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hobiiwan · 3 years

Text

tethered • o.k

pairing: obi-wan kenobi x mechanic!reader

summary: obi-wan returns after too long spent on the battlefield, away from where he’s meant to be

warnings: kinda angsty, alcohol use @ new year’s, fluff mostly

word count: 6k

notes: happy secret santa! @starwarssecretsanta @stars-trash-18 i really hope you like your gift! this is the first time i’ve written anything this long so hopefully it turned out alright! biggest thanks to @lilhawkeye3 for organising this! have a safe holiday, no matter what you celebrate~

If there was one thing you would never understand, it would be why Coruscant was so damned cold. The Galactic City enjoyed warm, balmy weather all year long. The underworld, on the other hand, not so much. The morning chill was the type to seep into your bones, the sort that no amount of layers could shut out, even with the radiators turned to the max. Not that you had much chance to complain, especially not on the days, which were most, spent on a creeper, wrench in hand.

Working occupies your mind. You easily fall back into the same routine you’ve been following for as long as you can remember—replace, tighten, oil. It doesn’t hurt that it pays, nor the fact that it keeps your mind from drifting. To him.

A client pulls into the garage, speeder releasing a puff of ash-grey smoke. Your eyes linger on the doorway.

The underside of the standard speeder became your new sky, replacing the one you didn’t get many chances to see. It was easier not to venture to the upper levels, you learned, knowing the return to the chaos underneath was inevitable.

Still, you don’t spend years in the lower levels without learning a thing or two. It had its charms which, if you kept your valuables close, could be somewhat appreciated. Not much could be said about the sunrise, but watching the street vendors gradually open shop for the day, the glowing signs relighting after a night and the city waking—the underworld had its moments.

Though, it’s best not to overlook the obscure corners. The best thing about living in the underworld was the unpredictability. If you’re handy with a blaster and keep your head down, that is. It keeps things entertaining, on the days where you could afford time off.

Admittedly, a Jedi blasting open your garage door at the asscrack of dawn would definitely equate to ‘unpredictable’.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The man is midway through clambering out of the now-crashed speeder. He turns, only to meet the barrel of your blaster. A shit-eating smirk graces his lips as he brushes the auburn hair out of his eyes and regards you nonchalantly.

“My apologies, miss,” the man says, head lowered in a slight bow, “I must admit, though I do enjoy making an entrance, this isn’t what I had in mind.”

Your eyes scan the man before you. The long, beige robes and the mechanical cylinder hanging at hip-level, clipped to his belt. It doesn’t take a genius to recognise a Jedi, especially when chaos follows. A handsome one, yet a Jedi nonetheless.

Your gaze narrows. “Do you have a reason for crashing into my shop, or is this just more ‘Jedi business’?” The venom laced in your tone is hard to miss. The message is clear - Jedi aren’t taken to well in the underworld.

He huffs, raising a hand to gesture to the steaming, sparking mess laying in the middle of your shop. “I’ve had an accident.”

Your eyes roll without a second thought, “I can see that.”

“I need transportation to get back to the Galactic City as quickly as possible,” he states, voice overtaken by a firm, well-versed timbre. “Would you happen to offer any of the sort?”

Your arms cross over your chest. There would be nothing more satisfying than throwing out a Jedi to the underworld streets with no way back to the surface. He can walk, for all you care, but fuck. You’re short on funds.

Your gaze drifts to your own speeder sitting proudly in the corner as you gnaw your lip hesitantly. The mangled mess he’s brought in is a lost cause—that much is certain. Your pit droid confirms this with a series of beeps, orbiting helplessly around the crash. There’s no way he’ll be getting out on that.

Begrudgingly, you stalk over to fetch the keys to your own vehicle. “It’ll cost you,” you grumble, tossing the keys to which the man catches with ease. “If there’s even a hair of a scratch, I’ll throttle you myself, Jedi.”

The man grins triumphantly, and slides into the driver’s seat. You instantly regret your decision when your eyes meet his. “My name is Obi-wan,” he hums, pulling the speeder out of the driveway, “your speeder is in good hands! We’ll be back in no time.”

Those credits better be worth it.

It’s a few days later, when the sensor over your doorway rings out in a chime you’ve memorised by now. Half of your torso is obscured by a banged-up thrust pod, but the droid at your feet is going crazy.

You hear it before you get to see it, but the spluttering of an engine is unmistakable and you perk up at the prospect of a new repair. That hope, however, is quickly shot out of the sky when you catch sight of the source of the noise.

The grip on the wrench in your hand tightens a noticeable notch as the Jedi brings your speeder to a halt. The layer of painted coating has been chipped away in a long streak along its side, revealing the steel underneath. The navcomp is long gone, a wide, burnt crack singeing across the controls.

Obi-wan grins a sheepish one when your eye twitches, surveying the faulty engine that makes the speeder tilt on its side.

“What am I looking at?” Your voice is disturbingly calm, not even an inkling of what he knows is rage in its purest form to be seen.

Obi-wan inhales as his gaze flickers to the wrench curled in your fist and chuckles hesitantly, “Your speeder, of course. I did say we’d be back.”

“No,” you snap, wrist raising so the wrench is inches from his chest, “my speeder was alive and well when it left my shop three days ago. So, do tell me, Jedi,” you hiss, “what have you brought back?”

The man, indifferent to the weapon directed at him, climbs out of the wreck gracefully to stand before you. “Unfortunately, we got into a bit of an accident,” he says, “but you’ll be happy to know your speeder greatly contributed to the capture of a fugitive of the Republic.”

It takes every fibre in your being to resist the urge to lunge when he nonchalantly reaches up to brush the strand of hair fallen across his forehead.

“I don’t give a damn about a fugitive,” you seethe, “you owe me a new speeder! And double the credits!”

Obi-wan’s mouth opens to bargain, but you cut him off before he even gets the chance to negotiate.

“You know what—triple it!” Your arms cross over your chest and the droid follows suit, ushering the Jedi in the direction of the exit. If looks could kill, Obi-wan Kenobi would be dead three times over in four different galaxies.

He bows his head, gaze sweeping across your garage, “I’m afraid I don’t currently have such funds—”

Your eyes roll in indignation.

“—perhaps we can come to some sort of agreement?”

The wrench goes flying.

The holonews plays distantly in the background while you work, filling up the hollow silence in every nook of your mech shop. Silence is a killer in the underworld; it’s important to let people know there’s someone home—burglars not welcome.

You’re halfway through wiping your hands clean of grease when the blue Twi’lek reporter’s perky demeanor dissolves into a still of a battleground.

Felucia, the woman says, as more holos of piles upon piles of B-1 droids flash across the screen. Your breath catches in your throat and the air in the garage hangs heavy. That’s good news right? Droids in piles usually mean there aren’t as many troop casualties. There’s no mention of a General either, so you let out a breath of relief.

Celebrating early is a curse, because the reporter’s next words steal the air right out of your lungs.

“We have lost all contact with our journalist on the Felucia front, as last transmissions report a sudden aerial ambush. The fates of the GAR troops remain unknown.”

The report moves onto the next spectacle, but you’ve stopped listening. The holonews is wordlessly shut off, and you turn to working in silence, heart clenching painful in your chest, as if the very same battle droids had wrapped their cold, dead steel handpieces around it.

The reporter’s words don’t leave you easily. The fates of the GAR troops remain unknown.

Is threatening a Jedi Master a crime? Obi-wan isn’t sure, but he definitely thinks it should be. You’ve made your rage painstakingly clear and Maker, if he had a credit for every threat you spewed, he would have paid you back by now.

It’s late one night when Obi-wan finds himself in the underworld once more. It’s perpetually dark and most people have retired for the night, save the rowdy chaos stemming from the back-street cantinas.

The neon logo of your mechanic shop emerges as he rounds the corner and he winces at the singe marks on your driveway. He must get around to apologising for that. The sharp smell of paint makes him wrinkle his nose when he walks in, spotting you in the far corner.

“This, here, is R4,” the Jedi says, announcing his arrival, “I suspect she has some loose wiring.”

Obi-wan can’t pretend the way your jaw clenches at the sound of his voice isn’t the least bit amusing. Your turn to face him with an air of annoyance.

“Can’t you see I’m busy, Kenobi?” You grumble, and his eyes drift from the bucket of silver paint by your boots, then over your shoulder to the refurbished speeder he had left behind the last time.

“I certainly do,” he hums, hand smoothing over his beard appreciatively, “it looks good as new.”

You scoff, arms crossing over your chest, “no thanks to you.”

“Well, that’s why I’m here,” he says, nodding to the astromech hovering at his side, who beeps in greeting, “to repay my debt.”

The side of your mouth quirks up as you move closer, regarding the droid, “Is this what you call repaying your debt? Giving me more work?”

Obi-wan’s jaw goes slack, eyebrows raising at the way you and R4 share the same expression, even with one having no facial indicators. Though, he catches himself before the stare you receive from him can be construed as anything other than bewildered. “That was not my intention—” He starts, but you cut him off with a wave and a gratified smirk.

“It was a joke, Obi-wan,” you sigh, leading R4 to the station on the opposite side of the room, leaving the man gaping after you. “Are all Jedi so gullible?”

He huffs and leans against the wall as you do a quick once-over of his droid. You flitter around R4, retrieving all the equipment you need for the impending checks. You look rightfully in your element.

“Were all the mechanics up in the Galactic City unavailable?” You question, eyes briefly flickering up to meet his before returning to unscrewing R4’s bolts. You miss the look Obi-wan shoots the droid who whirs in response.

“Not necessarily,” he coughs and suddenly, the gears hanging on your wall are the most interesting thing in the world, “I just haven’t gotten around to crashing their prized speeders yet.”

Your gaze narrows when you stand, but the menace is absent this time around. “I’ve replaced some of R4’s older wires. She was close to short-circuiting,” you remind sharply, contrasting your fond patting of R4, “and stars, Kenobi, it wouldn’t kill you to oil her joints once in a while.”

“Order received,” the man bows his head sheepishly, dropping the credits on your counter, “though for R4’s sake, you may consider teaching me how to.”

You see Obi-wan out, mostly to bid his droid farewell. “Don’t push it, Jedi,” you simper, “I could still cut your brakes.”

He chuckles at that, reaching a hand up to thread through his hair. Obi-wan grins with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, “then I’ll have no choice but to come back to repair it.”

Obi-wan Kenobi—master charmer of the Jedi Order.

The roof of your garage makes for a good stargazing spot. You use the term stargazing very loosely. The stars, in this case, are the blinking lights of the speeders hovering in the air.

It’s certainly not the nicest spot in all of Coruscant, but it’s yours. The whole building is, at that, which is saying something considering you live in the underworld.

You live close enough to the surface that sitting on your roof gives you a clear enough view of the portal leading to the Galactic City and the minuscule amount of light it brings. The starships lower and rise through the massive ventilation shaft and you catch yourself hoping to see a familiar one.

It’s hopeless, obviously, you’re too far away to see anything, anyway. Still, you can’t stop your eyes from flickering to the traffic leading into the underworld.

Maybe this time it’ll be his ship.

One last look. Your heart sinks. Turning back, you head down the ladder. Alone.

Obi-wan gauges that you don’t despise him as much as you let on about the umpteenth time he visits.

You regard him with a quirked eyebrow and arms crossed over your chest, your default stance whenever he’s around, which is becoming rather frequent, you notice.

“You want me to go up to the surface with you?”

The man nods, hands clasped dutifully behind him. “That is, in fact, what I said.”

He’s dressed, once again, in those beige Jedi robes. His beard’s gotten thicker, you note. It’s been a while.

“What for?” You question, intrigue piquing as you step closer to Obi-wan. It’s been even longer since you’ve been to the city. You tell yourself it’s because you have no reason to be up there anyway, but the thought lingers.

“To celebrate,” Obi-wan shrugs, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the galaxy, “it’s a new cycle.”

You hum, turning back to rummage through your cabinets, the way you had been doing when he had first arrived. “I’m aware.”

Obi-wan remains silent behind you, but he’s relaxed. Almost too relaxed, as he leans against the wall agreeably. We can’t have that, you think.

“Don’t you have certain Jedi duties to attend to?” you hum, tossing an half-hearted glance over your shoulder, only to find his knowing smirk. Gods, he’s irritating. Yet, you let him be.

“According to the Chancellor, I’ve shaken enough hands for tonight,” he answers and his voice is laced with poorly-masked satisfaction, “my evening is open for meditation.”

“—unless you take me up on my offer, of course.”

You shouldn’t. There’s so much work to be done in the garage, but as you look around, everything’s been taken care of. Sometimes, you’re too efficient at what you do. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to spend the end of this cycle not alone, for once.

“That depends,” you chide, but Obi-wan sees through it clear as day. He raises a hand to brush over his chin, effectively masking the smile beneath his palm.

“-I wouldn’t want to keep a Jedi Master from his meditation.”

Hours later, the two of you find yourselves on the viewing deck of a skyscraper. The journey there is a blur, since you spent most of it up to this point marvelling at the city.

It’s so much brighter than you remember.

You can barely tell the time—the sky’s been completely lit up by miles of gleaming lights. The irony is not lost on you—how the Galactic City illuminated is one worthy of the stars while the underworld sees only darkness even on Coruscant’s sunniest days.

The buildings are denser, packed so tight you could easily cross over into the adjacent balcony. You consider it genuinely for a moment, though pressed so close to Obi-wan’s side, the thought dissolves just as quickly as it comes.

The viewing deck extends to a cantina, where you squeeze past the bodies pushing against you until you finally reach the bar.

Obi-wan watches pensively as you fall back against a stool and flag down the bartender. “So, Kenobi,” you swivel around to eye the man who has arrived to hover behind you, “how did a Jedi come to find this place?”

“Jedi business brings us to all reaches of the galaxy and this place happens to be one of them,” Obi-wan replies simply, as if dangling bait in front of you to ask more.Jedi business, he says.

Nevertheless, you take the bait. “What sort of Jedi business?”

Obi-wan’s eyes widen, taken aback. He’s never had to answer that question before— most people he came across were either Jedi themselves, or correspondents. He’s not sure what he’s even allowed to tell you.

“If you tell me, will you have to kill me?” You jest as he takes a generous gulp of his own drink. You don’t suppose Jedi business to be confidential, though with the current political climate, perhaps it has become just that.

It’s obvious he’s still contemplating your question, but you quickly steer him away from work.

“Where do you hope to be a year from now?” You ask, toying with the glass in hand, pondering your own answer while he does the same. Maker, hopefully not on this forsaken planet any longer.

Sure, you’ve been on Coruscant as long as you can remember and most of it has been spent in the underworld, but it stopped feeling like home even before that.

He hums thoughtfully and takes a sip of his own drink before responding. “Still serving the Order, of course,” he says. Obi-wan pauses and the air stills, as if the words unspoken in his throat have tainted it.

“—though I fear I sense impending conflict in our future.”

Your brows raise as his lips fall into a grim line. “Oh? Do tell.”

Obi-wan shakes his head, as if doing so will clear the atmosphere of the words he had spoken. Recently, he finds himself saying more than he means to.

“I just hope peace will be kept in our galaxy. But for now, I think we should celebrate a year gone by.”

A statement you can get behind.

“Cheers, I’ll drink to that,” you grin, downing a generous swing of (what remains of) your drink. You wince at the burn, but stars, if that isn’t better than anything you’ve had in the underworld.

Obi-wan chuckles, a sound nearly drowned out by the crowd of cantina patrons. “You drink to everything.”

You nod, exuberant, before swiping another glass of deep blue liquid off a passing tray. “Cheers!”

Further into the night, your body start to heat up, the pleasant tingles crawling from your fingertips all the way to your chest.

In the dim lighting of the cantina, the edges of your vision go fuzzy and Obi-wan becomes just a bit more handsome, though it’s unclear how much of that is due to the alcohol.

The room begins to empty, most people pushing their way out to the balcony as time ticks closer to midnight.

“Would you like to watch the fireworks? I hear they’re known to be quite beautiful.” Obi-wan offers, gesturing to the gathering mass.

“I bet they are,” you murmur, chin propped loosely against your palm while your gaze never leaves him.

Amused, he offers an outstretched hand to help you off the stool that you had settled into so comfortably. He half expects you to slap him away and insist on standing on your own, but you take it instead.

Your palm finds his after a moment of contemplation, coming to the conclusion that it would not be fun to trip face-first.

His hand is warm against yours and you really hope he doesn’t feel the way you heat up beside him. This is really against your brand.

Obi-wan effortlessly weaves through the crowd and manages to secure a spot at the very end of the deck, where the bodies are dispersed more loosely.

You lean against the railing, peering over the railing, met with the sight of hundreds of floors below you with balconies overflowing with people.

The knowledge that you blend into the crowd is soothing. You don’t need to be anyone here. Not the grouchy mechanic, so you don’t get taken advantage of. Surrounded this way, you get to be faceless, and it’s something Obi-wan seems to enjoy too.

Coruscant, or as much of it as you can see, is plunged into darkness, save the hologram numbers projected against the walls that tick down with every passing second.

You blink in earnest as the people around you begin to shout. Ten seconds to midnight.

One last glance around you, and you’re really glad you took Obi-wan up on his offer.

You think to tell him, but then the crowd is chanting “one” and the entire balcony holds its breath before it erupts into deafening cheers of celebration.

The grin on your face is hard to erase when the first sparks of light illuminate the sky. All the colours you can think of burst in different patterns, sizzling into thin wisps of smoke—leaving the faintest ghost that they had been there in the first place.

You want to do that too.

Turning to Obi-wan, you find him already looking at you. You stumble impossibly closer towards him, hands landing on his chest as you teeter on wobbly legs.

A look of mild surprise graces his features, lips quirking into a smile as he looks down at you. “Hello there.”

Before you allow yourself to think twice, your fingers reach up to brush the strand of hair constantly falling against his forehead.

Obi-wan’s eyes widen minutely but he makes no move to recoil. You take that as a green light, but maybe that’s just the ongoing fireworks.

“Sorry,” you whisper, leaning just close enough so he hears, “your hair was in your face, thought I should move it so I could see you better.”

He huffs what would have been a laugh if he wasn’t so breathless all of a sudden. Only then, do you realise how close you’ve actually gotten, when the warm air brushes your cheeks.

Perhaps it’s the liquid courage, but something comes over you when your gaze lands on his mouth, so close but far from your own. “Can I kiss you, Obi-wan?”

Obi-wan stills. He knows he shouldn’t. His mind screams to walk away and meditate until you and your damned lips are no longer at the forefront.

Yet, his hesitation doesn’t go far. Blame it on the alcohol if you will, but all his reservations go out the window when you blink at him, waiting with bated breaths.

It’s a new year, he thinks, I’ll regret it tomorrow.

The man throws caution to the wind as he closes the distance.

Obi-wan tastes of sharp alcohol and comfort. Your lips press gently against his, as though your previous boldness had dissolved along with his resolve.

You smile into the kiss when his hand moves to pull you in by your waist. Then, he feels you relax against him when fingers thread through the hair at his nape.

Happy New Year, indeed.

Obi-wan recalls telling himself he’d find it to feel bad in the morning, but it wholly slips his mind when the time comes, not when you look so utterly breathtaking sitting across from him, two cups of caf sitting in the short distance between you both.

You look like bantha shit, put simply. Having managed to lead the way back home, you don’t remember much after kicking your heels off and falling face-first into bed. You imagine you look a sight, though, you can’t muster up the will to care, since all your attention is skewered by the tight ache behind your eyes, narrowly beating out the man in your kitchen.

Squinting over the brim of your cup as you raise the caf to your lips, the heat that runs down your throat ironically soothes the burn left by the Alderaanian alcohol of the night before.

“Stop smiling at me,” you grumble, feigning a scowl at the man slumped so comfortably in his chair, “‘S too bright.”He chuckles at that, head tilting as he regards you, bathed in the warm light bleeding into the room.

His mind buzzes, recalling the feel of your lips pressed against his, but seeing as you haven’t shoved him out so far, he takes it as a good sign.

Your sharp gaze follows him as he tries to gauge your thoughts. Obi-wan is nervous, which isn’t something that can be said often. The man has been trained as the galaxy’s peacekeeper, yet meets his match at the hands of a pretty mechanic.

“I hope you had a good time,” Obi-wan says softly. It sounds as if he’s opening to a goodbye, and your heart twinges with something akin to disappointment. Apparently, it’s all too easy to forget the man you kissed last night is still a Jedi with very real Jedi duties.

You offer a light smile, “I did.” Fingers curling just that much tighter around the weight of your cup, pausing before you continue, mulling over your words, “--we should do it again.”

Obi-wan’s eyebrows raise in amusement, a cheeky grin stretching across his lips. His hand finds his beard, sweeping over as a force of habit. “It, being celebrating New Year’s or--”

He doesn’t get far with his question as you cross over to him and then you’re doing it again.

Months pass. Obi-wan finds himself frequenting the underworld so much that most of his time on-planet is spent by your side, when he’s not occupied with his Jedi duties.

This time is no different. You’ve closed up shop for the day, the sign outside dim as he approaches. He’s been gone for longer than he’d like, sent on a diplomatic mission on behalf of the Republic. When Obi-wan knocks on your door, it’s clear he’s run-down.

His shoulders are slumped when he crosses the threshold, into your arms. You feel him breathe deeply as his fingers gather the fabric at your waist, anchoring himself to you.

Wordlessly, he allows you to steer him, coming to rest at the foot of your bed. His hand never leaves yours.

The air surrounding you is thick with concern as you sit beside him, unsure. You take the moment to give Obi-wan a once over, allowing yourself the sliver of what you had been missing since he had left.

“Your hair’s gotten longer,” you speak, raising his palm to dust a warm kiss against his knuckles, “look how it hangs in your eyes.”

Obi-wan smiles, leaning more of his weight against your side. “Couldn’t find the time to get it trimmed,” he mumbles, words laced heavy with fatigue.

You click your tongue as you tuck the auburn hair behind his ear. “Don’t need to,” you hum, eyes scanning over the thick expanse of hair gathered at his collar, “it suits you.”

It really does. The way the curls cascade down the back of his head, coming to rest atop his shoulders, the same way as the day you met him, makes it difficult to imagine anything else in place of his long hair.

He’s scolded you before for prodding him for a holo of himself with the padawan braid.

“Do you want me to braid your hair?” You ask into the comfortable silence, voice gentle in case he’s fallen asleep against your shoulder. A Jedi skill, he tells you, to be able to rest wherever and whenever.

For a moment, you even believe he is—that is, until he lifts off of you with a nod. Your hand leaves his as you move behind him with excitement.

You kneel behind him as he comes to rest against your front. Your hands drape atop his shoulders, smoothing over the fabric there.“You can sleep,” you lean down, murmuring close enough he can feel your lips ghosting his cheek in a grin.

Obi-wan chuckles, a low rumble in his chest. “Not sleeping,” he corrects, “—meditating.”

As your fingers thread through his hair with practiced ease, you bite back a bemused snort. “Well, I’d hate to keep you from that, Jedi Master.”

Obi-wan sits obediently still as you deftly weave through the compliant strands. The pair of you sit in silence, quiet enough to hear your heartbeat even out with Obi-wan’s steady breathing. Stars, he has really nice hair. The envy is short lived, as you come to end the braid at his neck, admiring your handiwork.

His usual untampered locks now sit neatly in a braid running down the back of his head, a stark contrast to usual.

You don’t need to ask to know he’s long past being awake. Once more, craning over his shoulder, your lips brush against his face, bearded cheek tickling your skin.

“Rise and shine,” you laugh as his eyes flutter open to meet yours. Bleary-eyed, he offers no protest when you pull at his shoulders, shedding him of his outer robes so that he falls back on the bed wrapped in your covers.

Obi-wan goes out like a light. How could he not? If he hadn’t been so exhausted already the feeling of your hands against his scalp would’ve done the trick anyhow.

When he sleeps, you let yourself admire him. With his hair finally out of his face, you get to admire him in his entirety. If you had tried at any other time, he’d chide you for staring, catching you before you had even started.

Eyes shut, Obi-wan looks serene. The usually furrowed brows have relaxed now, making the man look years younger, or how he would look if he would stop working himself to the bone. For the Republic, he says.

Even now, in the relative safety (or whatever comes close in the underworld) of your home, he looks battle-ready. The realisation comes heavy as gravity—knowing this would always be Obi-wan’s normal.

Yet, warmth runs through your chest at the fact that even so weary, Obi-wan chose to come to you. Neither had seen it coming-- the mechanic he’d met after crashing into their shop would become a source of comfort in such turmoil.

Thank the Maker for crashed speeders.

You emerge from under what feels like the hundredth speeder of the day, grease smeared across your arms and sweat dotting your skin. You should really start charging more. Your droid whirs in delight, logging another successful transaction while you wipe off traces of work on a nearby grease rag.

The sun, or what light reaches down there has dimmed, signalling the end of another day. A heavy sigh racks your chest and you catch sight of your reflection in the deteriorating mirror across the room.

You look like a day of work—stained overalls and burnt fingertips, but one part stays the same as it had when the work started. As your eyes drift over the braids pulling your hair back, everything that you had been trying to push back by throwing yourself into hours of work bubbles to the surface.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you avert your eyes.

He’s probably dead. You wouldn’t necessarily call yourself a pessimist, but that’s most likely the case, and it would do you more good to accept it than what you’re doing now; tuning out the news until the briefest mention of the Grand Army of the Republic, dropping everything for the smallest sliver of news, for hope.

Obi-wan hadn’t told you about the clones. It had come as a surprise to most, word spreading that the Republic finally had its own army. You remember watching the new Chancellor Palpatine on the holonews, a pit of unease simmering in your stomach as his words rang.

A clone army.

You don’t see that everyday—or perhaps you will now.

It’s been near a full month of radio silence. If Obi-wan and his troops are alive, the news certainly doesn’t think so. There’s been no mention of any rescue mission from the Republic, which you believe to be rather telling. A clone army—expendable. Jedi, also expendable, apparently.

The best course of action would be business as usual. He has told you that this was his duty, that his loyalty would always lie with the Republic and his role as a Jedi. You understood, but certainly hadn’t expected that loyalty to lead him to his grave.

So, naturally, you close shop for the day. Your customers will survive. The sign on the outer wall remains dim all morning and the light outside doesn’t reach you, hidden away in your bed.

Again, Coruscant is fucking cold. There’s absolutely no rhyme or reason for it and just adds another point in your list of factors to leave the damned planet. No matter how many layers you huddle under, the cold manages to find you.

Most traces of him are gone. The spice that clings to his robes and lingers in the air long after he’s gone has dissipated and you start to wonder if he had ever been here at all.

The last thing you expect is to hear the rapping of knuckles against your front door.

The second the first knock comes, your heart stops, the briefest glimmer of hope wrestling its way up. Barrelling towards the door, it slides open to reveal the man previously presumed dead.

For a moment, you don’t think it’s real. Obi-wan stands in the doorway, robes singed to hell and back, a nasty cut running along his temple and looking like he’s aged ten years, yet you recognise him in a heartbeat.

He hears your breath hitch in your throat when you freeze. His expression is cautious, considering your reaction. He had found his way back to Coruscant all the way from Felucia, yet the distance separating you seems far too large.

“You cut your hair,” you finally say. Gone are the auburn curls that once brushed his collar which is now clipped short, baring his neck. Your shoulders slack before you’re pulling him in by the shoulders, sending him lurching into your chest.

Obi-wan laughs at that, engulfing you in his arms. His grasp winds tight around you and you stand there for what feels like hours but not enough, and all you can think is he’s here.

Obi-wan pulls back, eyes finding yours with a fond smile. “I’ll just have to learn to do your hair now.” He leans in, placing a kiss to the crown of your hair. “You don’t look very well, love.”

“—because of me?”

You huff indignantly at that, pulling out of his hold, “yes, I do have you to thank for a solid month of worrying.”

Obi-wan pauses, eyes flickering over your shoulder. You can tell he takes it to heart.

“Hey,” you murmur, lifting a palm to his cheek, “it would just really suck if you died, y’know?”

He sighs, “I’m sorry I worried you. I tried to find a working commlink but—” He stills once more, shaking his head in defeat. You fill the silence.

“But you were at war, Obi-wan. Commlinks can wait, I’m just happy you made it home in one piece. That’s all that matters.”

The man exhales once more but he concedes with a nod. Knowing he must feel like absolute bantha crap, you usher him to the worn sofa. He watches you flitter around the room, rummaging through cupboards and he can’t help but notice how normal this feels.

Eventually, you bring him a steaming cup of caf, something that seems to flow endlessly in your home and perch beside him on the armrest. The pair of you settle into a comfortable silence. As you lace your fingers between his, you can feel him formulating his thoughts.

“What are you thinking about?” You hum, tapping his wrist. Obi-wan is still, before he whips his head towards you.

“If you asked… I’d stay.” Obi-wan blurts.

The words make you gape and you’re speechless for a good amount of time. He watches you intently, serious as ever.

“Obi-wan,” you begin slowly, “you know I’d never ask that of you.”

“I know that,” he responds firmly, “I also know the Jedi way forbids attachment, that I’d have to let you go. Yet, on Felucia, I wasn’t fighting for the Republic. When we were surrounded by the Separatist droids, I was trying to get back to you.”

Your heart is thudding in your chest, pounding against your ribcage with such ferocity you wonder if even he can hear it. You don’t know what to say.

He leans closer earnestly as his grip on your hand tightens. “I can’t promise things won’t always be this way, but I will always find my way back to you.”

Words have never been your strong suit, this much is certain so you close the gap between you instead, hoping that your lips on his can convey all the emotions cresting from his promise.

When you pull away, it’s because he wipes a tear that escapes down your cheek. “I just hope I’m not the reason you’ll turn to the dark side,” you say with a soft laugh.

Obi-wan nudges your cheek bemusedly, “it’s more likely than you think.”

Bathed in the colourful lights seeping through the blinds, you savour the peace. The morning seems a little brighter and tucked into Obi-wan’s side, Coruscant doesn’t seem so cold anymore.

#editing this was a nightmaRe but i think it turned out okay!!#obi-wan kenobi x reader #obiwan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi oneshot #obi-wan kenobi imagine #star wars #star wars x reader #star wars imagine #star wars oneshot #star wars headcanons

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somethingjustsouthofbrilliance · 4 years

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Too Weak to Fly (chapter 4)

Back to Chapter 1

@swanheart69 @cosmic-malarky

Chapter 4

Aziraphale is a dreamer. Always has been.

When the uncaringly cold and soullessly barren landscapes of blinding white threatened to overwhelm his senses, he dreamed of another Heaven, the one from long ago. With endless cerulean skies, clean and pure, as yet untouched by any notion of storms. With gentle, caressing rays of the sun that streaked down to them from the flawless firmament to bathe them all in its comforting warmth. With fields of verdurous grass, soft as the down feathers and interspersed with brilliant splashes of color – flowers, Her first experimental creations that didn’t even have a name yet.

When the archangels mocked and taunted him, their cold, harsh voices and abrasive words leaving deep weeping gouges on his cowering essence, he thought of a different voice, a bit raspy, a bit sibilant, but brilliantly, achingly warm, good-naturedly sarcastic and, above all, kind. So, so very kind.

When he wanted to escape the disdainful judgment of Gabriel’s stare, the crass, empty blankness of Sandalphon’s, the dark suspicion of Uriel’s, or the frigid indifference of Michael’s, he dreamed of the eyes the color of honeyed amber, sparkling with mischief and mirth. Lively and vibrant. Warm.

It helped. Helped him stay above it all those millennia. Helped him cling firmly to the tiny flotsam of hope and love in the sea of murderous apathy and dark despair.

It wasn’t helping him now.

Still he tries.

He thinks of the quaint old cottage in South Downs that he and Crowley looked at a couple weeks ago. A cozy little brick house half-buried in the untended greenery and huddled on the edge of a brilliant blue sea that created a stark contrast against the blinding white of the nearby Seven Sisters cliffs.

They were going to move in at the end of the month. Close up the bookshop, leave behind the Mayfair apartment and settle all of their combined belongings within the welcoming walls of their new joint home. There was a garage for the Bentley, a living room with an old-fashioned brick-laid fireplace and wood-trimmed windows that provided them with a perfect view of the sea where it breaks upon the chalky white cliffs. A small but well-equipped kitchen that could easily fit a nice little table for two. Outside there was a decent-size, if badly neglected, garden, and Crowley was going to get it back in proper shape, add his plants to the ones already there and set up a small greenhouse for those of his plants that were too delicate to withstand the brutal, biting cold of English winters. And there was an extra bedroom that Aziraphale was going to convert into a library with rows of bookcases running along the entire length of the walls to converge at the far end of the room where the hauntingly familiar eagle-shaped lectern from Crowley’s apartment would stand, spreading its wings in the eternal offer of protection (as Crowley himself had protected him and the books a century ago in the ruins of a bombed church).

It was going to be beautiful. It was going to be perfect. And it was going to be theirs. They were going to be happy there.

And Aziraphale tries to picture it now. The warm darkness of the summer night outside the open window, the soft splashing of the waves against the shore. The living room bathed in the amber glow of the fireplace. A pair of wine glasses on a coffee table, still half full, the burgundy red liquid made all the darker by the surrounding shadows. And the two of them, lounging on the couch in the living room; the old couch, the one from Aziraphale’s bookshop, with its tartan pattern (outdated, according to Crowley; stylish, according to Aziraphale himself) and its well-worn but enticingly soft cushions. Crowley, draped over the entire length of it, all loose-limbed and impossibly relaxed, with his head resting in Aziraphale’s lap, where the angel is tucked comfortably against the arm of the couch. And Aziraphale carding his fingers through the soft fiery locks as the demon slowly drifts off to sleep….

The sound of a breath hitching in pain breaks upon the forced idyll of his thoughts, and he freezes, cursing his corporation’s all-too-human need to shift to keep one’s extremities from falling asleep. The perfect vision dissipates, morphing with cruel inexorability into the grim reality of the moment: the cramped little bedroom of the Jasmine Cottage, illuminated by the gentle light of a table lamp; the blood-stained mattress underneath him, the old-fashioned metal bed frame digging painfully into his back where he sits wedged uncomfortably against the headboard; and Crowley, rigid and trembling in his lap, the luxurious strands of auburn red hair now matted and sweat-soaked underneath his fingers.

It didn’t work. What he was hoping for. It didn’t work. Anathema, bless her soul, did her best with what was available to her. She managed to get the bullet out and stop the bleeding. She even managed to mend some of the damage to Crowley’s corporation, to reattach some of the broken strands of his energy pattern.

But it wasn’t enough, it was never going to be enough. The damage was too great and they had waited too long. And no matter how hard Anathema tried, she couldn’t repair all of it. Not even with Aziraphale’s guidance. All she was doing was draining her own energy and causing Crowley more pain. And after hours upon hours of that torment, Aziraphale finally couldn’t take it anymore – the sight of Anathema’s exhaustion-wrought features and shaking hands and the poorly muffled sounds of Crowley’s growing distress. And so he reached out and gently pulled her hands away from where they hovered unsteadily over the open wound in the demon’s back. And he begged her to go rest.

“You’re exhausted,” he had told her, desperately trying to keep his voice steady. “You both are. Why don’t you sleep a bit, and we can try again in a few hours.”

They both knew it was a lie, and the look she gave him was filled with so much guilt and sorrow that it nearly broke Aziraphale’s heart. Because it was never her fault, never her burden to carry. The failure was his and his alone – from dragging his feet outside the bookshop long enough for a hunter to take a shot at them to letting Crowley talk him into waiting for Adam to put up his shield. And he could now add upsetting his human friend to the ever-growing list of his failings.

But Anathema was a smart, intuitive witch, and she understood what he was trying so very hard not to say. That he couldn’t stand watching the love of his life in so much pain anymore. That he had accepted defeat. That he wanted to spend however little time they had left alone with Crowley, just the two of them. So she nodded to him shakily and walked out, letting them be. And only the knowledge that he had to keep it together for Crowley’s sake prevented him from breaking down the moment the bedroom door closed behind her….

“I’m sorry, dear.” He turns his attention back to Crowley, traces the sharp cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, unable to mask the way it trembles against the waxen skin. “I’m so sorry.” The words feel useless on his tongue, an empty offer of contrition for causing his beloved even more unnecessary discomfort. It’s all he seems capable of lately. That and sitting by, watching helplessly as the love of his life slowly, inexorably slips away.

“S’alright, angel…” Dull yellow eyes blink sluggishly up at him, thin lips twitching in a poor facsimile of a reassuring smile. “Can’t expect you to stay still for so long.”

And that was precisely the problem, wasn’t it. Because he could stay still. Could remain in the same position for days absorbed in a good book without any of his limbs stiffening up on him. But now, without his powers, no matter how hard he tries he can’t quite overcome the urge to ease some of the growing discomfort in his back and legs. And it’s only been hours. A few measly hours of sitting by and listening to Crowley’s labored, wheezing breaths, and praying, praying they don’t stop.

It’s bad enough that he is of no help to Crowley whatsoever without his powers, but he can’t even control his body long enough to provide him comfort without hurting him in the process. Useless. Entirely useless. Not even good enough as a blasted pillow!

He doesn’t realize he’s spoken out loud until he hears a faint huff of fond annoyance followed by a breathy but insistent, “Ssstop fretting, angel. You make a p…perfect pillow…. Couldn’t asssk for a better one.”

These words – Crowley’s stubborn attempt to cheer him up, despite the pain and the blood loss, despite the fear of what is yet to come – they make something crack deep inside Aziraphale’s chest, the dam holding back the ever-growing swell of emotions threatening to burst open and flood everything in its path.

He looks down at the demon, his throat growing impossibly, dangerously tight at the undisguised concern in the pain-clouded gaze that meets his.

“Crowley, I’m so–”

“Tell me ‘bout… Edinburgh.”

“…What?” he stammers out, confusion momentarily slipping past the near-suffocating veil of sorrow and self-blame.

“Edinburgh…,” the demon repeats, urgent, fevered yellow staring intently up at him from the haggard, ashen face. “Your firssst temptation. How did…how did it go? You never ssss... said. T-tell me, angel.”

Aziraphale stares mutely at him for a heartbeat longer, brow furrowed in puzzlement, and then it hits him, the reason behind that wild-eyed urgency, that seemingly ill-timed curiosity about a four thousand year old inconsequential event. Distraction. That silly old serpent, who knew him like nobody else, who could probably read the swelling turmoil of his emotions clear as day on his face, was trying to pull his attention away from his own internal mess to keep him from getting lost in it altogether.

“Crowley…” The realization brings with it a fresh swell of tears, the demon’s name – a broken, reverent whisper on his lips.

“J’ssst talk to me, angel,” Crowley grumbles in feigned displeasure, uncomfortable even now to be on the receiving end of the angel’s doting, revering looks. “M’bored j’sssst lying here.”

Aziraphale moves his hand away from Crowley’s face, reaching for the demon’s hand instead. Grips it, fervently, desperately, clinging to it like a drowning man to a lonely piece of debris floating in the middle of an endless ocean. Anchors his gaze on the salutary distant shore of Crowley’s eyes. “Will you…,” he falters, his throat suddenly too thick to get the words out, burning in much the same way his eyes are, the stinging pressure of tears fighting to break free. He swallows them down, tries again. “Promise to stay awake if I do?” “Don’t leave me,” he means, “don’t die.”

Crowley understands him, of course he does, and the thin long fingers flutter slightly in the angel’s grasp as Crowley attempts to squeeze back. “Sss’long assss I can,” he vows, a wan, knowing smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

“Alright.” He forces himself to smile back, the effort ruined by their unsteady, pitiful wobble, and he begins to talk.

He talks and talks and talks. Long after the Edinburgh story is over. Switching from topic to topic. Rambling about places he’d been to, people he’d met, human-made wonders he’d seen. He talks about his books, the treasured personal library he had amassed over the centuries. He recites passages from his favorite oeuvres, exalting their strengths and highlighting their flaws. He talks until his throat grows drier than the desert sand, his voice desiccated into a raspy whisper.

Still he keeps going, mercilessly scraping out the words from his abused throat, because Crowley’s listening, he’s listening. Because he can still see a sliver of clouded amber peeking out from beneath the half-lowered, paper-thin eyelids; can still hear the infrequent, labored breaths that pass between the gray, blood-spattered lips. Because Crowley is still here, still clinging on. Whether to the sound of his voice or to the feel of his hand grasping his own, Aziraphale doesn’t know, but he is loath to abandon either.

Until Crowley speaks.

“Angel.”

His voice is barely louder than the rustle of a summer breeze in the treetops, but it’s enough to startle Aziraphale into silence. The angel waits, breath bated and heart quivering with sudden, grim apprehension, as he watches his beloved struggle to pant out more words.

“Remember those cliffsss in Italy? Onesss you t…took me to after Petroniusss?” Pale eyelids rise with effort, bleary slitted gaze settling on Aziraphale.

Aziraphale nods, not quite trusting himself to speak.

“We went flying there… at night. I…” The demon’s gaze turns distant, clouded further by a faraway memory. “I enjoyed it… flying with you… under th’ssstarssss….”

There’s a sharp stinging lump stuck in Aziraphale’s throat. It hurts to swallow.

“There are cliffs by our cottage, dear. Remember?” His voice trembles and cracks over the words, desperation and tears leaking through the breaks. “We can go flying again. You and me. Any time we want.”

Crowley blinks, slow and sluggish, a faint ripple of a smile skittering across his lips. “I’d like that…,” he breathes out, his eyelids drooping lower, losing their struggle to stay open.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale panics. Abandons his grip on Crowley’s hand in favor of cupping his face as he pleads with the demon to look at him. “Come on, darling, don’t do this!” he begs, tears sliding down his cheeks to drip onto the pallid face below him. “Look!” He nods blindly toward the window where the first rays of the new day have chased away the star-studded darkness of the night. “It’s dawn. It’s already dawn, Crowley. Only two days left. You just need to hold on for two more days and…. Please, Crowley, please!”

The demon’s eyelids flutter, straining feebly with the near-insurmountable effort to rise before falling closed once more. “M’ssssorry angel…,” he murmurs – faint, rueful exhale.

Crowley’s chest doesn’t rise anymore.

_____

TBC I promise

#my fics #good omens fics #good omens fanfiction #crowley/aziraphale #sjsob good omens fics

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garagedoorlock-blog · 4 years

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When you are able Do Garage Door Repair Jobs Yourself

Your storage door is an important part involving your life, and a single you normally take regarding granted, so when it goes wrong the idea are able to seem such as the devastation. It impacts definitely not just your capacity to get your own personal car out and set that away, but usually the security of your home itself. Problem of who is definitely the best man to help do garage doorway repair jobs-yourself or some sort of professional- is something you have to always become keeping around mind, preferably from often the moment the garage front door is new, not when it starts to go awry. One way of keeping away from costly repair bills, connected with course, is to contain the garage door checked in addition to maintained on a frequent basis. There are some features of this an individual can do yourself, including carrying out a normal examination of the particular accessories, Garage Door lock including the hinges plus brackets, plus the dishes which the springs are usually attached, and tightening all loose bolts and screws. You can in addition lubricate all moving parts, like the tracks, rollers and hinges, using the aerosol aerosol. However, using a professional to execute a regular inspection will ensure of which any potential safety issues could be identified before they make a serious problem. If an individual are checking your entrance doors yourself, you could notice have on and tear in typically the rollers or hinges. This specific is some thing you may well be able to fix oneself, but only in the event you are comfortable. In the event that you are even a little bit doubtful, you should phone some sort of garage door repair company. If you notice oxidation or dents in the particular songs, it is better to have these replaced by a professional. Right now there are some quite frequent complications you may find in your inspection of your respective garage doors, which you may want to not necessarily try to fix by yourself. One of these is broken spring suspensions, which can be very dangerous should they snap, mainly because of the pressure these people maintain. The other trouble you shouldn't touch is wires approaching off their tracks. For both of these types of you need to call up in a specialist garage doorway repair service. On the most standard problem encountered with overhead doors is the terme conseillé going wrong. There are some sort of wide variety of troubles that may occur. Regarding example, the front door does not work out to open when anyone push the remote; the buying and selling is only incomplete; the door unwraps without having being commanded; or it opens and then verso. In any of these cases, there are a amount regarding steps you can take yourself, before getting in touch with in a garage entrance maintenance service. First associated with all, check the power and check the power packs inside your remote. Sometimes, updating typically the power packs or reprogramming often the remote is almost all it takes to fix this issue. Then you can disconnect the opener and in wired mode again, which at times resets the devices. Finally, test cleaning the sensor's sight, as dust on the face can prohibit the signal. If a person still have no success, you need to check the type of spring system that performs your own garage. If the idea is undoubtedly an extension spring, you could be in a position to mend it yourself. Widespread issues include broken pulleys, cables and wires, springs or rollers. Nevertheless, if the idea is often a décalage spring, which will be fitted above the door-header, that will likely be too unsafe to fix on your own, and you must call the particular garage door repair support. Business Name: Benny Garage Door Service Address: deliveries and home services only Lynwood, state: California, 90262 Renton, state: Washington, 98055 Auburn, state: Washington, 98001 kent, state: Washington, 98030 Payullup, state: Washington, 98371 Redmond, state: Washington, 98053 shoreline, state: Washington, 98133 Business Email: [email protected] Business Phone Number: (877) 793-3546 Business Website: https://thegaragedoorrepairseattle.com Working hours: 24/7

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cassyopeya · 4 years

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Lonesome.

That was the word that Maggie had settled on to describe Birch Hills after a week on the property almost completely isolated, save her parents’ wolfdog, Norman, and the ghosts of her grandparents, who seemed to be lurking behind every corner she turned.

She had come to this conclusion one afternoon, lounging out on the back porch, its wood slightly damp from the rain the night before, staring as Norman rolled around in the fields behind the house. Maggie had left her grandmother’s ghost in the kitchen, watching from afar as she rustled the old faucets around in the big farmhouse sink, a spectral white figure in the dim afternoon light of an overcast November day.

Lonesome.

That was the word that flitted through her head as she stood next to her grandfather’s ghost at the edge of the birch grove the house was named after, pondering what she should do with the decrepit fences and fields in the spring when the weather would be better. Her grandfather had always pestered her older brother and cousins to repair it for him, so that he could buy the flock of sheep that he had always wanted. They had never quite gotten around to it, and slowly the wood had begun to rot. The leaves crunched under her boots and her grandfather’s ghost gave her a knowing look, one that read, “Please, Grete, get me my sheep.”

Lonesome. That was the immediate thought she’d had after her mother hung up on her, a month after she’d arrived at Birch Hills. They had tentative plans for Christmas, for the whole family to come back home and be together, shaking the loneliness out of the old bones of the house, and giving Maggie slightly more sanity than Norman could provide. Her mother had been confirming their plans, promising the arrival of people into her life again. “Now, Margaret, we must talk about next year at some point,” her mother had begun, and then the fighting had started. It hadn’t ended until her mother had hung up the phone, cutting Maggie off in the middle of the sentence. Norman had picked his head up at the noise, and then placed it back onto the hardwood floor, staring straight ahead towards the door. Maggie realized, at that moment, that there are been a point when this had been her biggest fear. That she would be alone, without anyone to keep her company. And now, and now after a month alone, there was something comforting about it. About the quiet that had fallen on Birch Hills when the first flakes of Maine winter fell from the skies onto Maggie’s awaiting tongue and Norman’s wagging tail, her grandparents’ ghosts standing in the open doorway, staring out over the rolling fields of their property. Lonesome. That was the churning in Maggie’s chest as she laid awake at night in the dark, warm, alcove of the attic that she had chosen to sleep in. It was a gaping hole in her chest, a cavern filling and emptying with every breath she took. The dog slept at the foot of her bed, and she gazed out of the small window onto the winding road that lead towards town, the only light in miles the light hanging off of the garage wall, flickering as her grandfather’s ghost stared out at the driveway, kicking gravel as he had almost every night when he’d been here, with her. The sadness in the pit of her stomach sometimes took a concrete form, when she laid in bed at night and thought about calling Wilder and asking him how his semester has been. Thought about reaching out to the person who had known her better than anyone else, who had held her when she’d found out about her grandmother, had wiped the tears off of her face when she dropped him home for the last time. She hadn’t talked to him since she’d arrived at Birch Hills, not necessarily on purpose, but because he hadn’t seemed to ever call her. That was the first seed of loneliness for Maggie, before it had blossomed into a beautiful bloom of lonesomeness. The kernel planted when Wilder didn’t call her, didn’t text her back as often as he once had. Lonesome. Maggie had written the text that she sent to Wilder a million times before she actually sent it, telling him that she was at Birch Hills, and that she felt at peace in the loneliness. She’d debated the medium through which she should send it, wondering if an email or voicemail would be better than a text. But, in the end, she had settled on a text. She had sat at the kitchen table, the entire room glowing in a yellow light as she stared at her phone, the stairs creaking under the weight of her grandfather’s ethereal feet, composing her text again and again and again. “hey wilder, its me. im alone at birch hills. ive been thinking a lot about you. i miss you and i love you. please text me back.” That was what she had settled on, after half an hour. He hadn’t responded when she went to bed that night, trying not to think of the lack of notifications on her phone. The whole house seemed gray and empty, larger than it ever had before. Six weeks alone, six weeks into her self-imposed isolation, and she felt as though she hadn’t made any progress. The only thing that Maggie had made progress on, it seemed, was by identifying the swirling black whirlpool of emotion in her gut and labeling it: Lonesome. That was the feeling jolted out of her when the doorbell rang, three days before her family was supposed to come up for the holidays. Norman beat her to the door, barking aggressively and wagging his tail, his nails skittering against the hardwood floors as he made a beeline to the front door. Maggie followed, tentatively, pushing a piece of hair that had escaped her bandana behind her ear. Wilder was standing there, a bag dropped on the step next to him, staring at her in the mid-afternoon December sun, its weak light shining through his auburn hair. He hadn’t texted her back, after she’d sent him that text the week before, and everyday Maggie had assumed the likelihood she ever heard back was decreasing. But, nevertheless, here he was, dressed in green fleece and jeans, a tentative and small smile falling across his lips. “Hey, Mags, I…” She didn’t let him finish as she threw herself into his arms, hugging him as though she needed to prove that he was not yet another ghost there to grace Birch Hills. It took him a second, but he wrapped his arms around her, holding her just as tightly as she had held him. “Can I stay for the holidays?” Maggie just nodded into his chest, as if she was worried that her vocal cords would betray her, betray the immense relief that had come with not feeling so completely and utterly alone anymore. Maggie let go of him, opening the door and ushering him inside. And suddenly with Wilder seated at the kitchen table, drinking tea from a mug and grinning as he began to tell her stories of his first semester at school, Birch Hills didn’t gray. Color began to seep back into the room, the pinks and purples in her grandmother’s rose and lilac drapes becoming brighter, the wood furnishings become a warmer tone. With Wilder there, Birch Hills had begun to thaw.

#writing #my original writing #ik that this sucks ass but #maybe somoene will enjoy it idk #im in a big major rut and have nothing to do bc covid so i'd like to you know #not be in a rut

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stargategarage-blog · 4 years

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On Fixing The Important Garage Door Issues

Garage doors have two main components; namely the garage door itself and the garage door opener. Garage doors are part of most buildings and it is advisable that the property owners stay informed of little things that can go wrong with their garage doors and the art of fixing them so that they are not left strangled with a faulty door during a crucially important hour. Though you need to call professionals to inspect and set right the garage door issues, there is nothing wrong in knowing about these most obvious problems to be able to do something from your end during emergency.

The main technology behind overhead garage doors is the spring tension. Using this principle, either they roll up in sections or swing up as one piece. There are metal tracks fixed to the garage walls and the doors move on these tracks. The power for the movement is duly provided by the spring or set of springs. When you detect some fault in the doors, you may need to check a few things given below.

First and foremost, inspect the metal tracks inside the garage. Survey the mounting brackets that hold the tracks firmly to the walls. If you find them loose, you can tighten the bolts and screws. When you work inside the garage with the door in closed position, check whether there are any dents, crimps or flat spots. If you happen to notice them you can use a rubber mallet to pound them. You may also use a hammer or a block of scrap wood. If you find the tracks damaged badly, then it might be the time to replace them for new ones.

Check the alignment of the tracks. Understand that the horizontal tracks need to slant slightly down towards the back side of the garage. In case of roll up doors, the vertical section of the tracks needs to be precisely plump. When you notice the tracks on the walls, both the tracks must be at the same height. If there is something wrong with the track alignment, then loosen the screws and bolts and tap in a way the tracks come to position. Once again check the tracks with level. Finally tighten the screws and blots.

You may use a concentrated household cleaner to clean the tracks in order to clear the debris collection and the accumulation of hardened grease application.

Inspect to see whether there are any loose hardware and tighten them. In case of swing up doors, check the plates at the point where the springs are mounted to ensure the screws hold tightly. In case of roll up doors, inspect to check whether the hinges are holding the sections of the door together. If you find the hinges damaged, replace them and if you find screws loose, tighten them. If you see the door sagging at one side, then you may probably need to service the hinges. If you find the screws hole enlarged, then replace the screw with new ones that are longer with the same diameter. While fixing the new screw, you might as well use a hollow fibre plug dipped in carpenter's glue. If the wood near the hinges is cracked, then remove the screws, fill the crack with wood filler and let it dry before fixing the screws once again. These little maintenance tasks can be tried from yourside if you have the necessary implements and interest before you call a professional.

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gsgaragedoors · 4 years

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Easy Garage Door Repair Tips to Help You Save Money

Doing a garage door repair is one of the most difficult things to face especially if you are not familiar with technical DIY home repairs. Because garage doors are a combination of complicated electronics, hard-to-understand mechanical workings and hard-to-handle materials, most people shy away from doing these repairs and just leave it to a door technician to fix the job. The problem is, repairing of the doors in your garage might cost you a lot of money. A simple garage door installation already costs close to a thousand dollars, Hiring technicians to repair your door's simple problems will only add up to your expenses.

Major repairs such as panel and door spring replacements will usually call for the help of expert technicians. But as much as possible, you must first try and see if you can fix the problems on your own before you go out and look for help. In the case that you have a screeching garage metal door that causes a lot of noise when opened or closed, the first things that you have to check are rusty hardware and old door screws. People do not realize it but half of the time, it is the combination of rusty hardware and old screws that serves as the culprit when it comes to the problem of screeching garage doors. If you are able to check these little issues first before calling out the technician to do the minor repair, you might be able to save a lot of money.

If you have a door in your garage that does not fully go down when it is closed and it springs right back up before even reaching the ground, the main culprit is usually a misplaced door sensor. A door sensor that is not placed properly will most certainly cause your garage door to do unwarranted acts such as not closing down 100%. To fix this, just place your door sensors a little lower than your current placement. You might also want to check if there are objects and hindrances blocking the sensor because it can also contribute to the said problem.

Doing a door repair for your garage is not an easy task especially if you are not an "electronics" or "mechanics" kind of person. But you must also put in mind that doing simple DIY door repairs will not hurt especially if the problems are too trivial to even call a door technician. Sometimes, a non-working door might even be fixed by simply replacing the batteries of your door opener. If you want to be frugal and save more money in the bank, learning simple DIY repairs of your garage is a must.

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garagedoorspringreplacementgalt · 6 years

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Where To Go For Garage Door Spring Replacement In Galt

Now that you know what kind of spring that you have, you may find it is necessary for garage door spring replacement Galt in your area. There’s no logical reason to fix one particular spring at one time and just await the other 1 to break if you don’t enjoy the headaches and hassles. To begin with, you should figure out what sort of springs you’re replacing. Torsion springs are under an extreme quantity of torque, making it dangerous for anybody replacing them. They are difficult and dangerous to replace, so you need to be very careful or better yet get a professional help in doing so. Should you be planning to construct a garage, it is sometimes an enormous job, which calls for detailed planning.

Manually operated garages are lots lighter. Such garages are simple to develop and are quite cost-effective. So should you realize that your door isn’t opening or closing evenly, this is sometimes an indication that you want to replace the door springs? Whenever your door appears imbalanced, it’s likely that you have loose springs somewhere. New garage door spring replacement Galt is a good way to boost the worth of your premises and enhance your house’s visual appeal. You need to always replace both springs at precisely the same time to lower the likelihood of your door heading out of balance and to lessen the possibility of spring breakage. Once you’ve determined the kind of spring, which you have, it is possible to find replacements quite easily online. One type is known as the extension spring and the other one is known as the torsion spring.

Extension springs are the most usual and in addition, they have an outstanding effect on the way the various parts of your door unit wear down. They are found on either side of the door. When it is an extension spring, you may be able to repair it yourself. The other sort is called the extension spring. There are a number of varieties of garage door spring replacement Galt services and you would like to be sure you have the right torsion spring. You’ll want to prevent purchasing garage door springs at a big retailer, who might have a small selection to pick from and won’t have knowledgeable salespeople to assist you. In case you are thinking of purchasing a replacement, Tai’s Garage Doors and Locksmith is the best option to consider.

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garage-door-repair-auburn-w-blog · 5 years

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Hired A Genuine Company For DoReMi Garage Door Repair Auburn

I wanted a firm to fix my garage door. I had a buddy of mine see it to determine which was wrong from it. He knew a little about garage doors and repairs they could need, but didn't know enough to fix them. He took a short look at it in my opinion and informed me that this appeared to be a spring that needed repaired. He explained to me that we would have to find a very good and honest company that wouldn't overcharge me for your repairs or tell me that it was something different wrong with it. He told me that he would even stay there therefore they wouldn't try to inform me it had been something different.

I began calling around to determine what company I really could get an appointment using the quickest. I hired the first company in spite of this they may come within 24 hours to think about it and even possibly correct it for me. I needed searched online for garage door repair Auburn WA and referred to as companies I stumbled upon on that list. As this you can come the fastest, I made the decision to use them and told my friend once they will be over. He arrived soon after I called him.

The business that did garage door repair Auburn WA said exactly the same thing my friend had said and explained to me how they could repair it. They said it would be a fairly easy fix and so they had the part from the truck to fix it.

This business could quickly fix my garage door spring and allowed me to pay them 100 % for service. These folks were honest and didn't attempt to let me know there was clearly more wrong with it to generate income away from me.

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localizee · 2 years

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has you covered. We assist with everything that goes into getting your garage door to work.

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grgdoorfix · 6 years

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Auburn Community Upset after HOA Tells Them to Leave Garage Doors Open

New Post has been published on https://grgdoorfix.com/auburn-community-upset-after-hoa-tells-them-to-leave-garage-doors-open/

Auburn Community Upset after HOA Tells Them to Leave Garage Doors Open

This is an archived article and the information in the article may be outdated. Please look at the time stamp on the story to see when it was last updated.

AUBURN — An Auburn community is upset after their homeowners association told them they needed to keep their garage doors open during the day.

The rule calls for residents with garages to keep them open from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. Monday through Friday. While some have been abiding by the new rule, despite being against it, others were keeping their doors shut.

Nine-year-old Jason, whose family lives at Auburn Greens, was concerned.

“I’m still worried a little. I’m still a little worried because I just think it’s all going to get stolen, you know?” Jason said.

A sheet of paper was the cause for concern, a list left earlier in the week by the Auburn Greens Unit 1 Homeowners Association.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea because they are going to steal my bike,” Jason said. “I’ve got an electric scooter, I’ve got an electric wheelchair, I’ve got all kinds of stuff. So, I just don’t think it’s very good to have it open.”

For every home like Jason’s that began following the new rule, there were plenty of others who refused to, like Shally Ia.

“I have nothing to hide. I understand somebody had people living in the garage. I don’t. I am following the rules,” Ia said. “All I am asking is a reasonable way to get around this. If you want to do a monthly, bi-monthly inspection of my…

Check out more articles:

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garage door track adjustment

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chatshield379 · 3 years

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Despite the impact of the current coronavirus crisis and the profound disruption it has caused to our daily lives, please know that this firm remains committed to helping families, relatives and friends say farewell to their loved ones as meaningfully as possible.To that end, Beverly Ridge Funeral Home has taken the following steps to balance the needs of mourners and guests with the recommended precautions communicated to us by the CDC.Facility Care

· We routinely perform environmental cleaning/sanitizing throughout our facility – especially frequently touched surfaces. · We provide disposable sanitizing wipes throughout to clean surfaces before/after touching them.· We provide CDC recommended hand sanitizers throughout our facility.· We ask our staff to follow social-distancing guidelines and to stay home if feeling sick.How You Can Help Today· Foremost if you have a fever, experience a persistent cough, and/or have difficulty breathing, then please do not attend and consult your physician.· Wash your hands frequently and/or use a provided hand sanitizer.· Sneeze or cough into a tissue and immediately toss the used tissue into a trash receptacle.· Follow social-distancing guidelines:o Do not kiss, hug or shake hands with others.o Remain at least six feet from others at all times.Please know that while the CDC has said there is no COVID-19 risk posed by the body of someone who has died, it is recommended to not touch, kiss or have direct contact with the body of your loved one.Keeping the Faith - Beverly Ridge Funeral Home is here to provide services to you and your family in this time of emergency, it is still necessary to conduct the rites and rituals to honor and remember your beloved during these challenging times. Therefore, despite the difficulties we now face, both personally and professional, never doubt that, together, we will all get through this.

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advantagegd · 4 years

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Repairing Your Garage Door Opener

Electric garage door openers have largely eased the lives of homeowners. You do not need to get out of the car and open your garage door whenever you come back home. With electric garage door opener, it is just a matter of pressing a button, and the door opens for you. Get in and park your car!

However, your garage door opener might run into a problem. That's when you need to find the cause and get ahead with the potential solution. Sometimes, you can handle it yourself, while at other times, it needs professional assistance.

https://advantagegd.com/garage-door-opener-repair/

Reasons for Garage Door Opener Malfunctioning

There can be different reasons for garage door opener malfunctioning. Sometimes, even thundering and lightning can cause damage to significant electrical components. In such cases, it requires changing your main board.

Most of the garage door openers come with plastic gears. Being manufactured of a less durable material, these plastic gears are highly prone to damage. In this case, you need to replace the gears to ensure proper functioning.

It is important to take note that garage door opener repair does not mean fixing damaged parts but replacing them. It needs some significant amount of time and dedicated effort to open up the unit and replace the faulty parts.

https://advantage-garage-door-repair.s3.ca-central-1.amazonaws.com/index.html

How to Buy the Right Opener?

Now that you have figured out that your garage door opener needs replacement, you must be looking around to buy a new opener. Here are a few factors to consider making sure you end up with the right garage door opener:

Look for the Safety Features

Safety comes first. That's a phrase you come across really often. If you live with your family, you need to ensure their safety. Garage door openers come with a variety of safety features, such as a reversal mechanism. If a reversal mechanism garage door comes in contact with something while closing, it automatically reverses back.

Study Different Types of Openers

Garage door openers come in different types, including chain drive, belt drive, screw drive and jack-shaft opener. Look into each to pick the most suitable one.

Find a Quite Door Opener

Some garage door openers make a lot of noise during operation. If your bedroom is located right above your garage, it can be very disturbing. You definitely do not want to wake up your family or neighbors when you leave early in the morning or come back home late at night!

4 Types of Garage Door Openers

Garage door repair is the best time to pick the garage door opener. Even if you previously had a chain drive opener, you could move to a screw drive opener this time as the whole unit has to be replaced.

Let’s look into what each type of garage door openers has to offer:

1. Chain Drive garage doorOpener

Chain drive openers are generally the preferable choice. They are quite durable and the least pricey of all types. However, they are a bit noisy!

2. Belt Drive garage door Opener

Belt drive openers operate over rubber belts and so, offer a noiseless working. The reduced vibration also assists in lowering the noise.

3. Screw Drive garage door Opener

Screw drive openers make the best option for people living in extremely lower climates. They prevent iced-over chains and other weather-related problems, especially jamming.

4. Jack-Shaft garage door Opener

Homeowners with tall garage ceilings usually go for a jack-shaft opener as they are mounted on the side wall. Also, they deliver noiseless functioning.

So, what are you waiting for? If your garage door opener has run into an issue, buy the right garage door opener, and call garage door repair professionals for a quick replacement!

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At Advantage Garage Doors, we can not only help repair your faulty opener, we can also help you select the one most appropriate for your household. see also garage door maintenance Calgary A garage door opener contains a great variety of parts, and as such if you suspect that your opener isn’t operating as smoothly as it should, do not try to fix it yourself. It is easy to cause more damage, leading to an unnecessarily expensive garage door repair calgary or even a replacement. Our garage door technicians are trained to detect problems with all parts of a garage opener, and repair those if it is deemed to be cost-effective for you, the client. In certain situations, replacing the faulty opener with a new one is the more sensible and affordable choice. If you suspect your garage door opener isn’t working properly, don’t hesitate to give us a call – we will send an experienced technician to you as promptly as possible to prevent further damage of your garage door and its components." }, { "@type": "Service", "name": "garage door maintenance", "@id": "https://advantagegd.com/garage-door-maintenance/", "url": "https://advantagegd.com/garage-door-maintenance/", "provider":{"@id":"kg:/g/11h___1pcp"}, "brand":{"@id":"kg:/g/11h___1pcp"}, "areaServed":{"@id":"#servicearea"}, "serviceType":"garage door maintenance", "description": "The importance of regular garage door maintenance Calgary Like any other mechanical component of your household, a garage door needs regular maintenance to keep on functioning properly. At Advantage Garage Doors, we cannot stress the importance of preventative maintenance enough, and its key role in ensuring your garage door and all of its components live up to their full potential. Whether you decide to perform maintenance tasks yourself, or prefer to contact one of our technicians – garage door repair in Calgary AB is paramount in maximizing your door’s longevity." }, { "@type": "Service", "name": "garage door weather seal", "@id": "https://advantagegd.com/garage-door-weather-seal/", "url": "https://advantagegd.com/garage-door-weather-seal/", "provider":{"@id":"kg:/g/11h___1pcp"}, "brand":{"@id":"kg:/g/11h___1pcp"}, "areaServed":{"@id":"#servicearea"}, "serviceType": "garage door weather seal", "description": "Protection against harsh Canadian weather Living in Alberta, with its harsh winters and extended periods of below-freezing weather and winds, we know all too well our home has to be properly insulated. However, many forget to protect a crucial part of the home from the elements : the garage! Don’t let Cold air coming in from the broken garage door stripping cause you to lose heat from the garage. Let us come solve any garage door weather seal issues. Maintaining your garage door seal Calgary is a crucial part of preparing for winter, ensuring the heat stays in, the wind stays out, and the heating bill stays down. Garage door weather seal is available in a wide variety of colours and materials, ensuring your door finds its match. We are local garage door repair company , that is family run and experts in our field. " } ] } ] } }] } from Advantage Garage Doors https://advantagegd.blogspot.com/2020/11/repairing-your-garage-door-opener.html via Advantage Garage Doors

#garage doors #garage repairs #garage installations

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