#fixer upper mansions

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This neglected 1978 Spanish style home in Oceanside, CA is under contract for $1.499m. It has 4bds, 3ba, 2,295 sq ft. It needs work and a massive clean-out, but it's so interesting.

As soon as you open the front door, a life-sized statue of Mother Teresa greets you. There's a nice tile floor and small curved staircase. I wonder if the owner will leave anything, b/c there's some good stuff here. Even though it was reduced $100k, Zillow still thinks it's worth less- $1,438,900.

Look at the ceiling above the stairs and the chandelier.

In the living room there are gorgeous ceiling beams and look at that fabulous big fireplace. Not thrilled w/the carpeting, but I wonder what the house will be worth once it's fixed up.

I don't know if this shows progress or if it's just more of the mess.

So, this would be a dining room with a nice chandelier.

Okay, the kitchen has flooring that looks like marble, and that large rounded peninsula is beautiful.

The counters are typically Spanish tile and the arched ceiling is an amazing feature. The cabinetry is somewhat banged up and needs a refresh.

Here's a roomy guest powder room.

I don't know what this room is, but it looks intriguing.

Here's a bath. Was there a toilet where they bricked up the wall?

This room looks like an office, but it could be a bedroom. The ceiling is interesting.

Here's another bathroom.

There are some bedrooms here.

But, these are smaller, secondary bedrooms.

This bath looks intact.

This must be a terrace that one of the main bedrooms opens to.

Wow, they really didn't treasure this beautiful home. I hope it gets some love, now.

The grounds can be stunning.

Look at the tower.

.25 acre lot. I bet that if they fix it up it will be worth quite a lot more. It's a very large home.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1958-Ivy-Rd-Oceanside-CA-92054/16612660_zpid/

[monty-glasses-roxy]

I had a funny silly thing to say about something I found in past Discord conversations about some stuff I've been doing here but nah fuck that

Guess which FNaF author has apparently been tormenting me with frustrating plots, a love for wasted screen time and a lack of details needed to tell the fucking story, since Felix the Shark.

[rafesbabygirlx]

Reckless Tides - Rafe x Pogue!Reader

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Next Part

Arrival at the Edge – Introducing the new girl to the Outer Banks and the first glimpse of Rafe.

Warnings: drinking, drugs (weed)

The summer sun burned bright over the Outer Banks, casting shimmering waves of heat off the cracked boardwalk and setting the Atlantic Ocean ablaze with gold and turquoise hues. The island was alive with the chatter of tourists and the locals’ knowing glances, but to you, it was all new. You had officially arrived that evening with your stuff in the trailer connected to your truck, and a restless determination, the salty wind already tangling in your hair and filling your lungs with a sense of possibility.

You were a stranger here, yet something about the island felt familiar, as if it had been waiting for your arrival. You were quick to spot the dividing lines, the invisible borders between the shiny, whitewashed mansions of the Kooks and the weather-beaten shacks that stood defiant on the Pogue side. You knew where you belonged, at least in theory, but fitting in was never your strong suit, you also never really cared to. 

You grew up on the mainland, raised by both parents alongside two older brothers and a younger sister. Your family was comfortably middle class, but when you compare it to the standard of "middle class" here, you realize it was closer to wealth. At 19, you received an inheritance from your grandmother—a sum she left for you and your siblings when she passed. That money was your ticket to freedom, a chance to finally make a life for yourself, unbound by expectations.

Your parents had always held traditional dreams for you: doctor, lawyer, anything prestigious that would ensure success in their eyes, and money in your (their) pockets. But you’d always longed for something quieter, simpler—an artist’s life. They, however, pushed you toward careers that suited *their* ambitions. The moment that inheritance hit your account, you knew you’d be leaving your hometown behind, ready to carve out your own path.

Your parents both held steady jobs, enough to provide a roof over your heads, three meals a day, and clothing for you and your siblings. But as you got older, a darker reality surfaced. You learned your father had lost his job and, in desperation, turned to dangerous dealings with shady businessmen. Men who, one day, broke into your home, tying up your entire family and threatening your lives. The trauma left you shaken, but when you sought comfort, your mother dismissed it. She called you dramatic, telling you to get over it. That was when you learned she’d known all along about your father’s choices, indifferent to the risks they brought to her children. You realized how greedy and dangerous your parents were. That day, your view of them shifted forever.

When you received your inheritance of $350,000, you immediately set off on a small trip to the Outer Banks. Your plan was simple: meet with a realtor, sign up for art classes at the local community college, and start fresh. You found a cozy one-bedroom house on what locals call the “Cut” and, feeling a sense of freedom, paid everything in full the same day. Before heading back home to pack up for good, you walked around your new property, getting a feel for the place. That’s when two people approached—a bright-eyed girl and a boy who hung back slightly. 

“Hi! I’m Kie, and this is JJ. You moving in?” she asked with a friendly smile, while JJ offered a shy nod from behind her. “Hi, I’m Y/N. Yeah, just bought it, actually,” you replied, feeling a little thrill saying the words out loud. “Awesome! We could use some more feminine energy around here,” Kie jokes, nudging JJ. “Looks like a bit of a fixer-upper. If you need help, just call—I don’t have much else going on.” JJ smiled back at you, offering, “happy to help whenever.” 

“Thanks, I’d appreciate that!” you replied, already feeling a sense of camaraderie. 

Kie grinned and added, “We’re heading to our friend John B’s place now. He lives just down the road. If you wanna meet some more people, this is the spot.”

You hesitated, thinking of the five-hour drive ahead, but the invitation was tempting. “I have to head back soon, but I’d love to meet them.” As you walked, Kie filled you in on their friend group: there was John B and Sarah, Pope and Cleo, and Kie and JJ, who were also a couple. You quickly realized you’d be the seventh wheel, but it didn’t bother you. When you arrived at John B’s, everyone welcomed you warmly. They were genuinely kind, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself chatting with Sarah, who shared her background—how she’d grown up in Figure 8, the wealthier side of town, but fell in love with John B and became a “Pogue.” You tried to keep up with the talk of Figure 8 versus the Cut, Kooks versus Pogues, but the labels didn’t mean much to you. You actually found it amusing how seriously some people took it.

“Welcome to the shark tank,” Kie said with a half-smile, tossing her keys to JJ as they loaded up the van with supplies for the evening. You all piled into the car. “If you’re looking for peace, this isn’t it.” You laughed, though the sound was rougher than you’d intended. “That’s actually exactly what I was hoping for.” Kie raised an eyebrow, amused. “Not now, not since you decided to buy in the Cut.” The van wound along the narrow roads as the group eventually dropped you back at your new place. You all exchanged numbers, and John B called out, “Hit us up when we’re officially neighbors!”

“Definitely!” you replied, waving as they pulled away, excitement bubbling at the thought of your new life beginning.

╰☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆╮

Two weeks later, everything is packed. You load the last box into the trailer hitched to your truck, grateful to have been able to take a few pieces of your grandmother's furniture with you. Just as you’re about to get in, your little sister runs up, hugging you tightly, begging you not to go. You wish you could bring her with you, away from the instability and your parents' disregard for the safety of their children. But like your brothers, you’re doing what you need to—getting out. She has three more years before she can, too. Gently, you pry her off and turn to your parents, not even mustering a goodbye. 

You arrive at your new place around 6:30, exhausted but excited. You begin unpacking, tackling the smaller boxes first, but when you see the larger furniture, you realize there’s no way you can move it alone. You grab your phone, create a group chat with John B, Sarah, Pope, Cleo, Kie, and JJ, and send out a hopeful message. Within seconds, replies pour in:

You 7:15 PM: Help me unpack my furniture, and I'll supply the pizza? 

JJ 7:16 PM: OH HELL YEAH

Kie 7:16 PM: I’m down for some pizza

Sarah 7:16 PM: OMG yes! 

John B 7:16 PM: We’ll be right over

Cleo 7:16 PM: Absolutely, girl!!

Pope 7:16 PM: Break my back in exchange for pizza… you got a deal

The whole crew arrives, and the guys have everything unloaded in record time—exactly 40 minutes, coincidentally, the same time the delivery driver had said the pizza would arrive. When John B offers to cover the tip, you try to wave him off, but he insists, still catching his breath from the heavy lifting. 

That night, you all settle out on the patio, surrounded by pizza boxes, beer cans, and laughter. Someone lights a joint, and it’s passed around, the evening settling into a warm haze of stories and new friendships.

The next day, you decide to explore the town and pick up a few things for your place. You’re in and out of stores, tossing bags into your car before heading to the next spot. As you turn a corner, you suddenly bump into someone. Your hands shoot up instinctively and land on a firm chest—a chest that feels like it’s carved from stone. Your fingers graze across defined muscles, and you realize you’ve just walked straight into a very fit stranger.

“Oh, sorry, I really need to start paying more attention,” you say, looking up. The guy glances down at you, his blue eyes and dirty blond hair giving him an effortlessly rugged look. For a split second, he looks annoyed, but his expression softens as he takes you in. “No need to apologize. I was the one not looking,” he says, a hint of a smile forming. You look over at his friend, a shorter guy with a gold tooth gleaming in the sunlight. “Yeah, you can go ahead and blame it on ‘country club’ over here,” his friend says with a chuckle. You glance down at your lunch bag, now crushed from the fall. “Oh no,” you sigh, realizing your food is ruined. “I was starving, but I guess I’ll find something else around here.”

Rafe notices your disappointment and cocks his head, looking down at you. “New around here?” he asks.“Yep, first official full day in town. Just shopping for my place and totally forgot to eat. Do you know of any good spots around here?” He smiles, and his friend stands by, looking a bit out of place. “Name’s Rafe,” he says, extending a hand. “And I’m Barry,” his friend chimes in, making sure he’s not left out. You shake Rafe’s hand, saying, “Nice to meet you, Rafe. I’m Y/N. Anyway, I’ll get out of your way,” you say with a smile and start to move around him. “Wait!” Rafe calls after you. “My friend here was just leaving, and I knocked your lunch out of your hand. Let me buy you another one.” Barry scoffs, starting to protest, but Rafe nudges him away, leaving the two of you alone. You laugh, waving a hand dismissively. “You don’t owe me anything; it was just an accident.” “Maybe, but I’d like to,” he insists with a grin. You take a deep breath, trying to hide a smile, then give in with a nod. “Alright, fine, let’s go.”

Rafe suggests a little café around the corner and insists you try his favorite, a turkey and Swiss sandwich. After ordering, he pays at the counter, and you find a cozy table by the window. For a moment, there’s a comfortable silence as you people-watch, taking in the town's newness and Rafe’s quiet, unassuming company. "So, what brought you to the OBX?" Rafe finally asks, breaking the silence. You glance over, caught off guard by his curiosity but feeling oddly at ease with him. “Honestly? I needed an escape. I've always loved the beach—it’s the perfect landscape for painting. But mostly, I couldn’t live close to my parents anymore. This place feels like a fresh start.” He nods, his expression softening. “Sorry to hear that,” he says, then quickly pivots, maybe realizing he’s tiptoed into something heavy. “You're an artist? I’d love to see some of your work if you don’t mind.”

Your eyes light up at the request. Scooting over to his side of the table, you pull out your phone and scroll through photos of your paintings. He’s attentive, nodding and smiling as you explain each one. “These one’s sold,” you say, stopping at a set of six landscapes, “and this here is a self-portrait.” Rafe pauses, placing his hand over yours to stop you from swiping more as he studies the portrait. “This one’s beautiful,” he says softly, and you feel a blush warm your cheeks. He’s so close, and the way he’s looking at you is like nothing you’ve felt before. Just as he’s about to say something else, the counter calls out your order, breaking the moment.

While he grabs the food, you can’t help but compare him to your last relationship. Jason had been your high school boyfriend, but he never supported your art or complimented your work, barely took you on dates, all he did was cheat as all of your friends hid it from your oblivious self. Then he took your virginity and left you. You were young dumb and in love. After the break up, you only had casual hookups and one night stands, you refused to let someone in like you did Jason. You felt small with Jason. Rafe, in only thirty minutes, made you feel seen and valued. How could someone feel so special so fast? He returns with the food, and you talk easily through lunch—about his two sisters, his dad’s company he hopes to take over one day, your siblings, your plans for art classes, and the ways you want to make your little house feel like home. Everything flows naturally, like you've known him for years.

Afterward, he walks you back to your car. Your arm instinctively links through his, and you feel him tense at first before he relaxes. He’s never shown intimate affection to anyone, or vice versa. He’s never had anything serious. When you reach your car, you lean against it with a smile. “Not to sound like a stalker, but...where did you move in?” You laugh, charmed by his honesty. “On the other side of the island. It’s a cozy little one-bedroom. You’re welcome anytime.”

He falters for a moment, processing this. You’re on that side of the island? The Cut? He wonders. She’s a pogue? You’re not a pogue, you're not anything, you're new to this island. But because you moved into the cut, unknowing of the meaning, that’s instantly your title. He knows that too, but being the kook prince this is gonna be hard for him to explain to his friends. But he also didn't care, you were already starting to have him wrapped around your finger and he wanted to see more of you. Even as the realization hits him, he doesn’t pull away. “I’d really like that,” he says. Then, gently, he lifts his hand to your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin as he leans in close, your noses brushing against each other. But before he can close the distance, your phone rings. Startled, you glance down and see it’s your little sister calling.

“Sorry,” you whisper, “it’s my sister, I gotta take this.” He gives a slight disappointing grin. “Hey, Talia, just give me one sec ok.” You place the phone on mute. You signal for Rafe’s phone. “Here,” you say, adding your number to his contacts. “Call me anytime.” You stand on your toes to kiss his cheek, catching the faint blush that rises on his face. “I will,” he promises, stepping back, his gaze never leaving you. He starts to walk away but glances back, grinning. “See you later, stalker!” you call after him, laughing as he shakes his head, a smile on his face.

╰☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆╮

After getting back home, you keep the call going with Talia, switching to FaceTime to give her a little tour of your new place. “Wow, it’s so cute! I can't wait to come visit you!” Talia says, her face lighting up. You feel a lump in your throat, already missing her and wishing she didn’t have to stay back home, dealing with everything you left behind. “I can't wait for you to be here, too,” you reply, voice soft. “I’m sorry I had to leave you there… but I promise, the next three years will fly by.” Talia gives you an encouraging smile, “I’ll be okay. And by the time I’m there, I’ll be right next door, driving you crazy.” You both laugh, exchange "I love yous," and say goodnight, but after the call ends, tears start to fall.

You step outside to sit on your front porch, needing fresh air to calm down. Pulling out a joint from your pocket, you light up, taking a slow inhale, letting the warmth settle in, even though the tears keep coming. You try to push them down when you feel your phone buzz with a text from Rafe. You answer, then he immediately calls, you smile despite yourself. 

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” you tease, trying to keep your voice steady. But Rafe catches on. “You okay? What’s going on?” You sigh, taking another drag before answering. “It’s just my sister...I miss her. I’m still not used to being without her. I knew it would be hard but seeing her on the call, just made it all hit me.” Rafe falls silent for a moment, then lets out a small sigh. “You know, you’re welcome to borrow one of mine,” he jokes, though there’s warmth in his voice. “Probably wouldn’t be as good, but maybe it’d help.” You laugh softly through your tears. “Thank you, but Talia’s pretty irreplaceable,” you say, and Rafe can’t help but smile at your words, even if you can’t see it. “I know you didn’t plan on having to cheer me up, but thank you. This joint’s helping, but it’s mostly you.” Rafe’s quiet on the other end, almost like he’s holding his breath. “I’m glad to be of service. You said it earlier, but you can call me anytime. I’d like to hear more of your voice,” he says softly. You pause, feeling warmth wash over you. Maybe it's the weed, but you can't believe how open you're being with him. Rafe waits patiently, literally biting his nails for a response.“I’d like that too. Goodnight, stalker.” He chuckles, seeming to enjoy the nickname. “Goodnight, new girl,” he replies, and you smile as you hang up.

As you walk back inside, the night has settled in completely, and the porch light casts a warm glow. You try to unpack, setting a few items in their places, but your mind keeps wandering back to Rafe—his eyes, his smile, that dimple, his large arms, his easy laugh, the way he listened to you so carefully. You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t fall for anyone again, but with him, it feels different. And you’re not sure you mind. What you don’t know is that Rafe feels the same way.

Taglist:

@rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz

[shybunnie20]

Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

★My Masterlist

Summary: After some time in the spotlight, Eddie returns to Hawkins and finds that his unfinished confession to his best friend awaits him.

Author's Note: Here's a little something I wrote while I've been chipping away at my other WIPs. It’s way longer than I expected but I'm happy with how it turned out. The angst is very mild and it has a happy ending!

AU with no Upside Down, no use of y/n, established past friendship, Eddie and reader graduated the same year but ages aren't specified, focuses on Eddie's POV, proofread to an extent.

Word Count: 8.3k

Warnings: MDNI, mentions of sex, includes swearing

After posing for the cover of the latest Metal Edge magazine, Eddie was eager to head back home ASAP. While he enjoys his time on the East Coast, he was really looking forward to some much-needed downtime. As he boarded his private jet and set off, everything was going according to plan. However, the weather decided that he was going to make a pit stop. Rather, an emergency landing.

Plans get derailed and unpredictability is a part of the lifestyle. When your private jet is just about plucked from the sky during a lightning storm, finding a place to land is imperative, no matter the location. In this instance, his jet touched down in Indianapolis. Hopes of catching a taxi to Hawkins were dashed. No taxi driver in their right mind would willingly brave the distance from the city to the suburb in that weather. Eddie was left with one person to call upon—the man whom Eddie had been considering visiting for quite some time.

Wayne was surprised to receive the phone call but he agreed to pick Eddie up from the airport without hesitation. They haven’t been staying in touch as of late; Eddie’s life is nothing short of a whirlwind consisting of sold-out arenas and constant travel. Getting a hold of his nephew became a challenging feat. Wayne rarely got past speaking to Eddie’s assistants.

It was his uncle’s rare day off and calls at that time of night were few and far between. So, when Wayne’s canary yellow phone practically leaped off of the hook, he was astonished. After making the drive through the pattering rain, Wayne retrieved a sulking Eddie from Concourse B. As Eddie settled into the passenger seat of the fixer-upper, exhaustion from his turbulent journey was evident.

The next morning, Eddie wakes up with a protesting ache in his lower back, the result of a night spent on the pull-out couch. As he sits up straight, he lets out a low groan, vocalizing how his body yearns for the luxurious embrace of the Egyptian cotton sheets that are fitted around his California king mattress. They lay chilled without him, thousands of miles away in his opulent hillside mansion in Beverly Hills.

As he stretches in an attempt to unknot the tension between his shoulder blades, Eddie takes in his surroundings. He stumbled through the front door so late last night that he had no energy left to get reacquainted with his childhood home. He even wound up sleeping in his designer jeans, the coarse denim a far cry from the plush pajamas he would normally change into before bed.

A gentle grin forms on Eddie’s lips upon feeling comforted by the familiarity of the room. He hadn’t realized how much he missed the simple life that Wayne brought him up in. Eddie gazes around, noticing the subtle changes such as the addition of new mugs and hats to their respective displays. One particular change catches his attention and draws a fond exhale from his stale lungs. The worn-out doormat, which was torn to hell when he was a teenager, was finally replaced.

Despite his internal clock being out of whack, Eddie’s brain knows when it’s time for a cup of jitter juice. He rises from the rickety mattress, his back cracking loudly at the extension. A moan of discomfort slips out as he winces at the pinch at the base of his neck. “Jesus, fuck,” he mutters aloud. Eddie makes a mental note to buy Wayne a new sofa.

His socked feet slide across the linoleum as he steps into the kitchen. He notices that the bedroom door is closed, though it’s doing very little to dampen the loud snoring emitting behind it. Eddie yawns as he grinds his fists into his eyes, causing a splash of tingling colors across the darkness of his lids. He approaches the corner cupboard, knowing that what he’s looking for will be in the same place it always has been. The cabinet door greets him with a squeak and he’s met with a single dented can of Folgers. That shit is practically varnish remover, it simply won’t do.

Eddie sighs as the craving for his favorite Italian coffee intensifies. It’s so rich, flavorful, smooth, and yet, it packs a punch. Just the thought of the hazelnut dark roast takes him back to the first time he ever tried it in Trieste. From that moment on, he needed it imported back home.

Well, the java situation is a bust. For the time being, Eddie has a choice. Either charred slices of Wonderbread or plain cornflakes. AKA, buttered plywood or a bowl of sawdust. Ew and ew. Settling for the arguably more exciting option, Eddie decides on toast. Each bite into the brittle slice causes dark crumbs to scatter into his open palm that he holds beneath his chin. He can’t be bothered to get a plate, even as an adult. The burnt bits accumulate in his hand as he continues to nibble. While Eddie brushes his palms over the sink to rid himself of crumbs, he catches sight of the magazine clipping held to the fridge door by a Tweety Bird magnet. Frozen in time on glossy paper is a photo of him at the American Music Awards last year. “Damn, I looked good.” He smirks as he recalls the tailored suit, the lapels encrusted with dazzling gems, and his pale bare chest blinding the paparazzi from beneath it. The memories of that night come rushing, the flashing cameras and the cheers of his fans.

With his tummy partially pleased but the craving for quality coffee intensifying, Eddie recalls that there’s only one good place around here to get a quality cup of Joe. Eddie takes a brisk shower to wash away the residual stickiness that clings to his skin from a night spent fully clothed in the stuffy trailer. He dresses in the most pedestrian outfit that’s in his suitcase, hoping to blend in as much as possible, and heads out. 

Eddie’s stride carries him through the glass door of Morningside Café, the cheerful bell above it announces his arrival. The café is bustling, as one would expect on a Saturday morning. The patrons have come for their morning pick-me-up, much like Eddie.

Initially, he considers keeping his onyx-lensed sunglasses on, a barrier that would shield him from potential recognition and the commotion that would ensue. But he decides to take them off, knowing that he might stick out if he’s wearing sunglasses indoors. Eddie tucks one of the folded arms of the frame into the collar of his t-shirt. To his surprise, nobody reacts. No one gasps or falls to their knees at his feet. The world around him continues to turn. Part of him yearns for the ego boost that comes with being recognized but, all in all, he’s relieved to experience a semblance of normalcy for the first time in what feels like an eternity.

Taking a moment to soak in his surroundings, Eddie’s gaze sweeps across the interior of the shop. His eyes linger on the display case where flaky pastries drizzled with chocolate and caramel sauces are housed. The cabin-esque aesthetic warms the soul with rich wood tones and a brick fireplace. It stands dormant, flameless, because it’s too warm out for a fire this time of year.

Beside the fireplace sit two figures that catch his attention. Even from a short distance, Eddie recognizes the mane of luscious locks, a signature feature that only belongs to one person. He strolls over with excitement tugging at his chest.

“Excuse me,” Eddie’s voice is hushed as he addresses the two figures engrossed in conversation. “Do you happen to know if the creamer here is fat-free?”

Steve and Robin’s dialogue comes to an abrupt halt, their voices silenced by the unexpected interruption. They exchange a glance, their eyebrows raising in unison. Simultaneously, their heads turn to peer over their shoulders. And there he stands, Eddie, someone they never thought they’d see again.

Steve gets to his feet a beat faster than Robin and he’s all smiles. “Look what the cat dragged in!”

“Must be an expensive cat,” Robin quips while she eyes Eddie, a quick assessment that catches details he overlooked in his haste to blend in. Her comment refers to the flashy jewelry he neglected to take off. “Persian, right? Those are the goblin-looking ones that rich people like? Ugly little fluff balls, if you ask me.”

Eddie’s sigh carries relief, expressing his genuine pleasure in knowing that Robin remains candid and unfiltered, just as he remembers her. As he extends his hand, Steve meets him with a firm handshake.

A friendly slap on the shoulder from Steve follows. “What brings you to this god-forsaken town?” His question is punctuated by true curiosity and a hint of humor, alluding to Eddie’s past that has kept him from ever returning up until now.

 “I was in the area,” Eddie replies with a sense of restraint, deliberately avoiding the true source of his change in plans. “Figured I'd swing by to see what’s what.”

Robin gestures for Eddie to take the seat opposite of them. They all settle into their mahogany-colored chairs. Eddie shifts awkwardly, the denim of his jeans dragging on the leather noisily.

With her elbows digging into her knees, Robin leans forward and supports her chin with her balled fists, positioned to hear the greatest story in her life. “So?” 

Eddie blinks dumbly, bemusement evident on his face. “What?” 

Reclined deeply into his chair, Steve rests his hands on his belly with interlocked fingers. “Enlighten us. Where the hell did ya go?”

“Oh,” Eddie breathes, “Well, uh, I migrated west and lived in my van for a while. Then I found an ad in the paper for a spare bedroom in a janky apartment. I did the roommate thing for a bit and then- I dunno,” He twists the grim reaper-shaped ring around the base of his middle finger. “Things just worked out, I guess.”

Robin blows a raspberry and sits back into a less anticipatory position. “Long story short, huh? The last I saw, you were on the red carpet escorting Heather Locklear.”

Her reference to Eddie’s past event appearance draws a smirk from him, feeling a sense of satisfaction in knowing that his old friends have been keeping up with the big things he’s been doing. While she encourages Eddie to delve into the details of his daily life, Steve looks across the room at you. Your nose is to the grindstone, your hands working deftly to maintain the rhythm that ensures that the orders are being fulfilled in a timely manner.

Opening shifts are the worst, for the customers and the employees alike. Nobody is at their friendliest due to the dark clouds of exhaustion hanging over everyone’s heads. Not to mention, regulars have their quirks. Some are particularly anal—specifying exact temperatures for their flavored fuel. They scrutinize your every move, even going as far as monitoring the thermometer to ensure that their demands are met.

The grind of the morning rush is draining, yet, you soldier on. You wipe away spilled coffee grounds from the countertop and amidst the clatter and constant flow of orders, you catch Steve staring right at you. His expression is peculiar, his arched brows paired with a subtle curve to his lips. You tilt your head inquisitively at him. What?

Steve subtly points across from him and mouths, Eddie Munson.

Your hand freezes mid-motion, the damp rag caught between your palm and the solution-streaked surface. Instinct takes over as you lean onto your tiptoes, straining to catch a glimpse over the top of the coffee machine. And no shit, there’s that head of chocolate curls. Your pulse spikes as apprehension floods your belly. Returning your gaze to Steve, you mouth back to him, oh my god.

Steve’s frantic wave beckons you over, his urgency not leaving room for subtlety. Eddie takes notice of Steve and he looks to see who he’s motioning to. Your eyes meet and for a split second, utter disbelief is mirrored on both of your faces.

You panic and duck out of sight, retreating to the relative cover near the floor. Your thoughts race, your heartbeat pounding twice that. “What the actual fuck is he doing here?” you ask yourself, unable to grapple with the overwhelming emotions.

Eddie’s heavy-footed steps carry him up to the counter, the air around him feeling electrically charged, making his arm hair stand up straight. His chest constricts as he approaches the ledge and looks behind it. There you are, sitting on the floor with your legs pulled close to your chest and your forehead against your knees.

“Sweetheart,” he chuckles airily, though his brows are pulled together as to why you’re down there.

Reluctantly, you lift your head and meet his eyes. A sheepish grin tugs at your lips and you can’t help but scrunch your nose. “Eddie, hi!”

“Whatcha doin’ down there?” he asks playfully, then catching his bottom lip between his teeth in an attempt to suppress the smile that threatens to form. “Almost looks like you’re tryin’ to hide from me.”

You shake your head, only slightly annoyed at his amusement. “I’m just busted, aren’t I?” As you get to your feet, you wipe your palms on your apron before rounding the corner of the counter.

Eddie’s arms are already outstretched before you’re even in full view. You find yourself stepping forward to meet his embrace. The hug is brief, not quite as long as Eddie would’ve liked it to be. His beaming smile accompanies his glittering stare as it follows your features, studying the subtle changes since he saw you last. “Long time no see,” he teases with the lick of his lip.

You’ve already taken a step back, creating a bit of space between the two of you. With a deep breath, you nod. “Tell me about it, it’s been like what, six years?” It’s your turn to trace the contours of his face.

You’ve seen the tabloids on the racks in the supermarket, the pages that showcase his exhilarating career. You’ve seen his music videos on MTV. Regardless of the set design and general concept, there’s a constant—Eddie, partially naked with jeans slung low on his hips, surrounded by bleach-blonde stunners hanging off of him one way or another. He always stood tall, an embodiment of untouchability despite being touched just about everywhere by sets of cherry-painted fingernails. His image has become synonymous with charismatic magnetism and sex appeal.

And now, he’s standing right in front of you. Eddie’s silver nose ring catches the overhead lighting, a rebellious contrast to the well-groomed beard that frames his jaw. He has far more tattoos than he had when you were friends.

The dangling layers of necklaces twinkle like constellations. While you hugged him, you recognized his natural scent which was mostly the same, but with a faint woody undertone. The cologne he wears seems to have become one with his clothes, the scent being inseparable from him no matter how many times the article is washed.

Eddie also looks stronger and his physical presence is more defined. His slim frame matured into something more substantial, and his muscles are built and bound with raw talent.

It’s a curious juxtaposition to see him in such plain clothes. He almost resembles the Eddie that you knew, feeling both familiar and transformed, an evolution you’re struggling to take in all at once.

“Yeah, coming up on six. Feels like it’s been longer than that,” Eddie replies, the joy in his voice unconcealed. He shamelessly looks over your uniform, the baby blue polo shirt beneath the navy apron, with his interest plain for anyone to see. He took in your scent too. Your natural smell blended with coffee, and it struck a chord within him. The combination of the two is better than his beloved Italian coffee beans alone.

“How long are you in town for?” You inquire while playing with the hem of your apron. Meanwhile, you shift your weight on the balls of your feet, attempting to soothe yourself with the rocking motion.

Eddie sucks air through his teeth with resignation. “Just today, actually.”

“Oh,” you mumble, your expression subtly crestfallen at the news of his limited stay. “That’s too bad. You really can’t stay any longer?”

“I wish I could but stopping by wasn’t exactly on my to-do list. I was flying home from New York and then my jet-”

You’re startled as your supervisor’s voice booms from behind you, yanking you back to reality. Her words are stern, reprimanding you for being distracted. She scolds, saying that the line is twice as long as it should be. A quick glance at your coworker makes you feel guilty, seeing as he’s struggling to keep up with taking and filling orders by himself.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, “Coming!” With a final moment of eye contact with Eddie, you offer him a rueful smile. “Sorry, duty calls,” As you turn and make your way back to your station, you call out to Eddie over your shoulder. “It was great to see you.”

The sentiment hangs in the air, one that Eddie wishes you had a chance to elaborate on. But, time is of the essence and you’re already back to filling cups without waiting for his response. For a few seconds, Eddie watches you seamlessly shift back into work mode as if he isn’t there anymore. Returning to Steve and Robin, he’s met with pointed looks that are laden with interest. The weight of the encounter, the unexpected vulnerability he felt looking into your eyes, settles on his shoulders. As Eddie returns to the seat across from them, he slumps down with a pout.

Robin’s brows furrow at his sudden change in demeanor. “Why the long face? Didn’t you ask her out?”

Eddie’s response is a sullen half-note while he stares fixedly at a speck of mud on Steve’s shoe. “No,” he says, “I didn’t, and quite frankly, I don’t think she’d even want to.” In the way that Eddie is carrying himself, it’s obvious that his insecurities have been stirred up. “You should’ve seen the way she looked at me. It was like she hardly recognized me.”

Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I dunno, man. Kinda hard to believe a hot shot like you can’t get whatever girl he sets his sights on.”

That remark sparks something within Eddie, a realization that switches his perspective. Steve’s words hit home—he’s Eddie fucking Munson. A Grammy award-winning recording artist for Christ’s sake. Casanova, heavy hitter, ladies’ man. His confidence resurfaces, becoming acutely aware of the charm he can whip out whenever he needs it; he’s well equipped for this moment.

Summoning the deepest breath he’s ever taken, Eddie rises to his feet once again, feeling sure of himself this time. His hands smooth down his shirt and he clears his throat. When Eddie chances a look behind him, Steve and Robin are giving him two, technically four, thumbs up as a means of encouragement.

With newfound resolve, Eddie approaches the counter once again. You’re a flurry of motion, caught up in the demands of your job. A bead of sweat threatens to drip from your brow as you ensure that the whipped cream on top of the ice-cold beverage is the perfect amount.

“Hey,” Eddie’s voice cuts through the ambient noise, a little louder than necessary to ensure that you’ve heard him.

You peek up at him with a grin in acknowledgment. “Hi,” Though his presence is noted, your focus is unwavering, determined not to let any more interruptions affect your efficiency.

Eddie’s knuckles wrap against the counter, a drumming that underscores his everlasting nerves when it comes to you. “What are you doing tonight?”

Powdered cinnamon dusts the air as you gently tap the kitchen dredger over the tower of whipped cream. The finely ground burnt umber falls where it’s meant to, rather than onto your apron. “I don’t have any plans, why?” You hand the completed drink to the awaiting customer beside Eddie, giving them a polite smile that’s a testament to your professionalism.

The act of biting the inside of his cheek does little to help Eddie relax. “Would you maybe wanna grab a bite to eat?” he hesitates for a beat, the thudding of his heart is on the verge of drowning out his voice. “I’ll bet you’ll have worked up quite the appetite by the time you’re shift is done.”

You sigh softly, mulling over Eddie’s offer. “I don’t know…” You say contemplatively while flipping the switches on the machine, causing it to roar to life.

Eddie holds his breath, every passing second heightening his senses.

“Okay, I suppose I will be pretty hungry,” you concede, your eyes nearly forming tears of stress as you accept the ever-present line of customers. “Early dinner at Benny’s?” You suggest with an inviting tone.

“Just like old times,” Eddie smiles so wide that it feels like the corners of his lips might split and bleed. “Yeah, that sounds perfect.” He offers to pick you up, which he’d truly rather not. That would mean that he’d be taking you out in his uncle’s jalopy. In Eddie’s mind's eye, he would pick you up in a sports car and rev the engine to the point where you’re pressing your thighs together to stave off the vibrations coursing through you. A man can dream.

“No, I’ll meet you there,” you assert, your voice firm with certainty. The authenticity of your smile bridges the previously placed distance between you. “Thank you, though.”

His knuckles leave one last sequence of knocks on the marble surface, a rhythm of pride and assurance. “See you later, then,” Eddie confirms, his tone dancing on the edge of excitement.

You nod. “Later,”

Eddie turns away and finds his friends with expectant gazes plastered on their faces, awaiting the verdict of the exchange. His smile hasn’t fallen in the slightest, his dazzling white teeth and flushed cheeks don’t go unnoticed. Eddie’s enthusiasm is palpable, his words coming out in a hushed rush. “She said yes!” he exclaims, trying to shake the blood back into his fingers as the tingling sensation bites at him. “It’s a date,” He adds in triumph.

Sitting at the mini kitchen table in Wayne’s trailer, the rusty metal chair squeaks under his weight anytime he shifts. He can’t even sit still, despite there being plentiful hours between now and when he’ll see you again. Eddie finds himself flipping through the scrapbook you put so much time into making the summer before your senior year. That particular summer holds such significance to him, a time when the days were endless, and the bond between you felt unshakeable.

Each photograph feels as warm and breezy as the one before it. Sunbathing on the shore of Lover’s Lake, your toes dipping into the water as you prepared to leap off of the dock. The memory is vivid—your skin glistening and energy positively radiant with innocence and naivety. One of the snapshots of Eddie is far less flattering. He’s captured with sharp tan lines, the contrast in tones creating the illusion of him wearing a white shirt, despite being topless.

Eddie bites down on his lip as he studies the photograph of you riding your bike in cutoff shorts, your t-shirt having met an equal fate. The wind tangled through your hair in a way that he wished he could with his fingers.

The picture beside it features the two of you together. Obviously, Wayne had taken on the role of photographer. You’re both posed proudly beside a tower of playing cards that you spent 45 minutes building card by card, on the very table that Eddie is sitting at. Both of you held your breath and didn’t speak a word to avoid knocking it down. Taped across the same page are watermelon and grape-flavored blow pop wrappers, unredeemed arcade tickets, movie stubs, and receipts saved from snack runs made on days that you were craving specific treats.

With the turn of a page, Eddie melts a little as he comes across the photobooth strips. It was necessary for you to sit on his lap in order for both of you to fit within the frame. He was able to wrap his arms around your waist and hold you close as if there was anywhere for you to go inside the cramped box. Your arms encircled his neck and rested on his shoulders while you made silly faces at the camera, and even better, at each other.

Eddie recoils at the picture of him with red-stained popsicle sticks protruding from his mouth, immaturely imitating a walrus, of all things. You laughed so hard that you insisted on taking a photo, and as much as dislikes the image itself, he’s still eating up how delighted you were by his antics.

The moments that weren’t captured on film come flooding back just as vividly as if they’re pasted to the paper before him. Inhaling helium from balloons and laughing hysterically at one another is a night that comes to mind. He knew he’d never get sick of making you laugh. And that time when playfully tossing popcorn into each other's mouths evolved from being a fun game to a skill. Last but not least, Eddie reminisces about sitting in his van together with the windows down, sharing cigarettes and music as the cool evening air enveloped you both. The quieter memories are just as deafening as the amusing ones.

His life had its fair share of upheaval and dysfunction that seemed to pull him in all directions. Amidst the chaos, one constant remained. You. Eddie didn’t need more than that, you already made life worth living.

But, as life often goes, the sweet moments can become bitter in the blink of an eye. 

It was the night of your graduation party, a celebration meant to be an intimate gathering among close friends—you, Eddie, Robin, and Steve. But when Eddie pulled up to your parent’s house, a scene was unfolding before him that he hadn’t anticipated. The yard was dotted with clusters of students while the front door was revolving with people drunkenly coming and going. Inside the belly of the beast was even more lively.

Eddie hesitantly navigated the throngs of teens in the hallway, people he was sure that you weren’t even on a first-name basis with. He knew your house like the back of his hand but it felt foreign due to the sheer number of bodies dancing, running, and tumbling over. 

He was going to finally tell you how he felt, a declaration that had been building within him for some time. Eddie understood that you were out of his league, the unspoken boundaries dictating that best friends aren’t supposed to fall in love, yet he found himself helplessly ensnared by his adoration for you. For so long, Eddie was afraid of pressing his luck, and even more so, was in a state of constant disbelief that he was lucky enough to call you the most important person in his life.

Graduation marks a turning point in a young person’s life, a juncture where change is inevitable. Eddie was ready for change and he wanted his dreams to bleed into reality. He yearned to hold you without any limitations, to kiss you like he needed to in order to survive. It was time for a new chapter and Eddie hoped that when he turned the page, he’d get the girl he wanted more than anything in the world.

You were in the kitchen. Typically, he gets a kick out of the way you act when you’re that buzzed. Your joyful disposition under the influence of celebration and booze led to you being the most laid-back version of yourself. However, he was facing an unanticipated predicament. Eddie was trying to have a serious conversation with you at a rowdy party. His hands were trembling, and luckily, his leather jacket concealed the fact that he’d soaked the pits of his t-shirt.

“There you are,” Eddie hummed and stepped closer to make sure that you could hear him over the music and chatter.

“Here I am!” you giggled, your cheeks flushed and energy unreserved. “Isn’t this wild?” You motioned to the piles of assorted cups and bags of snacks scattered haphazardly.

“Yeah,” Eddie responded, glancing over his shoulder as he was jolted by a stranger bumping into him. “What happened to watching movies and ordering pizza?”

The trace of disappointment in Eddie’s tone might have been discernable to a sober individual, but in your inebriated state, it slipped under your radar. Your smile remained and you swayed. The movement was more so a result of your jelly legs than unenthusiastic dancing. “I know, but my parents went all out and invited our entire class! I guess they figured that throwing a rager was a good way to congratulate me,” You chuckled and took another burning sip from your cup.

Eddie leaned in, his voice carrying a sense of urgency. “Can we go somewhere and talk?” he pleaded. “There’s something I need to tell you.” The weight of his unspoken feelings was on the verge of suffocating him and the heat of the room paled in comparison to the fire in his belly.

You tilted your head slightly, your eyes ever so bright. “What is it?”

Given that you hadn’t budged an inch, that meant that the conversation was gonna happen right where you stood. Eddie tried to breathe steadily, knowing that he’d rehearsed this and he knew what he wanted to say. Unfortunately, the words had startled to scramble in his head. “You, uh- you know that you’re my favorite person in the whole world, right?”

“Of course, you’re mine too,” you agreed as you pawed at his shoulder before leaning back against the counter to make up for your lessening ability to stand up straight.

“I couldn’t ask for a better best friend-” Unfortunately for him, the timing couldn’t have been worse. The song that had been playing ended abruptly. “But I wanna be more than that.”

Eddie’s heart sank as his words hung in the air. The confession that was meant for your ears only was now released into the open, leaving Eddie exposed. A mocking laughter filled the air that the music once inhabited; Jack Carver, the asshole who’s had it out for Eddie since the fifth grade, was locked and loaded.

Eddie’s blood ran cold at the sound as it collided with his ears. His fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, his body tensing as he struggled to prepare himself for what was about to happen. 

Jack Carver’s taunting cut like a sharp blade, drawing a wave of laughter from the surrounding students with it. “Did everybody hear that?” he shouted with derision, “The freak wants himself a little girlfriend.”

Defenseless, Eddie clenched his knuckles as the walls began to close in on him. He knew it wasn’t over yet.

“There’s a reason you’re still a virgin, and you’ll die one, too.” Jack sneered.

Prior to that evening, Eddie had steeled himself for the possibility of rejection from you. He‘d surrender to the emotional blow to keep you as his best friend. But he wasn’t armed for the level of humiliation that Jack’s provocation brought down on him. It was the wounds of his childhood, the physical and emotional scars from years of being picked on, that were torn open. Jack always knew how to hit him where it hurt.

The tears that blurred Eddie’s vision shielded him from your pitying and startled expression. It all felt like a cruel twist of fate, a reminder that he was meant to be the outsider, forever on the fringes without someone to hold him close at night. As the laughter continued to echo around him, Eddie fled before the atmosphere could swallow him whole. Without a second thought, he shoved his way through the crowd and bolted out of your front door.

The night air hit him like a wall, cooling the hot tears that streamed down his scorched cheeks. Eddie stumbled to his van and slammed the door shut behind him. He leaned his forehead against the steering wheel and let out a shuddering breath, feeling like everything inside of him was coming apart at the seams. Eddie squeezed his eyes shut to clear his vision by forcing the pooled tears to flow and he raised his head back up. He saw you stepping off of your front porch, a concerned look branded on your features while you called out to him, searching.

At that moment, he decided that he was gonna show every single person who thought so little of him that he could be somebody. Eddie was going to outdo all of them and kick the expectation that he was going to end up in prison like his father, that he was going to be dealing drugs for the rest of his life, and that he’d always be trailer trash.

If Eddie could go back in time, things would have gone differently. But after chasing the California sunrise, he’d mastered the world of glamorous parties, adoring fans, and beautiful women. They threw themselves at him. He didn’t have to worry about rejection because he could have his pick, he had whatever flavor he wanted for the night. But no one satiated the craving he continued to have for you. No one laughed the way you did, no one understood him the way you always had.

You’d never have another moment together, he accepted that. And it didn’t matter anymore because he became the man. He didn’t have time to sit around and sulk about a small-town girl who wouldn’t give him the time of day. But despite putting his feelings in the rearview mirror, he daydreamed nonetheless. Eddie wondered what it would be like to show you the new and improved version of himself. He hoped that you’d be impressed. More importantly, did you listen to his music? Or read about his scandalous escapades in the gossip magazines that wove lies into the truth?

Even so, that night set him straight. It wasn’t going to happen for you and him. His only star had fallen, so he put all of his time and energy into making a name for himself. The songs on his albums are about living life in the fast lane and the thrill of the night. They’re about trashing hotel rooms and experiencing things he never dreamed he would because that’s what sells records.

But at home in his lyric notepad lays the songs of unpursued love, melodies about chances taken and lost. There’s one ballad in particular, its verses tell the story of him introducing you to his newfound confidence, something that you never knew him to have. It speaks of how he’s seen the world twice over, and yet, his favorite place to be is tucked away in the memories where things hadn’t changed yet.

Those heartfelt lyrics remain buried, never to be shared with the world. They’re a tribute to you, the unsung song in his life.

Eddie’s experience when it comes to the attention of women should, theoretically, render him immune to being nervous. Yet, he finds himself impossibly so. The source of his unease? You. This isn’t just anyone, you’re not just some chick. The late afternoon swings around and Eddie’s nerves are in full swing. He’s feeling just as anxious as he did the night of that party because second chances are rare for him. Eddie is acutely aware that this is very likely to be his last shot with you. This isn’t just any date—it’s your first date. The significance isn’t lost on him, and he’s determined to make it count.

Standing in front of Wayne’s bathroom mirror, Eddie attempts to wield the cheap razor to trim the edges of his beard. His curls, normally styled to perfection, look deflated and lackluster without his fancy shampoo and hair products to nourish them. The trailer park’s hard water isn’t doing his hair any favors when it comes to frizz either. As Eddie rinses away his beard trimmings from the basin, he exhales dramatically, watching his self-esteem swirling down the drain. He tries to remind himself of his good looks by reciting a silent pep talk. The thought of disappointing you, or not meeting your expectations, is something he can’t bear.

Eddie parks Wayne’s car outside of Benny’s Burgers and takes a moment to double-check his appearance in the visor mirror. He wants to make certain that he looks as decent as he can. This is the chance he’s been waiting for, this is for all the marbles. Unlike his usual casual encounters, where names and personalities go unlearned, this is different. Eddie has to earn your affection back.

He peers down at his fingernails, thankful that they’re still in good shape from his last manicure. Eddie mutters to himself, trying to get a feel for an appropriate greeting. “Hi, you look… pretty,” Lame. Frustrated, he twists the skull ring on his finger, adjusting it from its sideways position to face the right way up. “It’s so nice out tonight, but you look even nicer.” Eddie groans, banging his head back against the headrest. “Jesus Christ, Munson. Get your fucking shit together.”

With a thick swallow, Eddie steps out of the car and makes his way across the parking lot that crunches beneath his sneakers. As he enters the restaurant, he’s happy to see that this place hasn’t changed one bit. Eddie debates waiting by the door for you or to sit down for the time being. Anxiety wins, and he chooses the latter. As he strides across the room, he tries to keep his easily recognizable face relatively hidden. Eddie slides into the booth that the two of you always sat in. You spent innumerable Saturday nights sitting here, laughing and teasing, talking shit and venting about how high school felt so life or death at the time.

A soft chuckle slips out as he traces the initials that he carved into the table all those years ago. He grins, recalling how much you scolded him while he chipped EM into the wood with his pocket knife. Eddie absentmindedly fiddles with the lid on the ketchup bottle from the condiment caddy, lost in his own thoughts, until the restaurant’s door opens. His heart thumps madly as he watches you stroll in and scan the room until your gaze lands on him. Beyond his control, Eddie’s eyes are gleaming, overwhelmed with the privilege of being in the same room as you once more.

He stands from the booth as you approach, his legs acting with a mind of their own. Once you reach him, he’s not exactly sure what to do with his hands. He decides against offering a hug since you don’t initiate one. Eddie returns to his seat as you settle into the one opposite of him.

“Hey,” you greet him warmly, placing your purse beside you on the seat.

“Hi, there,” he replies, the red of his cheeks deepening as his hands go right back to fidgeting. Eddie clears his throat. “How was the rest of your day?”

“It was okay, nothing special,” you reply vaguely, your voice dripping with fatigue.

Eddie takes note of and appreciates the slightest bit of makeup you’ve applied since he saw you this morning, simply because it accentuates your natural beauty. It’s a small detail, but it doesn’t go unnoticed, and it warms his heart to think that you might have put some effort into your appearance to meet up with him. Or maybe he’s getting ahead of himself and you just don’t like wearing makeup at work. Regardless, just as a complement is about to roll off of his tongue, the table is approached by an old woman.

“My goodness, I remember you too!” She beams, clutching her miniature notepad tightly. “You’re all grown up now.”

You nod respectfully, clearly remembering her. Eddie, on the other hand, does not recognize her as quickly. It’s like he’s buffering as he thinks, and then his eyes widen, suddenly remembering that the woman is the waitress who always served the two of you every weekend. Holy shit, he thought she looked old back then but now she looks ancient. “It’s nice to see you,” He performs, trying his best to be a gentleman and show you that he’s good-natured.

“I’ll be right back, I know just what to get you,” She says sing-songy manner and bounces away into the back kitchen. Even after all this time, she still knows your orders by heart.

Despite the breath that you release, the hurt isn’t evident on your face. “Why’d you disappear on me that night?”

Your straightforwardness catches Eddie off guard, and he struggles to find the right words to respond. “Doesn’t matter why,” he begins, trying to deflect from the topic. He’d much rather you ask him if he has any pets or if he’s read any good books lately. “That was ages ago, what matters is that I’m not a pathetic loser anymore.”

“You were never a loser, Eddie.” You say looking into his eyes, reminding every fiber of his being that you always liked him for who he was. But just as quickly, your gaze drops. You always hated when he talked about himself that way because you thought he was a total catch.

Eddie’s gaze lingers on you, studying the shift. Slowly, the realization dawns on him that your hurt runs deep, possibly deeper than his own. Coming to terms with his self-centered perspective makes his chest ache. He was so consumed by his own insecurities that he never spared a thought for how his sudden departure wounded you.

You change gears with an almost perfected ease, smoothly transitioning from the heaviness of the subject. “So, Mr. Super Star, what’s it like being you?”

A chill is sent up his spine, uneasiness caused by how swiftly you just rebuilt your walls before his eyes. He bites anyway, hoping that your interest in his stories is genuine. “From the outside, it looks like fun but it’s nothing short of chaos. When you’ve got a show every other night, and a band wants you on their new album, and then someone’s throwing a massive party...” Eddie trails off, afraid that his rambling is coming off as braggery. “Anyway, enough about all that. How ‘bout you? How’d you end up working at Morningside?”

There’s a flicker of joy on your face that shows your appreciation for his desire to hear you talk about yourself. “I needed something part-time, I’m actually studying to be a-”

EEK! You both startle at the ear-shattering squeals of three middle school-aged school girls. They’re gathered around Eddie, borderline frothing at the mouth to be looking at and breathing the same air as him. They’re all talking a mile a minute over one another, asking for autographs, wanting hugs, and gushing about his music.

Eddie looks at you and he can’t quite gauge your reaction, your expression is practically unreadable. “One second, I’m sorry,” he sincerely apologizes, scooting out of the booth to greet the rabid girls. He figures that if he handles this interaction skillfully, they’ll likely leave both of you alone afterward.

As you watch him engage, you’re beyond disappointed. It seems like he’s more interested in the attention and adoration of his fans than he is in spending time with you. He should’ve just told them to go away. Now you’re certain of where his priorities lie and you should’ve known from the moment you saw his face this morning. He isn’t here to mend things, Eddie has less than pure intentions and you’re not going to wait to find out what they are.

While Eddie is busy giving the girls his full attention with his back turned to you, you seize the moment to slip out of the booth and quietly exit the restaurant. One of the girls is clinging onto him after a hug and he has to pry her off of himself. In doing so, he sees your hurried movement out of the corner of his eye. He half-heartedly thanks his fans and rushes after you, his mouth going dry as reality hits him like a freight train; he’s getting a taste of his own medicine.

“Wait up,” Eddie calls out to you, his chest heaving.

You stop in your tracks and turn to him with a hardened look on your face. “Why did you come here? Was it so you could show off how untouchable you are now?”

Eddie’s mouth falls open. “No,” he steps forward but you inch away. “Of course not.”

“Then what? Because I don’t even know why I agreed to come here. You’ve obviously outgrown Hawkins and everyone in it. I wasn’t good enough for you to stick around for, much less stay in touch with.”

Eddie’s heart breaks in two at the sunset reflecting in the glossy pools that have formed along your lower lash line. “You were always enough for me,” he says weakly.

You roll your eyes and your car keys jingle in your hand as you cross your arms over your chest. “Do you really expect me to believe that when it’s been nothing but radio silence for six years?”

“Yeah, kinda,” he snaps, suddenly feeling defensive. Memories of the night he left come flooding back and he’s transported to that place of feeling unworthy and inadequate. His chest puffs up and his shoulders tense. “At least I made something of myself. Can’t you at least be a little bit happy for me?

He immediately realizes that was a low blow, evident in the way the tears start pouring from your eyes. The hurt on your face cuts a deep pang in Eddie’s chest for his thoughtless comment. You’ve always been there for him, you were always in his corner for as long as you’d known each other.

You shrink into yourself, avoiding his intense stare as you crumble. “I am happy for you. It just sucks that I had to be forgotten about for you to get there. But I understand, I really do. You had to ditch this town to chase after what you wanted for your life, and that included leaving me behind too.” You wipe your nose with the back of your hand and sniffle.

Eddie’s tense posture relaxes and his expression turns sorrowful as he watches you fall apart from his wrongdoings. It hurts to watch you run a hand through your hair and wipe the mascara from below your eyes in an attempt to compose yourself. The sound of your fumbling car keys is like a thundering countdown in his ears, urging him that his time is running out before he’s lost you entirely. Eddie’s mind races as he fights the impulse to do something, anything, to make amends. “Don’t go,” he begs. “I’m sorry.”

You respond with your eyes fixed on inserting your key into the lock of the car door, your trembling hands making it difficult to do so. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Yes I do,” he insists, getting as physically close as possible without crossing any boundaries.

The piercing glare that was previously on his face has found its way onto yours. “I disagree. You got everything you could’ve ever wanted.”

When your eyes meet, he can feel it in his toes. “I didn’t, though.” Eddie notices the inflamed veins in your eyes, hating himself for being the reason you’re crying. It’s an odd feeling, but a small, sad smile tugs at his lips.

The scoff from you hits like a slap to his cheek. “Let’s see,” you hold out your hand and begin counting on your fingers. “Expensive clothes, a massive house, I’m sure you have multiple cars. You probably have a personal chef-” All true. “For fuck’s sake, you have a private jet. What more could you possibly want?”

Eddie is terrified of making a move that might push you further away, yet he musters the courage to try to ground you with his touch. His fingers gently wrap around your wrist and both of you watch as he brushes his thumb over your veins. “I never got to have you,” Eddie’s voice cracks ever so slightly as he lays all of his cards on the table. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

A tear dribbles off of your cheek and splashes onto the pavement as your hands begin to interact with his.

You contemplate pulling your hand away, the heartache inching back into the forefront of your mind. “If you wanted me you would’ve been here all along.”

Eddie holds his breath as your fingers intertwine and your palms press together. “I’m here now, and I want you just as badly as I did back then.” His lips press a soft kiss to the tops of your knuckles and his teary eyes meet yours. “I was just a stupid kid who turned heel and ran when things didn’t go the way I wanted them to.”

“Yeah, you were,” you agree with a bite of your lip. “You didn’t even give me the chance to tell you that I felt the same way.”

Eddie grins, giving your hand a squeeze and another kiss. “Is there any chance that you still feel that way? Because I’m still stupidly in love with you.”

“I do,” you breathe with relief, swallowing the pressure in your throat. “I’m in love with you too.”

“Wanna be stupid together?” Eddie tilts his head at you, continuing to hold your hand to his plush lips.

“Yeah,” you giggle wetly, “I’d really like that.”

Reblogs are greatly encouraged and appreciated! ♡

★My Masterlist

★Tip Jar ♡

tags:@nj01@tlclick73

[finitepeace]

LAST MONTH I READ DRAMIONE

On April I read Dramione. Here are the fics I’ve finished. Personal favorites are marked with  ✿

Long Ones: 

Alternate History by Furare | 155k words | it’s dramione but i feel the ‘slytherin harry’, ‘snape and sirius happy’ and ‘draco’s found family’ elements are more prominent

Capstone by bek_48 | 112k words | read this from collection titled: underrated dramione | Sixth year canon divergence but like.. really diverging. well-written friendships and probably my favorite lucius writing ever <even if he just appeared for like.. 2 seconds lol>

Ghost of You by happy_valley | 105k | in which draco malfoy died and turned into a ghost which only hermione can see. or is he?

The Phoenix Potion by FedonCiadale | 237k| post-war dramione tragedy with happy ending. it has two story arc: (1) dramione secret relationship and how it led to draco losing his magic after war + hermione falling out with ron and harry. (2) the granger-malfoy children wreck havock on wizarding (+house elves) community.

Remember Us As War (but call us forgiveness) by Anyaparadox  | 168k | dramione and marriage law 

✿ The Fixer-Upper Club by CharliPetidei | 160k words | 8th year AU, dramione coping with PTSD through fixing hogwarts

Medium length ones: 

Behind the Mask by EmilieJane | 46k | Beauty and The Beast with a twist. TW: Domestic violence, mention of rape, etc. Ron-bashing. 

✿ Instruments of Time by i_know_what_you_wrote_last_summer | 71k words | 3rd year AU because draco accidentally time traveling

✿ Curses, Banter, and Babies, Oh My! by LiloLilyAnn | 79k words | dramione having a child together first, work out their feelings second

Signed and Sealed by niffizzle | 26k | book shop keeper hermione, widowed single father draco

 ✿ The Watergaw by ectoheart, smokybaltic | 39k | dramione stuck together after a failed apparition, a detour on the deathly hallows mansion scene. 

Escapism by sodamnrad | 15k |  Reunited in the Muggle world, Draco and Hermione wreak havoc on each other’s loneliness.

Rebonded by niffizzle | 11k | dramione and ritual to fix draco’s wand <literally>

Kissed by Fire by niffizzle | 14k | Azkaban was a freezing fortress in the middle of the North Sea that devoid all prisoners of warmth. Or so Draco was told. The howling winds never bothered him. Nor the supposed chill emitting from the stone walls.He hadn’t felt cold since a lick of Fiendfyre scarred his flesh.

Short Ones: 

✿ Only you – Or the only time Hermione believed in divination by FedonCiadale | 5k words | CUTE CUTE CUTE CUTE 

Surprise Soulmates by FedonCiadale | 6,2k | post hogwarts, In which Draco and Hermione discover they are soulmates OR Draco is a drama queen and looks guilty as fuck and Hermione tries to be rational about it all

Common Spaces, Empty Places by elithien, senlinyu | 3,4k words | eighth year dramione, confessions. 

Can't Get Any Better Than This by augustr | 1,4k words | 8th year, dramione being soft

Between Pages by DarkoftheMoon | 5,6k words| penpal dramione throughout their times at hogwarts

The Best Christmas Present Ever By: Proxima Shining | 9,8k l grandparents lucius & narcissa + family reconciliation 

10 Things I Learnt About You by nyle_bd | 4k words |   It's Parent's Day at Hogwarts and Professor Granger can't keep her eyes off a particular parent. Sparks fly and burn into something brighter.

Worse Things by niffizzle | 2k |  In the midst of Ginny and Blaise's engagement party, Hermione is busy dealing with a bitter Ron. That is until they're interrupted by the soon-to-be Best Man.

✿ The Hour After by niffizzle | 2k | post battle meet up 

With Teeth by provocative_envy |  5k | humor, dramione hunting horcrux(es) 

a bunch of dramione in secret relationship

✿ If/Then by Santhe | 5k words

I Know, I Know by nevertoosweets | 2k words

the one time they stayed by quitethesardonic | 6,9k words

Forgot to Mention by wetpretzel | 5,7k words

Tied in Lies by niffizzle | 3k

✿ Forgotten by niffizzle | 2k 

not a dramione but I think everyone would love this Draco:  

✿  the dogfather by hollimichele | 47k | What if the Dursleys rejected Harry after he was left on their doorstep? canon divergence in which the adults in HP are much more responsible than the one in canon | sirius x lupin but mostly sirius as harry’s godfather. 

part of the dogfather au, there’s one focused on draco and it’s so lovely (and heartbreaking but hopeful)

[foursaints]

hi saints<3

for the wip game, can i get a little something for of phantoms & fixer uppers pleeease 🤲

omgg i’m late but anything for you kay <3

i have a love hate relationship with this one….. like when you want to do it justice but that makes it hard to write. interior designer x ghost hunter au save me

it’s a rivals-to-lovers thing where evan is a Posh Interior Designer and barty is a Trashy Ghost Hunter for a show on mtv and they are fighting TOOTH AND NAIL when america’s most haunted mansion goes on the market!!!!! 👻🎥🧪❤️🏠💡💵

^ read as one continuous scene btw

it’s my longfic theoretically… these two city slickers fall in love restoring a decaying mansion in rural georgia.. there are copious amounts of ghosts and ouija boards. regulus is barty’s beleaguered but highly superstitious manager who takes all the ghost shit WAY too seriously & remus is the set manager who is also reg’s partner in crime. he was demonically possessed for a while but he’s good now. sirius was his exorcist. barty is trying not to get cockblocked by a spirit of the undead. evan is just trying to get $$

SHSJDJ sorry for all the excerpts i just love them in this one so much you have no idea……..

[bloodbruise]

you know beauty and the beast? well like James building regulus his very own built in library like the beast did to regulus

okay but james who knows how to build things; him and reg buying a house. they have more than enough money to buy a mansion but they buy a fixer-upper instead. its quaint and cozy and warm. its theirs and they love it because they physically get to build their home together.

regulus picks out paint colors and asks james to build him bookshelves. they grout the shower tiles together and pick out flowers for their front garden. james builds their closets and the bench in their hallway. after weeks of searching regulus throws himself in james' lap and is like, "jamie, i just cant find the exact dining room table i want," and gives james his best puppy dog eyes. james pretends to be exasperated, but really he would build anything if it makes regulus happy.

[whyeverr]

Get to know me simblr edition 🏷

I was tagged by @cantseemtohide, @myverycoolnickname, and @moonfromearth ! thanks for the tag! the question list seems to be ✨ evolving ✨ so I did my best to synthesize

rules: you can use any sims game to answer these questions!

your three traits: it changes every time I think about it tbh but today I’ll say high maintenance, squeamish, overachiever

your aspiration: honestly probably mansion baron but with like a crumbling historic mansion I get to lovingly restore, not building my own mcmansion from scratch

in game world you’d live in: I’d like to get the heck outta the states so… Tartosa, Windenburg, or Henbag? 🤔

favourite townie(s): truly any and every City Living townie but noted critic and travel guide writer SalimtheDream Benali and I have history

most used pack(s): these days it feels like Eco Lifestyle, but the real ones know, for me, it's always been Island Living 🫶🏻

favourite decor object (no cc): literally how could you ever make me choose? …but also it has to be the table fan from Get to Work

something you want in the game: fixer-upper cars, backseat makeout sessions, and car camping. I don't even care if cars are completely undriveable and I have to drag them out of my inventory like a tent. give me an old VW-style van that my sims can fix up, sleep in, hang out in, upgrade... so basically, Van Life game pack?

what colour is your plumbob right now: 💚

I will tag @biffybobs @oatberrytea @lilacacia @panicsimss @silwermoon-sims @gladlypants @lilamausmaus @homewardial and @memoirsofasim like reaaaaal jerk without going to properly double check whether you’ve done this one yet 😵‍💫 if you have, ignore me pls 😮‍💨💗

[bwabys-scenarios]

where did kurapika stay before he house crashed readers place in fixer upper? Does he have like his own room in the nostrade mansion or u think he bought an apartment near his workplace?

Neither :( Kurapika currently doesn’t have a home to go back to, and he hasn’t since his clan was massacred. He moves from place to place, usually staying in hotels or camping outside.

Before he had a steady income, he used to carry a tarp that he’d use as a makeshift tent. Now, however, he’s pretty well off, so he stays at nice hotels, both because it’s more comfortable and he can bump into important people that may be useful to him.

So, in conclusion, Kurapika has no permanent residency… at least not yet 👀

[hometoursandotherstuff]

What the hell is this? Is that rust from the salty air? This home, that will more than likely be reclaimed by the ocean, is a fixer-upper. 1955 build in La Jolla, CA has 5bds, 7ba, 5,129 sq ft, and the asking price for this mess is $20m. Oh, and there's no A/C, either. Take a look at what $20m gets you.

The home is really low. Look at how high the neighbor's house is. So, maybe if the lower part gets washed away, you can still live in the upper half?

I'm wondering if they left the bottom part abandoned.

Okay, this is the upper level.

A double front door and a garage with a pergola. Actually, it looks nice up here.

That looks like a pool. So, according to the description, it's a little confusing: "This elevated abode comprises a splendid living room and kitchen, offering an independent retreat for entertaining. Two additional bedrooms open up to sweeping ocean views. For added convenience, a granny flat with one bedroom and bath awaits just outside a separate entrance from the main driveway."

Then, now that we clarified that, these are the outside stairs to the lower part of the home. So, I'm assuming that the lower home is for the owner. And, it's a mad, dated, fixer-upper.

Oh, look, they put a "fire" in the fireplace. So, the living room area is huge. It actually looks like you're right on the beach.

Then, stairs go up to a lofted area. The floor needs work. Why is the nail discoloration coming thru like that? Moisture?

Part of the flooring is gone here. The vents are for heat, only. There is no a/c. Maybe it's cool enough w/the ocean breeze?

A wide door opens to a small patio.

Used to be a beautiful home. Why would they board that up, maybe the glass is broken?

This looks like the dining room with a large sideboard. The mirror is broken, something is missing in the ceiling, and it looks moldy.

The kitchen has a boarded wall and is missing part of the ceiling.

Here's a very large bar.

A bath. The rooms are so angular. It's dated, but doesn't look bad.

In this bedroom, the floor is already stripped. It has a beautiful window with view of the ocean and doors open to a railing.

I think that this is the upper house- they said it has a living room and kitchen for entertaining. Work has already begun here. Nice new fireplace.

The bath looks updated.

This bedroom looks good.

And, this bath had some work, also.

This home is on a 1/2 acre lot and has been on the market for 255 days. That's a very long time.

https://www.estately.com/listings/info/1890-spindrift-la-jolla-ca-92037

[monty-glasses-roxy]

(Removed the reblogs to shorten the post a lil for convenience)

@cel-aerion

I mean... 'wonderkid' isn't exactly common here either but like... don't you guys have 'Whizz Kid' or something that means the same thing? The only people I've heard using 'wunderkind' have been family members that regularly interact with other family members that actually live in Germany and it's always sounded weird saying it like... without the natural voice shift when you're speaking another language? I dunno it's probably because I just never expect it cause literally no one ever says it outside of them unless it's a German classroom lmao

Come to think about it though, you guys use the word 'Kindergarten' in normal conversation so like... kinda makes sense there'd be other ones too? I say as if there's probably not a shit ton of German words we normally say here that I just forgot about... and as if the English language isn't a Germanic langauge... lmao I dunno never really thought about it much before. The exotic thing was a joke though don't worry buddy we weren't like. Actually guessing why they used wunderkind lmao. Cool that you're in circles that use wunderkind normally though, that's neat! Languages are neat!

Oh I know about those! Like how in America, a skip is called a 'dumpster' despite that being the brand name! Same with 'hoover' and 'tupperware' over here! I though Kleenex was a window cleaner ngl though huh the more you know.

YOU WANT ANTS??? WOULD YOU LIKE ANTS CAUSE THERE'S ANTS!!!

'Formica' is a genus of ant, for 'formica-covered' would be 'covered in ants' lmao I'd take that over laminated brand I've never heard of any day

BEEN SAVIN THIS TO DRAFTS CAUSE LAPTOP ABOUT TO CRASH INTO THE OCEAN BUT WAIT A SEC I REMEMBER KLEENEX I WAS THINKING OF WINDEX WHICH I WOULD HOPE IS FOR WINDOWS LMAO

Yeah I've never heard of Kleenex being the go to word for tissues lmao but hey! Henry is a brand that we refer to vacuums as too as well as hoovers! Could easily be explained by anthropomorphizing Henry Hoovers though. That's his NAME you can't just say oh where's the hoover his name is HENRY don't be RUDE

But nah back on topic, this author is just. Hyper specific about brands and furnitures for some reason? I think it's just part of how they're thinking and writing rather than anything conscious or a mixup of brand and product since a lot of these are fashion brands and specific antique furniture names/styles so like... Yeah given the amount of description that's really disproportionate towards specifics like this? For sure they probably have an interest in antiques and/or like their brands a lot. It's not great for a reader that doesn't know about this stuff but hey... I know what Rolex and the heebie-jeebies are so I'm not at a total loss I guess lmao

Hold on... the Storyteller (in the Bobbiedots Conclusion book) was in the book before the Mimic story which is in the Nexie book? Hold. Hold on. Wait a minute.

[branchedman]

they should add a comments section to zillow. or forums. i wanna be catty about the 1 million dollar 0 bed 2 bath industrial loft with the other poors in my community. or the 16 million dollar mansion located in a prime wildfire evacuation zone. or the 400k "fixer-upper" whose interior is ripped to shreds.

[wondertrio]

The Lone Desolator's backstory:

What she tells people (she has practiced this speech in the mirror):

“I come from a remote village to the east. My father grew apples and my mother was good with medicine. When I was a child, exploring out past my father’s orchard, a group of men came and lit fire to everything I held dear. I saw the face of their leader, a man called Anders, as I trembled from the brambles. My family was gone, and I was alone. Since that day, I have trained my mind and body so that I may face Anders again, not as a frightened child, but instead as… the Lone Desolator.”

The actual story:

The Lone Desolator was actually born Maeve Caldwell, third and youngest child of the noble Jamison Caldwell, cousin of Lord Wyllyck Caldwell. Wyllyck is a man whom the city regards as philanthropic and charitable, and he was recently considered for the council of four in Baldur’s Gate, but was passed over in favor of Ulder Ravengard. While not in much contact with Lord Wyllyck, Jamison Caldwell and his family still enjoy the perks that come with this old name. They own a sprawling mansion paid for by vast apple orchards that they manage outside the upper city using cheap labor. Maeve was raised mostly by her nanny, a healer named Nettle. She was happy, outside of being a tomboy in Upper City life, but one night she found out about some of her family’s misdeeds that had been swept under the rug. The one that stuck closely with her was about a pesticide used in her family’s orchards caused many hundreds of workers to get sick or die. It was covered up by the Caldwell family and their associates, particularly a Fixer by the name of “Anders”. After realizing she could no longer stand ignorantly by, she ran away. But she was just a kid when she left. Even if it was easy for her to blend into the massive lower city of Baldur’s Gate and lose the people sent to find her, she couldn’t fend for herself for long.

Maeve, now already calling herself The Lone Desolator at 10 years old, found both the shelter she needed and training she wanted at Rosymorn Monestary, a dangerous home for a little human girl. But she stayed outside, out of the way, and very quiet, and one day she made a friend. An old gith monk trained in the way of the open hand caught Maeve out behind the kitchens, stealing rotten vegetable tops. He never told Maeve his name, so she simply called him “Master”. She learned very quickly how to not only fend for herself, but thrive by herself. The catch was that she and “Master” had to train far away from the monastery, because the githyanki living inside would never approve of teaching Maeve, even if “Master” was old and therefore no valuable asset to Vlaakith. But they were very careful, and for years this was Maeve’s life. Until one sudden afternoon when “Master” was caught and killed. Again, Maeve ran away, still too weak to fight off more than a single githyanki warrior. She returned to Baldur’s Gate with her well rehearsed story in mind, ready to pursue as much justice as she feels needs dealing out.

[clapperboardtalk]

POLTERGEIST (2015)

Poltergeist (2015): A Reboot That Haunted the Wrong Neighborhood

Title:** Poltergeist (2015) (They really thought we needed another one?)

Genre:** Spooky with a side of PG-13 (More jump scares than existential dread)

⏳ Runtime: 1h 22m (Just enough time to grab popcorn before hiding under the blanket)

Made in: The U-S-of-A (Land of haunted Suburbia and Hollywood reboots) ** Year:** 2015 (The year remakes were basically a five-course meal)

** Simple Plot:** Family buys a fixer-upper with a side of angry spirits, things get weirder than finding Legos in the dryer, youngest daughter becomes the ultimate ghost magnet. Cue the CGI galore.

** Cinematography:** Slick and polished, like a haunted mansion featured in Architectural Digest. But lacks the raw, unsettling charm of the original's practical effects. Think less "bone-chilling stop-motion skeletons" and more "jump scares edited on iMovie."

** Memorable Scene:** The "swimming pool surprise" where tentacles make a splash (pun intended). Bonus points to Kennedi Clements (Maddie) for holding her breath like a champ! (Maybe chlorine just wasn't her thing?)

** Overall Review:** This remake is like the watered-down version of the 1982 masterpiece. No new spine-tingling twists, just a reheated plate of nostalgia that left me longing for Tangina's legendary barbecue. Feels like they built a haunted house out of Pinterest boards and forgot the actual scares.

⭐ Rating: 2 out of 5 stars. Passable for a lazy Saturday afternoon when even Netflix is asleep, but don't expect to be haunted by its brilliance. You'll be reaching for the remote faster than Carol Anne grabbing that clown doll.

** Fun Fact:** Did you know Kennedi Clements is basically Aquawoman? While filming the pool scene, she held her breath for over a minute! Now that's dedication (or maybe just a strong aversion to poolside gossip).

[the-book-queen]

Hide your wallets, it's that time again! Your daily thread of romance deals is ready, FREE to $3.99!

FREE ✦ Duke Looks Like a Groomsman by Valerie Bowman

To win a bet with friends, a Duke pretends to be a groomsman at a house party, only to have his ex-flame show up and recognize him.

Historical Romance (MF) | https://amzn.to/3QL2Av0

FREE ✦ Fixer Upper by Linda Seed

She's an up-and-coming interior designer, he's a rich tech mogul who hires her to freshen up his historic Victorian mansion.

Contemporary Romance (MF) | https://amzn.to/45fWjvF

$0.99 ✦ Between Roc and a Hard Place by Heather Graham

Second chance. Oops, the paperwork didn't go through on their divorce. Now they're caught up in a dangerous search for a legendary shipwreck (he's a salvage diver).

Romantic Suspense (MF) | https://amzn.to/45dc4DC

$1.99 ✦ Just As You Are by Camille Kellogg

A Pride and Prejudice-inspired queer enemies to lovers romance. Liz is a writer at a struggling queer magazine. Daria is one of the new investors taking over.

Contemporary Romance (FF) | https://amzn.to/3P05zOM

$3.99 ✦ Lucky in Love by Jill Shalvis

She's a nurse, and has always been the local good girl. He's in the military and just passing through, which is perfect for her plan to let loose and have some fun.

Contemporary Romance (MF) | https://amzn.to/45xc554

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[walkswithmyfather]

“The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever.” —Isaiah 40:8 (ESV)

“Faith is having confidence in what we hope for and being sure of what we don’t see. That’s what the people of long ago were praised for. By faith we understand that everything was made at God’s command, so that what we see was made out of what was not visible.” —Hebrews 11:1‭-‬3 (RAD)

“Crazy Faith” Devotional by Michael Todd - Day 2: “Now Faith:”

“I grew up as one of five brothers in a strong faith-filled family. My parents are ministers who have always modeled a life of extreme faith for me. In moments when most parents would have said, “I’m sorry, we can’t afford that right now,” my mom told me to pray and believe God for what I wanted.

She and my dad told me Bible stories of extraordinary faith all the time, and I would imagine myself as one of the characters. It built in me much more than a good imagination; it built a solid faith foundation.

I’m fully aware that not all kids grow up like that, but the beautiful thing about faith is that it’s never too late to build it. In many translations, Hebrews 11:1 starts off with these two words: “Now faith.” So I’m encouraging you now, at this moment, that now is not too late. As a matter of fact, now is the perfect time. Right where you are, you can begin tearing down the walls of doubt, pulling out the lies of pessimism, and removing the framework of fear so that God can pour a new faith foundation deep within you.

I am convinced that the foundation you should build your life on is faith in God and belief in His Word. God’s Word has remained from generation to generation. It has seen empires rise and fall. God's Word produces change, but it will never change.

“The grass withers and the flowers fade, but the word of our God stands forever.” (Isaiah 40:8)

Take some time to assess your faith foundation. The truth is, you can’t build a skyscraper-sized vision on fixer-upper faith, and you won’t experience mansion-sized miracles with porta-potty principles. But let’s take it a step further. Think about specific areas of your life, and then rate your faith foundation for each one on a scale of 1 (vacant lot—full of potential!) to 6 (skyscraper—huge vision and daring dreams).

Your friendships, career goals, romantic relationship, health, finances, children, personal development, and any other visions for your future—each one needs to be built on a sturdy faith foundation. What kind of foundation are they on right now? As you look back on your list and ratings, remember that the exciting news is this is just the beginning of your crazy faith journey. Crazy faith is about progression, not perfection.”

[See Hebrews 11:1-40 in AMP here.]