#Credit Repair Sweeps

[torpublishinggroup]

This advertisement is for Swordcrossed by Freya Marske.

WHAT’S IT ABOUT

Mattinesh Jay is the chronically responsible eldest son and dutiful heir striving to keep his family’s business running. Luca Piere is a menace of a con artist desperately trying to escape his past by taking up the blade. When the pair meet, swords clash, and sparks fly. Soon, they’re entangled in a conspiracy that may bring Matti’s house to ruin if they don’t work together.

Want to see if it’s to your liking? We’ve included an excerpt from chapter one below.

Chapter 1 Matti laid his fingers on the polished edge of the bar’s wooden surface and forced himself to stop counting sheep. And yards of twill. And looms in need of repair, and outstanding debts.

Instead, he counted today’s collection of ink smudges, bruise-black on the brown skin of his hands: six. He counted the number of blue dyes that would have been used in the fabric of the bartender’s layered skirt: four, possibly five if the palest shade was true dimflower and not just the result of fading.

The tense throb of pain like a fist clenched in his hair eased, grudgingly, to a quiet ache. Bearable. Normal.

It was busy in the drinking house, the post-dinner hour that usually found Matti heading back to his study to finish the paperwork that a member of his family had tugged him away from in order to eat. Matti counted the number of flavoured jenever bottles on the shelf behind the bar—fifteen—in the time it took Audry to finish serving her current customer and sweep her sky-coloured skirts to stand in front of Matti. “And here’s a face we haven’t seen in a while! Something tells me you’re here for a celebration, Mr. Jay.”

Matti hoped the smile he’d pulled onto his face wasn’t the wrong size, or the wrong shade of abashed. “News travels fast.”

“Mattinesh Jay and Sofia Cooper. A match surprising exactly no one.”

Matti kept the smile going. There was a silence in which Audry politely didn’t say, Pity she’s in love with someone else, and so Matti didn’t have to say, Yes, isn’t it?Audry said, “Wait here a moment. I’ve got something in the back that I think will do nicely.”

Matti cast a glance over the room as Audry disappeared. His cousin Roland made an extravagant sighing motion and pretended to check his watch when Matti’s eyes landed on their table. A burst of laughter came from a dark-skinned woman nearby; she was wearing a dress that rode high at the knee to reveal a fall of lace like frothing water, a northern style of garment that Matti’s own northerner mother seldom wore these days.

At the closest table the Mason Guildmaster, Lysbette Martens, was deep in conversation with a senior member of the Guild of Engineers. Martens met Matti’s gaze with her own and nodded brief acknowledgement. He was sure she was weighing his presence as consciously as he was weighing hers. This was a place to be seen, after all.

“Here you are. Red wine for young lovers.”

Matti turned around again. Audry named the price for the bottle as she uncorked it and set it on the bar. Matti paid her, ignoring the lurch like a fishhook in his stomach at the amount on the credit notes he was so casually handing over. Mattinesh Jay, firstborn of his distinguished House, had no reason not to indulge in one of the finest bottles of wine that money could buy.

No reason that anyone here would know about, anyway.

Matti took the bottle in one hand and hooked three glasses with the other. Making his way over to the table, his mind circled back to dwell on the wrong sort of numbers. The money in Matti’s purse was painstakingly calculated: enough for the first round of engagement drinks, and enough for him to hire a top-of-the-range duellist who would step forward in the awkwardly likely event of someone challenging for Sofia’s hand at the wedding itself.

Matti’s skin prickled cold at the very thought of what might happen if Adrean Vane challenged against Matti’s marriage to Sofia and won. His family’s last hope would be gone. Matti would have failed them in this, the most useful thing he could do for them.

He was so caught up in this uneasy imagining as he wove through the room that he collided, hard, with another person’s shoulder. Matti was both tall and broad, not easily unbalanced; the unfortunate other member of the collision made a grab for Matti’s coat, couldn’t get a good grip, and tripped to the ground with a caught-back “Fu—”

Matti tried to step backwards. They were crammed into a small space between tables and there were people moving around them. His first panicked instinct had been to keep the wine bottle upright and the glasses safe, so he didn’t have a hand free to steady himself on a chair.

He wasn’t quite sure what happened next, except that he ended up wobbling and stepping forward instead, and he felt his boot come down on something that was not the floorboards. A small, pathetic, grinding mechanical sound crawled up Matti’s nerves, heel to head, and reached his ears even amidst the noise of the busy room.

“Sorry!” he said at once. “I’m sorry. Was that—Oh, Huna’s teeth.”

The man on the floor jerked his head up, staring at Matti, and Matti stared back.

For a moment all that Matti could see was the wide, straight line of the man’s mouth, set beneath an equally straight nose, and the frame that set off the whole: the dark, luminous copper-red hair that seemed to be trying to grow in about ten different directions.

The man’s tongue darted out in a nervous mannerism, wetting his lower lip. Something in Matti’s own mouth tried to happen in a yearning echo.

“Would you please lift,” the man said precisely, “your godsdamned foot?” Heat flooded Matti’s face. He snatched his foot backwards with enough force that his heel collided with a chair leg.

The redheaded man stood, his fingers closed convulsively tight around a small velvet bag. His brown coat was shabby and made of a coarsely woven fabric, though his shirt was good and his trousers had probably been equally so before they’d been overwashed into a patchy shine.

“Fuck fuck shitting—fuck,” the man said in tones of despair, with a lilt to his accent that placed him at least one city-state farther east: Cienne, or possibly Sanoy. He shook the contents of the bag into his palm and ventured into new realms of inappropriate language as he did so.

Enough people had witnessed their collision, or had their heads turned by the stream of expletives, that there were a fair few necks craning to see what was in the man’s hand. Matti, at whom the shaking fingers of this hand were pointed most directly, couldn’t help seeing for himself the ragged, glinting pile of cogs and jewels and glass. Only the intact cover—monogrammed in a swirling, engraved H—spoke of this pile’s previous existence as a pocket watch. A very expensive pocket watch, by the look of it.

The man’s breath hissed out through his teeth. “Guildmaster Havelot is going to use my arm bones as a fucking lathe. He only had it made to order, and he only trusted me to pick it up, didn’t he? Two hundred gold. Fucking fuck.”

“I’m so sorry,” Matti said again. He recognised the name: Havelot was the Woodworker Guildmaster in Cienne. “Truly. I can—” He stopped. The abrupt lack of his words created a silence that seemed to suck noise into itself, as conversations died to murmurs and the onlookers sensed something interesting.

The man looked straight at Matti with a stubborn lift of his chin. His brows, the same absurd colour as the rest of his hair, had sprung up into the beginnings of hope; as Matti’s silence grew longer, they lowered again. And then lowered farther. He swept a look down and then slowly up Matti’s own outfit, and now pride warred with scorn in the way those maddening lips pressed together.

Matti felt sick. His own coat was made of the finest wool, a midnight blue cut perfectly to his figure, and the rest of his clothes were of the same quality. He was holding a bottle of extremely good wine. Anybody looking at him would make immediate assumptions about the amount of ready money that Matti might have, and the ease with which he would be able to reimburse a poor clerk, if he’d just ruined a pricey piece of artificer’s skill that the man’s employer had trusted him to travel all the way to Glassport to collect.

Of course they would make these assumptions. That was the point.

Matti swallowed and felt the burning heaviness of his purse redouble. He’d be left with enough to a hire a duellist, yes, but not one of the highest skill. It wouldn’t buy himself and his family the absolute security they needed.

His friends were looking at him. It seemed like every pair of eyes in the drinking house was looking, and in another moment the murmurs of curiosity would turn to murmurs of disapprobation. I thought Matti Jay had more honour than that, they would say. What’s two hundred gold to someone like him?

Besides, the plain fact of the matter was that Matti had broken the watch. And he couldn’t pretend that he and this man with his proud mouth and poor coat, patched at one elbow, were on an equal footing. Even if he were left without a bronze, Matti would still have influence, connections, the weight of his family’s name. That was still worth something. For now.

So that was that.

“I—I really am sorry.” Matti set the wine and glasses down on the corner of the nearest table and pulled his purse from inside his coat. He kept his gaze on the man’s face, on a pair of eyes that were either grey or brown—impossible to tell from this angle—and urgently willed them not to look away. To a degree that seemed irrational, he wanted to banish the judgemental expression from the man’s face. “Of course I’ll cover the cost. Two hundred gold. Who did the work?”

The man glanced down at the metal scraps in his hand, as though the answer might be hidden in the pile. “Speck,” he said at last. “Frans Speck, in Amber Lane.”

“He’s a fair man. Tell him what happened and he’ll rush through the repair job,” Matti said. He held out the century notes.

The man tipped the wreckage of the watch back into the bag and closed his hand around the money, slow and wary. His fingertips had rough patches that scraped against Matti’s own, sending a tingle up Matti’s arm.

“I appreciate it,” the man said. He looked less cold now, though still nowhere near warm. “You’ve saved my life. Really.”

Matti forced himself to smile. Forced himself to say, “It’s nothing,” as though it really were nothing.

The man nodded awkwardly at Matti and tucked both money and bag into a pocket. Then he turned and was gone, headed for the door.

Matti somehow made his way to his table and sat down. His heart was pounding so loudly that he could barely hear anything else, and he wanted to shout at his own blood to be quiet and let him think. He needed to be alone in his study. He needed to contemplate his options, and make lists, and pore over the accounts for the thousandth time, in case they transmuted themselves into a picture of prosperity instead of the ugly, desperate reality that nobody outside of Matti’s immediate family knew about.

“Two hundred gold,” he said, before he could stop himself. “Two hundred.”

“We saw. Hard luck,” his cousin Roland said, making a face.

Perhaps it was stretching the term to call Roland and Wynn his friends, but they were the closest thing Matti had to members of that category, and the only people he’d been able to think of to form his wedding party. At least the three of them never found it too hard to pick up their acquaintanceship again, even if it had been months since their last conversation.

Wynn turned the bottle of wine to inspect the yellow butterfly on the label. “How appropriate that we’re drinking wine from your betrothed’s own winery.”

“Audry’s idea of a joke, I think,” Matti said. The word betrothed had landed in his ears like a piece of music played in an unfamiliar key; his mind was still turning it over, trying to decide how it felt about the melody. His hand was shaking as he poured the first glass, sending the stream of dark wine shivering and slipping. He’d steadied it by the time he poured the second.

“Huna smile,” he said, opening the toasts by lifting his own glass. “Thanks for agreeing to stand up with me, you two.”

“Drown your sorrows in this one, and by the time we hit the next bottle you’ll remember that you’re here to celebrate. And that once you’re married to Sofia Cooper,” Roland went on, lowering his voice sympathetically, “Jay House will be rolling in enough money to replace a hundred watches.”

Except that Matti had to get himself successfully married in the first place. And he’d just lost his best guarantee of doing so.

He let the old, gorgeous wine flood down his throat until a good third of his glass had vanished. He felt lightheaded; it had to be panic, because the wine couldn’t be working that fast. Panic and a sense of becoming unmoored. And the image of the man’s face, pale and sharply beautiful, gazing up from where he was kneeling at Matti’s feet.

“A fair effort,” Wynn said, when Matti put the glass down. “But I’ll show you children of Huna how it’s done.” He raised his own glass. “Agar fill your plates and cups.”

Matti smiled and drank again, accepting the toast. Maybe the wine was working after all. He could still feel his panic, the wound-up watch of his worry, but he shoved it away into a recess of his mind: its own small, dark velvet bag. It would be safe enough there. It would last until tomorrow. Matti’s ability to worry was shatterproof.

For now, he was going to drink.

[shybunnie20]

BFF!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

friends to lovers

★Locations ★My Masterlist

Summary: Eddie calls on you to help him plan his first date, and you wish that you were the one going on it with him.

Author's Note: This isn't quite as polished as I'd like it to be. But, I'm pushing through my last few weeks of college, so I'm working with the few brain cells I've got left lol. I still love how it turned out and the ending is worth all of the self-loathing, I promise.

No use of Y/N, est. friendship, ages aren’t specified but E & R are approx. in their early twenties & it’s an early 90s AU, Reader has never been asked on a date before. Mild angst with happy ending!

Word count: 8.9k

Warnings: Reader dwells on poor self-worth & feels undesirable, acts of eating and multiple mentions of food, includes swearing.

Nestled in the quaint corner of Campbell Ave and 2nd Street, you’re engrossed in a call with a customer, jotting down an order for two bouquets consisting of pink-white lilies and snapdragons. Your eyes follow the effortless glide of your glitter gel pen across the paper, detailing their contact information.

Similarly to Goldilocks, you’ve found a place of employment where the pace is just right. You can handle whatever tasks Joan, the owner, asks of you. Sweeping the wood floors with a stiff-bristled broom, tending to the plants, and arranging flowers adorned with decorative ribbon and crisp paper are all within your grasp.

This place gets steady business, but the concept of a lunch or dinner rush is nonexistent. However, you do face a unique kind of rush occasionally. Now and then, a frantic lover bursts through the doors, bug-eyed, having realized they’ve forgotten a special anniversary or birthday at the very last minute. 

As you recite the customer’s order and callback number into the phone’s receiver, their confirmational “uh huhs” cut through the buzz of the line. Suddenly, your attention is diverted by the sight of a van pulling into the parking spot out front, slightly askew. A small smile teases the corners of your mouth as you make a conscious effort to refocus on closing the conversation at hand.

The plastic shell of the phone clacks as you hang up, and you watch Eddie hop out of his van, and round the front of it with an unusual pep in his step—more than you’d see his best days.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Eddie’s voice carries across the room, accompanied by a genuine smile that lights up his face. He strides to the register counter you’re currently manning, wearing a vermillion polo shirt embellished with the neatly embroidered String and Strum shop logo on the breast. His hair is pushed back from his face with a black bandana, resembling a biker-like edge, tied firmly to ensure no stray curls disrupt his work as he repairs guitars and sells instruments for commission.

In seconds flat, he’s already scrunching his nose like a bunny, sensing a sneeze on the horizon. Being in a room packed with fresh plants is nothing short of hell, but he’s willing to endure it for the sake of seeing you. While he can handle flowers in small quantities, the confined space never fails to tickle his system like nobody’s business.

Vision blurring with mild irritation, Eddie blinks hard to disperse it. “Hey, how’s today going?”

You shrug, suppressing a giggle at the wiggle of his nose. “As good as it can, I guess. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

Eddie sets a grease-stained paper bag on the counter that separates you, along with a cup of soda. “Figured you could use a midday pick-me-up.”

“Must be my lucky day because I overslept and didn’t have time to pack a lunch. Well, that and I found a penny on the sidewalk.”

Eddie crosses his arms and tilts his head. “Don’t give luck all the credit. I have instinctual powers, y’know. My Munson senses were tingling and I knew you were in need.”

“My hero,” You exclaim, clasping your hands and swinging them to the side like a swooning princess. 

Eddie chuckles with you, watching as you wipe your palms on your apron and eagerly dig into the bag, pulling out a foam to-go box. As you promptly open it and take a bite of your lunch, you can’t help but groan and throw your head back in satisfaction. Your eyes meet his thereafter, causing him to twist his mouth to the side and momentarily look away.

“How much do I owe you?” You ask, your words slightly muffled as you continue to chew.

Minnie, Joan’s cat, gracefully leaps onto the counter to greet Eddie. She perches herself beside the cash register, allowing him to scratch under her chin. “Nothin, consider it a favor,” He says with a wet sniffle, the tingling in his nose unrelenting.

The silence that falls is comfortable for you, but he’s seemingly lost in his thoughts as he continues to pet Minnie. Then, he looks at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Speaking of which, I just so happen to know a way that you can return the favor.”

Having taken a sip from your drink and another bite of your food, the inflection of Eddie’s voice causes you to slow your chewing. “And what might that be?”

“Come over later to find out.”

Your shoulders slump, eyes widened with mock defeat. “No! I can’t stand here and wonder all day. I'll die. The suspense will kill me.”

Eddie pouts mockingly, his sweet honey eyes betraying his faux-frown. “Then I'll be sure to have the prettiest floral arrangement for your funeral. Only the best for you.”

Your brows knit together in an authentic pouting. The irony of needing to meet an untimely demise to receive flowers from a guy isn’t lost on you.

He motions toward the untrimmed bundle of carnations on the workbench behind you. “Actually, if you’re not too busy,” Eddie smirks. “Could you string those up for me quick so they’re ready to go for your wake?”

“Ha-ha,” you leer, taking the next bite of your food rather aggressively. “You’re cruel, you know that?”

“I beg to differ since I surprised you with your favorite from Val’s and all,” Eddie retorts, biting the inside of his cheek.

You grumble, “Yeah, and it’s fucking delicious.”

Eddie checks his watch and huffs, “Alright, I’ve gotta get goin’,” he says, rapping his knuckles on the countertop and beginning to walk backward. “See you later tonight,” He points at you before spinning on his heel and exiting the shop.

The bulky keyring on Eddie’s jeans jingles loudly as he steps onto the sidewalk. Abruptly, he stops in his tracks. For a moment he’s frozen, and then he braces himself against the nearby lamppost. It hits him like a brick wall and he sneezes mightily. 

Heads of nearby passersby turn in his direction, startled by the noise. As he straightens his posture, Eddie remains still, trying to find his center of gravity and regain his composure.

“You good?” You call out, your voice just barely reaching him through the propped-open doors. Taking a casual sip of your drink, you watch as Eddie steadies himself. Still clutching the street lamp with one hand, he manages to stick his other arm out and give a thumbs-up.

True to your word, you arrive at Eddie’s place straight after work. The sun is setting, casting a warm glow through the patio door onto the walls of the living room. The apartment is in its usual state of disarray, expectedly so, since it’s home to three guys who aren’t particularly concerned with tidiness.

Toeing off your shoes, you’re unphased by the subtle smell of dust in the air. What strikes you as odd is how quiet it is. Typically, at least one roommate is home, blasting the TV in the living room or music from their respective bedrooms. But the only sound permeating the silence is the erratic thumping and screech of the water pipes behind the paper-thin walls of the bathroom.  

As you snoop around the kitchen, hoping to find a box of saltine crackers or really anything to stop the gurgling in your belly. Having come up empty-handed, you turn your attention to the resilient plant that you challenged Eddie to care for—Keanu Leaves, as he so proudly named it. 

Finished with your fruitless search of the kitchen, you make your way into Eddie’s bedroom to settle comfortably into the chair that only you sit in; it’s your spot. While you get cozy, the beans rattle as they perfectly mold to your figure. You knock on the wall beside you, signaling your arrival to Eddie.

You resume the magazine left sitting open on the page you stopped on. You occupy yourself in the article about predicted spring fashion trends as you wait. After a minute or two, the pipes go quiet from the shower being turned off.

Eddie strolls into the room wearing nothing more than a clean pair of boxers. Droplets of water trickle down his toned and tatted chest. Harshly ruffling his curls with a bath towel, he smirks at you. “If it isn’t Little Miss Zombie, back from the dead.”

“Less than alive and in the flesh,” you reply, your annoyance at being made to wait all day still evident. You hold grudges better than anyone he knows, and Eddie is well aware that he’s not immune to being subject to it.

Your tummy rumbles loudly, the discomfort only emphasizing the sharpness of your tone. “When was the last time you got groceries? I didn’t see any preserved brains I could help myself to.”

“I’m definitely due for a restock,” Eddie says as he drapes his wet towel over the back of his desk chair. Then, he grabs the bottle of mousse from his dresser and dispenses a foamy dollop into his palm. “Funny you should ask, though. That’s sorta why you’re here.”

You flip the page of your magazine, not pulling your eyes from the glossy print. “You told me to come over to go grocery shopping?”

Eddie rubs his palms together to spread the product and then runs his fingers through his curls. “Not quite,” he starts, his tone cryptic. “I’ve been tasked with providing a meal, of sorts.” 

Finally, you look up at him. Watching him scrunch his damp hair with the remainder of the product that’s making his palms go tacky, you wait for him to elaborate.

Eddie’s eyes flit to the other side of the room, rather than meeting your awaiting gaze. “I have a date.”

You stare blankly at the back of his head, as still as a statue while your blinking intensifies. Dumbfounded, you struggle to survive the bombshell he just dropped on you. It’s as if a nuclear explosion has shattered your eardrums, leaving his continued words to sound muffled through the high-pitched ringing.

A million and one questions swirl in your mind, only adding to the disorienting whirlwind of emotions. Since when is he dating? Why all of a sudden? As you try to piece everything together, you note that he hasn’t had any recent romantic interactions, at least none that you’re aware of.

You always thought he’d confide in you if he was seeing someone, but now you’re not so sure; especially since you’re only finding out about this now. Without a doubt, Eddie has never had trouble attracting attention. But he’s always seemed so content with the ways things are. So why now?

Eddie turns to face you, a splash of desperation in his eyes. “I feel like doing this is the best way to know if she likes me back.”

Your mouth has gone dry, and you try to sound more curious than interrogative, but it doesn’t quite come off that way. “Who is this mystery woman, anyway?” A couple of names come to mind, some of the most beautiful girls in town—none of whom you hold a candle to.

His side of the room falls quiet when he’s hit with your question. Eddie’s eyes drop to the carpet. While it might seem like he’s lost in thought, it’s actually a glaring sign of evasion. You can’t help but feel a little hurt by his reluctance to tell you who it is.

A small smile forms as he leans back against his dresser, as though he can’t keep himself upright during his current daydream. Folding his arms across his pecs and rubbing his jaw, eyes still downcast, Eddie begins to gush about her. “She’s just- god, she’s something else. The way she laughs, it’s like... the sun coming out after a storm.”

“Sounds like quite the catch,” you mutter, trying to keep your tone neutral. You watch closely as blush tints Eddie’s cheeks and his smile threatens to grow. Without saying another word, Eddie walks out and returns to the bathroom.

You’re quick to follow, hopping up from your chair. “Do I know her?”

“Technically, yeah,” Eddie answers. Standing in front of the foggy mirror, he wipes it with the back of his forearm. Then, he starts rummaging through the counter drawer for his pair of shears.

You stand just outside the open door, the lingering humidity from his scorching hot shower kissing your skin as it disperses into the hallway. Leaning back against the wall, you cross your arms like he did moments ago, albeit far more tensely. Technically? It must be one of your ex-friends, then. That would explain why he’s been keeping you in the dark.

It’s your duty to be supportive, but right now, you could hurl. The thick nausea swirling deep in your gut is a storm raging within, overpowering your ability to stay present.

While trimming his bangs over the basin, the shears glint in the hushed light of the wall sconce. Eddie steals a glance in your direction, but his eyes dart back to his reflection too quickly to catch the discomfort etched on your face. “So you’ll help me, right?”

As you watch yourself anxiously wiggling your toes inside your sock, you mumble, “I can't if you won’t tell me who it is.“

“Sure you can, you’re a girl. You know how this stuff works.”

You scoff, your brows shooting up as your head jerks back. You open your mouth to object, but he promptly cuts you off.

“Ah, ah! Slow your roll,” Eddie cautions, pointing the shears in your direction. “I’m not saying you’re all the same, but there’s gotta be some common ground of expectations, right?”

You don’t have the strength to argue, so you reluctantly allow for his generalization. “I guess so.”

“Like yeah, I could just study one of those lady magazines you’re always reading. But then I wouldn’t have a way of knowing what is and isn’t bullshit,” Eddie explains, his tone half-joking. “That’s why I’m going straight to the source, oh, wise one.”

Far too consumed with trying to narrow down who the chick could possibly be, you can’t be bothered to give him a huff of amusement through your nose. “Can I at least have a hint?”

“Nope,” The shears hit the countertop, their metallic resonance echoing against the porcelain. He pivots to face you, hands resting on his hips. “Alright, Sherlock. How about you quit trying to crack the case and help me pick out a tie.”

“A what now?” You squawk, eyes widening in disbelief.

Eddie chuckles softly and rinses the hair trimmings down the drain, then flicks off the bathroom light. “I have to dress for the occasion. This is a big deal for me,” he elaborates as he strides back into his room. “For her and me.”

Once again, you find yourself on his tail, trailing close behind back into his bedroom. You unfold your arms and instead, start to rub the inside of your wrist with your opposite thumb. “Yeah, I get that. Just seems a bit out of character for you.”

Rifling through his closet, Eddie pulls out a hanger with a navy button-up shirt and nonchalantly tosses it onto the end of his bed. “Maybe, but at least she’ll know I’m taking this seriously,” Eddie says while reaching for the high shelf to retrieve a tattered shoebox. Lifting the lid, he presents it to you. “Here’s what we’re working with.”

You step closer, your fingers deftly plucking out the rolled ties one by one, laying them flat beside the slightly wrinkled shirt. Side by side, your shoulders nearly brush. Meticulously comparing the patterns and colors, neither of you seems drawn to any particular one.

“Here, maybe it’s better to do it this way,” Eddie suggests, picking up and beginning to slip into the shirt. His thick fingers falter as he attempts to maneuver each small white button through its corresponding hole. Once halfway dressed—having tastefully paired his plaid boxers with a dress shirt—he smooths out the material from his chest to his belly.

Eddie reaches for the nearest tie and lays it against his shoulder. He faces you expectantly, anticipation evident in his gaze, awaiting your feedback.

Your eyes flit between the tie he’s holding, the array laid out on the bed, and the hopefulness in his round eyes. “These are easily the three ugliest ties I've ever seen. No offense.”

He blows a playful raspberry at your harsh criticism and shakes his head. “None taken, they’re not mine. But Wayne might be a little hurt when I call him next and tell him you said that.”

Shooting him a pointed look, your brows furrow in skepticism. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I just might,” Eddie teases with a smile before turning his attention back to the bed. He tosses the first tie aside and reaches for the mustard paisley one. “What about this one, does it compliment my eyes?” He bats his dark brown lashes.

You clutch your chin in contemplation, carefully assessing the combination of hues. However, the richness of his chocolate irises captures you. You wade in their depths. The hot flash that envelops your body is enough to break the trance he inadvertently put you under. With a disapproving shake of your head, you dismiss this tie as well. “Nope, next.”

Eddie looks at you for a moment longer, even though you’re not doing the same. A faint frown creases his features as he tosses the vetoed tie aside, forming a rejection pile.

You pick up the remaining tie and drape it over his shoulder, admiring the harmonious pairing of the navy in the tie with the shirt, accentuated by its white and black diagonal stripes. While you ponder, Eddie watches your face intently, holding his breath.

You nod, a trace of delighted approval in your expression. “We have a winner.”

“Hell yeah, blue on blue it is,” Eddie exclaims. He wraps the tie around the back of his neck but struggles to recall the proper technique for tying it. Attempting a few different nonsensical loopings, he groans, his determination waning. “Stupid son of a bitch, wouldya just-”

“Don’t hurt yourself. Let me do it," You offer. Not receiving protest, you step closer to him.

Eddie uses one hand to gather his product-enhanced curls into a makeshift ball, allowing you to access the collar of his shirt. He juts out his freshly shaved chin, granting you ample room to work. Standing this closely, you catch the clean scent of shaving cream lingering on his skin.

You begin to effortlessly tie the knot. Without pausing to consider what you’re about to say, the words spill from your lips, “Why’re you asking for my opinion on stuff like this, anyway? You should be doing what you think she’ll like, not me.”

“You always know best,” Eddie’s expression softens to something more vulnerable. “When you’re taking the next step in a relationship, you want everything to be as perfect as it can be, y’know?”

It’s common sense to him. No one understands him like you do, making you the perfect person for navigating this nerve-wracking experience. But for you, it’s perplexing. You’ve never been on a proper, formal date. The idea of one remains an unfulfilled pipe dream. Yet, here you are, agreeing to help Eddie plan his.

Your only frame of reference comes from romance movies and horror stories of dates gone wrong recounted by your girlfriends. Of all the things you could be in the world, you find yourself an unassuming tree. Sturdy and dependable, sure. You serve your purpose. But you don’t captivate onlookers with blooming petals like flowers do. Instead, you take pride in your intricately branched personality, valuing it as your true strength that often goes overlooked.

Even so, it feels as though your traits fail to enchant others regardless; nobody seems willing. You go unnoticed, and you’ve come to terms with that.

Beautiful wildflowers get plucked from the ground and carried away to be cherished. Meanwhile, you simply exist, rooted in no man’s land, devoid of admirers. You may stand tall, but you’re easily overshadowed by what other women have to offer.

Perhaps this is why you like working at the flower shop. It’s somewhat cathartic to witness the delicate petals fall from time to time. It brings you a strange sense of satisfaction to hack away at their stems. The best part, though? While it’s a little twisted, you know that those flowers that dazzle in their pristine state are destined to wilt. They’ll shrivel and brown.

Whilst among your shared group of friends in public, you’ve witnessed Eddie getting nudged by one of the guys to direct his attention to a smoke show walking by. You watched as they bit their knuckles and exaggeratedly gawked. You don’t compare, it’s not even apples to oranges. It’s like… apples to rocks. A delicious, shiny fruit compared to you, mere clunky chunks of earth.

If life were an album, you’re the track that everyone skips within seconds of hearing the intro. Except for those rare moments when someone half-listens by accident and they resonate with you—that’s how you and Eddie became friends. He’d stumbled upon his new favorite song, one worth revisiting. What he sees in you is what everyone else overlooks.

Eddie is the only man on the face of the earth who treats you like you’re worth being around. Only an oddball would prefer to spend time lounging beneath the shade of a crooked tree instead of homing a rose in a crystal vase. That’s one thing you love about your best friend; he doesn’t make you feel like you fade into the background.

All fairytale cliché bullshit included, you want to be sought out in a crowd. You want to light up the room for someone. Much to your dismay, that can happen platonically too, and it has in this case.

If Eddie only knew how much the little moments matter to you—the ones where he makes you feel prioritized and valued. You know you’re not anything close to special or remarkable, but he always made you second guess that thought.

Obviously, you hadn’t meant to fall for him. It was kind of like catching a cold; one day, there was a tickle in the back of your throat that you didn’t usually feel. Unsuspecting, the days went on, and that sensation only worsened. You started to panic a little but ultimately continued to deny your worst thoughts.

Before you knew it, you were bedridden, bitten by the love bug. You didn’t go down without a fight. You thought that you could be strong and deny it access to your heart, but it had already invaded. So, all you could do was wait it out.

You tried to distance yourself, hoping to recover and act like nothing ever changed inside of you. But Eddie didn’t let you get too far away.

It wasn’t love at first sight, rather, a creeping plague. There was no swooning and giggling, no struggling to keep your hands to yourself. The change was undetectable. You were a frog in boiling water, unaware of the gradually rising temperature until it was far too late.

It wasn’t until your chest started to ache every time you said goodbye at the end of spending time together that you realized you were in too deep. You genuinely debated going to the doctor to get the pang checked out, but luckily you didn’t. Otherwise, you’d have wasted a good chunk of money to find out that you’re a lovesick idiot.

Unfortunately, this is an illness you’ve been stuck with since, and you’ve at least learned how to distract yourself from it. But when you fail to do so, your imagination wanders. Naturally, you’ve wondered if pressing a mere kiss to his cheek would burn everything to the ground.

The forbidden territory beckons, tempting you to envision breaking those unspoken agreed-upon rules that forbid things like hand-holding and cuddling. The two of you uphold mutual respect, adhering to the expectations of friendship. Both of you reserve that level of touch for expressions of romantic affection. Actions such as those have no place in a true friendship.

That’s the most confusing part of this for you. How did you manage to catch such strong feelings for him when you’ve not crossed any lines? Sure, he’s a tactile person; maybe that has something to do with it. Eddie makes physical contact with those he trusts, but it’s not like he’s hanging off of you at any given moment. You receive the same treatment as the others in his inner circle: a hand on the shoulder, a pat on the back, and a brief gripping of the forearm to get your attention.

You’re not supposed to want the touches to be more frequent, much less of a different nature. The line has to be drawn somewhere, and it’s been plainly drawn in the sand. You understand and accept that. But why, of all lines in the world, does it have to be this one that you want to cross so badly?

Most of your days aren’t all that miserable. But there are those days that are more difficult than the rest, though it’s not his fault. Last weekend, the two of you were at a mall, and some chick waved at him flirtily. He returned it immediately, though playfully enough that it was almost mocking. He was fucking around and had no intention of entertaining the idea of approaching her. Regardless, it was humbling for you, to say the least.

In that moment, the world reminded you that there’s a reason you walk at his side at a respectable distance, not tucked under his arm. If anything, it’s for the best. There’s a sense of liberation in admiring him without the burden of articulating your feelings. There’s no pressure to meet a girlfriend quota or live up to a higher standard. What Eddie expects of you now is what you’re capable of, and clearly, all that you’re good for. You’re good for filling the void, but apparently not so much anymore.

You’re not lustrous and aching to jump his bones, and you’re certainly not desperate enough to kiss him on a whim by not allowing yourself to overthink it. But perhaps you are just desperate enough that a man simply paying your emotions, interests, and existence of any mind can shackle you to him. That has to be what’s done you in; Eddie gives a shit about you.

In reality, there’s more to it than that. Eddie is selective about who and what he lets in. He doesn’t care for conformity and lack of individuality. The idea of blending in with the majority of society repulses him. You find the flawed aspects of the Munson doctrine fascinating and raw. He’s not perfect and Eddie doesn’t care what others think of him, to a degree.

Not unlike you, he’s complex. Eddie is anti-establishment but still prefers a bit of structure over chaos in his day-to-day life. He’s independent and cynical as hell, but he’s also appreciative of his support systems and isn’t ashamed to rely on them. He’s not much of a rule breaker nor is he rebellious, but he’ll happily stir up a little trouble in good fun if given the opportunity.

Eddie is a hypocrite in some ways and a walking contradiction in others. You love that he’s unapologetic about being that way. He owns it for the most part, and you admire that.

His presence overstays its welcome in your thoughts. You’ve often yearned for him to call you in the dead of night, admitting that he can’t sleep without the sound of your voice. Many times, you’ve fought the urge to do that. He owes you sleep, countless nights of it. It’s a debt that will never be repaid, an outstanding balance.

Despite the attempts at trying to talk yourself out of it, you still can’t bring yourself to stop loving him. Even as he’s actively pursuing someone else, you’re unable to shake this. You could be paralyzed from head to toe, and you’d still feel the love you have for him in your bones.

Once Eddie is officially with someone, he won’t have much time or energy left for you. The anticipation of being thrown aside for something new and far prettier has shattered your heart before any changes have occurred. Yet, any fragment of his presence surpasses total absence. The greed isn’t worth it, and you know you should be grateful for getting any piece of him at all.

The phrase fizzles on the tip of your tongue like a smoldering ember, threatening to sear through the muscle… I’m happy for you.

You should say it, but you can’t. Because if you did, that would be a blatant lie. It’s not even possessiveness that has you so bitter, it’s envy. You wish you were in her place.

“There,” you adjust the knot with a delicate tug, ensuring its tightness before letting the material slip through your fingers. Unable to meet his appreciative gaze, you offer a sad smile and take a half-step backward.

Your sigh, cleverly concealed as a deep breath, escapes as you settle back into your chair with a plop. “So, um,” you begin, picking at your cuticles absentmindedly. “Where are you taking her? Somewhere fancy?”

“Nah,” Eddie meticulously revamps his curls one final time in the mirror, wanting them to fall just right. Then, with great care, he tames his bangs to lay perfectly in place. “She’s gonna come over here. I thought it’d be more intimate. Besides, I can’t exactly swing a reservation right now. I’ve been tight on cash this week.”

Your fingers come to a halt, the stinging sensation apparent. Looking over at him, your eyes meet his in the reflection. “Ya big dummy, you shouldn’t have bought me lunch when that money could’ve gone toward buying her a nice dinner.”

“Don’t start with that shit,” Eddie warns as he digs through his dresser in search of pants to wear. “I’m happy to do that for you,” He adds, pulling a pair of dark jeans from the bottom drawer.

“It really did make my day, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Having donned his pants, he nears his desk where his black grommet belt lies on the floor. Eddie threads his belt through the loops of his jeans, the buckle jingling before he secures it in place. “I felt better knowing you were taken care of.”

It’s only now occurring to you what he’s implied, and you think how absurd it is for him to host a dinner when he’s culinarily challenged. “Wait, since when do you cook?”

“Oh, I don’t. But you do.”

“Hardly,” you scoff, downplaying your abilities. Placing your magazine back in your lap, you flip the page despite not having read it. Unexpectedly, you feel the urge to quell his enthusiasm, to set him up for failure by trying to poke holes in his plan. “I mean, food is one thing, but atmosphere is another. Aren’t the guys going to be here?”

Eddie moves the clutter on his desk around in a quest to find something. “I kicked them out for the night.”

Like a spear plunged into your chest, you swallow hard. Not only is he having a girl over for dinner, but he’s gone out of his way to guarantee privacy because he’s hoping to get lucky too. More than likely right there, on that very bed, feet away from you. The cramped twin-sized mattress, where they’ll inevitably be body to body.

He turns to you after locating what he was searching for, fastening the slightly fancier watch around his wrist; it only supersedes his casio due to it being analog, as opposed to digital. “I’ve been wanting to try that dish you keep raving about. You can teach me how to make it. Two birds, one stone.”

“It’s not difficult, you could handle the recipe,” You shrug away the opportunity to cook with him because the domesticity of it would more than likely kill you.

“I wanna do it together,” his voice softens, genuinely asking as nicely as he’s capable. “Please.”

“Sure, yeah,” you maintain your downcast gaze and slump back in the chair, wishing for a black hole to open and swallow you up. “What if she doesn’t like it, or what if you don’t?”

“If you like it then it has to be good.”

Eddie’s seemingly endless compliments cause no sense of flattery. Instead, you’re consumed with persisting nausea as you envision a stunning girl seated across from him while they share laughter and partake in unspeakable activities in this very room.

Abruptly, a wave of heat washes over you, causing the soles of your feet and your palms to grow clammy. The scent of newly sprayed Old Spice floods the room and you’re overwhelmed by it, struggling to draw a breath. “I’ll be right back,” You all but choke on your words, swiftly rising to your feet and hastily leaving. Eddie watches curiously as you do.

In the living room, you push the heavy sliding door aside, stepping out onto the balcony to catch your breath. You inhale as deep as physically possible, and the stirring evening breeze cools the hot tears gathered along your lash line. Cars pass by, and you distract yourself by watching a person leisurely walking their dog. You do everything in your power to divert your thoughts away from him and the impending date.

A few minutes later, Eddie emerges from his room and slides open the door to the balcony, poking his head out to check on you. “Y’ready to go?” The shift in your energy is immediately evident to him, though he can’t quite pinpoint what’s amiss. He figures you’ve had a long day and you’re tired from your shift. Maybe you’re a little hangry, too.

With your arms folded on the balcony rail, you continue to look out into the neighborhood. “Go where?” 

“The store, duh. We’ve gotta get ingredients, do we not?” He says to the back of your head.

You nod meekly before turning to face him. “Right. Yeah, I’m ready.”

Eddie flashes a warm smile before sliding the door open wide enough for you to pass through. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand then, hot stuff. We’re losing daylight,” He says, striding toward the front door.

Arguably, you’re not losing daylight fast enough. You wish the sun would fall from the sky. That way, it would always be dark and you could hide in the shadows forever. You follow him inside and slide the closed with a subdued thud.

His car keys drag and jingle while he swipes them off of the counter. Once he reaches the entryway, Eddie drops the keys on the floor beside him as he kneels to put on his sneakers. A few seconds later, you’ve joined him to do the same. Eddie glances at you as he feels the evening breeze that slipped in finally reaching this side of the room. “It’s a little chilly out, wanna borrow a hoodie or something?”

Quickly tying your shoes to avoid prolonged eye contact, you get to your feet, hugging yourself as you do. “No, I’ll be fine.”

Eddie snorts and stands, his shoes now tied as well. “I’m getting you one,” He insists and heads to his room, gesturing for you to follow.

“I said I’ll be fine without one,” You opt not to follow, instead calling out to him to compensate for the distance and his half-open door.

“Shut up, I’m getting you one and you’re gonna wear it ‘cause I said so,” his tone drips with feigned amusement at your stubbornness. “Come in here.”

As you step into the room, Eddie offers you the hoodie, watching as you just stare at it. “Sweetheart, put it on. You’re gonna freeze to death if you don’t. Then, I’ll have no choice but to cancel my super hot date because I’ll be too busy defrosting my ice sculpture of a best friend with a blow drier. You want me to blow you all night? I know you-”

“Okay, okay! I’ll put the damn thing on,” you say, begrudgingly taking it from him. “Happy?”

“Try elated,” Eddie smiles from ear to ear and winks at you, content that you’re allowing him to do what he deems best for you, knowing you’re too stubborn to do so for yourself. He’s got your back, always. Even if it means enduring a bit of attitude in the process. Eddie likes that about you, he always has. With a final glance, he leaves the room, flicking off the light switch.

Left standing in the dark bedroom, you blindly navigate the article of clothing to locate the opening. However, as soon as you go to put it on, it occurs to you that this hoodie is not fresh out of the wash.

The distant floral scent left behind by dryer sheets mingles with his natural aroma, enveloping you as you pull the sweatshirt over your head. He grabbed whatever was at hand, inadvertently submerging you back into the very sensory experience you fled from. The spicy notes from his cologne turn you into a human lava lamp, effectively melting you on the inside.

The mingling of Old Spice, tobacco smoke, his unique essence, and a hint of spring meadow flood your mind. You consider the idea of keeping the hoodie. You could tell him that you forgot to return it, and he’ll forget about it. Eddie can afford to lose one hoodie, he’d survive.

“Let’s go!” He barks, impatience peaking as nerves gnaw at him with each passing minute bringing him closer to the dinner.

Exiting his bedroom, you find Eddie stationed at the front door, propping it open with his foot. Once within his view, you extend your arms and twist your expression to emphasize your annoyed compliance.

“One last thing,” Eddie withdraws his foot, causing the door to slam shut, its latch clanging twice against the wood from the force. He reaches out and pulls the hood up, adjusting it to cover most of your head. “There.”

You stick your tongue out at him, your grin eliciting one from him in return. “Alright, let’s-” He begins, but instead of turning, he fakes you out and grabs both drawstrings. Eddie tugs them, causing the hood to cinch tightly around your face.

“You’re an ass,” You whine.

“Yeah, well,” Eddie turns around to leave this time and holds the front door open for you. “You’re stuck with me.”

With a narrowed glare, you fix the hood and your hair on your way out of the apartment. Eddie is close behind, closing the door and locking it. You take the opportunity to collect yourself and adopt a supportive, cheerful demeanor.

These are gonna be the longest two hours of your life.

You can’t fucking believe it. You’re preparing a meal for another woman, and doing so willingly. You tried to guide him through the prep process, but he grew frustrated. Now, he’s on dish duty, conquering the mountain of dirty dishes piled up on the counter. 

She may be getting a delicious and intimate dinner, but at least you get moments like these. But soon enough, she’ll have them too. If everything goes to plan, the memories of these moments will be all you have left of Eddie. As you lose yourself in the sound of his voice, the ramblings about a sale he made at work eventually circle back to the topic of his evening.

As he excitedly goes on, his voice carries a boyish enthusiasm. Unseen by you, Eddie bounces on the balls of his feet while standing at the sink. Ten minutes seem to fly by unnoticed as you both focus on your tasks.

After taking the food out of the oven, his demeanor flips like a switch. “Oh, it’s time for me to leave apparently,” you acknowledge, barely having the chance to take off the oven mitt all the way before he’s practically pushing you out of the apartment. “Be sure to heat it up at 375 degrees,” You suggest as you struggle to put on your shoes fast enough.

“Sure thing,” Eddie confirms, “I’ll let you know how it goes!”

“Looking forward to it,” You lie. Eddie waves you off before closing the front door. Left standing alone in the eerily quiet hallway, you feel foolish.

Finally arriving home, you crawl onto your bed. The weight of reality crashes down upon you, and you physically collapse under the weight of your emotions. The pain in your chest burns up the back of your throat as you sob. This was a harsh wake-up call, but it’s what you needed to finally confront yourself.

It’s better this way. Not having to reject you outright or politely turn you down, Eddie doesn’t have to hurt simply because you are. This is best because Eddie doesn’t have to feel guilty or pity you. Just as you’ve loved him in silence, you can grieve the loss of him in it too.

Ten minutes pass and just as you’re starting to drift asleep from exhaustion, your telephone rings. The ringing in the kitchen pulls you from your room. You drag your feet on the way there, clearing your throat and taking a deep breath before answering the phone.

“Hey, uh,” Eddie sounds panicked, “Can you come back over? I forgot the most important fucking thing and-”

You cut him off, “Relax, I’ll be there in twelve,” Abruptly ending the call without another word, you rub your sore eyes, blow your stuffy nose, and splash your face with warm water. The last thing he needs is for his night to be ruined because he notices how hard you’ve been crying. If your feelings get in the way of him having a good time with the girl he’s head over heels for, then you don’t deserve his friendship.

Entering the building and letting yourself back into his apartment, you’re caught off guard by how different the space looks. He worked his butt off to tidy the living room and make certain that everything is presentable. Besides being notably neater, you also notice the faint smell of air freshener.

The apartment is blanketed in darkness, illuminated only by the flickering flames of candles and the light from the table lamp in the living room. Hushed music emanates from the record player in his room. It’s a genre you wouldn’t have expected him to own, because of how slow and romantic it sounds. You wonder whether he bought it specifically for this occasion.

Upon hearing the front door creak open, Eddie halts his pacing in the living room. “Thank god, you’re here.”

You teeter on the heels of your feet, feeling out of place in the carefully arranged setting that isn’t meant for you. “I really shouldn’t be. It’s quarter to seven, she’ll show up any minute now.”

Eddie makes his way over to you, rounding the dinner table and draping his arm along the back of the dining chair farthest from where you stand. “No, no. Don’t worry about that, she’s already here.”

Your eyes flit towards the bathroom, expecting to see a sliver of light escaping from beneath the door, yet the hallway is pitch black. There’s no dolled-up gal standing in his room either. You look back at him with a furrowed brow, confusion etched on your face. “Where, exactly?”

He can’t think of a time he’s ever had to remind himself how to breathe correctly. Eddie holds his hand out to you, his anxiety mounting. With hesitation, you extend your hand and place it in his. He wraps his trembling fingers around yours.

Rarely have you been in this position, and in those instances, it was never an act with deeper meaning. It’s only ever happened in urgent moments, like darting across a bustling street to avoid being separated—a mere safety measure.

Eddie’s attention fixates on your hands, willing them to respond to his touch. Then he notices your puffy, reddened eyes. “What’s the matter?” He asks, instinctively squeezing your joined hands.

“It’s stupid,” You pull away from him, retracting your hand to wipe away the smeared mascara beneath your eyes.

Rather than forcibly turning you to face him, Eddie gracefully moves around to stand in front of you once more. “I bet it’s not,” he says softly, his compassionate expression tinged with concern. He reaches for both of your hands this time, praying you can’t feel his pounding pulse through the contact.

Eddie delicately lifts your hands and peppers velvety kisses across the tops of your knuckles. The warmth of your skin against his lips sends a shiver shooting through his core, goosebumps rising across his body.

You emit a wet giggle from the shock, uncertainty, and embarrassment bubbling within you. “What the hell are you doing?”

He chuckles a little too, his eyes sparkling as they reflect the dancing flames behind you. “What’s it look like? This is all for you,” Eddie presses one more featherlight kiss to your hands before lowering them, but he doesn’t let go, keeping them securely in his own. “It’s our first date.”

You’re the prettiest little package of unusual. From the moment he first heard your song, he couldn’t shake you. Eddie couldn’t get your tune out of his system, but it’s not like he wanted to. Never before had anyone shown him such unconditional care; no one had ever gone out of their way to get to know him like you did. You’re the safest thing he’s ever known, but you’re also the scariest, in the best ways possible.

The thought of confessing how you make him complete, unlike anything he’s ever experienced, is nothing short of terrifying. Yet, the fear of not seizing the opportunity to love you outweighs the fear of rejection. There’s no turning back now.

Your eyes wander to the table, taking in the details: the thoughtfully arranged mismatched plates and silverware, the glasses filled with expensive wine. At the end of the kitchen island sits a teddy bear beside a bouquet. In addition to the flower petals, there are red, white, and pink balloons scattered across the floor.

You turn away before he can see your face contort, biting your lip harshly to suppress the sob rising in your throat. It’s all useless, though. A broken cry escapes your lips.

Eddie’s stomach lurches and pressure builds behind his own eyes. The change he just caused is palpable, the damage has been done. He releases both of your hands and plants his on the sides of his head, stepping away. “Shit, shit, shit. I’m such a fucking idiot. I read this all wrong, I thought-”

“You’re not and you didn’t,” you choke out. “They’re happy tears now.”

His frantic expression mellows out, his arms drop to his sides, and the tension in his body gradually dissipates. “Happy tears?”

You respond with a soft hum and nod, a grin forming as you admire the table setting and gifts once more before looking back at Eddie.

“Oh,” he chirps, wearing a cheek-splitting smile as he brings his palms to your face. He wipes away your fallen tears with his thumbs. Eddie studies your expression intently. “I didn’t mean to make you cry sad ones.”

“It’s not your fault,” You close your eyes, relishing the sensation of his fingers calmingly swiping along the apples of your cheeks.

“It is and I’m sorry,” Eddie inches closer, his toes now touching yours. “I wanted it to be a surprise ‘cause I thought spontaneity would make it more memorable.”

You look at him questioningly. “It’s not exactly spontaneous when you had me cook my own dinner.”

“Fair enough. You’ve got me there,” Eddie thought it was a foolproof plan. If you made the food, there was no chance that you’d hate it. “I went about this all wrong, huh? I should scrap the whole thing and start from scratch,” He becomes distracted, his train of thought shifting to how he’s going to clean this up and figure out a different approach.

“Don’t do that. Just ask me,” you grasp his forearm to regain his attention. “Ask me out and maybe I'll say yes.”

“Maybe?” Eddie scoffs airily, unsure if you’re teasing or genuinely undecided. He clears his throat and theatrically composes himself, gesturing with a downward motion of his hand in front of his face. “Okay, uh, would you like to have dinner with me?”

“No.”

Eddie’s mouth falls open.

“I’m fucking with you,” You smile devilishly and wrap your arms around his middle.

Finally, he can hug you the way he’s always wanted. Eddie brings you in close and tight, his arms encircling your head. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” He murmurs into your hair, inhaling deeply to indulge in every aspect of you he can.

“A little,” You laugh. You remain in each other’s embrace for a moment longer before easing apart, though still connected by your pairs of lassoed arms.

Eddie’s laughter melds with yours, the relief in his tone evident. “Now that the cat's outta the bag, I can finally tell you that I absolutely love when you’re a crybaby.”

You pull a comical expression, raising your eyebrows and widening your eyes. “What, why?” You take in the scattering of freckles across his T-zone while he responds.

“Honest to god, it’s mesmerizing to watch you experience things so intensely. It’s fucking beautiful,” With nothing but adoration in his eyes, Eddie strokes your hair, relishing the way it feels against his skin. “Can I call you my crybaby?”

“No, you cannot!” You swat at his chest and attempt to push him away, but he laughs smugly and brings you back in close. Your hands find purchase on his biceps, surrendering to him entirely. Locked in each other’s gaze, time seems to crawl.

Eddie’s hands, having made their way down to caress your hips, settle on the small of your back. “How about just baby?” he nudges the tip of his nose against yours, his voice taking on an almost sultry tone. “You like the way that sounds?”

All you can do is nod dumbly, watching his eyes fall to your lips.

Eddie mumbles, “Me too,” His hands flex where they lay, tugging you slightly so that your bodies are flush and you have no choice but to lean against him. “Would it be okay if I kissed you?” Eddie licks his lips, his eyes finding yours again, the chocolate pools of his irises swirling.

You nod, slide your hands up his shoulders, and wrap them around his neck. The air was stolen from your lungs, rendering your voice a ghost. Eddie leans in and his lips hover over yours, your eyes fluttering closed in time with his. Then, you feel the gentle pressure of his lips against your own.

For a few moments, you’re out of sync, a mere beat behind due to nerves. But after taking a brief breath, you find each other without trouble. When you slot your lip between his, it’s as though there’s a sunrise in his veins; a new dawn spreads through his body. You tug a fistful of curls at the nape of his neck, your lips clicking wetly with one another, chests heaving in unison.

When the two of you finally have to part to breathe, Eddie whispers, “Holy shit.”

“You can say that again,” You exhale, releasing the grip you have on his hair and soothingly scratching the area with your nails.

“I mean I could,” Eddie borderline purrs, tightening his arms around your waist. “But I’d much rather keep kissing you.”

“Hard to argue with that,” you smile against his lips and give him a quick peck, which he happily returns. Then, your mind begins to wander. “You got me flowers?”

He can’t discern if there’s a trace of disdain or disbelief in your tone. Eddie knows that you consider flowers cliché and overrated; after all, you deal with them all day. But just because you see them that way doesn’t mean he does.

Eddie pulls away slightly to get a good look at you, “Yeah, of course I got flowers for my flower. How could I not?”

Truthfully, he’s bummed about not being able to find a bouquet as exceptional as you. You’re unlike anything from this world, resembling something from his cherished sci-fi novels. You’re resilient, showing up any old rose or daisy. You unfurled your petals solely for Eddie and allowed him to see you bloom. Nothing on earth compares to you. So, a regular bouquet would have to do.

You comment with a slightly teasing tone, “I had no idea you’re a hopeless romantic.”

“Too much?” Eddie bites his lower lip, afraid that you’re offended.

“No, not too much,” you remove your one hand from his hair and rest it on his chest, drawing mindless shapes while you avoid eye contact. “Far more than I deserve though,” You’re slightly taken aback when Eddie cups your face without hesitation, forcing you to look at him. Despite his assertiveness, his touch is tender.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie’s eyes carry an intensity you’ve never seen, brimming with affection and sincerity. “You deserve everything good that this world has to offer. I can’t give you that, but I can give you all of me. That much I can promise.”

Reblogs are greatly encouraged and appreciated! ♡

★My Masterlist

tags:@nj01@tlclick73

[felinisnoctis]

Chaos Prime: Batsy's Story, part 1

With credit to @fangs-claws-paws for some horrible ideas.

CW: sexual manipulation/coercion, non-consensual nudity

Malthael had been sent out on a somewhat unique mission.  They’d muttered that it was bad luck when he was given his chapter colors - yellow with a black and white checkered pattern.  But his new brothers honestly seemed nice.  Some chapters had problems with the new reinforcements, but the Lamenters just seemed glad to have literally anyone at all bothering to reinforce them.

He had just completed his training when he was told he was going on a special solo mission.  Something about building alliances with the imperial nobility.  Malthael rolled his eyes inside his helmet - nobles were largely a pain that he couldn’t quite see the point of - but obediently polished up his armor and weapons.  As an afterthought he draped both in the embroidered leather cape he had taken to wearing, tanned from the belly of a tyranid and with sculpted shoulder plates from its carapace.

As he understood it, he was to be provided protection services to a local imperial governor who had been having problems with his imperial rivals.  In exchange his chapter, newly finished with their penitential crusade, would receive the right to sweep the populace for suitable candidate for neophytes, along with a significant shipment of ammunition.  It was a worthwhile trade, even if he resented such a boring tour of duty.  He had, apparently, been requested specifically, for reasons he most certainly couldn’t fathom.  Why they would want a newly minted battle-brother and not an experienced veteran was beyond him.

The ceremony itself was beautifully organized.  There was a celebration for the boys who had been allowed to take their place as aspirants, and a rather showy presentation as a shuttle was loaded with promised resources and sent off, although the bulk  of the offerings had obviously been moved before.  And then a ceremony where Malthael, reading from a script given to him over vox, swore his loyalty to the Imperium and to the governor in what was frankly excessively flowery language.  The ceremony was weird and loud for him and he felt uncomfortable around all the stiff, ornate clothing.  Most of it looked horrible anyway, like it was designed to show how much fine fabric the nobility could cover their forms in rather than out of any actual aesthetic sense.   Something about the way the governor looked at him made him nervous, but he brushed it aside as part of the weirdness.  He stood stock-still as the ceremony concluded, following obediently behind the governor as they retreated to the inner rooms of the palace spire.

Even the oversized palace doors were big for him, the rooms clearly intended for the size of much smaller mortals and not power armored primaris marines. Privately Malthael thought the rooms were in poor taste, reflecting time and money that could have been better spent on shoring up the sector’s defenses and repairing its badly-damaged industrial capacity.  But it was not his place to say so.  As they reached the room that was apparently their final destination, the governor suggested “Malthael was it?  Perhaps you should take your armor off.”

Something nagged at the back of his mind, telling him this was a bad idea, though he couldn’t identify what.  “I’d be more comfortable with it on, your honor, it’s fine!” he managed, a little too quickly.

“Take it off, marine.  You’ll be more dexterous without it anyway, and I will need help getting out of this court gown.”

“Don’t you have serfs for that?” Malthael blurted out before realizing that this was almost certainly the wrong thing to say, but began obediently removing his armor.  The governor huffed slightly but did not respond until the primaris was down to his bodyglove, and then only to motion him over to start helping.

Malthael bent down and delicately plucked the fresh orange blossoms from an overly elaborate headpiece, placing them in an indicated bowl of fresh water nearby, before unfastening the mound of ribbons that held the towering hairpiece in place.  The governor’s hand reached up and brushed his chest as he leaned over, lingering near the fast beat of his hearts.

“I’m impressed that they managed to make you lot bigger and stronger…and more obedient, I’ve been told.  Is that true, soldier?”

“It concords with the goals of the Adeptus Mechanicus in creating us.”  He set the hairpiece aside and moved to undo the lacing on the overgown, a deep red velvet heavy with gold and silver embroidery.  As it slid to the floor the puffy lace undercoat tore in several places, causing Malthael to wince at the noise.

“I apologize, I seem to have torn your attire.  Perhaps one of your servants would be better suited to the task?”

“It is no matter, Malthael.  Piña fiber tears easily, and I have already worn it once.  You may tear the rest off, if you like.”  The last line was delivered with a dazzling smile that made Malthael's head hurt.  He didn’t like nobles because they were always saying and doing confusing things where they didn’t mean what they said, they meant something else that he was supposed to figure out.

Nevertheless he carefully tore the back of the delicate lace garment open, allowing it to settle in two pieces delicately on top of the velvet, before being covered by various bits of padding and cushioning that he had to unlace from the governor’s body.  The scene was growing more confusing in his head by the minute - what was the purpose of such things when they would only add weight and bulk to the wearer?  Pads lined the governor’s shoulders and upper arms and surrounded their hips and thighs for no purpose that Malthael could understand, especially with how cleverly concealed they had been beneath the outer layers.  The pads would mimic muscles of course, but surely any worthwhile enemy wouldn’t be fooled by such a simple deception?  He didn’t ask as he removed them and dropped them on the floor, getting down on one knee to unlace the underskirt and the hip pads as he was ordered.

The governor leaned back against him as he did so, head resting against his shoulder and a hand reaching down to brush against his ass.  Malthael shifted back slightly.  “Apologies, your honor, I did not mean to put you off balance.”  He fought to press his rising combat hormones down - there were no observable enemies here, even to his enhanced senses.  His new charge, now stripped down to breaches, hose, and a quilted vest over a delicate tunic, leaned even further into his body.  He finished removing the vest and paused, unsure if he should continue.

“Keep going, marine” the voice was sharp and commanding as the governor pulled the tunic off and held out a leg for Malthael to undo the matching stocking.  The thin silk joined the growing pile on the floor, for an instant reminding Malthael of a line of blood staining the fabric as he finished his ordered task, ignoring the hand sliding to his shoulders and beginning to undo the fasteners on his bodyglove, only repeating his mantras of loyalty to the emperor in his head.

[gabessquishytum]

Mob dream and pub owner Hob? hob just opened a new business and the rent was so cheap he can’t believe the owner was so desperate to sell it. And it’s in a great area! He pours all his money into opening the place…but the day before it opens when he is stocking up the bar, the door opens. Which is…odd. That someone else apparently had the key.

Hob turns in time to see a grinning blond man enter, the first of four other men, including a pale man with glittering eyes.

Hob starts to protest but the man just calmly tells him that this is Endless territory and Hob owes them. He’ll have to pay if he wants their protection. And if not…the threat is implied.

Hob has no money. He’s put it all into the bar. And he’s a proud man. So he refuses.

That night, there is a break in. When Hob comes to the bar in the morning, ready for his first day, he is heartbroken to see all his windows have been smashed and the entire stock of alcohol in the shelves. The tables are all broken and the photo of his mother that he’d hung in the back is cracked. It’s all destroyed.

Hob is sweeping up the glass when the men come back. This time, they don’t hesitate. He’s grabbed and shoved in a chair, his hands cuffed behind his back. The leader, Dream, leans in his face. Again he demands payment.

Hob breaks down. “You destroyed my stock, this whole place,” he says. “I’ve got nothing left. Take my credit cards, but there’s barely 80 pounds in my bank account. You destroyed the only thing of worth I have.”

Dream stares at him. But hob’s genuine anger seems to convince him. Quietly he asks the others to leave. Alone with Hob he slips Hob’s wallet out of his pocket. He looks inside. Then he takes out Hob’s driver’s license and slips it into his own pocket.

“What are you—“ hob is interrupted by Dream’s hand on his face, tipping his chin up to meet his eye.

“I’m willing to come to a more personal arrangement. I’ll even pay for repairs. A whole new stock, just for you.”

“I just told you, I can’t pay—“

“You can. But ill be generous. I’m amenable to … alternative payment.” And he strokes Hob’s lower lip.

Hob has no choice. Seething and afraid, Hob gets on his knees. A blowjob gets him new windows. For new chairs and tables, he’s got to wear a remote controlled vibrating plug all day. He stares at his new bar stock when he bends over his counter so Dream can fuck him hard, one hand pressing his cheek into the wood.

And he knows, based on how Dream looks at him, like a starving man before a feast, there’s no end in sight to the payments.

“You’re mine,” Dream growls, hand hot around Hob’s shamefully hard cock. Hob can’t help but come when Dream demands it.

Mmm yes lovely morally dubious boys <3

Hob slowly begins to realise that Dream really is quite obsessed with him, and that he can use this to his advantage. Obviously it sucks to be used as a sexual plaything, so he ought to at least try and get something more out of it. He'll start milking Dream for all he's worth.

On their arranged night together, Hob surprises Dream by wearing a huge flared plug so he can immediately sink down on the mob boss's cock. It's a pleasant surprise, especially when Hob starts riding like his life depends on it. Dream is whisked off to a world of pure pleasure, while Hob flutters his eyelashes and makes sure that Dream cums explosively inside him. And then he starts talking about how the pub decor could really do with an upgrade... something cozy and classy to pull in the patrons who have money to burn. Dream immediately finds himself agreeing to pay for whatever decoration Hob wants. It doesn't occur to him until later that their "arrangement" just got flipped on its head? Since when was Hob allowed to ask for things?!

And Dream means to punish him for his gumption, but next time he goes to Hob he gets his brains sucked out through his dick. He forgets all about punishments and immediately agrees when Hob suggests that it would be useful to have a new van? To pick up deliveries for the pub?

And so it goes on. Dream asserts that he owns Hob, and Hob nods respectfully as he kneels on the (new) plush carpet. He lets Dream fuck his mouth, and he even says thank you afterwards.

He's got big plans for his pub, and he's going to make sure that Dream pays for every penny... even if Hob is technically paying with his body. Best not to think about it too hard...

Especially not the fact that it makes Hob cum so fucking hard whenever he thinks about how Dream owns him, and probably always will.

[docholligay]

Doc if you were in charge of the skills high schoolers needed to have under their belt by the time they graduated, what would you pick?

Oh there are so many choices.

If I opened my own school, it would have a class that was just called, 'LIfe Skills" and it would not be an elective and you would take it every semester, every year. It would act like you are a fuckin moron. All the kids would hate it, and they would all thank me later.

A selection:

Here's how to apply for a mortgage loan/credit card/student loan and here is how interest and credit scores work.

How to create and use a budget

Basic car maintenance and theory

Basic desktop computer use and troubleshooting. (No student of mine is not gonna know where the fucking documents folder is)

Basic home repair issues.

Basic cooking and nutrition, including menu planning.

Every year in various components: Reading comprehension and media literacy. Including reading legal and technical English. You don't need to know how to do your taxes, which changes every year, if you can comprehend legal and technical English*

De-escalation and gun safety.

Household skills: How to do laundry, how to do dishes, how to sew a button and mend clothing, iron, how to sweep and mop, shit I have had to genuinely teach people.

Dining and social manners. You can act like a jackass, but you can't say I didn't teach you.

Conflict. How to disagree with someone and stay listening, how not to take disagreement on every issue personally, how to approach conflicts.

This is not exhaustive, but I think it's something people should know to be a reasonable adult in the world.

*As someone who does her taxes by hand every year, and is self-employed which adds an extra layer of difficulty, filing is actually totally doable. Not only is it reading comprehension, but the IRS has so so so many articles to further explain rules to you. They want you to do it correctly.

[orobaxis]

i've met a stranger today

thrawn x reader a/n: angst, meeting thrawn again…for the first time. no thoughts in my head, only thrawn.

i tracked down the artist (i think!) credits to @morri-gilmour

-

you met a stranger today. donned with imperial uniform you have not seen in over a decade, the tunic worn and frayed, but so obviously handled with care. even after all these years, the chimaera was still a sight to behold: massive, magnificent, magnanimous. just like the grand admiral who governed it. the stormtroopers around you all looked formidable, despite the cracks, tears, and burns. the gold inlaid into their armor was a symbol of their remaking and their strength. the sound of a plate crashing to the floor took you back to a memory you forgot you had.

the knock on your door startled you and your grip on the plate and it cracked into pieces by your feet. you were upset, you remember, but his hands were slow and deliberate as he picked up the pieces. "thrawn, no," you told him, kneeling beside him to help him clean up, "you'll get hurt. i'll sweep it away. i'm sorry, you just startled me." outside of his uniform, and in the comfort of your home, he looked a lot more relaxed. his hair was just starting to grow, and you enjoyed running your hands through them. "it's quite alright," once again, it took something very serious to upset him, but you still felt bad, "we don't have to throw it. we can mend it instead, it's still useful." he gestured to the large pieces, trying to piece them together. "do you remember the potteries in the museum we went to?" with your nod, he continued, "they were broken, and repaired by mending the breakage with lacquered gold. those who practice that art believe and accept the idea of transience and imperfection." "and that idea that nothing lasts forever," you added, remembering what the curator told you.

you and your husband spent the remaining time you had mending it, and you had bitterly thought then that without him, a broken piece would never be mended again.

-

the soldiers chant his name. the sound of it so familiar. because that was the name you would chant too, in the dark of the night, to anyone who would listen. you didn't really know what you prayed for. maybe to see him again? or maybe you wished none of this ever happened. until finally, before you, stood grand admiral thrawn. the man you had been searching for for more than a decade. and yet.

-

and yet it's also not him.

-

you were supposed to spend your life together. how did it turn out like this? your life passed by just wondering what it would have been like if he hadn't disappeared. you mourn the life you could have had.

it should have been with him.

-

you met a stranger today. but it's weird. because you knew him very well. all of his names, personality, favourites, secrets, goals and ambitions. the things he loved to do,

and his smile that was once shared with you.

-

when thrawn finally turned to you, you saw it. the crack between the inlaid gold. his mouth opened, the only break in his stoic expression. he recognized you. and he was probably thinking that he met a stranger today too.

[burnwater13]

Peli Motto speaking with Din Djarin near his ship, where it was parked in her repair bay, in Mos Eisley, on Tatooine. Image from The Mandalorian, Season 2, Episode 2, The Passenger. Calendar by DateWorks.

Grogu didn’t really know if Peli Motto was an excellent judge of character or not. She didn’t seem to care even the least little bit that his guardian was a Mandalorian Bounty Hunter. It seemed absurd to Grogu to think that a person like Peli didn’t have at least a couple bounty fobs active, given her razor sharp business practices. Or maybe she blamed Treadwell and the Pit Droids for that? Whatever she did, Grogu was always expecting someone to bring a fob to her and say something about being warm or cold. But she was fearless.

Even when that obnoxious, wannabe bounty hunter, held her at blaster point, Peli still had sharp words for him as well as for Din Djarin when he came back and saved them both. Now she was right back at it convincing them that she knew someone who knew someone who knew someone who would help them for the right price. It sounded like a game show. Or a trick that Grogu’s friend Ian played on some of the more gullible Jedi Knights when they were on Coruscant. 

Given what both Ian and Peli were like, Grogu wouldn’t have been a bit surprised to find out that she was Ian’s long lost sister, or cousin, or aunt, or mother. They were two people who were cut from the same bulkhead. Tough as beskar and twice as useful… for a price. 

Ian would charge people chores and snacks, and sometimes, if the ‘job’ was particularly onerous, he would find a way to get a day off from lessons. Grogu wondered about that, but considering how hard it was for some of the masters to even see him in a room full of younglings, he had no cause to worry about being present or not. The few times he was with Ian on some sort of secret mission, the affected instructor just took it for granted that he/she simply failed to notice him.

He could well imagine that Peli had been the same way when she had been that age. Haggling with vendors over a black melon while she was surreptitiously filling her pockets with cava nuts. If Ian had been with her, Grogu had no doubt that the cart would get knocked over by an ‘unseen’ force and they would have both ‘helped’ that vendor put everything back in place, all the while filling their pockets with whatever thing(s) they valued most. Ian was a sucker for cava nuts and Grogu was certain that Peli would have been able to sweep up all the loose credits. That poor vendor would never know what hit them when the two of them then used those swept up credits to buy things that were too big to just walk away with. 

Knowing that they both had that streak of independence, as Ian had called it, made missing Ian a little easier, because any time Grogu saw Peli, he would immediately think of his friend and feel certain that if anyone could get away from Coruscant with all of the Emperor’s forces chasing them, Ian was that one person. Just the thought of that made Grogu laugh. 

He’d helped Ian leave the Jedi Temple because his friend had a bad feeling about something that day. He’d told Grogu not to worry. He’d be fine. 

“Listen, Kid. Those guys will confuse you for Master Yoda more times than there are planets in this galaxy. That means they’ll be twice as afraid of you as they would be of me. I gotta go now, while the odds are in my favor.”

Grogu remembered nodding his head and being sad. Ian was his best friend and if he was leaving, Grogu didn’t want to stay behind.

“Naw, you gotta stay. Master Beq will know something’s up if we’re both gone. I just need a good head start. No one here will ever let anything bad happen to you. You aren’t just special, you’re unique. Now hand me that blaster that you lifted from Master Drallig. I’ll need where I’m goin’.”

Grogu had handed Ian the blaster and then opened the roof hatch to the arboretum and closed it after Ian was racing across the roof to the  mini-air taxi that Ian had obtained somewhere, somehow. Grogu hadn’t asked because he really never thought he had enough time for the whole story. Much like Peli, Ian was always happy to spin a yarn out if he thought that would impress someone. Grogu was rarely the person that Ian cared to impress. It was usually the other way around.

He remembered going back to their room and sighing. He went over to his sleeping couch and found a flimsy covered with neat printing that laid out exactly how many credits, snacks, and chores Grogu had owed Ian with a note at the bottom of the page that said ‘Paid in Full’. A small set of dice rested in the flimsy. Grogu smiled at them. They were Ian’s favorite possession. Now they were his. He slipped them into his pocket and promised himself that the next time he saw his friend he’d give them back. He was happy that in his own case he was an excellent judge of character. Just like Peli. 

[hottpinkpenguin]

Reasons, Ch.4 - Cassian Andor series

Female reader insert Summary: You're a droidsmith on Ferrix when a handsome stranger walks in one day with a hopelessly damaged droid. You agree to take on the repairs for the stranger, a decision that will change the direction of your lives forever. Word Count: 2,863 Content Warnings for: canon-divergence; cursing Taglist: @mithicakurogo @nonniecannie @freerangesweets @zbeez-outlet

“I didn’t steal the credits.” 

You shot Cassian a sidelong glare across the dark cockpit of his starship as he fidgeted with the dials and gauges. The engines sputtered futilely as Cassian continued to make adjustments to the flight console. 

“Stop playing games, Cassian,” you shot back. You were still rankled by his intrusion, and Cassian’s reluctance to answer any of your questions directly was making it worse. “If you didn’t steal the credits, then why the hell are you acting like a criminal?!” 

You saw a momentary glimmer of hurt flicker in Cassian’s dark eyes, but he continued to avoid your gaze. He was focused on the starship’s console, his hands dancing along its lit surface as he flicked switches, fiddled with dials, and punched in a string of codes to the ship’s computer. He cursed under his breath as one of the engines backfired, spitting out a thick cloud of black smoke in the pale early-dawn air.

“Cassian, goddamnit, you better tell me what’s going on or so help me I will walk out of this ship and back to my bed!” you pressed. He stopped and turned towards you, the desperation in his dark eyes catching you off guard. 

“Please, y/n. I know I don’t deserve it, but I need you to trust me.”

Your nostrils flared in exasperation, but the intensity of his pleading silenced your rebuttals. You nodded bitterly, crossing your arms across your chest to communicate your displeasure. You saw Cassian relax an inch, his attention turning back to the flight console. 

“I need to get that engine working.” Without waiting for a reply, Cassian rose from his seat and strode out of the ship. A few seconds later, you heard the dull thud of footsteps on the wing of the starship as he walked out to the sputtering engine. 

Finally alone with a moment to process, you let out a shaky breath and leaned your head back against the headrest of the co-pilot’s chair. You let your eyelids flutter closed as you tried to think of how long you could realistically be gone before someone would notice. Unfortunately, you had a long list of clients at the moment. You could get away with three, maybe four days if you were lucky. Whatever Cassian needed - wherever he was taking you - it would have to be a short trip. You couldn’t afford to lose the income from those jobs.

The bright beam of a searchlight sweeping over the launchpad jarred you out of your reverie. Your eyes shot open and your mind pricked with a twinge of anxiety. The sound of distant voices reached your ears, and the searchlight settled squarely on Cassian’s ship. 

“Cassian?” you called out. He didn’t answer, although you heard a heavy clunk from the direction of the damaged engine. 

“Cassian!” Still nothing.

“Cassian?!”

“I know, I know.”

You jumped, not realizing he had made it back inside the ship. The searchlight was bobbing frantically, its carrier running in your direction. The voices were coming into earshot now, a fleet of footsteps racing along the flat runway in your direction. 

“Cassian, who are they?” you asked, trying to sound brave. Cassian ignored you again, flicking a few dials above his head. The engine he’d been working on shuddered violently, shaking the entire ship.

“Come on, baby,” he muttered, coaxing his ship to life as he gently pressed on the accelerator lever. The engines roared in response, one sputtering and belching as it tried to catch a steady idle. “Come on, not now. Don’t do this to me now.” 

You fell quiet, suddenly an appreciation of the danger you might really be in slapping you across the face. Outside, you could hear voices shouting at you.

“Stop! Get out of the starship! Cassian Andor and Y/n Y/l/n, you’re under arrest by order of the Galactic Empire!” 

Your mind felt like it’d been plunged into ice, your thoughts tangled on the words Galactic Empire. The seriousness of your situation struck you like lightning. The Empire only came after the most serious crimes in this sector. And their treatment of accused criminals was infamous, although you’d never personally known anyone who’d met one. Anyone who got accused by the Empire simply vanished and never returned. And they knew your name.

You shot Cassian a wide-eyed look as the starship’s engine finally thundered into full idle. 

“Yes!” His face broke into a momentary grin of relief, pumping his fists into the air briefly as his starship’s engines synchronized and whirred into full power. Cassian’s celebration was short-lived. He reached over and grabbed your hand, placing it on the accelerator. 

“On my mark, throw this forward as far as it’ll go,” he called out over the din of the engines. The searchlight was so bright in front of the cockpit windows you were almost blinded. You nodded next to him, startling at the sound of blasters opening fire. You’d heard blaster fire before, but you’d never been the target. Adrenaline raced through your veins and your whole body went tense. 

Sensing your fear, Cassian leaned over, pushing you down below the sightline from the cockpit windows and sheltering you with his arm. You let Cassian hug you against him, twisting to shield you from the window with his body. You were pressed against his side, one hand still on the starship’s accelerator. You felt Cassian moving around you, flicking switches and turning knobs. A sudden dropping sensation told you the starship had lifted off the launchpad. The sound of blaster fire was intensifying, although you could hear desperation in the voices outside as they realized that the ship was lifting. You forced yourself to breathe in and out as you tried to shut out the roar of the engines, the whizzing blaster fire, and the shouts from below. You closed your eyes and tucked yourself instinctively deeper into Cassian’s side. 

“NOW!”

You thrust the ship’s accelerator forward as far as you could push it, surprised by how much resistance the lever gave you. You gritted your teeth and threw your full strength against the lever. It shuddered forward until the engines roared so loudly you swore your head would split in two. You’d only traveled at hyperdrive once before in your life, and you felt the same gut-wrenching vertigo as the starship leapt past the speed of light. You kept breathing, inhaling through your nose and exhaling through your mouth, fighting against the nausea. You felt Cassian tucking a stray lock of your hair back behind your ear. 

“Just keep breathing,” he said, his voice relaxing somewhat as the threat of Imperial blaster fire receded behind you in hyperspace. “We’ll be there soon.”

You felt yourself slip into a semi-conscious stupor, the dizziness of hyperdrive washing away any sense of time passing. Only Cassian’s warmth and his occasional encouragement to breathe in and out reminded you of where you were. 

* * * * * * * * *

The ship dropped out of hyperspace suddenly. You lurched forward, your body slack and almost laid fully across Cassian’s lap. He didn’t appear upset by it, and even if he had been you were so disoriented and nauseous that you couldn’t have done anything about it. 

You heard him power the engines all the way down to a barely-there purr as the ship came to a complete stop. 

“Here. Sit up slowly with your eyes open.”

Against your instincts, you forced your eyes open as Cassian gently guided you back to an upright posture in your seat. His jaw was tense and his brows knitted together as he watched you intently, inventorying your every move with tender worry. Once you were sitting up on your own, he stood and walked towards the back of the ship. You turned instinctively to follow him with your eyes, instantly regretting it as a new wave of nausea bubbled in your gut.

“Look straight forward,” he told you. You acquiesced, listening to the sound of him rummaging around behind you. When he returned, he handed you a small vial of bright purple liquid. You fumbled with it, struggling to coordinate your movements. Cassian saw and uncorked the vial for you, helping your hands grip it. A strong, sweet smell emanated from the violet liquid, tickling your nostrils. You grumbled up at him, unable to bring yourself to speak.

“It’s homemade,” he told you as if sensing your question. “Bacta mixed with meiloorun juice. It’ll help with the hyperspace sickness.” 

You cocked a skeptical eyebrow up at him, your head still spinning as you rested it against the seat behind you. 

“You really think I would go to the trouble of poisoning you after all that?” He chuckled darkly and waved his hands generally in the back of the ship, referencing whatever you’d just escaped. You managed to shoot him a half smile, returning your focus to the vial of liquid. Your hands were trembling, and you had to move slowly to avoid reactivating the urge to vomit. 

Cassian sensed your sensitivity and gently took the vial from your hand. He placed one hand behind your head at the base of your neck as he placed the vial against your lips, tipping it back as he helped your head incline slightly so you could swallow it. The juice tasted sweet and pleasant, but you could sense the bitter, viscous Bacta milk mixed in. Still, you drank it all. As the liquid settled in your gut, the spinning nausea softened and the pounding in your head dulled. Cassian wiped a stray drop from your lips and you felt your cheeks heat at the tender contact. 

“I didn’t realize you were sensitive to hypertravel,” Cassian commented aimlessly. He settled into the seat next to you, plugging in coordinates to the starship’s console. The ship began to edge forward at a steady pace, nowhere near the violent speed of hypertravel. You peeked out of the cockpit window through slitted eyelids. A planet no bigger than a marble at this distance hung in the emptiness of space directly in front of the ship. It was a pale, sandy color with flecks of green and a wispy-looking atmosphere encircling it. 

“Where are we?” you asked weakly. 

“That’s Niamos,” Cassian replied, gesturing towards the planet. “Figure we can hole up here for a while.” You noticed the heavy tone in Cassian’s voice and turned your head towards him. The movement made you spin momentarily but the medicine was doing its job, and you regained equilibrium quickly. 

“Why are we here, Cassian?” you pressed. 

He turned towards you, his eyes suddenly serious. 

“Please,” you continued. “Tell me everything. You owe me that.” 

Cassian bit the inside of his lip, dropping his eyes from yours guiltily. He sighed heavily. 

“I didn’t steal the credits,” he began, repeating his earlier statement when you’d first asked him why he’d awoken you in the middle of the night insisting you had to leave. “But I did steal something to get them.”

You nodded, not surprised by his statement. You’d as much as accepted that there was no completely legal way to come by a sum that large. At least not on Ferrix. 

“I traded what I stole with an old business partner. Someone I trusted. Someone I’ve known for years…” Cassian’s expression glazed over with regret and hurt. He’d been betrayed, you realized. 

“They sold you out?” you asked. 

Cassian nodded, swallowing thickly as his eyes refocused. 

“The credits they gave me had tracers in them.” Your stomach sank. Tracers were sophisticated tech, and that caliber of tech wasn’t wasted on petty criminals. You’d always assumed that Cassian lived his life a little left of legal, but you’d never once guessed it would be this serious. Tracers were used to bring down huge crime syndicates, illegal slave trades, and the most lucrative black markets. Not petty junk pirates or your run-of-the-mill silver-fingered thief.  

“Tracers?” you asked breathlessly. Cassian nodded. 

“What kind of stuff are you tied up in, Cassian?” You weren’t truthfully sure you wanted the answer, but you had to know. 

He raked a hand through his dark hair, pain etched into his expression. 

“A few months back I was contacted by someone from the Rebellion.” You fell silent, numb with surprise. You’d never known anyone with direct ties to the Rebellion; in fact, you’d always thought of the Rebellion as more of a fairytale than anything. To think Cassian had actually met someone in the Rebellion, that he’d been contacted by them, felt surreal. 

“I helped out with a mission. On Aldhani.” The name of the planet Cassian mentioned sounded strangely familiar, but you couldn’t place it. You swiped it aside, focusing on Cassian’s story as he continued. “The Empire found me out, tracked me to Ferrix and got an in with my contact, the one who gave me the credits. They were trying to use the tracers to track down the others who helped with the Aldhani mission. They expected I was using the credits to finance another Rebel plot against the Empire.”

You nodded, trying to keep up with moving pieces as Cassian kept talking. Your head was spinning again, but this time it wasn’t with vertigo.

“But you gave me the credits…” you trailed off, trying to connect the dots. Cassian nodded as if urging you onward.

“So the Empire thinks… that I’m working with you. That I’m part of the Rebellion.” As soon as you spoke it aloud, you knew it was true. That would explain why he insisted on you leaving. If the Empire had you pinned as a Rebel, they would kill you on site. 

Cassian gulped, dropping his eyes to his lap. 

“Am I right, Cassian?”

A moment of tense quiet stretched between the two of you as you waited for Cassian to confirm your fate. If you were right, then you’d have to live the rest of your days on the run. Even the craftiest Rebels sometimes didn’t manage to stay one step ahead of the Empire, and they had the backing of the Rebellion. You had nothing, and no one. Your father was gone. Your money, your livelihood, everyone you knew was back on Ferrix.

Across the dim cockpit from you, Cassian finally forced his eyes to meet yours. The same deep chasm of grief you’d seen in his eyes back on Ferrix stared back at you. 

“I’m sorry, y/n.” His voice broke, emotion cracking his words. “I never would have put you in danger. I swear it. I didn’t know.” His eyes burned with intensity as he pushed that promise towards you. 

You waved his apology off with more nonchalance than you felt, but the horrible pain you saw in Cassian’s face would have driven you to say or do almost anything to wipe it away. 

“It’s alright, Cassian. I know you didn’t mean it.” 

He looked like he was about to argue with you, so you pressed forward with more questions.

“How did you figure this all out?” You didn’t care much, but you were trying to distract him. And yourself, truthfully. The weight of this revelation was too much to take in at once. You knew you’d need to wrestle with this in solitude, but that would need to wait a while. 

“The Rebellion put this burden on me, but they also warned me. My contact got wind that the Empire was on my trail with those traced credits. He risked everything to get a message to me.” Cassian sat back, leaning against the headrest of the pilot’s seat. You could see the reflection of the pale green planet Niamos in his eyes. He seemed lost in thought for a moment before he turned back to you.

“They’ll kill you if they get the chance. Both of us. I’m sorry, but there’s no going back.” 

You swallowed down the lump in your throat at Cassian’s words. You nodded, trying to look brave when your insides felt like they’d turned to jelly. You followed his gaze out the cockpit window, eager to hide the tears that prickled at the corner of your eyes.

“So we’re going to hide here?” You gestured towards Niamos.

“For a while at least,” Cassian said, punching in a few coordinates on the starship’s console. “I know a place we should be able to use for a while. As soon as it’s safe, I’ll get you set up somewhere safe and I’ll make sure you never see me again.” 

The ship picked up its pace towards the approaching planet, responding to the flight trajectory Cassian had entered. The cockpit fell into silence, each of you preoccupied with your own thoughts. In spite of yourself, with everything Cassian had told you and the implications it all carried, you found your mind returning to one particular sentence over and over again:  I’ll make sure you never see me again. Those words burned like acid in memory, and you hated that after having your world turned upside down, this was what you were hung up on. There were many things Cassian had told you that you’d hoped weren’t true: that last sentence the most of all.

*read chapter 5 here If you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, please let me know

[helloescapist]

Senpai's Smile | Nejire Hado

Word Count: 1106

Setting: Nejire Hado x gn!reader

Content Warnings: SFW, fluff, autumn prompt, oneshot

Summary: classroom cleanup assignment has been moved outside due to the recent antics of the first years, offering you the rare opportunity to soak in the scenery.

[art work i not mine, full credit goes to the artist!]

Vivid vermilions caught your eyes, danced amongst the barren branches. Their delicate rattle shaking twigs, drifted amongst the delicate chill of the breeze that guided its path. The still brown bark shifted from summer, greeting the winter months to come. The leaves swayed beneath its influence; trembled in a dance with no song. Playful and rejoicing its reunion with the leaves that littered the gardens of U.A. Academy grounds.

The press of your lips that formed a smile, light as the air that mingled with the leaves, beckoned the play of their rustle. Allowed them to dance amongst its breath of life if only to enjoy its descent. Eyes of wander, snug against the scarf that nuzzled into your neck, met your school uniform beneath it, only faintly aware of the small chill that formed at the red of your nose. Far too enthralled to be spirited away by the tango of autumn leaves to notice how the cold had met the tips of your fingers, nor the rake that you clutched beneath the callous of your fingers.

                The usual classroom cleanup had lent itself to repairing the gardens alongside the usual tasks such as cleaning up chalkboards, sweeping floors, and recycling trash. A recent spat between class, 1B’s Monoma Neito, and that of class 1A’s Bakugo Katsuki. The inner class turmoil had dragged from a class set match, one that had been outlined, and purposeful to increase the student’s combat skills, had concluded its lesson erupted from the wall of the building, plummeting two stories down into the garden. Robbing the remainder of the trees from their foliage, scattering rubble amongst the blades of grass, and withering the delicate autumn blooms that had fought back the chill. Absolutely no match to the explosive emitter, tarnished survival chances, and left the state of the otherwise beautiful retreat in ruins. Resulting in all classes to assist in the cleaning up, Principal Nezu having expressed it as an opportunity for classes to familiarize themselves with one another—sugar coated persuasion, but you had seized the opportunity to escape the mundaneness of the usual classroom tasks. you hated dusting the erasers.

                Giggles that drifted amongst the breeze as harmonious and playful as the leaves. Delicate as a songbird, and warm as the sun that fought back winter’s chill. Periwinkle blue hair, curled to captivate her cheeks. Holding them dear only possible to you in daydreams. Long strands of hair that twirled in her motions, spun on her ankle with her own rake in the air. Oblivious to the way her skirt lingered in the air, far too immersed in enjoying the day. Perky despite the chores, and exuberant amongst the foliage. Her eyes mirrored of the sky, and the warmth of the day as beautiful as pools of apatite crystals. Luminescent in the light of day, the heat of her smile as her doll like eyelashes fluttered to meet your peeking. The linger of her gaze, forget-me-note blue eyes that held your heart and elicited an electric current that traveled from your chest to the heat of your cheeks. The blush that threatened to spread across your cheeks, traveled beneath the collar of your uniform. Horrified to be caught peeking at the senpai. once again. Allowed the panic to travel down your spine, jerking your chin from the cross-fires of her head tilt. Forcing your eyes to focus to the leaves that skittered across the ground, frantically scratching your rake against the fresh earth. Praying not to draw any more attention to yourself than your peeking had inspired.

                “[FN!]” Her voice light and bouncy as her quirk allowed your body to take flight. Impish as a fairy in the sky, beautiful. To hear your name pass through her glossed lips. Chastised yourself for allowing something so simple to give your heart wings, and even more the way your shoulders jumped at her call. Y-You had nothing to be ashamed of! I-It wasn’t as if you had done s-something improper! You had just been looking that way when her skirt--- ah god above. You could feel the shudder of the blush reach your ears as you shyly peeked over your shoulder. You were not in the habit of spying; you just couldn’t help the way your attention tended to gravitate to the upperclassman.

                Not that refuting any claims would save you from what was to happen next. The speed of her step faster than your own reflexes. The press of her chest against your own, the surprise of her close proximity having spread your arms. Disarmed you from your gardening tool, horrified at the undignified squeal that escaped from your lips as her weight bore down on your own. The slip of your feet beneath you, tumbled into the leaves. Hado-senpais’ form squished against you as her cheek met your own. The jostle of her giggles warm and inviting to your ears, the red of your cheeks pungently aware of the way she held her body to your own. A vision of a pixie lost in the autumn scenery, the odd leaves that stuck from her hair in variety of places. Her long strands rolled over her shoulder, tickled your nose as you laid beneath her. Shy eyes that traced the rounds of her cheeks, etched the flicker of her long eyelashes squeezed tight in her laughter. Joy that warmed your bones, heated your body thoroughly and shamed the tuck of your collar. Only stilled by the shuffle of the older girl as she flopped to her bottom, giggling at the crunch of leaves beneath her weight. Fistfuls of scavenged leaves caught between her nails as she tossed them your way. Her joy contagious, pulled you forward, and captivated your heart. Your thoughts focused on only one thing as you pressed your hands to one another, scooping up leaves with the bend of your back, and catching them through the air. Scattering your efforts amongst the breeze, disbursed by her joy.

                To see senpai’s smile.  

[randomite]

People on Tumblr are always hyping these news articles about some rich wanker out there, buying up single family homes.

It sucks. Rich wankers are terrible yadda-yadda. Not the point of this conversation. (Burn them)

The thing is that you have some of the worst ideas on how to fix the housing crisis!

Simply because most people aren't super educated on why the housing market is this way.

Ironically, and this might tick a lot of you off. One of the causes of the housing crisis is likely you, or your co-workers, parents, siblings ect...ect.

https://www.investopedia.com/articles/credit-loans-mortgages/090116/what-do-pension-funds-typically-invest.asp

Are you saving money! (I am!)

Do you have a 401K/Pension/Superannuation? (I Do)

Are you invested in a Real Estate Investment Trust?!

Probably.

Most funds have a little bit of REIT in them. The S&P500 is 2.8% REIT,

These mega trusts own vast amounts of American housing.

https://www.reit.com/research/nareit-research/170-million-americans-own-reit-stocks

Yay. Look at this happy graphic that came from a site really stocked about the great returns on real estate investment.

Now. It should be clear REIT actually own a very small portion of American housing, around 1%. Individual owners make up a far larger portion of the housing market.

REIT live in the happy red space.

The problem with REIT is that they are often terrible.

They are bastions of widespread community gentrification. Sweeping into minority communities like Herongate in Canada and bulldozing the lot. All to make way for shinny condos they can turn a profit on.

https://acorncanada.org/news/leveller-rein-reits-tenants-demand-action-against-real-estate-investment-trusts/

REITs have been accused of slumlord like behaviour. Letting houses decay with mold and refusing repair ect. Ect.

https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/tenants-lose-as-landlord-transglobe-racks-up-charges-1.1246084

https://doctorow.medium.com/wall-streets-landlord-business-is-turning-every-rental-into-a-slum-b15b81f18612

Essentially my point is....

You could be invested in the very Real Estate Investment Trust that acts as your landlord. You could be invested in the source of your own suffering and gentrification.

The pension investment in REITs for domestic housing is growing. It is too profitable. It is an easy source of growth.

If you are in a bad situation, you should want your pension invested in an REIT. It will help grow your savings (whatever they be). But, that very same REIT might own your home and be the very evil trying to wring cash out of you.

This isn't a call to action. This is more an observation about the neoliberal shit oroborus we are stuck in. You can choose not to invest in REITs, or try and find a good one.

But in doing so, you are worsening the housing crisis. REITs are sophisticated. They use rent increase software and have quantitative analysis of the market used to drive prices up.

If the housing market ever tanks, a good portion of your savings might tank with it.

Now. You might have no savings. You might not have elderly relying on social security. You might be fine.

But. Society is run by trashfire electoralism. If people don't see their investments going up they freak out and vote for the other party.

The pension investment into real estate, allowed in 2001 (thanks Bush), has created people whose retirements and future are dependent on housing prices always going up. Around 51% of Americans are invested in REITs. It is essentially a nightmare that will never be fixed unless people who are smarter than anyone on Tumblr actually put an effort in.

Thanks for reading my depressing rant.

(Also. Sorry if you are in Canada. It is bad in AUS but it seems like REITs can steal newborns over there. Like some articles are like wtf.)

https://www.reit.com/news/blog/market-commentary/reit-allocations-pension-funds-increase

https://www.spglobal.com/marketintelligence/en/news-insights/latest-news-headlines/us-pension-funds-up-real-estate-exposure-to-offset-rising-risks-71610560

https://www.benefitsandpensionsmonitor.com/investments/alternative-investments/real-estate-has-become-a-cornerstone-asset-class-for-pension-fund-investors/383790

[haggishlyhagging]

The cause of suffrage was the focal point of the formal politics of the first phase of the sexual revolution; around it were marshaled other issues such as education, equality before the law, and equal pay. One must recognize the central significance of the franchise in that it aroused the greatest opposition and mobilized the greatest consciousness and effort. Yet in many ways it was the red herring of the revolution—a wasteful drain on the energy of seventy years. Because the opposition was so monolithic and unrelenting, the struggle so long and bitter, the vote took on a disproportionate importance. And when the ballot was won, the feminist movement collapsed in what can only be described as exhaustion. The suffrage campaign reminds one of nothing so much as a flat tire encountered early on a long journey—a flat which takes so much time, labor, and expense to repair that the journey is dejectedly abandoned. Aileen Kraditor has documented the type of co-option and collusion to which the American suffragists were driven in their desperation to achieve that imperative "next step" which took so long to take that it engulfed the whole movement. The second generation of suffragists were pioneers like the first, but a newer, more conventional breed. Suffrage became respectable, "smart," even possible, if one were willing to play politics and make the requisite compromises. The compromises were decidedly unpalatable: unsavory understandings with southern racism to win congressional votes from the southern states, a grating irony in a movement whose origins were in abolition. And as the machine-held districts where new immigrant populations were centered voted time and time again against the option of granting suffrage to them, native American women became bitter for a time against the foreign-born.

If suffrage's ability to limit a whole social revolution to one issue was a great fault, the bourgeois character of the movement was another. Never, even at the last, was it sufficiently involved with working women, the most exploited group among its numbers. Although the women's suffrage movement did have moments of solidarity which cut across class lines in a way quite new to American politics, probably never recaptured again until Civil Rights, the hopelessly exploited character of female employment today is proof of its shortcoming in labor organization. Certain nearly inevitable factors contributed to its too frequently middle-class character; generally only women of this class enjoyed the leisure and education necessary for the endless effort the suffrage battle demanded.

The chief weakness of the movement's concentration on suffrage, the factor which helped it to fade, disappear, and even lose ground when the vote was gained, lay in its failure to challenge patriarchal ideology at a sufficiently deep and radical level to break the conditioning processes of status, temperament and role. A reform movement, and especially one which has fixed its attention on so minimal an end as the ballot, the sort of superficial change which legislative reform represents, and which, when it has attained this, becomes incapable even to putting it to use, is hardly likely to propose the sweeping radical changes in society necessary to bring about the completion of a sexual revolution—changes in social attitudes and social structure, in personality and institutions. Marriage was preserved nearly intact despite women's new legal rights within it, and divorce. The "home" was still creditable enough to be refurbished in gleaming colors in the ensuing period of reaction. Although they felt they had escaped economic dependence as far as "the right to work," women were not yet able to pursue the question all the way to equal rights in work; nor did they continue to view work as responsibility or a fundamental social contribution. In affluence or before social pressure, they returned to idleness or dependency. The next generation found it easy to exploit women as a "reserve labor force," bringing them out to the job when it suited a wartime economy, and sending them back to the "home" when it didn't. Most crucial of all, the whole elaborate processes of sexual "socialization" were left in such good repair that they could be reorganized into newer and more subtle patterns of control. Despite the reform of its legal system and the (finally minor) humiliation to its political pride, the patriarchal mentality reasserted itself with great strength at the end of the first phase. Patriarchy, reformed or unreformed, is patriarchy still: its worst abuses purged or foresworn, it might be actually more stable and secure than before.

-Kate Millett, Sexual Politics

[homeimprovementway]

How to Make Old Wood Look New: Restoration Tips

To make old wood look new, sand it down, apply wood stain or paint, and finish with a protective sealant. Old wood can be restored by sanding, staining, and sealing for a fresh look. Bringing new life to old wood furniture or surfaces is a rewarding DIY project that can transform the overall aesthetics of your space. By following simple steps, you can revitalize weathered or worn-out wood to achieve a beautiful and updated appearance. Whether you are refurbishing antique furniture or refreshing wooden floors, the process of rejuvenating old wood can enhance its natural beauty and durability. Embrace the charm of reclaimed wood by giving it a makeover using basic techniques that result in a polished and rejuvenated finish.

Preparing The Wood

Start by sweeping the wood surface to remove any dust or debris.Next, wipe down the wood with a damp cloth to remove any dirt or grime.Use a stripper to remove the old finish from the wood. - Apply the stripper evenly and let it sit according to the manufacturer's instructions. - Scrape off the old finish using a putty knife or scraper. - Repeat the process until all the old finish is removed.

Credit: www.huffpost.com

Repairing Damaged Areas

Transforming old wood and repairing damaged areas can breathe new life into worn-out furniture and fixtures. With the help of effective techniques and tools, you can restore and make old wood look brand new again. Say goodbye to scratches, cracks, and decay as you revitalize your wooden pieces with expert care. Repairing Damaged Areas H3 headings must be in HTML syntax. Fill In Cracks And GapsBefore proceeding with refinishing old wood, make sure to address any cracks and gaps in the wood surface to restore its integrity. - Inspect the damaged areas thoroughly to determine the extent of the cracks and gaps. - Use a wood filler product to fill in the gaps and cracks smoothly. - Apply the filler carefully and allow it to dry completely before sanding it down for a seamless finish. Replace Missing PiecesFor wood that has missing pieces or chunks, consider replacing them for a uniform appearance across the surface. - Identify the missing pieces and determine the type of wood needed for replacement. - Cut the replacement piece to fit the exact dimensions of the missing section. - Secure the replacement piece in place using wood glue or nails for a sturdy bond.

Sanding The Wood

Revive old wood by sanding it to remove imperfections and reveal its natural beauty. Start by selecting the right sandpaper grit and work your way up for a smooth finish. Finish off with a coat of sealant to protect and enhance the wood's appearance. Start With Coarse Grit SandpaperSanding is an essential step when it comes to restoring old wood furniture or surfaces. This process not only removes imperfections but also prepares the wood for a smooth and seamless finish. To start the sanding process, it's best to begin with coarse grit sandpaper. Coarse grit sandpaper, typically around 80-100 grit, is perfect for tackling rough and uneven surfaces. The coarse particles efficiently strip away old paint, varnish, or any other coatings, revealing the underlying wood.Progress To Finer GritsOnce the initial sanding is complete with the coarse grit sandpaper, it's time to progress to finer grits. Finer grit sandpapers, ranging from 120-220 grit, help to refine the surface further and achieve a smoother finish. These finer grits gradually remove any remaining scratches or roughness left by the coarse grit sandpaper. It's important to note that as you progress to finer grits, the sandpaper becomes less abrasive, ensuring a delicate touch that won't damage the wood.Using finer grit sandpaper also enables you to prepare the wood for staining or painting, allowing the new finish to adhere better and result in a more polished appearance. The final sanding with a fine grit sandpaper should leave the wood surface smooth to the touch, free from any visible marks or imperfections.To ensure a successful sanding process, it's crucial to sand in the direction of the wood grain. This technique prevents any potential damage or scratches that could occur by sanding against the grain. Remember to apply consistent pressure and maintain a steady sanding motion to achieve an even-surfaced finish.

Applying A Fresh Finish

If you want to restore the beauty of old wood, applying a fresh finish is a crucial step. A well-applied finish can enhance the natural appeal of the wood, adding depth and protection to the surface. Whether you're working on antique furniture or reviving wooden floors, the right finish can bring out the richness of the wood, giving it a renewed luster and charm. Choose The Right Finish Selecting the appropriate finish for your old wood is essential to achieve the desired outcome. Different finishes such as varnish, oil, or lacquer offer distinct characteristics. Consider the type of wood, the expected use, and your personal preferences when choosing the finish. Each finish provides a unique sheen and level of protection, so ensure you make an informed decision based on these factors. Apply The Finish Evenly Even application of the finish is crucial for a uniform and professional look. Prior to application, ensure the surface is clean and smooth. Use a quality brush or applicator to apply the finish in thin, overlapping strokes, working with the grain of the wood. This technique helps to avoid streaks and uneven patches, ensuring an impeccable finish. Allow each coat to dry completely before applying the next, following the manufacturer's recommendations for best results. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ytQGoprRZzI

Final Touches

The final touches are crucial to bringing out the full beauty of your restored old wood furniture. These final steps ensure that your piece looks polished and rejuvenated, ready to take pride of place in your home.Polish And BuffAfter the stain and varnish have dried, the next step is to polish and buff the wood to a smooth and shiny finish. Use a clean, soft cloth to apply a small amount of high-quality furniture polish in a circular motion. Buff the wood gently to bring out its natural luster, paying special attention to any intricate details or carved areas.Reassemble Furniture If NeededIf you had to disassemble any parts of the furniture for the restoration process, now is the time to reassemble furniture if needed. Carefully reattach any legs, drawers, or other components, ensuring that everything is secure and properly aligned. Take this opportunity to tighten any loose screws or fittings to ensure the piece is structurally sound.

Credit: www.reddit.com

Credit: www.architecturaldigest.com

Frequently Asked Questions For How To Make Old Wood

How Do You Make Wood Older? To make wood look older, you can use techniques like distressing, staining, and aging solutions. Sanding, burning, and painting can also create an aged appearance. How Do You Make Wood Look Old And Rotten? To make wood look old and rotten, you can use vinegar and steel wool solution to create an aged effect. Apply the solution to the wood and let it sit to darken the color. You can also add water or coffee to enhance the effect. How Do You Make Wood Look Like Old Barnwood? To make wood look like old barnwood, use a combination of staining, distressing, and sanding techniques. Start with a dark base stain, then apply a lighter top coat and sand to reveal the darker color. Add random dings and scratches for a weathered finish. How Do You Age Wood With Vinegar? To age wood with vinegar, create a mixture of steel wool and white vinegar. Apply the mixture to the wood surface and let it sit for at least 1 hour. The wood will darken as it reacts with the vinegar. Sand lightly to achieve the desired aged look.

Conclusion

With these simple techniques, you can transform old wood into stunning pieces for your home. By sanding and refinishing, you can restore its natural beauty and give it a fresh lease on life. Embrace the charm of aged wood by distressing it with various techniques, bringing a rustic and vintage touch to any space. Don't let old wood go to waste - unleash your creativity and turn it into something truly extraordinary. Read the full article

[jcmarchi]

The Role of Mobile Technology in Reshaping Bad Credit Finance  - Technology Org

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/the-role-of-mobile-technology-in-reshaping-bad-credit-finance-technology-org/

The Role of Mobile Technology in Reshaping Bad Credit Finance  - Technology Org

In the ever-changing financial landscape, mobile technology is making waves, particularly in the sector of bad credit finance. It’s a game-changer, especially for those struggling with credit issues. 

According to a recent report by CNBC, over one-third of Americans have subprime credit scores, illustrating the broad impact of credit challenges.

The rise of mobile technology in finance, affectionately termed ‘fintech,’ is opening new doors for this substantial demographic. Innovative apps and platforms democratize access to finance, allowing individuals to manage, monitor, and improve their credit health at their fingertips. 

Read on and discover this new era of financial empowerment, driven by the merger of finance and technology.

Image by Pexels on Pixabay, free license

The Rise of Mobile Technology in Finance   

As we plunge into the digital era, technology’s transformative power is revolutionizing the financial sector. The story is particularly gripping for those grappling with credit concerns. This piece explores how mobile technology—our anytime, anywhere companion—is turning the tide in bad credit finance, democratizing access, and empowering individuals. Let’s unravel how this digital revolution is reshaping the landscape and what it means for the future of personal finance.

The digital transformation of financial services 

The digital shift in financial services is a sweeping change. Traditional banking methods are evolving into digital platforms, enhancing accessibility and convenience. This shift is reshaping not just how we bank but also how we manage our financial health.

Innovative tools are now available for tracking expenses, saving, and investing, all from smartphones. This digitalization is particularly critical for those with poor credit, as it gives them tools to monitor and improve their financial standing.

Exploring the innovations in mobile finance for credit solutions 

Mobile finance offers a lifeline to those with bad credit. Packed with features, these cell phone financing apps provide real-time credit score updates. Users can thus identify problem areas promptly and take corrective measures. 

Additionally, they offer guidance to manage finances better, like budgeting tools and personalized tips. This access to information fosters better financial decision-making, aiding in credit repair.

The Regulatory Framework  

Regulation is a crucial aspect of the financial landscape, affecting both traditional banking and digital financial services. It ensures stability, protects consumers, and fosters trust in financial systems. 

In our upcoming sections, we’ll delve into the regulatory frameworks governing mobile finance and how they’ve adapted to accommodate these digital advancements. We’ll also discuss the challenges and opportunities they present in the world of solutions for bad credit.

Navigating the regulatory framework 

The regulatory framework for mobile finance is intricate and multifaceted. It shapes the operating environment for digital finance tools, setting boundaries for their functionality. 

For those struggling with bad credit, understanding this framework is vital. It impacts the nature of services they receive and the protections they can claim.

Moreover, these regulations are ever-evolving, keeping pace with rapid technological advancements. The challenge lies in ensuring the rules accommodate innovation while safeguarding consumer interests.

Despite the complexities, the potential for mobile finance as a solution for bad credit remains vast and largely untapped, presenting immense growth opportunities.

Balancing innovation and consumer protection 

Innovative mobile finance solutions are transforming the way people manage their finances. These digital tools have allowed for greater accessibility in the financial sector. 

However, as these services evolve, it becomes crucial to bolster a balance between promoting innovation and ensuring consumer protection.

Regulators play a vital role in this balance. They must adapt to change, establishing rules that protect consumers from potential risks while not stifling innovation. It’s a delicate operation, requiring continuous oversight and adjustment.

This balance is especially crucial for those utilizing mobile finance for bad credit solutions. It ensures they can access improved financial services while protected from predatory practices. This regulatory balance promotes a healthy, sustainable financial ecosystem.

Image by QuinceCreative on Pixabay, free license

Practical Insights for Consumers 

As consumers, staying informed about mobile finance solutions can provide a significant advantage. But how do you navigate this digital landscape? Let’s dive into some practical insights to guide you and explore measures to ensure your protection in this innovative financial ecosystem. 

Leveraging mobile finance to improve credit health

Mobile finance platforms are a powerful tool for improving credit health. They offer real-time tracking of your financial behaviors, which is crucial for credit improvement. These platforms provide instant access to your transaction history, helping to identify spending patterns. You can start making informed decisions by gaining insights into your habits, leading to better credit management.

They also offer regular credit score updates, a valuable feature for those seeking to improve their credit standing. With the ability to monitor your score, you can quickly respond to any changes.

Additionally, many platforms offer educational resources to help grasp credit scores and how to improve them. These features make mobile finance a practical tool for those looking to enhance their credit health.

Future trends in mobile technology for finance 

As we look ahead, mobile technology in finance is set to transform drastically. Mobile wallets are predicted to become even more popular. They provide quick, secure, and contactless transactions, enhancing user convenience.

Artificial Intelligence (AI) is a game-changer in enhancing personalized financial advice and automating processes. Blockchain technology is anticipated to increase in relevance, providing heightened transaction transparency and security.

Meanwhile, biometric authentication methods like fingerprints or facial recognition will bolster financial security. Furthermore, the integration of IoT (Internet of Things) in finance could allow for more seamless transactions.

With these advancements, the future of mobile technology in finance holds promises of increased reliability, efficiency, and accessibility for all users.

The Broader Implications 

The rapid evolution of mobile technology is revolutionizing financial practices, shaping a new era of accessibility, efficiency, and security. This transformation isn’t just altering how we conduct transactions and impacting societal norms and business operations. 

As we delve deeper, we’ll explore these advancements’ potential societal and business implications. Let’s understand how this revolution may alter our financial landscape in the broader sense.

Economic and social impact 

The economic and social impacts of advancements in mobile technology are substantial. Economically, they streamline financial processes, reducing transaction time and costs. These savings spur growth, leading to a more robust economy.

Socially, the accessibility of mobile finance paves the way for financial inclusion. More individuals, particularly those in remote or underprivileged areas, can now access essential banking and financial services. This improves their quality of life, fostering social upliftment.

Moreover, the enhanced security features mitigate fraud risk, instilling consumer confidence. Therefore, the proliferation of mobile technology in finance has implications that extend beyond finance, potentially shaping economic and social landscapes.

Challenges and controversies 

While mobile technology brings immense benefits, it also poses significant challenges. Data security is a primary concern, with cyber threats looming large. Protecting sensitive financial information from hackers is paramount.

Additionally, the issue of the digital divide arises. Only some have access to these technologies, potentially deepening socioeconomic disparities. There’s also the matter of technical glitches and reliability. Dependence on network connectivity and device battery life can lead to disruptions.

Lastly, privacy issues are another controversy. Using financial apps involves sharing personal data and raising questions about data misuse. These challenges necessitate a balanced approach, ensuring that the benefits of mobile technology in finance are realized without compromising security, reliability, and equity.

The Future at Your Fingertips: Mobile Finance as a Beacon for Credit Improvement 

As we gaze into the future, mobile finance shines as a beacon of hope for credit improvement. It breaks down traditional financial barriers, offering seamless transactions and personalized lending solutions. This innovative tool harnesses data to assess creditworthiness, bridging the gap between lenders and borrowers.

In conclusion, while mobile technology in finance has challenges, you can’t ignore its potential benefits. It transforms how we manage, spend, and save money, making financial services more accessible and secure. 

We must navigate the digital divide and privacy concerns to ensure this revolution benefits everyone. Let’s embrace this change, ushering in an era of inclusive, equitable finance at our fingertips.

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Credit Sweep Reviews

Credit sweeps work by monitoring your credit report to see if there are any problems. If there are, YOU or a credit repair company will help you fix the.. Credit Sweep Reviews

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Credit Sweep Reviews

Credit sweeps work by monitoring your credit report to see if there are any problems. If there are, YOU or a credit repair company will help you fix the

Credit Sweep Reviews

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Credit Sweep Reviews

Credit sweeps work by monitoring your credit report to see if there are any problems. If there are, YOU or a credit repair company will help you fix the

Headquartered in New York City, NY 10019, USA, Legal New Credit File is a credit consultation firm. Our services’ scope is broadened to provide personalized credit repair to finance managerial services, including financial planning and new consumer credit files and management strategy.

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