that was available. She refused physical therapy for a long time but eventually gave in. She was still on antibiotics for her infection. While she was at the rehab center she caught pneumonia, and she was admitted into the hospital again.

By this time she was done doing what the doctors said, and the next day she went home with a chest full of phlegm and a wound that needed care but with no scheduled nurse visits or physical therapy appointments. The hospital gave them oxygen and a loaner wheelchair. The oxygen tank ended up being empty.

They got a portable toilet and put it next to the bed so she wouldn’t have to go all the way to the bathroom. That night, my dad told her to wake him up when she needed to use it and made her promise to turn on the light if she went anywhere. She got up in the middle of the night and tried using the toilet without dad’s help as well as in the dark and fell.

The next day they got a full oxygen tank and all seemed well. Dad went on a quick errand that ended up not being necessary. The bank called and said they needed some information and asked for dad to call them. She told him they needed him to go to the bank in person. This happens often because mom didn’t listen when people spoke. She filled in the gaps in her memory of the conversation with whatever her mind came up with.

Dad went to the bank, found out he didn’t need to be there, came home and found her dead. He called 911 and did cpr. An ambulance took them to the hospital. A doctor worked on her a few minutes, but she was gone.

There’s so much about this that fills me with rage. The family doctor ignored her pain and symptoms and his treatments probably made the infection worse. His dismissal meant that she didn’t get treatment for the infection until it spread into her blood. The hospital sent her home with an empty oxygen tank. When I think about how much pain she was in and how scared she must have been, I can’t breathe. But at the same time I’m angry at her. She made so many selfish decisions, and if that sounds crazy maybe it is, sometimes I feel like I am. She fought at every step of treatment and went home against medical advice and hurt herself doing the one thing my dad asked her not to do. And all of these things contributed to dad finding her dead in their bed. Can you even imagine? And my brother telling everyone “We’re going to tell dad that she knew she was going to die so she wanted to come home.” So we could all get our story straight.

I’m probably a huge asshole. I’m probably a giant pile of shit for being mad at her. And her being gone makes me question everything all over again. Was she really that bad? Was I just too sensitive?

Anyway. That’s my story. If you read it, I’m sorry.

[crippled-punk-guy]

I want to talk about outbreaks, poverty, and medical oppression.

I’m sure most of you are aware of long covid, the phenomenon that people who were infected with covid are having health problems they didn’t before infection that are now following them through their life. A lot of these situations have been disabling; I myself now have an extra disability tacked onto the list as well as many of my once abled friends joining me. Even my grandpa has developed a disability because of his infection. And this is something our family is not new to.

For the purpose of this story I’m going to call her aunt M. Aunt M was my grandma’s aunt, so technically my great aunt I believe. When she was a little girl she was completely able bodied like most of her immediate family. They had no known health problems that would cause anything like what happened to her. By this time polio was very well known about, vaccines were starting to be rolled out and treatments had started to become available to more people according to my uncle (her older brother). One day aunt M and her siblings go outside and find that their neighbors yard had flooded, so like a group of five kids in a small town with nothing else to do they play in the water. They had no idea that something so small would completely change the course of their little sister’s life. She ended up contracting polio, the only source anyone could think of was the standing water. As far as I’m aware no one else got sick or at the very least as sick as she did. It completely destroyed her lungs and her ability to walk, the muscles in her legs contracted and got stuck in a bent position and could hardly handle any weight. Aunt M spent the rest of her life using an oxygen machine and a power wheelchair once her family was able to save enough for one, and while you will not give her any pity because she never wanted any, I will tell her story to remind everyone of her. She shouldn’t have been disabled. She wouldn’t have lived a life of pain if not for one reason: poverty. You see the rich neighborhood a couple miles away had the resources. Any kids there were properly vaccinated and given treatments like leg braces to help them. Their family didn’t have any of that. No access to medication. No way to help her. She was very lucky that her symptoms didn’t get worse, she could’ve very easily died.

Aunt M passed away during the covid pandemics first year, it was very sudden and unexpected, we were all devastated. But part of me thinks it was slightly a blessing, a blessing that she wouldn’t have to watch her nephew go through the same thing. I was already disabled when this whole thing started, I already used a wheelchair and she knew that, I always felt a closeness to her because of it even though I hardly got to see her. But I got sick, more sick than usual, and ended up developing severe POTS. I have much less energy than I did before and that’s saying a lot, I have trouble pushing my wheelchair now because of my lung capacity and overall weakness. Hopefully soon I will be getting a power chair. And I can’t help but think of Aunt M.

I can’t help but think of all of the people like her, just innocent people who were living and then suddenly now their life is changed forever. I feel like it was easier for me because I had already accepted being disabled, sure more to worry about isn’t ideal but at least I’m no stranger to it. But think about that and think about aunt M. How a little less than a hundred years ago the same fucking thing happened.

Post polio syndrome and post covid syndrome are one in the same in a lot of ways. The effects they cause are surprisingly similar, at least in my family and experience, and it took years for people to admit post polio existed like it will for post covid. This is why it’s called a mass disabling event, people go into it relatively healthy and come out with health problems and disabilities that will never go away. The wealthier people can try out the experimental treatments and possibly be helped or cured, while the rest of us have to live with the proof that our government doesn’t know how to take care of their own people.

While POTS does effect the body differently than how polio effected their lungs and chests we need to comprehend how serious this is. Some people live with POTS and can mitigate their symptoms to the point of it barely effecting them, and some of us need to use wheelchairs because we can’t breathe or think while standing for longer than three minutes. It’s a syndrome with a wide variety of presentations and effects on patients, and it is a nervous system disorder so it may have more lasting effects than we can even think of right now.

Honestly I don’t have a point to summarize into, but just remember how the government handled polio and how it’s handled covid so far, I predict that when those of us who are young adults now are my aunt M’s age we’ll see the same fucking thing happen all over again. And we’ll sit there, with our long covid impacts and know, we haven’t learned a god damn thing.

I’ll end you with reiterating, do not hold any pity for my Aunt M, she was a very strong willed person who wouldn’t accept any amount of other people feeling bad for her, direct your emotions to the government who did this to her and us. Aunt M was healthy, she should’ve stayed healthy. Government inaction decided her fate for her.

[unusualcliches]

Here I am again trying to make sense of my grief with words so maybe it won't feel quite as heavy anymore.

I've been having a rough year. Most people I know have been having a rough year. The specters of death and illness and trauma are like this big stormy cloud above our heads that just won't let up. In the last month: a dear family lost their home and all their belongings to a fire, another friend lost her beloved mother, I had to grapple with the possibility my kid had TB and all that it entails, and now... Just now my cousin called to tell me just how serious my aunt's condition got and how unlikely it is that she'll ever come home from the hospital.

She's my favorite aunt, out of seven aunts and uncles on my mother's side. Actually, she's the only one that actually feels like family. We could talk about everything and anything for hours and it would never be enough. She's sensitive and kind and selfless to a fault. Just the other week she asked if she could come spend the night because she was scared and she had insomnia, and so we cuddled together until she fell asleep. I didn't know then, but she already had the infection that caused her to be hospitalized yesterday. This infection has gotten very serious, very fast. She's been fighting cancer since 2020, the doctors didn't expect her to be around this long, but she's a fighter, see? I've had a long time to come to terms with her leaving us but I am still not ready. I know no one ever really is.

Tomorrow I'm going to the hospital to see her and I'm hoping it won't be the last time. I hope she's still conscious enough to see me there. If there is one thing that brings me peace is that I have been there for her through this journey every time she needed me. In the early stages we'd mostly talk on the phone because of covid but as the time went by I got more and more involved. It is so weird but I miss taking her to her chemo session. Just so we could talk some more, and she could give me advice or tell me about her childhood or about the latest lecture she'd watched. Anything, really. I still feel like this isn't real. There's simply no way we're not having those conversations anymore.

I am so grateful for the time we spent together. I'm grateful for the discussions we had when we watched "Leave the World Behind". I am specially grateful for the months she stayed at my house this year because it gave us the opportunity to just casually hang out and watch her beloved korean shows and eat whatever she felt like eating. We'd just started watching "The Good Place", I really wish we had time to finish it...

I love her so much.

And I think she knows that.

[rhodeybugg]

A story ramble on Mitchell & Ridley + Zara in the Solver-Bound AU.

[Tw: implied miscarriages, alchoholism and the company being horrible]

She doesnt know why she keeps the picture in her office. Maybe it's to remind herself not to forget, or maybe it's a reminder TO forget, to block out the memories of being helpless and sobbing in mitchell's arms because the company wouldn't provide SHIT for either of them, they knew she was sick, they knew there was something wrong, but deep down she knew they wanted this to happen- they couldnt afford to lose one of their best workers, even if temporarily, for such a SMALL, SELFISH, USELESS DESIRE.

She blames herself for it all and she knows she shouldn't. Mitchell was worried about her for weeks with how she shoved herself into her work to purposefully overwork herself to the point of exhaustion out of spite to the company. They both started drinking after work, and it eventually became such a horrible coping mechanism that it ended with them having a full-blown screaming match about Ridley intentionally putting herself in danger out of grief.

She never meant to hurt him too. They both came from a rough place, Mitchell was in and out of the foster system as a kid and Ridley's family pushed her to work for the company and her mother signed the papers behind her back. What good is a daughter that can't make her family proud, right? What good was she as a girlfriend, a future fiancé, if she couldn't get her own shit together for the love of her life?

...She told herself to stop getting attached to the new hires when they came in. She was the boss, and they were all underneath her, sure, but they'd all end up dead within a month, and the company would just keep replacing them.

Zara became her favorite.

Everyone knew about the gala incident, a horrible tragedy, really.

But Tessa still had family. She had her aunt and uncle that took responsibility for her and helped her and Zara score a job with the company, and who did Zara have? All Zara had left in life was Tessa, she'd lost the only people that ever treated her with love and care, they'd been mauled by cyn and left to rot in the remains of a dead planet.

Maybe it's the age gap between the two that makes Zara immediately feel safe working under her- or maybe it's the fact that Ridley showed her the most kindness on her first day in the labs, but she just. Becomes a part of Ridley for the first month, following her around like a lost little puppy and taking notes on everything.

It's when she saves Zara from being killed by one if the solver-infected company disassemblers that realizes just how much she needs this kid. Their relationship was never "professional", it was a parent-child relationship from the moment their supervisor marched Zara through the doors of Ridley's office.

...and she begins to consider if a 30 year-old couple can legally adopt a 20 year-old.

And Zara finally finds her place with a family of her own.