#coat hooks in cubbies

[izuminokamiis]

Laundry Montreal

Large transitional l-shaped porcelain tile utility room photo with shaker cabinets, white cabinets, laminate countertops, gray walls and a side-by-side washer/dryer

[indiemitchell]

Laundry Montreal Large transitional l-shaped porcelain tile utility room photo with shaker cabinets, white cabinets, laminate countertops, gray walls and a side-by-side washer/dryer

[robynravenclaw]

Mudroom - Craftsman Entry Entryway - mid-sized craftsman gray floor and slate floor entryway idea with white walls and a white front door

[whycolour]

Mudroom Mudroom in New York

Large transitional image of an entryway with a brown floor, beige walls, and a glass front door.

[y0dai]

New York Mudroom Mudroom ideas for a sizable, traditional entryway renovation with a white front door, gray walls, and a slate floor

[hellyeahkaito]

Traditional Entry large traditional entryway idea with a dark wood floor, white walls, and a white front door.

[clarysjace]

Mudroom - Mudroom Mid-sized traditional mudroom with beige walls and a medium tone wood floor.

[killstiles]

Traditional Entry (Boston)

[woso-dreamzzz]

Locker Room

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Just another day in the Chelsea locker room

You kick your legs in boredom, sitting on the sofa as your parents mill about trying to get everything ready of the day.

You hum, making your girl-swan kiss your girl-elk because girls like Momma and Morsa kiss each other a lot. Your shoes are already on and so's your jacket.

Morsa's shoes are still on the rack and Momma's jacket is lying on the kitchen table, waiting for her.

It happens like this every gameday.

Morsa and Momma get you ready and then run around trying to make themselves presentable.

"What you doing there, princesse?" Morsa says as she sits next to you, pulling on her shoes.

"They're kissin'." You say, pressing your toys together again," Like you and Momma." You smush their faces together in glee.

Morsa laughs slightly before hoisting you up into her arms while Momma grabs your matchday backpack from its hook by the door.

●～●～●～●～

The trip to Kingsmeadow is super boring so you make your girl-swan and your girl-elk kiss again, like Momma and Morsa do when they think you aren't looking.

You're pulled out of the car unceremoniously by Momma, who snags onto your coat hood when you try to wander off, spotting Jessie entering the facility.

"No, princesse," Momma says," You know the rules. Hold my hand."

You roll your eyes and do as she says, while Morsa is given the important job of holding your girl-elk and girl-swan as well as your backpack - where your boy-swan and boy-elk were stuffed inside this morning with your snacks, water bottle and fuzzy mittens.

Morsa and Momma greet people as they pass but your impatience at seeing Jessie already makes you want to see who else is already here so you tug Momma's hand and try to make her move quicker.

You're partially successful but Momma still takes too much time and you all divert slightly because Morsa stops to talk to someone else she knows.

"Momma," You whine, tugging on Pernille's sleeve," Wanna go."

"Just a minute, princesse," She replies," Morsa is talking to someone."

"You are not Morsa," You say stubbornly," Wanna go."

"Just a little longer, y/n," She says in a tone that you know means you'll be in trouble if you continue.

You sigh a heavy sigh and scuff your shoes on the floor of the hall. Your sighing gets progressively louder and Momma looks like she's trying not to laugh at you until Morsa finally notices that you're squirming in impatience and she excuses herself from the conversation.

You slip your grip out of Momma's hand as soon as you see the door to the locker room, reaching your fingers up and pushing it open.

●～●～●～●～

Magda watches you rush in like you have places to be and smothers her laughter even though Pernille doesn't.

A shriek of laughter is heard as Millie flings you up into the air and catches you again. She does it two more times before ruffling your hair and letting you scamper off to greet Jessie.

You fling yourself onto the Canadian before you make her help you take off your coat. You point excitedly at her hair and then your own.

"It's the same!" You say.

She looks at you in faux surprise, like you've just told her something shocking. "Oh, wow! You're right!"

"I know!"

With your excitement of Jessie disappearing, you skip back across the room to your parents.

Morsa seems to know immediately what you want because she's holding your bottle and helping you drink. You pull away, gasping for air and do little to fight it when Momma kidnaps you into her cubby and changes you into your jersey.

When you first came to London, you can remember your parents fighting over whose special Not-Wolfsburg jersey you would wear but Miss Emma had quickly put a stop to it by giving you a jersey that says 'Assistant Coach' on it.

You where it to every gameday.

With your jersey on, Momma lets you free again with your backpack.

You find yourself on the side of the room with Jonna and Zećira. They welcome you with open arms easily and switch to Swedish, even though you know that Morsa and Momma don't like them doing it when they're at work.

You plop yourself down on the floor in front of them with your swans and your elks.

"They're fighting," You tell Zećira in Swedish," 'Cause the boy toys are mean and evil and don't want the girls kissing anymore."

She laughs slightly as she sits down, crosslegged on the ground with you. She picks up your boy-elk and lightly hits your girl-swan with it.

You giggle uncontrollably and make your girl-swan peck it back. You and Zećira play back and forth for a few minutes before Jonna joins you, finally dressed in her kit and seemingly bored of whatever conversation she had been having with Niamh.

"They seem to be fighting a lot," She says to you in Swedish, ignoring the pointed look that both Magda and Pernille give her," Why don't they be friends now?"

You gave her a withering look - so reminiscent of Magda being angry on the field that she almost cowers away from you - as you pass her your boy-swan. "They can't be friends, Jonna," You say with a strange patronising voice that she hadn't really expected from one so young," The boys are...are..." You forget the word in Swedish for a moment but you know it in Danish so it takes you a second to translate. "Are...homophobes."

Your Momma taught you that word when she played for Wolfsburg and a boy in your nursery class made told you it was wrong and bad that you had a Momma and a Morsa.

"But my girls are in love," You continue on in Swedish," So they're beating up the boys because boys are icky." To punctuate your point, you slam your girl-elk into the boy-swan that Jonna is still holding. She doesn't move the boy-swan to retaliate. You sigh. "You're not playing properly, Jonna! They're meant to be fighting!"

"Yeah, Jonna," Zećira teases," They're meant to be fighting."

Jonna rolls her eyes and sticks out her tongue at the goalkeeper but moves your boy-swan to lightly tap against your girl-elk.

Your face lights up and you go back to fighting - although you're more accurately slamming two stuffed animals against each other.

Across the room, Morsa is giving one of her special captain speeches that she always gives at a Not-Wolfsburg match and sometimes at home when Momma forgets to do the laundry.

Zećira and Jonna are meant to be listening. You know this because Momma once told you that everybody needs to listen when the captain gives a speech and Morsa's a captain so they should be listening.

They're not though - too preoccupied with complying with your wish that your boy-swan and boy-elk are now angry with each other because neither can beat your girl toys, who are now kissing again.

Zećira makes your boy-elk hit your boy-swan. Jonna takes offence to this because she hits back a little harder. It goes back and forth for a while with Zećira and Jonna getting increasingly more aggressive with their fighting.

You keep making your girl-swan and your girl-elk kiss.

A shadow falls over you and you look up. Morsa smiles down at you.

"Come on, princesse," She says," Emma needs her assistant coach. Let's get going."

You smile and nod. You take Morsa's hand before turning to face Zećira and Jonna. "You should put them both in timeout," You say to them," So they know that fighting each other is bad and not letting girls kiss is bad too."

You don't wait to watch because Momma has joined you. She takes your other hand and with Morsa's help, they swing you off the ground every few steps all the way out onto the pitch.

[carolmunson]

wish i had a river (part two)

here it is, the part two i said i wouldn't write. if you missed it, here is the first part - wish i had a river this is very much an eddie munson fanfiction, it's mostly from his perspective and follows his story through his eyes and actions. 'you' are mentioned and seen in this fic, but for the most part, it's all eddie all the time. cw: minors dni, adult themes, some smut references. angst. hurt/comfort. lots of mentions of poverty/hunger, sleep deprivation, all around eddie having a bad time. cigarettes/mild drinking but nothing inherently like -- bad? idk. unpopular ship mentioned. i did NOT proof read this.

The alley behind Macy's was a safe haven. Cold, a blue black, poorly paved, with nothing but the dumpters of other stores and the rats to keep him company. Eddie nursed a cigarette on his third smoke break of the night, two bad customers away from a total nervous breakdown. His anxiety built higher every day, every rush, every icy road report -- more people yelling, more people stressed out, more car accidents he'd have to clean up. Wayne's been in an out of the doctor's office more often and it's looking like he might have to retire early. The cigarette loses it's flame and he curses under his breath when he goes to light it again, the nicotine soothing his lips and tongue with a slow steady burn.

You never got to decorate cookies together on his impromptu 'sick day', you hadn't returned any of his calls. Not that he thought he was off the hook or anything, but he did basically write you a fifty two page love letter. If he had the time he'd come by your apartment to apologize in person but at this point exhaustion had started to over stay it's welcome. He could barely make it to the pharmacy on his nights off to get Wayne's medication. The guys at the auto shop could tell something was starting to go very left, 'cause why was the youngest guy there the one who couldn't keep up anymore?

And Eddie really couldn't keep up anymore.

At least his commission in the shoe section was doubling daily.

The cold bites his cheeks while he finishes his cigarette, tossing the butt on the dirty, uneven pavement and crushing out the flame with his work shoes. He rubs his eyes, heavy and swollen with lack of sleep, with scrubbed fingernail hands and sighs. Just another hour and he can go home, just another hour and it's not a closing shift, he can go home at seven like normal people with regular jobs.

He drops his coat off in the cubby area upstairs, stopping in the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. He inspects himelf, eyes half closing in disappointement while he does -- he looks like a shell of himself. He hadn't picked up his guitar in months, didn't turn the radio on anymore -- opting for silence since it was so rare for him to hear between Macy's, the shop, and Wayne's breathing machine at night.

He takes his hair down, shaking out the curls that had at least dried into waving perfection last night, and gives it a shake before putting it back up in a neat ponytail. His bangs sit on his forehead, a few strands framing his now gaunt face. He practices an awake smile in the mirror before he completely deflates -- one bad interaction, one rude look, one snap from a boss, and he'd lose it. The rawness sat in a lump in his throat, a grenade of tears ready to blow if the pin is even so much as nudged.

The door to the back rooms squeaks open on its hinges, revealing the never ending click of boots, heels, sneakers, and men's shoes on the sining tile of Macy's walkway floors. In the beginning, the scent of the perfume section across the way and the bright lights of jewelry used to be an assault on his senses -- but as Wayne says 'You can get used to anything.'

"You good, Ed?" he hears, and turns his head -- it's Angie. Angie is his favorite coworker because she makes the best and meanest jokes about people. If it wasn't for some nights closing with Angie he would've left this job a long time ago. He'd been keeled over in laughs with a duster in his hand so many times that it almost seemed wrong to abandon her there.

"Yeah," he furrows his brow at her, "Should I not be?"

"Some pretty boy's been looking for you," she says, nodding over to the boots section, "You got another business I don't know about?"

A grin stretches across her frosted red lipstick'd lips, crinkling her overlined and spider lashed eyes. She's what Eddie and the guys at Forest Hills would have called 'trailer park pretty' if she was thirty years younger.

"They would be so lucky, wouldn't they?" Ed smirks back, eyes following her nod and landing on a head of beautifully coiffed chestnut hair, "Harrington?"

Steve's eyes perk up like a golden retreiver, a winning smile spreading across his face with a flash of white teeth in it's wake, "Hey, Ed!"

Angie gasps when she realizes who it is, "Oh shit! Is this the guy that --"

"Shh, shut up Ange," Ed huffs, waving her off while Steve comes up to approach him.

"Hey dude, I was hoping you were here. I uh, got a pretty big collection to get tonight so I figured -- you know, I'd come say hi and ask for your help." It's frustrating how pleasant Steve is. How warm his demeanor radiates to others, his candor, the way that he stands. It's annoying that a denim button under a cozy green sweater looks good on him. It makes Eddie sick that he can pull off wire-rim glasses and still look his age, that he smells like spice but not in a cheap way. A twinge of fear shook in his chest when a seed of assumption planted itself in his head -- was this why you weren't answering his calls? Was Steve Harrington smothering you with Christmas spirit every night?

"Yeah, man, sure," Eddie responds like the world isn't sitting directly on his shoulders, which -- he observed -- were not nearly as broad as Steve's, "How can I help you?"

"I need like, four pairs of Moon Boots," he shrugs, "Guess they're in style again? My sister's and nieces want matching pairs so like -- two in a size 8 and then, if you have it, two in a size 4 kids?"

"What color? We have white, purple, black, some metallics," Eddie lists on his fingers, "Well, maybe not black -- those probably sold out already."

"You got silver? Pink, maybe?" Steve shrugs, "I'm just trying to get these wrapped by tomorrow."

Christmas Eve. Ed had almost forgotten.

"Let me see what we have and I'll bring it out," he offers. He wants to ask about you but it seems too obvious. You must have talked about the fight or about him in general, how else would Steve know he worked here? How else would he know to come looking for him.

Moments later, Ed comes out with four boxes, "I have two in silver and two in pink -- so it looks like your nieces will be matching and your sisters will be matching. Does that work?"

"Oh shit, that's perfect," Steve smiles the same winning smile. Eddie wonders for a moment what it feels like to smile genuinely, it's felt like years since he had. He guesses that when you're Steve Harrington, you must get to smile pretty often. Rich, girls love him, former captain of the basketball team, has a masters degree, painstakingly handsome -- no wonder you called him after your fight. Damn, he would too.

"Is that all?" Ed asks, reaching up to run a hand over the five o'clock shadow speckling his chin.

"No, actually, sorry. I need some like, work boots, if you sell those here -- is that okay?" Steve asks.

"Work boots like, how? Like construction?" he asks, "You're a teacher, Harrington."

"Yeah but my uh, my roommate -- he's not in construction but he's on a whole bunch of terrain for work -- desperately needs good shoes for that," he explains.

"What's he do?" Ed asks, guiding him over to the display of Timberlands and Doc Martens.

"He's a photojournalist -- he's all over the place," Steve answers, "He's worn his sneakers down to the sole and like, swears their okay --"

"Jonothan Byer's is your roommate?" Eddie asks, making the connection. He'd only known him from their photography class they shared in Eddie's second senior year, but he knew enough to know he went into journalism shortly after college.

"Yeah," Steve nods, running a hand through his hair.

"Hm," Eddie looks over the shoes and looks up at him, "If I can be honest -- he's gotta be quick on his feet, right? These are gonna be too heavy for him to be walking around in. You might just want to get him some higher quality running sneakers. There's a Foot Locker downstairs if you wanna check that out? A lot of our sneakers are sold out until next week."

"Hmm, shit," Steve clicks his tongue, "Well um -- could I maybe try a pair?"

"Of Docs?" Eddie asks with a laugh.

"Yeah, of Docs -- I can be hip and cool, too, Munson," Steve's faux defense is charming. Eddie wonders what else you find charming about him.

Part of it feels degrading, kneeling down in front of Steve, lacing and relacing each new and different pair of boots he tries on -- but at this point he's buying seven pairs of shoes and the commission alone will cover at least a month of groceries so he's not complaining.

"So you don't hate me, huh?" Eddie asks, slipping a lighter weight Timberland over one of Steve's argyle socks.

"Why would I hate you?" Steve cocks his head, amber eyes catching in the light.

"Oh, did she not talk about it?" Eddie flushes. Why would you talk about him? Your loser mechanic (maybe ex) boyfriend who works at the mall, and at the auto shop, and sometimes sells drugs.

"Your fight from last week?" Steve raises his brows, "Yeah, she talked to me about it. But I woudn't hate you for that."

Ed tightens the laces up his foot to his ankle with care, "Why not?"

"I mean, you're doing a lot right now," Steve shrugs, "I think it can be hard when you're teaching little ones, especially this time of year, to not get caught up in the magic -- you sort of popped her bubble. But y'know, it was sort of a reminder to her that not everyone has it so good."

"She didn't deserve me yelling at her like that, though," Eddie shakes his head, he can feel the threat of the grenade pin tugging on his heart strings. One false move. One shake. One nudge, and he'll blow.

"You're doing the best you can," Steve offers kindly. Eddie swallows hard, offering him a tight smile.

"Thanks. I'm trying, I'm--" he shakes out the tingle of a cry before tying up the laces, "I'm trying really hard."

By the time Steve checks out it's about 7:15 and Eddie wants nothing more than to go to bed. His back hurts, he's gotta make sure Wayne took his medication, he's gotta eat sleep for dinner for the third night in a row.

"Thanks so much," Steve beams, "This is great, thanks for your help."

"Yeah, no problem dude," Eddie sighs, running a hand over his face again, "Have a good holiday."

"You done for the night?" Steve asks.

"Yeah, just gotta y'know -- grab my shit and go," he shrugs.

"You wanna grab some dinner with me in the food court or something?" Steve asks, balancing the many shopping bags he'd collected this evening in his hands.

"I don't know, dude. I don't wanna keep you or anything," Eddie says. His stomach clenches at the word dinner, his body reacting like a dog who just heard the sentence 'you wanna go outside?'

"You're not keeping me," Steve assures, "C'mon, it's on me."

Before he knows it, Eddie's been corralled into a mall food court, sitting slumped over on the sticky table. He tunes out the shreiks of children, the tinny Christmas music playing in the background of the cocophany of noise that is the mall on December 23rd. His forehead sticks to the leather jacket over his forearm, only lifting it up when he hears the slap of a plastic tray being put down in front of him. He surveys the Burger King in front of him and huffs a laugh, it'd been a long time since he'd ventured into the food court. He almost forgot what fast food looked like after the past few months of thin ham sandwhiches or cold cans Spaghettio's.

"So why didn't you try to swoop in?" Ed asked, toying with a french fry before biting off the end, "When you went to her house the other night?"

He savors the oil and salt on his tongue, warm and crispy on the fry disolving in his mouth while he waits for a response.

"Swoop in?" Steve asks, shaking his head, "No, I wouldn't. We just -- we work together. She's my work friend."

"So you never thought about what the kids say?" Eddie challenges, still trying to keep it light hearted, "How the first grade teachers should get married?"

"Her classroom is across from mine and we make lesson plans together," he assures, "What the kids say is what the kids say. They're six, what do they know?"

"Whatever you say, Harrington," Eddie shrugs.

"Munson, seriously -- she's my friend. She's not my type," he offers. The way he says it stings Eddie, what's not his type about you? You're perfect. You're the best person he knows.

"The card thing though? That was cute. I'm gonna put that in my arsenal if I ever fuck up," Steve laughs. Eddie chest rattles when he realizes that Steve was still there for that. He never even knew your reaction.

Eddie clears his throat, "Did um -- did she like it?"

Steve nods with a lazy smile, "Yeah, she liked it."

"Did she say anything?" he asks hopefully.

"She cried," Steve answered, Eddie leans his head on his hands, "I know that might not be what you wanted to hear."

"I didn't wanna make her cry more," he explains, "I wanted to make her happy."

"They were happy tears," Steve encourages with a nod, "She knows you love her. She loves you, too."

"Then why isn't she answering my calls?" he asks, another fry passing his lips.

"I think she's hurt, a little embarrassed. You know how girls are, they never come right out and say it," he shrugs, taking a bite of his cheeseburger. Ketchup drips out onto the paper mat on the plastic tray with a wet plop, Eddie sighs.

"Did you end up getting anything for her for Christmas?"

"No I -- I can't afford it this year," Eddie rubs his eyes again, more swollen and aching than before. Heat beams through his cheeks in embarrassment, tinging pink and then red.

"Well I had an idea," he offers, "If you're up for it."

"Yeah, go for it Harrington. Shoot," he says, the enthusiasm was greatly lacking.

"Well her uh, her class room needs a lot of repairs and the custodial team isn't really equipped for that. The school'll either bare bones it for her or make her pay for it out of pocket if she asks," he starts, "And she told me you're really handy, y'know, working at the garage and all. So maybe you could take care of her class room this week while we're out for break. I can let you in and everything."

He mulls it over in his head, "That's a really good idea, actually. I could um, I could ask the guys at the shop if I could borrow some tools."

"And there's a bunch of wood palettes in the backrooms at Medvald's. Jon said he's happy to get them out of there for you," Steve says with a smile.

"Oh, so you already talked about this?" Eddie smirks.

"Well, yeah, kind of," he blushes, "I was asking around just to see if it was a plausible kind of thing."

"Definitely a plausible thing," he nods, taking a bite of his own cheese burger. He holds back the moan in his chest from eating something warm and mildly filling after such a long time, "Do you think she'd like it?"

"Oh, Munson," Steve shoots him the 'okay' sign, "She'd lose her mind. All she does is complain about how nothing ever works and everything's falling apart. Doesn't even have new chalk."

"Chalk I can definitely handle," he laughs, "I think I can afford chalk."

He feels a moment of calm wash over him when the van rumbles to life in the parking garage. Finally heading home and going to sleep with a full belly, finally with a plan to make you happy, finally feeling like after the new year things can go back to normal. He flicks on the radio and doesn't even change the station when Mariah Carey's 'All I Want For Christmas' crackles through the speakers. He heard it 700 times today, happy to hear it for the 701st.

It was your new favorite song, after all.

Eddie woke up feeling slightly refreshed on Christmas Eve, the dull ache in his back mildly relieved. He fished into his pajama pants for his lighter, flicking it a few times before getting the fuse lit for his morning cigarette. He stood at the open door, bathrobe tied tight around him, and listened to the hum of Wayne's machine from the other end of trailer. The mug of black coffee in his hands had the bitterness cut by the soft sweetness of cinnamon -- that's what you always did this time of year.

'I like making it a little festive for you, honey,' you'd giggle, 'Don't be such a Grinch.'

He wished he appreciated it more, all the little things you did to try to make him happy. The faces in fruit on his pancakes some mornings, making his old favorites for dinner at your place, 'build your own sundae' nights. Scratching his head, scalp massages, hand massages. You'd call them man-icures so he didn't feel weird about you doing his nails and softening his callouses. He didn't care that it was just a manicure with a stupid name, all he cared about was your cute face when you concentrated on his cuticles. He missed your laugh, the way you tap your pen out to your favorite songs when you're grading papers or writing lesson plans, your elaborate schemes to make learning subtraction more fun. The way you're kind to everyone, all the time, constantly. When he first started taking you out he'd get embarrassed by how forward you were with people, how you'd make small talk with cashiers, or grab someone's hand to tell them their nails looked beautiful.

Maybe in a lot of ways, he wished he was more like you to start.

He took a shower and slipped on his coveralls, opting to be one of two guys in the shop today. Him and George. It was George's garage, and for the past six years, Eddie had always volunteered to be the emergency mechanic on deck on Christmas Eve. He got paid time and a half and never had to wait for the check, he'd always get paid at the end of the day.

He laces his boots before trudging down the hall to wake Wayne, taking off his machine and flipping the switch.

"I'm headed out," he whispers, "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Wayne groans when he sits up on the rickety mattress, "I have a new perscription, not sure if the pharmacy'll be open but would you be able to pick it up on the way back. They called last night but I couldn't make it to the phone, it's ready I think."

"Yeah, I'll grab it on my lunch break Wayne," he softens the more he looks at him, "Have some coffee already to go for you on the table, there's a couple eggs left for you too."

"Thank ya, son," his voice is grizzly, but it still feels like home.

Eddie shivers his way into the shop, George in the office organizing some files. The day was always slow, but there were some cars still in need of fixing so he got right to work.

"Hey George," he calls, knocking on the door.

"Hey kid," he calls back, "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, round six," he laughs back. He goes back to the break room and drops off his coat and his back pack. Normally he'd have you to look forward to later with a plate of cookies from your family's Christmas Eve party and some left overs expertly packed. You'd drive an hour and a half to bring it down to him and then an hour and a half back to spend Christmas with your family. But not before he gave you a present, or multiple presents, in the break room when George went out to get a six pack.

"Ed," he calls again, "C'mere when you're done dropping your shit."

Eddie heads over to the office, leaning on the door frame, "'Sup bossman?"

"Someone left a message for ya on the answering machine, think it's the pharmacy," he said, "Ya might wanna give 'em a call, s'probably for your uncle."

"Oh, yeah, I think his prescription's ready," he nodded, "Can I use your phone?"

"Yeah, by all means," he said, pushing it toward him, "Want me to give you a minute?"

Ed shakes his head no, "It's fine, just a quick call." He's got the number memorized by heart at this point, clicking the numbers on the grease stained white plastic buttons while barely looking at the machine.

"Hawkins Pharmacy, this is Debbie," Eddie smiles because he knows Debbie. He likes Debbie a lot.

"Hi Deb, it's Eddie, Eddie Munson," he says, "Calling for my uncle, looks like you called my work. I was gonna come by and pick up his meds on my break, will you guys be open?"

"Oh um, about his prescription Ed..." she starts, and he can hear the hesitation in her voice. The clip in the grenade buried in his chest jiggles slightly, he takes in a breath through his nose.

"What's up?" he asks, his voice his short and curt.

"Well, he changed his insurance recently, as you know and -- well there's a lapse in his coverage right now. His new plan doesn't activate until the first," she expains.

"Okay, and what does that mean?" he says, his palms sweat onto the cool plastic of the phone, his ear sticks to the receiver.

"Basically," she says, and then sighs, "His current insurance can't cover it and neither can is upcoming insurance, so the prescription has to be paid out of pocket."

"Um -- uh, fuck -- okay," he says, a chill courses through him, tightening his veins. The pin jiggles again, "H-how much?"

"For the month?" she asks, "For this prescription it's, hold on, let me check...it's looking like it'll come out to around..." she takes a breath of defeat.

"Around three hundred dollars, Ed," she says softly.

"Three hundred..." he repeats back quietly, "Is there like, is there a cheaper version cause he like..."

His voice cracks, the pin rattles dangerously while his eyes start to sting with oncoming tears, "He really needs these pills, Debbie."

"This is the cheapest option," she says apologetically, "I'm so sorry."

"I'll um, I'll figure it out," he shakes his head, "I'll come by and I'll figure it out. Thanks uh, thanks for letting me know Deb."

He doesn't wait to hear her response before he hangs up the phone, quickly leaving the office to go back to the break room. He sniffles in big shuddering breaths, sweat dripping down his back despite the lack of heat in the garage.

"Kid," George says softly, following behind him, "Hey, Munson. What's goin' on?"

He feels George's big hand on his shoulder, the soft squeeze on the muscle under his skin.

"I can't afford my uncle's medication," he says, the pin jiggles, "I mean I can, but like, if I get his medication I'll be late in paying the gas bill, but if they turn the gas off there goes our heat. Or I can delay the electric bill but if they turn the lights out he can't use his machine at night. So maybe I could like, go out tonight after this and shovel some driveways in the rich neighborhoods or -- I could -- I could --"

The pin falls.

He breaks.

He breaks hard.

Eddie's cries turn to wails, his body shaking with hunger and exhaustion and the unbearable heaviness of having to be himself. The tears pour in droves down his face while he tries to catch up with them, trying to find the words to explain to George that he's okay, he'll figure it out.

"Hey, buddy, it's okay, it's okay," George soothes, his aged face crumpling while he watches Eddie break down in front of him. He pulls him in tight, a hand plopping ontop on his mess of curls.

"Why don't you tell me what's been goin' on? You haven't been yourself for months," he says softly, "Talk to me."

George smells like Old Spice and Newports, it's a scent that's always made him feel safe. Like having a second dad -- well, a third dad, if you count his real dad. He never counts his real dad, though.

Eddie sits down at the table while George takes a couple of beers out of the fridge and places them down in front of them. He cracks them open and settles down, two sets of brown eyes meeting each other.

He begins.

"Well if Wayne was sick why didn't you tell me?" George exclaims, "I've known Wayne longer than you've lived in Hawkins, boy. I would've helped you figure somethin' out. Taking shifts at Macy's? At Christmas time? No wonder you're so exhausted."

"I mean, I'm young. I can do it," Eddie shrugs.

"Those bags under your eyes say you can't," he says matter of factly, "And y'know you shouldn't have to. You're -- damn you're a kid."

"I'm like, inching towards thirty George," he laughs.

"And what about your little girlfriend? She not helping?"

"That's..." he sighs, "That's a whole other mess."

Eddie rehashes the story he told Wayne last week and then Steve's visit from yesterday, "So today I was gonna ask if I could borrow some tools and go in tomorrow or something to fix everything up. But now I gotta figure out how I'm gonna make an extra three hundred bucks for these meds."

"How about this," George starts, "You've been workin' for me a long time. You come early and you stay late. You cover for everyone. You know -- damn -- you know more about cars than I do and I've been runnin' this place for thirty years. How about you take this week off to work on your girl's classroom and I'll see you after the New Year."

"I can't. I need to work, George, I need the mo--"

"How about," he interjects, loud and stern, "You take the week off to work on your girl's classroom and get some rest, and I will pay you for the week. It's not like you're just sittin' on your ass."

"I can do that, that's not f--"

"If you say no again, I'm just gonna fire you. Is that what you want?" George challenges.

"No sir," Eddie quickly shakes his head and shuts his mouth.

"And," the older man continues, "I will cover the cost of Wayne's pills. I'll go pick them up at lunch for 'im and drop 'em off. 'Bout time I caught up with that geezer anyway."

The tears build back up in Eddie's eyes, his mouth lets out a sputtered version of a 'Thank you'.

"You gotta stop pretending like you have to do everything yourself," George's voice holds a fatherly fondness when he gets up and tosses their empty beers in the trash.

"C'mere, kid," he chuckles while Eddie tearily gets up out of the chair and back into the dad like embrace of his boss.

"You got ten minutes, but then we got some cars to fix."

Eddie didn't tell Wayne about the insurance lapse or the pills, even though he was surprised to see George at the trailer park that afternoon. Eddie went home with his tool belt from work, his time and a half, and a little extra that his boss insisted he take with him. Wished him luck on his repairs and that he'd see him on the 2nd.

He was warned that if he didn't rest, Wayne would tell him, and it would mean hell for him at the shop.

Eddie'd already been through hell, so he didn't really want to have to do it again.

Christmas morning came and Eddie woke Wayne up to a cup of coffee and some breakfast.

"Thanks, son," he said smoothly, pushing in his chair at the table in the kitchenette, "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," he wished back, tapping some cinnamon into each of their cups of coffee.

"What's that for?" he asks before a harrowing cough bubbles out of his chest. He takes a sip of coffee to ease the ache of the rattle in his throat.

"It's just festive, Wayne," he teases, "Don't be a Scrooge."

"Doing anything today?" Wayne asks, eyes casting up to look at the old pictures of a younger Eddie sat on Santa's lap. No longer a holiday where they stayed home and snuggled, where he played with his toys, where there was magic.

"Gonna go fix up my girl's classroom as a gift," he says, picking at his nails, "Thought it'd be a nice gesture."

"She hasn't called ya back, hm?"

Eddie shakes his head, already dressed in the Black Sabbath shirt you got him that he hadn't gotten a chance to properly thank you for. The chain you got repaired hung aroung his neck delicately, the pick hitting his chest in a gentle reminder that you're still here with him. You had to be. He'd know if you just decided to be done with him.

By the time the late afternoon rolled around he hopped in his van after Wayne fell asleep in the recliner. The perk of the holidays was that he could drive around in the rich neighborhoods and no one was out to give him and his car dirty looks. No one was around to be confused that Steve Harrington was hopping into his passengers seat to head to Melvald's. No one was around to be confused as to while they were loading wood from broken down pallets into the ample trunk space.

"Good holiday?" Eddie asks.

"Same holiday it always is," he shrugs, "My parents weren't around so I stayed home. Jonothan went to California with Joyce to go visit Will so he wouldn't have to pay to fly home."

"That's lonely," Eddie mutters, "Sorry dude."

"Don't be sorry, I'm used to it," he looks out the window. Steve looks well dressed for repairs -- a pair of worn in jeans, white on white Air Forces, an Izod half zip sweat shirt -- he might as well look like a father of three, "Have you heard from her at all?"

"No -- I left her a message on her answering machine, but I think she's already up with her family. I don't know what she told them so -- I don't want to bother her parents if they're upset with me," he explains.

"They'd never be upset with you," Steve shakes his head, "They're good people."

"I'm sure they wish on a star every night that she was with you, Harrington," he jokes.

"You'd think, right?" Steve laughs, "No, she told me how much they like you. They think you're so good to her -- you are so good to her."

Steve speaks about you with a fondness that makes Eddie wonder. He softens, looking over at him while he turns down the road to the elementary school, "Do um...do you wish it was you?"

"I already told you, man. I love her to death, but she's not my type," he laughs again, but there's a pain there.

"You keep saying that but like -- are you sure? 'Cause you can tell me it's not weird," he assures.

"She hasn't told you?" Steve asks, brows furrowing.

"Told me what? Did you guys used to fuck, or something?" Eddie asks, his heart hammering, "Did you fuck the other ni--"

"No, no, Ed I'm --" he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"I'm gay," he says quietly, "Like, Jonathan isn't my roommate he's -- he's my partner. I'm gay."

There's a silence there for a moment and Eddie shifts in his seat a red light. Oh, I'm such a fucking idiot. Of course that's why they aren't together. I thought maybe he had a weird dick or something.

"That's y'know," Ed shrugs, "That's cool with me, man. Like, silence equals death and all that."

"Oh, shut up man," Steve laughs and shakes his head, putting his hand up to stop him from talking, "Don't like, do that all shit. I'm just surprised she hadn't said anything."

"If you told her not to, she wont," Eddie's voice drops to something sweet, "She's a good girl like that. Great secret keeper. Great -- Oh, shit..."

When the boys pull into the lot, Eddie's surprised to see a couple more trucks sitting by with their lights on, doors opening at the sight of them. A gruff voice calls out from the dark, a light snow obscuring him and the name on his coverall.

"How long were you gonna keep us waiting here, kid? It's a holiday."

George's gruff voice cuts the silence, a couple of the guys from the shop chuckle in the background. Eddie smiles, a genuine, warm smile -- the kind he envied from a couple nights ago that he saw from Steve. These were people who cared about him, who wanted to help. This was, he guessed, was what Christmas was really about. This was what you were trying to tell him the whole time. His heart breaks all over again, and he swears he can feel the pulse of your heart beat in the guitar pick hanging at his chest.

By the 27th, most of the repairs had been done. The help from the guys was beyond what he could've imagined. They were able to replace part of the roof that had water damage, fix the windows, repair a cracked pane, build a new bookcase, fix the wobble in all of the desks, and yours. Now, he was just adding a new coat of paint after spending the morning chipping off all the shards of it that were falling off. In his backpack was an overflow of new chalk, pens and pencils, markers, crayons, construction paper, pipe cleaners, and glue. The guys went through their kids bookcases at home and donated a slew of new books for the room -- some duplicates, too.

He felt good. He'd gotten two nights of adequate sleep, heeding George's warning that he has to rest. He was able to buy a good crop of groceries and most of the guys from work came by to drop off so many Christmas cookies that Wayne was nervous he'd start losing his teeth too. Now, all he had to wait for was you. For you to come in on Friday and see his surprise when you dropped in for your professional development day with Steve. He wasn't sure if he wanted to leave flowers or gingerbread men with the card but he figured he'd cross that bridge when he --

"Eddie?"

He jumped, nearly falling off the ladder he was on to reattach over head light that had rusted on the ceiling, "Jesus Christ!"

He clutched his chest, letting his heart rate settle down when at the bottom of the ladder, there you stood. His face blushed pink, pulse ping ponging through his wrists at the sight of you.

"Hi, sweetheart," he smiles, "This um...this was supposed to be a surprise."

"Who told you?" you asked, looking around, "About all my stuff?"

Eddie climbed down the ladder carefully, "Steve came to the store, told me that you needed some help. I figured y'know, if I couldn't get you a present I could just -- I could make you one."

"It's not done yet though, I still have to paint and put all your art supplies away," he explains, meeting you in the center of the room. He looks at you and then at the tears in your eyes, the heat rising in your cheeks. You don't say anything, his heart races in embarrassment. Maybe it wasn't enough, maybe you didn't like it. Maybe you wanted to do it yourself.

"And um, the guys from the shop, they uh, they brought books," he says, walking over to the new bookcase, "And I uh, I built this, like, with my hands."

He painted it to match the rest of the decor, a fun bright color that would hopefully draw the kids in to read. You'd mentioned that the got bored with the same ten books and weren't sharing well -- half of the books were falling apart since there wasn't anywhere to put them.

"And uh, I got you some new chalk -- white obviously, but I got you some multi-colored sets cause I know you like to do little sketches on the board during holidays and like, with spring comin' up maybe you could do little flowers or something?" he doesn't realize it, but he's gasping through his rambled sentences. Watching you walk toward him slowly.

"It's okay if you don't like it," he assures, "You can tell me and I can fix it I just wanted to--"

Your kiss feels like a spoonful of summer warmed honey on his cold lips. It trails down his throat and into his chest, down through his fingertips and his toes. He feels your soft hands cup his face, resting against his cold prickly cheeks. He's afraid to touch your face because you haven't given him a manicure yet this week. He doesn't want to scratch you with his rough hands, so he places them around you instead, frowning when you finally break away with a soft click.

"I just wanted to do something nice," he says against your lips.

"This is the best gift ever," you whisper quietly, a little sniffle stifling your cry, "It's very nice."

"Merry Christmas, baby," he smiles, leaning in for another kiss.

"Merry Christmas," you wish between kisses.

He wakes up wrapped up in you, in your sheets, in your scent, peering at you while you sleep soundly next to him. You both had barely made it through the door of your apartment before you both had shed your clothes -- landing on the bed with a mutual 'oof!'

It had been so long since he'd been present. Savoring every soft moan out of your mouth, every shake of your thighs, everything whine, every clench, the way you'd rake your nails down his back, the way you'd pulse when he held your hand. You both laid there together after round one, eating cookies in bed (which you'd allowed just this once), while he told you everything. About how hard it had been taking two jobs, how he'd completely shut down, about Wayne's insurance lapse, about the guys at work, about Steve coming to Macy's, about how much he loved the gifts you got. About how he cried the night he yelled at you but was too afraid to face you after because he felt so awful. He listened when you told him that you just needed some time, but that you felt awful that you weren't there when he needed you.

"Need you all the time," he mumbled between heated kisses, "Never lettin' you outta my sight."

His eyes rolled and his toes curled when you took him in your mouth, letting you take the lead. He gasped and writhed, whining for more when your tongue swirled and sucked, showing him how much you missed him. How you'll always take care of him -- and he made sure to show you how he'll take care of you back.

Round three was long and drawn out, slow and sensual, close and quiet -- your boom box playing low static by the end.

Your eyes opened, stretching out when you see him sitting up in bed.

"You heading out?" you yawn.

"No, baby," he smiles down at you before laying back down, losing himself under the covers with you again, "I have the week off, so I'm intending to spend every moment I'm not with Wayne, in this bed, with you."

[klbwriting]

Surface Tension

Chapter 12: Pointless

Fandom: Aquaman

Pairing: Ormxfemale!Reader

Warnings: this is just fluff

Summary: epilogue, five years later

Notes: I hope you enjoyed this little story! I hope to write another story soon, I do have another idea in mind, just need to flesh it out. comment/critique appreciated, song is 'Pointless' by Lewis Capaldi

Taglist: @hyperagitatedcydonian13 @gabrieleskywalker @philiasoul @duchcess

I bring her coffee in the morning She brings me inner peace I take her out to fancy restaurants She takes the sadness out of me

Orm let out a breath, seeing it as it drifted into the snow-covered forest. It was getting dark soon so he better head back to the house. Everyone would be arriving soon, and he wanted some time to get ready. He piled the wood onto the sled and called for Rex to get moving. The Pyrenees barked and started walking back through the trees to their home. He unloaded the wood into the shed, grabbing a few for the fire and walked into the mudroom of the cabin. The wood went into the holder, his hat and gloves into the cubby and his coat on the hook. The dog ran deeper into the house, and he heard the joyous laugh of a baby and smiled. The mudroom led into the kitchen where Y/N was standing by the counter, decorating a cake meticulously.

“It looks and smells amazing,” Orm said, walking over and kissing her head. She took some of the frosting and made to let him lick it off her finger. He leaned in and she poked his nose with it instead, laughing.

“Your nose was red, wanted to give it a blanket,” she teased. He laughed, wiping his face and stealing the bowl of icing from her as revenge. “Orm! I cannot chase you in this condition!” she said, motioning to her stomach, just barely a bump showing. He set the bowl down again, but not before taking some and eating it. “Go see your son, get yourselves ready for the party.”

Orm headed into the living room and lifted his two-year-old son from the playpen, carrying him up the stairs. If you would have told Orm five years ago, but when he and Y/N took off from Maine in the night that he would be living in north end of Yukon Canada with a son and a daughter on the way he would he laughed. They had been so scared for the first year, moving at night, staying away from the water and major cities, not sure if Atlantians tourists would see them. They didn’t talk to anyone, dropping communication with Arthur, Aria, Atlanna, everyone. They were in Alberta, just roaming, when Y/N found out she was pregnant and they decided to find a place and settle, at least for a while.

They bought some land outside a small town and built a cabin, adding to it when they needed the room. Now it was just enough for them and their children, and Y/N even got to open another café in the town, becoming popular quickly since she was the only place to get decent coffee. Despite all their safety and happiness, they still wanted to see their family and friends again. Orm took it upon himself to get back in touch with Arthur and the others, inviting them to surprise Y/N with a birthday party. She still thought that evening was going to be just her, Orm, and Naut.

Orm put Naut, named for Y/N’s father, in the tub and helped him get cleaned up before dressing him in his pajamas. No reason for him to be uncomfortable when he was meeting new people.

“Play in your room while I get dressed ok?” Orm said, sending him off. He dressed and was just getting finished when Y/N came in.

“The cake looks great. Still don’t know why you requested so much, its just us,” she said, getting a dress on. No matter if it was just them, she still dressed up for birthdays, wanting to celebrate them as much as she could.

“That cake will be gone in the morning, and you know it, now we can enjoy it for a few more days,” he said, pulling her to him, kissing her softly. His hands drifted to rear, pulling her against him. “I know you just put the dress on…” he whispered, kissing down her neck. She giggled, pushing him back gently.

“You can rip it off me later alright?” she said, kissing him again. There was a knock. “Who…who is possibly here?” Orm shrugged and waited for her to turn before smiling. She went to get Naut, wanting him close in case whoever was at the door was a threat. Orm answered, smiling at his brother who pulled him into a hug instantly. He led them into the kitchen where Y/N waited, eyes filling with tears. Everyone filed in, Orm reuniting with his family and getting reintroduced to AJ and to Arthur’s other 2 children. Atlanna was holding one with Tom holding the other. Aria, Dean, and their child walked in after and looked at Y/N holding Naut still.

“O God, Orm procreated,” Aria said, leaning to Dean for drama. She ran over, hugging Y/N gently and looking at Naut. “He’s beautiful, so blond.”

“It’s a very strong gene that hair,” Y/N agreed. “This one will probably match.” She patted her stomach and Aria squealed. “Now, can everyone quiet down for a second?” The group looked at her. Orm smiled.

“I thought, it’s been long enough, our family should be able to see us,” he said, moving over to her. She nodded and looked at him.

“Thank you, this is great,” she said. He kissed her softly before letting Atlanna come over. Y/N gently handed Naut to her, telling him that this was his grandma. He seemed nervous but soon warmed to the queen.

“He looks just like Orm did at this age, is he trouble? Orm was trouble,” she said. Y/N nodded. Orm and Arthur stepped aside as everyone kind of sectioned off, finding food or exploring the cabin.

“I’m glad you called,” Arthur said. He watched as AJ and his other kids played with Aria’s child and Naut while Aria, Atlanna, Mera, and Y/N watched them from the couch. Tom and Dean were discussing the cabin, looking at the fireplace. “This is amazing, who knew my dick of a little brother would be capable of all this.”

“It wasn’t just me,” Orm said. “Y/N is what brought this about.” Arthur shook his head.

“It isn’t just her either. You were already doing the work, trying to be a better man. That’s why she chose you,” Arthur said. Orm nodded with a smile. He went to the stereo and turned on a song. Y/N looked up as he approached, offering her his hand.

“Care to dance?” he asked. She smiled wide and nodded, taking his hand. He pulled her close, hand to her waist, the other in her hand. “Does this make you happy?” She nodded, kissing him softly.

“Yes, this makes me happy, you make me happy.”

I make her cards on her birthday She makes me a better man I take her water when she's thirsty She takes me as I am

[jungle-angel]

I NEED 2. “I um… I made you dinner” with Rhett pretty please 🥺

My love, I've been thinking about this all day long, you don't even know how hard (lol).

"Alright, everybody put your chairs up on your desks and make sure you have everything," you told your fifth graders. "Bus students, you know where to go."

The wooden chairs and desks in your classroom clunked against each other as your fifth graders put them up, gathering their coats and backpacks from the cubby spaces and hooks in the back of the classroom. Thank God today had been a half day and that your main lesson block on math was finally over. You swore that if you had to look at another fraction one more time, you were gonna go insane.

"Mrs. Abbot!" chirped one of your students. "I think I'm missing my bus tag."

"It's right here Jaime," you told him, clipping the yellow tag to the top strap of his backpack.

Your students came to shake your hand and say goodbye before they left the room, heading to the front of the school to wait for the busses or their parents. Your phone suddenly began vibrating in your back pocket and when you saw the contact picture, you knew it was Rhett.

"What's up Grumpy?" you joked.

"You've still got a half day right darlin?" he asked.

"Yeah and I'm on my way to get Amy and Hannah, what's going on?" you asked. "Did another calf come?"

"Nope, I've got a little surprise for you."

You made a face, wondering what sort of hair-brained thing your husband had been up to, being home alone all day with Tatum and Tanner. "Alright I'll be home in twenty."

"See ya then sweet cheeks," Rhett replied before hanging up.

You headed out the front doors of the school and down the cobbled path to the early-ed building, the last of the fall leaves just having fell from the quaking aspens near the play yard. Out of all the buildings on the school campus, this one was by far your favorite.

You walked right through the creaky front gate and up the steps that lead into the building, the kindergarten class immediately on your right and the preschool one to your left. There were only a few kids left in Amy's class, most of them already having taken the bus home, but you knew that in less than a few minutes, they too would head for home.

"Amy, sweetheart, Momma's here," her teacher called happily.

Amy ran right to you, giggling up a storm as she threw her arms right around your waist. "You ready to go home?" you asked her.

"Yeah!" she chirped.

You thanked her teacher and let her grab her coat from the hallway cubbies while Amy proudly showed you the little symbol she had chosen on a painted stone to show that it was hers......a bull kicking up his back legs.

You gathered up Hannah from the preschool room and led the girls out to the dirt lot, loading them up in the truck and buckling them in before heading for home. It was only eleven-thirty in the morning, but the earlier you could get home and get everything out of the way, the better, seeing as you and Rhett had a long vacation to look forward to.

Finally you reached home and unloaded the girls, the two of them charging into the warm and cozy house to kick off their little fuzzy ugg boots and strip off their hats and coats to go play down in the basement playroom. Yet a rather spicy and enticing smell had started to waft from the kitchen and a fire already crackling away in the living room fireplace.

"You're home early," Rhett chuckled as he poured a little bit of milk into his coffee mug.

"Half day," you said, dumping your back on the hallway bench. "And thank God. Our math main lesson block is finally over and I don't have to worry about it anymore."

Rhett laughed again as he lifted the lid off the crockpot and filled the whole kitchen with a spicy and herby scent. "Is that my little surprise?" you asked with a sly grin.

"I um.......I made you dinner," Rhett said as his cheeks began to go hot.

"You made me dinner?"

"I'm not the greatest cook in the world darlin but....."

"Rhett, how can you say that?" you laughed. "You made a prime rib last Christmas that had your godfather begging for the recipe."

Rhett laughed a little bit. In all the years you had been married, you still thought Rhett was an excellent cook, no matter what.

All day long, you let the chicken legs cook in the crockpot until they were practically falling off the bones. You, Rhett, his parents and the kids all ate until there were no leftovers to be had, surprised and grateful by Rhett's sweet little gesture.

[apollosdaydreams]

Cooties

<•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••>

Reader age: 8

Chris and Scott in this are college students

Summary: When you got home from school you told your brothers Chris and Scott Evans that you held hands with a boy, maybe that was a mistake.

Fluff

<•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••>

You were gleaming with joy. Hopping with every step. As you walked off the bus. While walking up your driveway with a skip and humming some random tune you couldn’t wipe the smile off of your face. You opened the door and put your backpack on the coat hook. You sat down on the floor with a small *thump* and quickly pulled off your shoes and put them in the cubbie. You then quickly stood up and ran into the kitchen where your brother, Chris and Scott, or more commonly known as Cwissy and Scotty to you. They were home for their college spring break. With Chris being in his junior year and Scott being in his freshman year. They were sitting at the kitchen island on some bar stools. You swiftly walked past Chris with the biggest smile on your face. Chris looked up at Scott with pure confusion written on his face, trying to find answers. All Scott could do was shrug his shoulders. Having no clue what made their sister so bubbly after school.

“What’s got you so happy, peanut?” Chris asked you while rubbing his hand over your head.

You quickly glared at him, being upset that he had now messed up your hair. When you walked over to the counter.

“Nothing.” You mumbled while grabbing a piece of bread and putting it in the toaster.

“I’m pretty sure it’s not nothing honey.” Scott has now spoken up.

Before you could say anything you felt your brother's arm quickly wrap around your waist and pulled you on to his lap.

“Cwissy!!” You wacked his arm. “You are annoying.” You said with a pout while crossing your arms over your chest.

“I know, I know, I’m so annoying.” He said sarcastically. “As I’m soooo annoying I’m not letting you go until you tell him what’s gotten you in such a happy mood.” He said.

You quickly shook your head side to side.

“Never!!” You told him.

“I guess I’ll have to bring out the tickle monster!!” Chris said. Scott couldn’t hold back his laughter.

You quickly tried getting away from your brother, the tickle monster. Your giggle filled the room. You were laughing way too much to think.

“I held hands with a boy!!” You giggled out. Chris stopped abruptly.

“You what?” You asked out of shock. Scott now standing on the other side of the counter with pure shock written all over him.

“Nothing.” You quickly said.

“You held hands with a boy?” He asked, almost in tears. That his baby sister was growing up.

Again before you could say anything he quickly brought you over to the sink. Your toast is long forgotten at this point.

“Cooties! Chris yelled. While turning on the water and starting to clean off your hands. Scott quickly walked over and started to help wash the cooties off of you. Everyone was laughing now, Chris and Scott tried to soak in this moment of their baby sister. As soon as she wasn’t going to be a baby anymore, but no matter what, y/n would always be their baby sister, and y/n would always need her two older brothers.

© apollosdaydreams on tumblr do not translate/remake/repost my works on any platform without authorized permission.

I hope y’all enjoyed this!! It would be greatly appreciated if you comment and repost!!

[hunterssm00n]

Hello, From the Other Side

Lex reflects back on her experience under the ice in the Pyramid, and remembers the one reason she made it out alive. Set one year after the events that occurred on Bouvetoya Island. | Lex/Scar |

part 1 of 2

my Scar & Lex series on ao3: here

*cw psychological trauma*

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧‎♡‧₊˚

hunterssm00n © All rights reserved by me. I do not allow this work to be used or adapted in any way without my permission.

It was quiet.

Not the deadly kind of quiet that precedes an earth-shaking storm, nor the kind that you note in horror movies, where it always seems to be followed by the killer making his next bloody score. This was a peaceful quiet.

However serene this type of silence was, there was always that little voice in Lex's head now that whispered for her to be alert. Ever since the incident ("accident", as the news reports had deemed it) on Bouvetoya Island, this little voice had been constant. It spoke to her in the most un-assuming of times, always reminding her to watch herself. It was rather embaressing at times; especially in front of other people. Going all Amazon-warrior-lady, her eyes scanning every surface, her spine going rigid... It was definitely a way to leave an impression, though not necesarrily one that she would've preferred. She knew it wasn't schizophrenia; she didn't need a doctor to tell her that. Rather, it was a form of post-traumatic stress disorder - a constant survival instinct that, one year later, she still couldn't seem to shake. But then again, the news reports hadn't known the full extent of what had happened, hadn't seen the things she saw. What had occured on Bouvetoya Island was no mere accident.

Who could blame her for being paranoid? She had every right, as the therapist had told her, to feel the way she did. She didn't want this right. She wanted to feel normal again. Wanted to worry about paying her electric bill on time, about what she was going to wear on a date, about what she was going to have for dinner. Not about whether or not there would be a monster lurking around the corner in the hallway of her house, waiting to drag her off into the darkness.

Lex Woods crunched through the snow up the walkway of her little cubby in the forest. The heavy grocery bag in her right hand was nearly weighing her down, as her left hand searched for her house key in her coat pocket. Her fingers found the familiar ridges of a Pepsi-Cola bottlecap, and she knew the key would come out with the cap should she pull the string. She had turned the bottlecap necklace into a makeshift keychain, and it served its purpose as both a practical asset and a memoir.

She inserted the key into the lock on her front door, giving a small smile at the thought of her friend, Sebastian. In the few hours they'd been friends, they'd come to know each other better than she knew most of her female friends she'd been in the company of for years. In an instinctive, survival situation though, it was easy to get to know someone on a deeper level; whether they were a runner or a fighter, how well they did under pressure, how deeply they let their fear affect them.

Stepping inside her house, Lex stomped the snow off of her boots, and gently pushed the door shut. All of the main lights were on in her house, creating a bright, warm atmosphere. Since the incident, Lex had a hard time walking into a completely dark room. She'd taken to leaving lights on even when she wasn't home, just in case she came back after dark, so she wouldn't have to step into the shadows to try and find the lightswitch. She hadn't been kidding about wanting to worry about paying her electric bill - it was more often then not a little outrageous for someone who lived by themself.

Hanging up the bottle cap on the key hook next to her door, she took a moment to study the familiar logo etched on the surface of the cap. Remembering the sardonic way Sebastian had explained how he found it, she gave another small smile. That was a good sign. It had taken her a long time to think about him without crying.

Lex toed her boots off, nudging them with a sock-clad foot over onto the floor mat so they could dry. Heaving the bag of groceries up, she carried it over towards the brightly lit kitchen area while stripping off her winter skins with her free hand. She left her coat on the back of an armchair, along with her hat, scarf, and gloves. Before Bouvetoya, she never would have left it laying around. She was a meticulous person - especially about her space. She kept things very tidy and neat. While her home was still clean, even now, she had stopped caring about little things such as leaving her coat on a chair. Things like that didn't really phase her now, it seemed.

During the process of unloading her groceries, a sudden thundering on her roof nearly had her jumping out of her skin, and she gasped as the blood zapped through her veins like an electric shock. Dropping the bag of apples in her hand, the paper bag practically exploding on impact with the floor, the hand that had been holding them immediately clenched into a fist.

The rumbling seemed to roll down the slope of her roof before thumping to the ground with enough impact to rattle her kitchen window.

She was in front of the window before she even knew what she was doing, and tore back the curtain to reveal whatever was making the noise. An avalanche of snow was seen pouring off the roof onto the ground, then it slowed to a stop with the last pitter patters of the packing, wet substance hitting the ground. Snow. It had been snow. It hadn't been the first time snow had come rocketing down from one of the trees over her house, but she was shaking like it was nothing she'd ever experienced. No. Like it was something she had experienced, and never wanted to go through again.

To make doubly sure, she took a moment to listen for... She didn't know exactly what. For something, anything out of the ordinary. That same, peaceful silence met her ears, her fridge humming being the only other sound besides her pounding heart.

Satisfied that she wasn't in danger, she let the curtain drop to cover the window, and turned back to face the warm, light room. Leaning back against the counter, she tried to calm herself. Placing a hand over her heart, she knelt to sit on the floor, trying in vain to breathe steadily through her nose. The familiar signs of a panic attack flooded to the surface of her mind, and she was just grounded enough to roll her eyes. She was actually having an anxiety attack over snow.

She breathed in through her nose, letting it out through her mouth, leaning her head back against the cupboard to open her windpipe so she could suck in more oxygen. Staring at the cieling, she laid both hands flat on the floor, extending her legs out in front of her. You're fine, you're fine.

And then she thought of him.

He was always in the back of her mind, and who could blame her for keeping his memory alive? He had been her warrior partner through the crucial climactic point of their survival journey under (and later, above) the ice. She had saved his life, and he had saved hers. Back to back, together they had fought their way out of the maze of the Pyramid. He was a prescence in her mind, and at times like this, he pushed to the front of her brain like an emergency responder, trying to revive her. Physically, he was not there, but he lived on in her memory. During her "moments" like this, the thought of him always either made her feel better, or worse.

Better, because he had essentially saved her life. She liked to think she would have survived without him, but in reality, she knew she would not have. Her savior had protected her, helped her back onto her feet when she had been knocked down, had done the impossible and ensured her survival. And that was usually where the 'worse' feelings began - the fact that she had been the lone survivor.

It was a psychological thing, she knew. She longed for him to once again help her through her fear, to stand her up and brush her off. She ached for it, sometimes. He had been there, experienced this horror with her. He had made her feel safe - not in the lovey-dovey, soap opera, romance novel kind of way, but literally. She had felt the reassurance of safety, being with someone who could face those monsters, and was more than capable of destroying them. She'd seen him do it. The thought of him was the only thing that made her feel safe anymore. And he was gone.

During her panicked moments, she held onto the thought of him like a lifeline, and it made her ache to think that that was all he would every be; a thought. A distant memory of someone she had only known for a few hours, but had left more of an imprint on her mind than anyone she'd ever known. Sebastian had been a handsome, charming, wonderful person, and Lex could definitely have seen herself remaining his close friend, had he survived Bouvetoya.

But it was not Sebastian she thought of when she awoke from her nightmares.

Lex had one hand on her heart as it started to calm, and the other moved to cover her forehead as fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. The way the mind worked under moments that relied only on instinct, the things people never realized about themselves until they were placed under that pressure... Lex had realized that she, like him, was a warrior. He wouldn't have marked her cheek with his barbaric, warrior symbol had she not been. But since they had been through such an intense situation together, and he had been the only one to make it to the surface with her, she now had a terrible time dealing with any thought of Bouvetoya without his memory. It was crazy, and silly, she knew. But she missed him. That was probably, she thought bitterly, another side-effect of her post-traumatic, whatever. Placing all of her emotions and distress onto him, putting all of her faith into him, trusting him to keep her safe, even now, when he wasn't here.

She didn't even know his real name (only her nickname for him, based on the mark he had given both of them once they reached the surface), but she knew his prescence. It was unforgettable. She pined for that prescence in her moments of fear.

A small noise escaped her throat, and she let out a shakey breath. "I'm sorry," she whispered, another whimper following her words, "I'm so, so sorry." Sorry that she hadn't been strong enough to protect him, as he had done for her.

After a few more minutes of steady breathing, Lex finally dried her eyes, and picked herself up off the ground.

"This can't be healthy, missing a dead alien from another freakin' galaxy," she muttered, trying to lighten her mood. "Not good for someone's health, at all."

Lex bent to pick up one of the many apples scattered across her kitchen floor, when another crashing noise came from her roof. She jumped, then shook her head, "Snow, you idiot, it's snow."

Then, what sounded like something crawling, on hands and feet, scaling the slope of her roof. Lex frowned. It was snow, right?

Holding her breath, she heard the steady thump, bump reach the edge of her roof, and then came to a THUD right outside the front of her house. She would've ran and hid, or even fainted in terror, had she not heard a familiar chittering, clicking noise coming from outside.

It can't be. She had heard that noise enough to know what it meant; it was something she could never forget. Lex walked slowly towards the door, one foot in front of the other, but she didn't even make it there before the damn thing was kicked open, slamming against the wall with enough force to rattle the windows, yet again.

She shrieked, jumping back a few feet, putting the kitchen island between her and whatever was about to come through the door. In no time at all, as though she was in danger and it was coming to her aid, a massive, hulking figure flew through the doorway, nearly smashing both walls down in it's haste. It was a blur, until it landed steadily on the floor a few feet away from the wide open entrance to her house. Then, only then, was she able to comfirm her suspicion.

It was a - well, whatever her companion had been. She noted the smooth, black dreadlocks that adorned it's head, as well as it's massive size, even crouched down, like it was now. Then the creature lifted it's head to look at her, and rose to it's full height. She gasped, unable to stop the noise even if she'd been in the right frame of mind to do so. Her heart pounded still, but in a completely different way, this time. Not out of fear, but out of disbelief; out of, dare she think it, excitement.

"Scar?"

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧‎♡‧₊˚

AN: I do not own the Alien vs Predator franchise or any of it's characters. I also do not own the song 'Hello' by Adele.

part two

[containatrocity]

"I'm clocking ouuuut." G declares, dropping his nametag in his cubby in the staff area of the Food Market and grabbing his coat from the hook by the door. "I'm closing tomorrow, right?" He questions, nodding once he's given the affirmative and sparking up a cigarette once he clears the front doors. It's a relatively short walk from work to his place, to pick up his bass and change his clothes, and then a slightly longer one to Josie's place, but it's always just enough time to get a nicotine fix so he's not smoking around her. It's tattooed fingers rapping at the door for a moment as he checks his timers on his cell phone- he's been slacking on remembering meals again, simply too busy with other things to remember that he should take a few minutes every day to put some fuel in a body he doesn't identify as "G" anyway.

"Jo!? you in? It's G." He calls, stepping back slightly when the door comes open, a lopsided smile on his features, dark hair tied up into a bun and usual sunglasses over blue eyes. "Hey. Sorry I'm late, spilled something on myself while I was helping put out the fresh meat so I had to change while I was home. You still up for lunch?" he questions. "Brought my bass too, just in case we wanna just hang around."

@lxvenderhxzehv

[renmackree]

Hai! Same anon who asked for the original, can we PLEASE have more? Please please PLEASE?!?

Alright, but just because I like you :)

Part One

IL: I want 10.

SS: You're a greedy bastard. Fine.

"Lydia, your stalker wants 10 pictures this time." Stiles walked into the lab and tossed his bag into the little cubby marked "Style-less". Lydia was adjusting her lip gloss in the one next to him, "Queen Bitch" written over it with sparkling purple letters.

"He's getting a little needy." Lydia pulled back from the cubby and adjusted the white lab coat over her perfectly styled skirt and blouse. "You did tell him he could just ask me on a date, right?"

Stiles had NOT told Isaac that Lydia had offered to go out with him, because Isaac and Stiles had a deal. Stiles gave Isaac pictures of Lydia, Isaac gave Stiles the Teenaged Mothman collector buckets and reserved the middle row for him. They had this pact since Stiles' first year of college and he was not going to upset the balance in any way.

Plus Lydia didn't mind the attention.

"What Moth movie is this one?" Lydia leaned against the wall across from the cubbies as she waited for Stiles to change. He slipped the plaid shirt off and grabbed the Batman lab coat from his peg.

"Mothman in Love. This bucket supposedly has Erik and Steven holding each other with Wolfgirl and the new character LizardBoy." Stiles sighed, shaking his head. "God it's so stupid."

Lydia rose her brows as if she agreed, but didn't say anything. Once Stiles was dressed, the two walked through the decontamination chamber and into the main lab area. Greenberg looked up and waved at the two of them before returning back to his slides.

Boyd was finishing up some calculation on the whiteboard, turning around and nodding.

"Alright, are we wanting sexy or candid?" Lydia asked as she hopped up on one of the empty counters. "Because I only did two hours of skincare last night."

"Isaac holding your bucket hostage?" Boyd asked with a smile. "You know I could --"

"Yeah yeah, use whatever connection it is you have to get one, but Isaac works at the theater and this is traditions we're talking about, Vernon. Whoever your connection is, I'm sure she's great but please. Let me get my collector bucket in skeevy and blackmail-ish ways."

Boyd made a face but turned back to his work. The four of them had been in the same degree for nearly 7 years at this point, everyone was used to Stiles.

Lydia cleared her throat and Stiles began snapping pictures to Isaac. Some candid, some posed. One of Lydia almost sneezing to really sell the whole experience. After each one, Stiles was notified of Isaac screenshoting them and saving them in chat.

Weirdo.

Stiles snapped the final picture of Lydia, sending it off to Isaac with the message - 'That's ten, give me my bucket Lahey'. He stopped, groaning as he realized he had added that last one to his story as well. He had been about to delete it when another message popped up.

Haleofaguy is typing DH:Who is Lahey and why is he holding your bucket hostage?

Stiles bit his lip. So last night wasn't a fever dream! Derek Hale really had added him to snapchat. oh my god Derek Hale is watching my Snapstories Stiles thought, trying to come up with something smart to say back.

SS: Obviously we're reenacting the war of 1325 between the rival city-states of Bologna and Modena. Isaac has started the War of the Bucket 2: The reckoning DH: Don't tell my manager, that sounds like the title of a good movie. SS: See, I knew watching hours and hours and hours of cheesy b-role films would come in handy. I'm ready to make my first movie.

"Who you chatting with, Stiles?" Lydia asked with an almost predatory grin. "Is it someone special?"

"I mean, yes. But it's none of your business Ms. Sink-my-teeth-in-every-guy. Besides, aren't you dating Aiden?"

"No, we hooked up but he's just a fling. He has two brain functions and that's Fuck and Football. I'm not going to date someone who yells 'touchdown' when I orgasm."

Stiles snorted at that, watching as the snapchat went silent again and Stiles was left on read. He sighed, knowing that Derek was probably busy with interviews for the Mothman Movie.

"Hey, did you guys want to go to a party with me and my fiancée?" Boyd asked, checking his phone. "Apparently the party was moved to Boston last night."

"Party?" Lydia smiled, moving from Stiles to Boyd now. "What type of party?"

"Probably just a cocktail thing, that's what they usually are. But Black Tie is required so. Are you all in?"

"Invite Danny instead of me," Greenberg said from his microscope. "I have a date tonight."

The group oooo'd at that and Lydia texted Danny to let him know the plans. She then launched into Stiles' wardrobe and how she was going to dress him for the party. Stiles honestly wasn't really looking forward to the thought of being around strangers, but this would be the first time Stiles would meet the future Mrs. Boyd and he was excited.

With the way Boyd talked about Ria, she sounded like she hung the moon.

.o00o.

SS: Fit for tonight, tearing up the town with my side bitch IL: Pics or I burn the bucket SS: She's posting on Instagram, calm down Ricardo López IL: Who's Ricardo Lopez? SS: Look him up. BYE

Stiles slid his phone into the pocket of the tight slacks, looking over them again and frowning. "I look like someone going to a movie premier."

"Look, Boyd said Black Tie and I've been DYING to see you in this color. Truly, plum looks good on you." Lydia finished putting her hair up and turning around in her dress. "How do I look?"

"Like someone's trophy wife."

She grinned wide, putting her hands on her hips. "Thank you! That was the look I was going for."

Stiles rolled his eyes but let the woman fuss with his hair a little more. Her phone buzzed to signal Danny and Boyd were here. "Now, as soon as we walk through those doors --"

"--I only know you if I need to order an Angel Shot."

Lydia nodded and brushed her hand over his shoulders. "Mama's getting herself a hunk tonight and you will not fuck this up."

"Do I need to get a hotel for the night or are you going to? I just don't want a repeat of last time where I walked in on you and --"

Lydia pressed her finger against Stiles lips and shook her head. He loved having Lydia as a roommate, but sometimes it was hard to be with her and constantly be reminded he was so, so single.

The phone buzzed again and the two of them made their way out of their apartment and down to where a limo -- LIMO-- was waiting. The four settled in the back now, Boyd chatting about how they would be going through the back so they didn't end up on Just Jared in the morning.

"What does your fiancée do, Boyd?" Danny asked, sipping from one of the champagne flutes.

"Don't ask, we haven't even met her and Boyd won't tell us anything. Says he wants to keep his private life private." Lydia teased. "but not tonight! What changed? You've been going to her parties for years and haven't invited us!"

Boyd rolled his eyes at the chiding, sipping from his own glass. "Ria said that she wanted to meet everyone. And apparently the host of the party is interested in Stiles' research."

Stiles blinked. His mouth dropped open. Was Boyd's fiancée RIa DeLaugh-Moot? The famous wolf biologist from Finland? Suddenly his heart dropped. That would mean this party was for the conservation and repopulation programs. Excitement bubbled under his skin.

"Someone is interested in Stiles? Wow." Danny teased a little, offering a wink to the man. "At least we have someone to thank for this then. Ria and Mysterious Host. Do you think he's like Gatsby?"

The car pulled up outside the venue, the driver getting out and opening the door for them. Stiles' mind was racing as he tried to think of something witty and smart to say for their first meeting. Maybe he'd open up with a joke? Maybe he'd say a little wolf pun to get the mood broken. It was almost a full moon and werewolf jokes were always a good choice.

The Venue backdoor opened and a woman with bright blonde hair and a tight green dress stepped out. Her brown eyes lit up as she launched herself at Boyd and pressed a kiss against his lips.

"Vernny I missed you!" She sighed. "Remind me to never take another project ok?"

"You say that every time, Ria. Just remember that you enjoy your job."

She pouted but nodded before turning to everyone. "Hi! Vernny has told me so much about you all, I'm Erica Reyes."

Stiles' mouth ran dry. Erica. Wolfgirl. Reyes. THE Erica Reyes. Erica Reyes who plays Gretta Hansel in the Teenaged Mothman series. HIS Mothman Series.

But if Erica was here, then the host was --

From behind the corner a man in a crisp black suit and a tie with an obnoxious moth pattern peeked out. His hair was raven black and his hazel eyes were masked by thick rimmed black glasses.

"OH, and this is my good friend Derek Hale. He's the one hosting the party."

And if anyone asked, Stiles did NOT faint.