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rainbows-fanfics · 4 years ago

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Our Nightmare (Chapter 8)

Summary: Sally moves in with the man of her screams. But there is still so much she has to learn of Halloween Town, and what it’s like living with The Pumpkin King.

A sequel to Two Dearest Friends, where the Christmas incident never happens. But there are still many ends that haven’t been met, and much for these two dreamers to learn as they start to spend their deaths together.

Pairings: Jack Skellington/Sally, Dr Finklestein/Jewel

–

Note: This is a SEQUEL to my other story, TWO DEAREST FRIENDS. To read the original story, go here.

–

Sally prepares for an important trip today, slipping herself into her patchwork dress first thing in the morning. She finds herself avoiding it nowadays, as it reminds her of the old treatment she received back at Finklestein's. Where she was forced to use leftover fabrics and scraps to sew together just to make clothing...Looking at it in her mirror now makes her feel unpleasant. But it is the best thing to wear, if she is going somewhere that is old, dusty, and worn down.

She makes room in her basket that will hopefully be filled by the end of the day. By the time she is ready, she finds Jack idling around in his den. He looks to be somewhat anxious, pacing around in a small line in thought. He stops once she comes into the room and relaxes when they meet at the door. She leans on her tiptoes for a kiss. He receives the message and bends down to leave one on her lips.

"Are you leaving now?" He asks.

"Yes, I'm going to find the Hanging Tree and ask him if he'd like to come."

He frowns. "I doubt anything will happen while the two of you are there, but-"

"-Jack." Her voice stops his thoughts. She comes forward to rub his arm soothingly. "It's sweet of you to worry about me. I promise I'll be fine."

His posture softens. How could he not, after all they've been through? "-If you find anything that needs my attention, I'll be right in the Town Hall. You're free to come and get me."

She nods and leans forward one last time to peck his cheek. She bids her goodbye and leaves the mansion, carefully climbing down the stairs and waving to her beloved as she passes through the gates. He watches her figure disappear into town without a word, then slowly closes the door behind him.

Her absence makes him feel strangely cold.

----

It takes a few minutes for Sally to realize that she doesn't exactly know where her friend would be. She isn't sure where anyone here lives, aside from the Doctor and Jack. She wanders around for several minutes before stumbling right upon the tree. She accidentally bumps his side while he is walking by. When he turns around, he jumps in delight.

"Sally!" He exclaims, his sharpened grin widening. "How awful it is to see you!"

"Hello, Hanging Tree." She ducks to greet the skeletons on his branches. "-Hello to you five as well."

They lean their skulls to the side and greet her right back. He leads them out of the way to let her sit down for a moment. She brushes her hair behind her ear and gazes around at their environment. It is a beautiful day out right now - there are clouds currently forming in the sky.

"Is there any particular reason you're out today?" He asks politely. "I haven't seen you since that meeting!"

"There is. I was looking to speak with you." Her friend perks up at these words. "Would you happen to know where the old sewing shop is?"

"The old sewing shop, you say?" He repeats, placing a finger to his bark in his thought. "That's all the way in the Residential Hill. I haven't been there in so many years!"

"Would you like to come with me, then? I was going to look there for some sewing supplies. The Witches told me there might be some there, and I've been in desperate need for some time now..."

"Ah...they might be right. No one has checked in there for a very long time."

"That's why I wanted to ask. You know more about sewing than me, so I assume you've visited there, and you're familiar with the place..."

"Of course! I remember when I used to knit a lot back in those times. Maybe I can find some stuff for myself while I'm there. I've been at a loss of supplies like you have."

The skeletons on his branch have been absorbing their conversation intently. They hadn't interfered out of politeness, but as soon as silence settles in for a few moments, one of the skeletons decides to pry.

"Miss Sally, I must say that I'm surprised you didn't ask Jack to come with you." They comment. "I'm sure he would have been more than happy to accompany you."

She bites her lopsided lip. "Well, yes, but he seems so busy nowadays...I didn't want to interrupt his work."

The Hanging Tree laughs. "If I know anything about Jack, I'm sure he's prioritized you plenty already."

Her blue cheeks turn a little pink at his words. She feels foolish for not asking him to come. But she still has someone assist her, and that's all she really wanted from the start. Jack sounded concerned about it last night, and seeing how he acted just before she left.....she'll be sure to be more than careful, if this is truly concerning to him.

The Hanging Tree begins to head in a direction and motions Sally to follow.

"We can start heading there now, if you'd like. I wasn't doing anything terribly important. And the walk shouldn't be too long - we'll be there before you know it."

She nods enthusiastically, looking forward to their trip. They pass the time by speaking more with each other, talking about how their knitting and sewing has been going. The skeletons listen to their conversations and even join in on a few. Sally can't begin to describe how peaceful it feels to talk with someone like this. She enjoys her time with her friend, and almost forgets about the sewing shop until they finally arrive.

----

"This is it!"

The ragdoll blinks twice as they approach a strange building. It stands out like a sore claw compared to the dark, occupied structures back in town. This one stands completely alone in its place - no neighboring buildings in its proximity. It is clearly built out of wood, most of which is now long rotten and looks to be nearly falling apart. The Witches' description was fairly accurate for what she is looking at now.

The Hanging Tree steps forward and she follows him. She notices the details the closer they get. The sign hanging just before the entrance is cracked and barely hanging on its hooks. The words that were once printed on it have been stained by the sun and are no longer legible. The windows on the side of the building are currently boarded up, as the glass has been broken. The roof creaks every time a gust of wind passes by, making her wonder if it would cave in at any second.

Her friend stops as they reach the door. Its paint is worn and a sign that reads: 'DO NOT ENTER' is placed right in the middle. She reaches for the key in her dress pocket and slowly takes it in her hands. She hadn't noticed there was a small skull on it; one that looks to resemble Jack's.

She observes the building again. It stands firmly where it is, and the sign creaks when the wind comes around.

"Something about this place makes me weary..."

"With what went on here, I can't blame you. But that happened such a long time ago. There's nothing to worry about now."

"You're right." Her fingers glide down to the key in her hand. 'And yet....'

The Hanging Tree glances at the sky and notices the dark clouds. Rain can be coming any second now. He looks back at Sally and finds her still staring at the building. He can't allow the Pumpkin King's girlfriend to get soaked under his watch! He steps behind her and motions her forward uneasily, glancing at the clouds that are coming in by the second.

"We might have to get going before it starts pouring..."

She notices what he is talking about and nods right away. They come to the door and she slips the skeleton key in with ease. The lock unlatches as she turns the key. The door slowly creaks open. To her surprise, the inside still seems to have power, as the moment she flicks the lights on, the hanging lanterns inside light up.

As the two head in, the floor beneath them groans at their weight and the door hastily shuts behind them. Sally jumps in alarm and bumps into one of the skeletons by accident.

"Are you alright?" They ask, holding her shoulders steady. She nods several times to assure them she is.

"Oh, yes, just a little....spooked, is all...."

The tree laughs. "Fantastic!"

The lanterns shine brighter as they're now in the room. She takes a good look at their surroundings. Things are deadly quiet otherwise, beyond the sound of the wind hitting the sign outside.

It is a large room they're in, filled with shelves that hold many fabrics. There are several sewing machines placed on the desks that litter around the room, as well as an unlit fireplace that sits in the back. There looks to be some sort of pantry to their far right, though she has yet to see what is in it.

All of these things are filled with cobwebs and dust. The fabrics look like they've been untouched for the longest time. The walls themselves are worn down, as the wallpaper seems to be peeling. Nearly all of the pictures hanging on the walls have several tears or scratches in them. As if someone has deliberately made them.

"Where do you think she kept the bodies?" One of the skeletons asks. They seem to be talking with the others on their branch. Sally can't help but eavesdrop on their conversation.

"Why would you even ask that? It's such a morbid topic."

"Which is what we love to talk about, isn't it?"

"Maybe the fabrics are the children..! Their skin, or their-"

"Don't say such things in Sally's presence!" Another skeleton scolds. "You might scare her."

"We're curious, that's all."

Their tree hushes them down, and they grow quiet. He returns to her side and frowns. "I'm sorry for my skeletons' behavior...they get so talkative with new things!"

"It's fine. I'm....sort of wondering the same thing...." She mumbles.

His frown deepens as he looks around. He decides not to touch upon such a subject and starts wandering around the room. She follows closely behind, rubbing her arms continuously. It's growing colder the longer they're in here, what with the gaps through the exposed windows and all. Since the fireplace is unlit, there is nothing currently keeping them warm in the meantime.

"It seems like all the fabrics are still in good condition," He comments, touching them and trying not to rip any with his sharp fingers. "Although, the dust would have to be cleaned off..."

"Do you think the sewing machines still work?"

"I wouldn't doubt it."

This springs some hope in Sally. She follows him as they look into the pantry across the room. This one has many drawers, all filled with sewing supplies that must have been kept as spares at one point. The relief on her face is substantial. She takes a look at what is inside and gathers what she needs. The Hanging Tree looks for himself and hums in delight when he finds the knitting needles tucked away in one drawer.

After they finish collecting what they desire, a thunderous boom sounds from outside. She yelps in surprise and instinctively reaches for one of the skeletons again, who holds her hands to calm her down. Rain begins to pour down from the sky. The two take one glance out of the door as the weather begins to pick up.

"Oh, no...I wanted to return to the Manor before it started raining...." She sighs.

"That's alright; we can stay here until it eases down."

Her breath starts to show in the air. "But it's getting so c-cold..."

The Hanging Tree says nothing as he glances at the unused fireplace in the back of the room. He walks over to it and notices the stacks of wood and twigs still placed inside, completely untouched. He goes through the trouble of finding some sort of igniter and lighting a small fire. As soon as the flames start and the wood catches, he motions for Sally to sit beside him.

She obeys and rests her basket by her side, watching the wood burn. She fidgets with her hands as they start to warm. They listen to the rain pour from outside. She finds some sort of calmness to it. It would be much better if she was at Jack's side right now, holding his hand as they rest by his hearth - in the safety and comfort of their own home, rather than an abandoned sewing shop...

"It isn't odd watching wood burn for you, is it...?" She asks.

"Not at all. I know not all trees are sentient like I am. Sometimes I burn my own sticks, and it doesn't hurt very much."

"Hm." She clutches her knees closer to her chest. "Hanging Tree, what do you know about this old seamstress..? I assume you've talked with her before, if you've been knitting for a long time."

"Back then, I talked to her whenever I came around to knit or use something of hers. She had quite the business going on back in the day - everyone loved her work! It was special enough to get our King's attention, and have her as his personal tailor. Even I liked what she made.

"Was she kind?"

"We all believed she was a nice lady who was incredibly talented in her field. But after learning what she did....I think that's when she showed who she actually was."

The Hanging Tree leans back and looks at the ceiling, seeming to recall something in bright detail.

"You see, she had a habit of disguising herself. The seamstress we knew was different from how she actually looked like. She was some sort of spider with button eyes...who usually had porcelain skin, but it cracked after awhile. She looked horrifying! We would have kept her around for the scares and chills had she not ....well...."

Sally glances at the torn pictures and frames on the wall. "-Do you think she did that?"

"Most certainly. She had fingers like needles - sharper than my own!" He laughs. "If you ask me, she reminded me a lot of Jack. He can do things very similar to what she did. She never participated in Halloween, but I imagine she would've had quite an impressive competition with him!"

"She sounds.....scary..."

"Yes, but she's been gone for a long time. I doubt she has any intentions on returning here. I'm sure Jack would be upset if she ever tried. We have nothing to worry about under his protection."

The fire pops and cracks loudly. They stare at it for awhile in silence, the rain still going in the background. She wonders how long this will go on. Talking about Jack only makes her long for him more. To be in his warm arms at this moment, far away from the place where this awful woman resided. She shivers a little and her friend observes her quietly.

"You know, Sally, I think you would do a great job as a seamstress yourself." He says. She blinks in surprise at the suggestion.

"Me....a seamstress?" He nods with a sharp smile. "What makes you say that?"

"I've seen what you made and how often you practice. You're very talented! Not to mention, we've been needing someone with your expertise for a long time. Everyone I know has either holes or tears in their clothes."

"Wouldn't that be a good thing, for Halloween?"

"Yes, but for every other day of the year, I imagine it's quite a hassle! All I'm saying is that...I think you would make a good one. You're more kind than she ever was, and I know for a fact that everyone here would support you."

"Where would I even start...?" She shakes her head. "I have nowhere to do such a thing, nor do I have the means to. All I have are-"

"-You have Jack."

She pauses. He continues:

"He can make things easy for you. You should bring it up to him sometime and ask if it's possible. I'm certain it is." He bows his body forward. "It will also give you something to do, and I think you deserve to be paid for your efforts. It'll bring in many opportunities for you."

She smiles and looks at the floor. The idea makes her excited...but she gets shy thinking of bringing it up to her beloved. Is she even in the position to ask for something so big? She doesn't deserve such a thing....but sewing is such a passion of hers. She can't help but imagine herself owning a shop of her own - providing her services to her friends and the rest of Halloween Town...

----

Jack Skellington taps the side of his skull as he searches through the drawers in the Town Hall.

He's been doing this awhile now, in search for something in particular. But what he is looking for is old, and was likely organized a long time ago. Something they haven't bothered to touch in years. He hums as he slams another drawer shut with no success. He then goes to another filing cabinet, skimming through the papers and folders quickly.

"Have you found it yet?" The Mayor asks from behind him, his worried eyes following the skeleton around the room. He pauses to address the question, closing this drawer shut as well.

"No. Which is a peculiar thing..."

"Maybe it got mixed up? Check the propositions."

He follows his colleague's advice and moves to another area entirely, desperately searching through the stacks of paperwork. The shorter man decides to help him and begins looking for himself, going at a much slower pace compared to the skeleton's quick movements. They keep this up for awhile until Jack suddenly stops in his tracks. He holds one singular paper up with a grin plastered on his skull.

"Found it!" He exclaims.

"Perfect!" The Mayor's face changes and comes to his side. "How old is it?"

"It was filed about 8 years ago. Was this really the last time we talked about the sewing shop?"

"I'm afraid so....it must have slipped our minds, with all the other things we've been doing..."

The skeleton clears off the desk in the room and places the paper on it. He leans over and quietly reads through what has been written down. The Mayor joins him and observes the page intently. There is a moment of silence as they absorb the information. The Mayor is the first to speak.

"Well? What should we do?"

He frowns. "If we want to do anything with it, it's going to need demolished and then a complete refurbishment. That wood can't be reliable - its structure is bound to come down anytime."

"Do we have enough funding for that? Last Halloween was a little costly..."

"Check our finances, would you?"

He nods before leaving into another room. Jack continues to look at the paper in his absence. He wants nothing more but to do something with this old building. He can't have it rotting in town while being completely unusable. He's relieved Sally brought this up in the first place...the last thing he wants is for it to come down and someone to get seriously hurt by the mess.

The Mayor returns in the room, holding a few papers in his hands. "We have just enough if we decide to cut down on the blood this year. We can't afford more canisters for the Vampire Brothers if we hope to get something done."

"Alright. That's a price I'm willing to pay." Jack briefly looks over what he brought. "What do you suggest?"

"Maybe a new restaurant?"

"I don't think it would do well. The one we have never gets crowded as it is." He taps his jaw in thought. "A blood bank, perhaps?"

"I think the vampires manage that kind of thing well on their own..."

"..."

His faces switch in despair. "I tell you, we can NEVER think of something good enough as a replacement! Something that won't lose money, and what we really need...."

"Maybe we don't need to change it into something different at all...Maybe, it can still be a sewing shop?"

"But with what tailor? Or seamstress?"

"Well, I've been thinking about it, and...Sally likes to sew. Why not have her run the place?"

"Jack, that's genius! Oh, what a horrible, awful idea!" He claps his hands in excitement. "You're telling me she agreed to it already?"

"Oh, no. I, well, haven't brought it up yet. It's just...something I thought about last night." He rubs the back of his skull in shame.

"Well, then, ask her as soon as possible so the ownership can go under her name! I've heard what she can do, and I have no doubts she'd do a fine job."

The Pumpkin King doesn't respond right away. He's still staring at the paper, holding his hand to his lips in thought. He does this for a long time as his colleague stands there waiting for his confirmation. After awhile, he slowly brings his gaze from the paper over to his friend. He looks to have a smile on his face.

"Actually, we can go ahead and put it under my name. We can start with construction right away...I'll make it a sort of surprise for her.

"Really? But you two haven't even talked about it - are you sure she wants to do this?"

"She's been making all sorts of dresses and clothes these past few weeks. I can tell she's going to run out of room soon. She needs a better outlet to express this in rather than a room."

He goes to pick up the paper again, thinking further on this. "-I won't make the decision for her, but I think this is something that she's always wanted....."

'She once told me she wanted my approval on what she made. What if she had the rest of the Town's, too? I'm certain it would make her happy.'

"Alright. Let's start putting your name on the project and planning this out. We'll hire the Behemoth...he provides labor without much pay, thank Halloween!"

Jack follows him and happens to glance outside of a nearby window. He notices the sky is now filled with dark clouds. He can hear the raindrops hitting the roof and smiles to himself. This type of weather always excites him. He can hear thunder brewing far away and notices a few cracks of lightning in the sky. Then he remembers that Sally is out right now, and momentarily stops in his tracks as he feels worry begin to consume his thoughts.

'She's still out there...Maybe she noticed the weather and headed home. I'm sure she's being careful.'

----

The Hanging Tree and Sally are having a lovely time talking to each other. They further discuss the idea of her being a seamstress, and eventually, she caves in. She confesses it was something she'd thought of before, and was even close to suggesting it to Jack the other night. She further talks about her insecurities that come with the idea - which her friend does a wonderful job with comforting her about.

It is in the middle of their conversation when they hear another boom come from outside. The wood begins to creak as the wind picks up. This is when they finally notice the storm coming, and quickly decide to take their leave now in an attempt to get home.

The air is chilly. Sally clutches onto her sides as she moves closer to the front door. It's a wise decision to leave now. The longer they stay in here, the building may not hold for very long. She doubts the wood is still sturdy after all this time. She can't ignore how anxious the wind outside makes her, with how violent it's becoming by the second....

"D-do you th-think we'll ma-make it?" She manages through chattering teeth.

Her friend seems hopeful. "As long as we hurry, I'm sure we'll beat the storm in time."

They listen to the loud creaking and groaning of the wood around them. It makes her more worried by the minute. She shivers and reaches for her friend as they approach the door. He holds her to try and keep her warm. The contact is assuring, but his bark feels like ice. He gets the message and smiles as an apology, then opens the door and allows them to leave.

His skeletons start to thrash when the wind hits them, swinging by the ropes on their neck. Sally feels sorry for them. Her hair starts to get carelessly tossed around. The tree shuts the door behind them and she uses the key to lock it. She's holding tightly onto her basket - not wanting her things to be taken by the wind.

"Here, I'll help you get home." He offers.

He quickly yet carefully guides Sally back to the Pumpkin King's Manor. Since she didn't wear anything over her dress that morning, the rain happens to soak her figure the longer they're out there. They get there as fast as they can, finding the gates to the mansion opening and closing with the wind. The Hanging Tree bids her goodbye with a last smile on his face. She understands the message behind it - remembering what she has to ask from her skeleton man, and that it should be done soon.

----

Sally returns home dripping wet from head-to-tie by the time she walks through the doors of the Skellington Manor. She feels cold as she shuts the door behind her and sets down her basket. She feels guilty for walking in while her entire figure is soaked in rainwater. She hopes Jack isn't home for a second, so he doesn't have to see her like this, getting his floors all wet-

"Sally? Are you home, my dear?"

She freezes in her spot as his voice comes from up the stairs. She finds him climbing down rather eagerly, but the moment he sees her, his expression instantly turns to worry. He practically runs over and looks at her drenched figure. His eye sockets widen in disbelief. She holds her head low, an unpleasant feeling now settling in her stomach.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"You're all wet..! Oh, if only I had given you something to cover yourself with - this simply can't do! I'm so sorry, Sally. Here, let's get you in front of the fire."

She's taken by surprise as he leads her into the den and towards the hearth. There is already a decently-sized fire inside, the flames dancing around as the logs have long caught. He carefully sits her down in front of it and joins her side right away. This one is much warmer compared to the last. The skeleton takes a rag and begins to dab at her face, getting the excess water that is dripping from her cheeks and hoping to dry whatever he can.

Zero barks in delight when he finds them down there, flying above their heads in excitement. But when he notices Sally is shivering and completely damp, he whines and floats down to her side. He receives a couple of pats to the head. She scoots closer to Jack, wishing to share whatever body heat he had at that moment. He allows her to rest at his side, ignoring this part of his undershirt moistening at the contact.

"I'm s-sorry I didn't come ba-ack sooner. We th-thought the rain wo-uuld pass...That's w-why we were wait-waiting." Her tone carries guilt through the chattering of her teeth. He has a sympathetic look on his face.

"How could you have known? Nothing is your fault at all. I simply need to help you get dry..."

He tries to hide how anxious his words are. He returned home right after he and the Mayor finished starting their new project. The first thing he did was kindle a fire to warm the cold mansion. He was surprised, however, to find the Skellington Manor completely empty, apart from his ghostly dog. He believed Sally would've been there waiting for him...only to realize that she wasn't.

He was so worried in that moment - that something had happened to her, or the storm must've caught her. He was just preparing to leave and search for her until she happened to come in right through his front doors. To find her standing there, shivering, covered entirely in water...it brought immense anxiety to his bones. He's never felt so concerned before.

He sets down the rag and goes through the trouble of wrapping his arms around her from behind. He rests his large hands in her lap. She lays her small ones over his shortly afterwards. They enjoy their contact and continue to sit there, enjoying the warmth from the fire. When he brings his hand over her arm, he finds that she's finally starting to dry.

"You had me so worried," He confesses. "I'm sure I overreacted this morning - but to find you here, cold to the touch and drenched, I-"

"We tried to get here as fast as we could....it was pouring outside, and-"

"It's my fault. I should have seen this coming. Ever since you brought this up to me last night, I...I've just been feeling peculiar..."

"Peculiar..?"

He massages her hands in thought. "I always get this feeling before a storm...it's this tingling sensation on my spine. I felt it again this morning, before you left. I thought I was just nervous. If only I had read my instincts better...I could've given you my jacket, or an umbrella, or-"

"Wait. You can tell when a storm is coming?"

"I think many of us can. It's common around here." He rests his skull atop her head. "We love this weather. But this is the first time I've ever felt an unpleasant prickling. I think it's because I knew you were out there, still."

She nestles in her lover's embrace. She gets butterflies in her stomach hearing him so worried.

"I'm alright; it's nothing to be worried about. I get this wet whenever I take a bath."

"Yes, but, still....I don't want you catching a cold." He isn't even sure if Sally can fall to any ailments, but he still feels worried. "And knowing I could've prevented this from the start-"

"Oh, Jack...I don't like it when you blame yourself like this. Really. I'm fine. I'm here now, aren't I?"

He sighs deeply. "That you are..."

His grip on her tightens. Hearing that last sentence fills him with relief. She is here now. Instead of being outside, where it is far too dangerous and cold...she's safely tucked in his arms at this second. He feels his bones stop swelling as he rests his skull on her hair. She is only a little damp at this point. He feels satisfied with this progress.

After a few minutes, he realizes he hasn't asked about her trip yet.

"Did you find anything, by the way?"

"We did. There were drawers filled with spare needles, thread, thimbles...everything I could've asked for."

He smiles. She sounds so excited. The trip must have been worth it to make. "-You didn't find anything out of the ordinary, did you?"

Her hands inch their way along his arm as she thinks of a response. Quietly, she tells him, "It was a little creepy. I didn't want to stay a minute longer."

"You shouldn't have to. You got what you wanted." He motions to her basket sitting by the front door. "I guess this means your sewing should get much better?"

"I'm excited. Really, I am." Her fingers dig into the fabric of his sleeve. "Thank you for letting me go."

"Of course, darling. I would do anything to make you happy."

He moves her yarn hair to kiss her forehead. She feels tingly as she sits there, grabbing at his him and smiling. She feels antsy all of a sudden....wanting to blurt out what's on her mind. Ask him for what she wants so dearly, right then and there...but then she gets that twinge of nervousness in her leaves that stops her. She rests in his lap instead and entwines her fingers with his, enjoying their now-dry embrace.

She doesn't notice how fidgety Jack is as well. He repeatedly runs his hand through her hair and twirls the ends of her strands in his fingers. He wants to break the news to her already - of what he plans to accomplish for her; to spoil the surprise early, just to see the bright smile on her face. But he has to ignore these impulses, figuring it will all come in due time.

They hold each other while resting by the fire for the rest of the night, both of them as restless as the other.

#the nightmare before christmas #jack skellington #jack and sally #nightmare before christmas #tim burton #our nightmare #fanfiction #jack x sally #tnbc #disney #the mayor of halloween town #long post #long

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mandoamor · 4 years ago

Text

Mando’s Guide through the Galaxy P2 - (The Mandalorian x Reader)

Word Count: 1,193

Warnings: None

Summary: A thrill-seeking reader begins the journey of a lifetime along side the notorious bounty hunter, Din Djarin, across the milky way. This chapter begins to tell the story on how the reader and The Mandalorian first meet.

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1.

__________________________________________________Many Years Prior...

“Any luck yet?”

The on and off switch? No. Thick cable? No. Power plug? Most definitely not. Maybe a little towards the left.. Bingo!

“How about now?”

“Nah, nothing yet! Keep tryin!”

Sweat beads began to collide with one another amidst your forehead. It has been almost 2 hours since you and your associate had begun attempting to fix the air conditioning. The bar was busier than ever, towns folk gather at the nearest watering hole whenever the annual drought arrives. You lived in a semi-advanced meta galaxy, yet the development of a general persons needs failed to currently reach your hometown. Water wells lose their reservoir. Wild animals endeavour to find any scrap of moisture. So, everyone made the most of what they could. And the sentients? They flock here.

These weeks pushed you to your limits. Staying well past usual closing hours to cater for the customers. The bar even made an exception to serve younglings to quench their thirst. Of course, nothing non-alcoholic. But to top it off, you had to use your brief experience with soldering wires to fix the current shamble of a cooler in the bar.

“Gotcha!”

At long last you caught sight of the mutilated wire. Gripping it, a drip of metal landed on the tip of the exposed wire, then securing it onto the other bare cable led to the most glorious sound imaginable in that for moment.

A muffled buzzing could be heard before the clients let out an uproar.

“Thata girl!”

Sean, a fellow bartender slash father-figure, was the one helping you solve the ventilation issue. The two of you connected on a more family like matter. He owned the bar for decades and asked if you wanted to have a permanent job here after how well you got along with the customers. You could remember each name and their usual after one glance. You were an asset, as well as great company for him. He was nearing his 70’s yet his charm was still as strong as ever. And never short of a quick comeback.

After your father passed, he made his best effort to teach you the ways of life, be it from how to ride your first Blurrg to a man’s weak spot during a lethal spar. This led to a strengthened connection throughout the years that you worked alongside him.

Climbing down from the counter, you grabbed a tea towel and tucked it lackadaisically into the rim of your jeans. Now it was time for you to get back to the main task at hand, bartending.

After about a half an hour, majority of the customers were now served and had dispersed. The corner of the bar had its routine orange hue blending into its mahogany body. It was almost sundown.

“Y/N! Can ya close up in a few? Make sure none of those lil sh*ts get back in. I don't want no more of ‘em stealin our stock.”

Releasing a hushed laugh, you hummed in agreement. It didn't take much to irritate the endearing old man, but one thing that got under his nails even just by mention was Jawas. Such small creatures, still they caused so much mischief.

“Oi Y/N, whaddya say we g-go out back and turn the heat b-back up, love?”

And then there was *these* creatures. As much as you loved bartending and hearing all of the enthralling fables, you had to deal with this side of the job. Horny, drunk assholes who never could shut their mouth no matter how long your patience could run. They were part of the reason why Sean taught you the basics of self-defence.

“Not tonight. Everyone’s gone home, you should too.”

Slipping the towel back out from your waist band, you tried to distract yourself by wiping down the worktop that separated you and the jackass.

“C’mon babe! I know ya want a piece of t-this... “

Yep, without fail. At least one of these types of customers forced you to endure through the harassment. Until they poke too far.

The vintage doors of the store eased open with a squeak; another weathering effect due to the grand age of the bar. You kept focus on a specific stain engraved into the wood. You knew it couldn't be removed through a damp cloth, but if it meant avoiding giving the jerk opposite you any reaction then it was about to be one of the most captivating spots of the night.

“We’re closed!”

You called out. It must have been a new visitor, not familiar with the time zones.

“Yer gonna ignore me now huh? What happened to that smile o’v yers! Isn't you Mando's supposed tah serve out for us? Hu-”

A slap vibrated from the countertop to the area of the idiot with the remarks. A reflective shape grasped the back of the man's neck, pinning him to the surface. You stumbled back at the sudden sound of skin on hardwood contact.

“Get the hell off of me!”

Resisting, he continued to squirm until the strangers' grip. Irritated grunts and slurs spilled from the man's lips. Finally, he was released and rose his head up only for it to get slammed back down on the counter, knocking him out cold.

“I could’ve handled him myself. He isn’t my first.”

You squint your eyes to get a better look at the figure beneath the dim light. It was difficult considering it must have now been 1 or 2 am. No natural light in sight with most of the inside light sources turned off due to closing time.

He threw one thigh over a stool adjacent to the unconscious customer and eased into the crater. A sight where one man looks so well built and brawny sitting upon a seat causing it to look so incredibly petite would have made you laugh if it wasn't for when you saw his armour.

A Mandalorian.

You never thought there would be another walking amongst this earth let alone sitting directly in front of you. His helmet gleamed under the red rays that exerted through the shutters. It was evident the amount of passion and craftsmanship went into the Mando’s armour. They were proud creatures, this was clear in how they sacrificed their identity for their creed and how serious they took the lifestyle, yet you couldn't help but swoon over something as simple as their gear. Every small, immaculate detail.

“On the house.”

A crystal whiskey glass was passed across the bar towards the Mandalorian, the blue froth from the mineral settling down the side of the rims. But the Mando just... stared. A glance towards the glass and then a glance towards you.

Nodding to yourself, you went back to clearing away the remaining glasses. He wasn’t much of a talker, nor drinker. But you couldn’t exactly throw out someone who has the courtesy to defend you, even if it was unnecessary. So, you let him relax, offered him some bar snacks to accompany his drink and went on with your work. After all, he was a Mandalorian too, and who wouldn’t want the company of one of those?

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #Pedro Pascal #star wars #mandalorian x reader #reader #javier peña #narcos #agent whiskey

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ren-c-leyn · 5 years ago

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Follower Celebration Story:

As promised, here is the follower celebration story! Thank you very, very much to everyone who sent in words for this. The only word I received a double of was safe, so it will be bolded twice in the story. If I use one of the other words more than once, it will only be bolded the first time. (For those wondering why the word chart is bolded, it was so I could keep track of what words I had and hand’t used while I was writing.)

The word chart:

Feckless, Umbrella, indifference, attentive, vaguely, archetype, diorama, vermilion, Lone, family, angelic, Sally, Safe x 2, Sound, Passion, Adore, Desire, sky, storm, bracelet, resilient, amber, peeling, fangs, fur, claws, abide, lessen, Dynasty, shots, bogwater, Window, Map, Tower, bruschetta, petrichor, disastrous, anachronistic, ethereal, fury, misty, charcoal, greenery, bleach, crown, stuff.

Keep an eye out for the bolded words as you go!

Warnings: This piece does include death, bones, a fight scene, a little bit of blood, but nothing in gory detail. I hope you all enjoy the piece, I had a great time writing this one and am proud of how it turned out =D

The air was thick with the scent of petrichor, and the sky laid heavy with storm clouds, preparing for their second bout of rain. I clutched at my umbrella as I watched the grays of the sky mix with the misty whites that clung to the forest greenery. A terrible day to be the lone traveler.

Gods know if it wasn’t so important I would have stayed home, safe and sound, by the warmth of my hearth. But no. I had to be out, running errands for the crown.

A sigh slipped from my lips. No point in complaining about it. I just had to rise to the occasion and sally forth, into the disgusting swampland and get this over with. The sooner I finished the mission, the sooner I could return to my family.

The trudge through the bogwater and vines would have destroyed a less resilient person. Every step felt like I was being swallowed by the mud. The mist dulled the senses and rendered my map useless. For a long while, I was not sure if I was walking in a straight line or a winding path. The only thing that helped guide me at all was the occasional trees I would stumble into, damp with moss and thin bark practically peeling off at the slightest touch.

That was the first sign to me that I was on the right path. Or rather, that this path led to something terribly wrong, just as I had been told. The confirmations came steadily after the trees started feeling sickly. The mist darkened first and then the water did. Both of them blackened until they matched the color of charcoal, all the while the water slowly thickened to a paste. All were tells of something disastrous, indeed.

Time seemed to lose it’s meaning in that place. There was nothing to indicate that it was moving at all, aside from the appalling squelching of my own boots and our seemingly endless battle with the mud. I think I would have gone mad without it, to be frank. Everything seemed to be attempting to rob me of my senses, drain me of my mind. Had I been out there much longer, it may have succeeded.

However, I found the edge of the black mist before it found the edge of my will. There are no words to describe how absolutely delighted I was to realize that it was thinning, waning. Every fragment of my being had the great desire to see anything besides the deep darkness that seemed to be devouring me.

I rushed forward with all my speed, sending the dark mud spraying with each heavy step. When I broke out of the mist, my feet hit solid ground and my eyes met with hints of color. The dark greens of moon-kissed grass, the dim twinkle of distant starts, pale stones scattered in the distance, and the grayed silhouette of a great tower.

A broad smile pulled onto my face as I laughed. The joy, however, was short lived as I stepped forward and onto something that cracked underfoot. My gaze traveled downward only to meet the empty eye socket of a bleached skull. Dread formed a pit in my stomach as I looked up from the bones I was standing on and took a closer look at the rest of the pale ‘stones’. None, in fact, were rocks, but rather... bones.

I tread lightly as I moved from skeleton to skeleton. Elves, dwarves, humans, male, female, it all varied greatly. The only thing that did not seem to was the terrible cracks and violent tears in the bones themselves. Something powerful did this. Something without mercy nor remorse.

I swallowed thickly, straightening my cloak before turning my gaze to the tower. My bet was, was the monster responsible for this lived in there, and likely was in possession of my true objective.

I forced myself to the side of indifference as I stepped past those unfortunate enough to have come before me and towards the tower itself. There was nothing I could do for them now, save perhaps vengeance. And I got the feeling that if I wanted to make it back home, safe and sound, then I would have no choice but to get these people their revenge.

The tower itself was not the largest I had ever seen, but it was certainly one of the more ornate. Statues depicting mighty beasts sat defiantly on either side of the iron wrought doors, both far from angelic in visage. I did not answer their challenge, at least, not immediately. Instead, I took my time to wander around the perimeter, attempting to get an idea of what I was to face.

The place was peculiar. Almost anachronistic, if I were to put a word to it. The stone work was of ancient designs, almost the very archetype of them. The craftsmanship was similar only to the oldest of the temples in the land, but seemed as fresh as if it were built yesterday. The wild rose vines growing around it, however, were the very embodiment of ancient ruin. Gnarled and unkempt. Some of them even went so far in their defiance of the tower’s perfection to dig into the stones where they were weakest.

A flash of movement in a window caught my attention, but was gone by the time my eyes had focused in one it. I cursed myself for not being more attentive. It could have been an enemy with a bow, and I would have been doomed. There would have been no dodging such shots unaware from this distance. Thankfully, it had not been, but I believed it was safe to say that I had lost any element of surprise I may have once had.

A deep sigh escaped me as I turned my gaze up to the ethereal glow of the moon. There was no time left, it seemed.

I returned to the stone beasts and walked past them to the entrance. Their silent snarls were lost to me as I pushed past the great doors and into the depths of the tower itself. I was greeted with what felt like yet another rift in time, as the interior of the tower was in great disrepair.

The vermilion carpet was torn and worn down, blood stains long turned brown and rotted in places. Paintings had fallen from the walls, their pictures long faded and frames cracked. There were great claw marks and gouges in the walls and scraps across the dulled flooring. Ruined furniture littered the rooms as I stalked through them, clutching tightly at my staff.

It was hard to discern exact shapes among the mounds of ruined stuff. I would freeze into place anytime I saw something even vaguely shaped like a beast or a person. By the third or forth room, I was contemplating casting a light spell, but the risk of drawing attention to myself was more than I could abide. Not when it seemed as though something within these walls had a passion for death and destruction.

After clearing the first floor, I slowly made my way up the old staircase. There were moments when I feared it would not hold my weight, but it thankfully held firm. I winced at every groan and creak of the decaying wood, however, and prepared myself for a battle.

But the battle did not come. I arrived safely at the landing of the second floor, and found nothing more than I did on the first floor. Then the third, and the forth, until I reached the fifth floor, where time and reality again seemed to be removed from the tower’s presence. And it was here that I sensed what I had come for as waves of magic energy ebbed down through the halls and to the stairs where I stood.

The carpet was a darker red, in one piece and untouched by time, only one of the tapestries were torn through with claws, paintings remained hanging, the furniture was whole, everything seemed as it should, except not at all.

Sparks of magic flitted through the air, casting ominous glows as I checked the floor, room by room. They were dark colors, and almost made crying noises as they phased in and out of existence. Many people mistook such things as spirits of some sort, but they were truly just extra magic that the fabric of reality could not absorb. Nothing to fear themselves, but usually they were the signs that something that should be feared was near.

In the last room, I found the most curious thing. There was a pedestal with a bracelet upon it, my goal, I assumed. It was a plain, silver one, no markings or jewels of any kind, but the magic energy I felt from it was dizzying. Lesser mages would have fallen to their knees long before they reached this room, but I was not the court mage for nothing.

After claiming my prize, and sealing it within an enchanted bag to contain it’s power, I spotted something even more odd. On an end table in the corner was what appeared to be a diorama of the tower itself. I admit that my curiosity got the better of me, beckoning me to have a look. It seemed to be a perfect scale model, everything laid out as I had found it so far, but it didn’t take me long to notice something truly unsettling.

A little figurine... shaped just like me was standing in the corner of the room, and moving, actually moving, was another figurine, shaped like a monster I had never heard of. Not only was it moving, it was moving down the hallway of the floor I was on, heading straight for this room.

Fear and adrenaline rushed through my veins as I desperately searched for an escape, or at least a hiding place, but neither were available in this room. I was at the very end of the hall, and I could hear the scraping of claws coming for me. With flight not longer open to me, I turned to face the door, raising my staff as I began to call upon the magic within me.

“Poor, little, feckless mage,” a deep, growling voice seemed to sing from within the darkness of the hall, “You adore a dying age. The queen’s dynasty shall end, and another will begin.”

I held the spell, waiting for it to come into view. The little motes of magic flashed in the hall from time to time, illuminating shadows and small flashes, but nothing solid enough for me to know my strike would land true. Then, I saw them, the terrible amber eyes.

I flung the bolt of ice at it’s head, but it leaped over it and into the room. It was a massive creature, with fangs and claws to match. Pale fur bristled as it laughed, laughed at me.

“My turn,” it purred, sung, whatever one would call that horrifying voice.

Then, it came at me with fury enough to give dragons pause. It took every, single bit of my training and experience with battle to so much as lessen the deep wounds it tore into me. I kept the jaws at bay with my staff, or what little of it remained after it took the full force of the first bite. The claws cut through my robes like they were nothing, and aided it in pinning me to the floor. But not even it’s massive bulk could save it at this distance.

I put my hand to it’s exposed belly and drew on not only my own magics, but those that were floating aimlessly around the both of us. And I set fire to the wretched creature. It shrieked with pain and wrath as it thrashed and rolled. I followed up with lightening and ice and then more fire. It came charging at me, fangs and fury and bloodlust, but I conjured a wall of magic between the two of us that it slammed into.

“I am the court mage of these lands!” I shouted as the monster wailed in rage. “And you shall pay dearly for the blood you have spilled and the wicked deeds you have committed here.”

And then, the room went white with the explosion of magic that rattled the tower to it’s core. There was the scream of the monster and then the howl of shattering, collapsing stonework.

The walk back was far more pleasant than the walk to the tower, even if I was sorer for it. Between the deep tears the creature left in me, and the bruises and cracked rib I got from the collapse of the tower itself, I felt lousy and just wanted a hot plate of bruschetta, a warm bath, a healer, and some sleep. Frankly, I was beyond caring about which order those came in. But, first thing was first, I had to get back to the castle to have the ruinous bracelet destroyed before it caused the world anymore troubles....

Submitter taglist: @1-2-butter-my-shoe, @the960writers, @ducky-writez, @candy687, @silver-wields-a-pen, @whiteomorox, @hyba, @ratherinterestingmilkshake, @bookenders, @leave-her-a-tome, @likelyfantasywriterspsychic, @kaatiba, @aziz-writes, @somethingreallydeepandprofound, @montevena, And, last but certainly not least, @innocentreticent.

Thank you all again! This was quite the challenge and I had a blast working my way through it ^-^ This story wouldn’t have been possible without your combined and creative word choices.

Short story taglist, because this still counts for that: (You may ask to be added to/ removed from my taglists at any time. Just let me know )

@wemitodd, @greenwood-writes, @elkatheinkstained, @n1ghtcrwler, @writingiswilde, @say-no-to-negativity, @dawnscribbles, @silvertalonwriteblr, @inspiring-prompts, @dawnoftheagez, @likelyfantasywriterspsychic, @orphicodysseywrites, @mischiefiswritten, @nemowritesstuff

#short story #original story #fantasy #angst #fiction #dark fantasy #high fantasy #My writing #follower celebration #a story by Ren #writeblr #this was a fun one #I'm glad I did this #tw death #tw blood

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menswearmusings · 5 years ago

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Do Yourself a Favor and Get a Decent Tie Rack From Dapper Woodworks—A Free Product Review

I don’t wear a tie everyday, and I don’t have a ton of ties, but the storage solution I had for the roughly 20 ties I do have was annoying and lame. Buying a better tie rack just wasn’t a high priority for me, and thus, my ties hung on a roughly $12 hanging contraption from T.J. Maxx. It made me very, very sad.

My sad T.J.Maxx tie rack.

Enter Dapper Woodworks. The man behind the company, Justin Trewitt, has been at this for two years as a side job to help create some supplemental income for his family while simultaneously engaging his interests in woodworking and menswear. As with many business ideas, his started when he wanted a way to store his pocket squares, so he just made his own. He realized perhaps other men facing the same situation would be interested in such a product, and soon he was selling on Etsy. His product selections now include shoe horns, coat hooks, collar stay organizers, the aforementioned pocket square organizers and of course, tie racks.

Justin asked me whether I would like to have one of his custom-made tie racks in order to give my impressions and give an honest review of it (note my free product policy here. TL;DR I keep my opinions honest and don’t accept free stuff in exchange for positive coverage). I measured my closet, and since he does custom-sized racks in addition to the standard stock sizes, asked for a 20-inch rack, which he told me stores 37 ties—way more than I currently have, so I’ve got room to grow. Since it was a custom size, I got to choose the wood, peg metal and whether it had the optional top shelf. Ultimately, I picked walnut with brass pegs, with the top shelf included, which I figured might help a little bit with dust, but also provide a nice spot to store a couple belts, silk knots, collar stays and whatever else.

He set to work immediately, posting progress images on his Instagram. Within about a week, he’d finished it and was ready to s—oh no! He messaged me to say he’d accidentally made it 18 inches long, not 20. Being super apologetic, he remade the 20 inch one within a few days, and it was on its way to me.

For this type of product, it’s very simple to determine whether it’s great: Is it real hard wood, not composite? Yes. Is it sturdily constructed? Yes. Are the cuts on the wood smooth, without jagged edges? Yes. The joints are fitly joined together, the stain is even, the pegs are secure and perfectly spaced. And he’s also put the next level of fit and finish into the installation aspect. On the back are keyhole slots, just as you’d find on any professionally made wooden shelf. Included in the box is a mounting guide, but instead of a flimsy piece of paper, it’s a full-length piece of wood with holes drilled in it at the exact spacing of the keyholes. Leveling it is a breeze, the three-dimensional wood taking the uncertainty out of whether or not a piece of paper was perfectly flat against the wall.

You could probably find all of those aspects in a mass produced, ugly tie rack from Container Store for less money, just as you can also get a mass produced, cheap tie from The Tie Bar for less money than a Drake’s tie, and it’ll accomplish the utilitarian aspect of the product. But what DW is doing is vastly superior in almost every aspect: it’s much more aesthetically pleasing; you can choose from half a dozen beautiful wood grains and multiple peg styles; you know who is making it and that you’re supporting him provide for his family; and now, even better, he has begun donating a portion of every month’s sales to a nonprofit that provides education, food and medical care for children in need.

In all, it’s an excellent product befitting a fine tie collection, the pedigree of which is sterling.

That said, the price seemed really high to me, especially at first. The standard 18-inch wide tie rack starts at $140 without the shelf, and $190 with.

But, like, a single Drake’s tie is $150. On sale, you can maybe score it for $75.

This $200 tie rack holds 37 ties.

Given how sad and lame most tie storage solutions are, it’s an absolute no-brainer for someone who has a collection of beautiful ties, and who also would like to store their clothing in a way that isn’t sad. That is, if you’re trying to use wide-shouldered hangers, decent garment bags, and shoe trees in your shoes, a tie rack makes perfect sense.

My recommendation

Measure your own space and get a rack that makes sense. The 18-inch will likely fit most spaces and holds enough ties for most guys, I’d guess. I 100% recommend the top shelf. It keeps dust off the ties and is a useful spot to put things like his lapel pins or belts or artwork. I love the walnut finish, and the brass pegs make it feel masculine. Use code MM10 for 10% off.

So there’s my review: the solid hardwood Dapper Woodworks tie rack is an excellent product that gives me immense pleasure, and which exceeded my expectations in how easily Justin makes the mounting aspect. The quality is very high, being profesionally built and using materials I am confident putting my finely made ties on.

I temporarily installed the rack for the photoshoot below, because getting this rack actually inspired me to do a DIY renovation on my real closet, but I didn’t have time to get that finished before the deadline to publish this review.

I asked Justin a few questions about his background, the origin of Dapper Woodworks and what he plans next. You can check it out in full below.

GET 10% OFF YOUR DAPPER WOODWORKS ORDER USING CODE MM10!

(Help support this site! If you buy stuff through my links, your clicks and purchases earn me a commission from many of the retailers I feature, and it helps me sustain this site—as well as my menswear habit ;-) Thanks!)

Menswear Musings: What do you do for your day job?

Justin Trewitt: I’ve been working for my family’s company for the past 5 1/2 years in Plano, Tx. We do financial planning for individuals and we also just started doing business brokerage so helping people buy and sell businesses. I started in customer service, but now I do a lot of behind the scenes preparation for client meetings. Basically lots of staring at a computer screen and Excel spreadsheets.

MM: How long have you been doing DW?

JW: I started Dapper Woodworks in November of 2017 so just over 2 years now. We had just decided for my wife to quit teaching to be a stay at home mom with our first son so I wanted to find a way to create a little extra income for our family.

MM: What got you started making these tie racks?

JW: Well I got into woodworking when my wife and I bought our house a few years ago. We didn’t have a lot of furniture so I just learned how to make some! I have also been into menswear after learning to dress better in college. When I began thinking of side hustles I decided that I wanted to combine my woodworking hobby with my passion for menswear, and that’s how Dapper Woodworks began. My first product was a pocket square rack that I made for myself out of cheap wood because I couldn’t find a good way to store my collection. I figured surely I wasn’t the only one with this problem so I made an Etsy store and put it up for sale. I knew I needed more products so I made a few tie racks out of some scrap wood and hardware. It took over a month before the first order, and then people began requesting custom sizes and woods and it’s just taken off from there!

MM: Have you had a big response?

JW: The response has been way bigger than I could have ever imagined! When I began I was going to be happy with a sale or two every month. We are 2 years in now, and I just counted that we’ve sent over 400 items all over the world which is just crazy to me! I think people really enjoy them because there aren’t any good options to display your ties or accessories in a beautiful way. When you invest a lot of money into your tie or pocket square collection you might as well display it on a rack that has the same level of craftsmanship. I believe people really enjoy the custom aspect because each product is unique and is made their specifications

MM: How big is your personal tie collection and what’re you favorite ties and why?

JW: I’m in the process of redoing my collection, and filling it with higher quality ties that reflect the quality of my products. I had a bunch of cheaper ties for my previous job that I got rid of so I still trying to fill my smallest rack that holds 21 ties. My first nice tie was my Kent Wang grenadine which I absolutely recommend to anyone starting a collection. The cool part about being in the menswear space is meeting other brands, and several tie makers that are running a side business like me. I’ve got a couple of really great grenadine and shantung ties from H.N. White in England. A beautiful brown cashmere tie from Oxford Rowe. Also this incredible 7 fold tie from Shawn Christopher who is the only brand I know that makes his own ties instead of having them manufactured.

MM: What’s the most gratifying thing about this business for you?

JW: Beside being able to provide for my family this business has helped pay for my wife and I to go on 2 mission trips to plant churches in Tanzania. We needed to raise all of our own funds, and had lots of other expenses such as doctors visits, vaccines, and passports and this business helped cover all extra expenses. Also we have just partnered with our friend’s ministry Twelve21, and a portion of each month’s sales will be going toward sponsoring a child that will provide an education, food, and medical care. It’s just been really neat to trust God through this whole process, and see where he has taken us!

MM: Any new products you’re working on that you

JW: Besides the tie racks and pocket square racks, our shoe horns have been very popular this year. I’ve also introduced a few smaller items like our collar stay organizers and cedar blocks. But going into 2020 I’m hoping to add some new tools to the shop and start making some valet trays, and maybe some shoe racks. I’m always trying to think of new items that are menswear and woodworking related, and if you ever have any suggestions just let me know.

Read more at Menswear Musings

#dapper woodworks #Menswear Musings Recommends #product review #tie rack

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lukerhill · 3 years ago

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My top 10 DIY hacks that make projects much easier

These ten DIY hacks will make your next painting or wood build project easier!

I've gathered my favorite little hacks and tips for home DIY projects to share with you! They are tricks that save money and make projects go much smoother.

I use ALL of them consistently and they help a ton, whether you're staining, painting or building.

My summer of slothdom is about to end my friends! If you've been reading for awhile you know how I do. Heat makes me...tired. And grumpy. But mostly really lazy tired.

I'm already dreaming up a bunch of DIY projects I want to tackle now that a normal schedule will be upon us again soon.

That had me thinking about these DIY tricks. Some of them are pretty basic, but I wish I would have known about them in my early do-it-myself days.

Never forget a paint color

We've all been there -- you need to touch up a spot, or you love a color so much you want to use it again. But did you use eggshell or satin? Was the color Storm Cloud or Stormy Clouds?

I started using this easy way to keep track of our paint colors at the old house.

Use a sharpie and label the back of your switch cover with the name, sheen and brand of your paint:

This post may contain affiliate links for your convenience.

See my policies and disclosure page for more information.

This is super helpful, especially if you're used similar colors throughout your house, or even a different sheen.

If you need more for touch ups, knowing what type of paint you used will be especially helpful. Different formulas may look noticeably different even though they're the same paint color and sheen.

Insulation tubing to fill holes

This skinny insulation tubing can be used for way more than just filling gaps in doors and windows:

It's the perfect way to fill large gaps in trim or along the floor.

Since it's so easy to manipulate, you can cut it to the size you need and squish it into the smallest spots:

It's especially helpful when you have a big gap you want to caulk over -- you'd have to use a TON of caulk. With caulk you have to fill, then and wait over and over again as it dries, fill more, let it dry, etc.

With this it fills that in, you'll save all that caulk and you can fill in with a bead of caulk right over it.

This would also be another great way to fill large holes in the wall! I have a method I've used for years, but a tiny cut of this may work even better.

Paper bag instead of sandpaper

I LOVE this little hack and use it often. Tear off a piece of paper bag to do your final sanding on wood staining and polyurethane projects:

I really love this for after the final coat of polyurethane or protective finish on wood -- when you don't want to ruin the finish by sanding (even with a fine grit), but you do want to knock down the little bits that keep your finished product from being completely smooth.

Just "sand" all over the surface with the paper bag and it will knock all of that down and leave you with a perfectly smooth surface and no marks.

You can use this paper bag trick over a DRY painted surface as well!

Make cheap wood look much better

I use expensive pine for almost all of my DIY builds. I used it on my office built in bookcases and my giant entertainment center wall in the basement.

You can use "common" pine or select pine -- I use select pine for the areas you'll really see...like the trim on the front of bookcases.

Common pine is the most inexpensive and will have more knots and imperfections:

A lot of the time I will just roll on my paint heavily in those areas and let it go at that. You can see here that the paint didn't fill in that rough spot enough.

If that doesn't cover it well enough or I want a really professional look and feel (aka I'm trying to be patient), I use a putty knife and wood filler to fill in those spots:

I use spackle that I use when I fill holes these holes and it holds up just as well.

Use the putty knife to push the filler in and then lightly sand before painting again. You won't even notice the imperfection when you're done!

Shims are your friend

Wood shims are small strips of wood that are thicker on one end and really thin on the other.

I shared how I use shims to install cabinets -- they are a must to help get the cabinets level and even as you install:

You can use them underneath, behind and in between to get everything perfectly flush.

But they're also super helpful for built in projects and getting the front trim looking super professional:

See how seamless those front frames are on the bookcases? That front trim is the most important part in my opinion -- it's what you see more than anything else!

If your trim doesn't match up perfectly, you can use shims to bring the trim forward and flush with the rest.

I didn't take the time to do this on my office built ins. To fix it and bring the front of the shelves forward just a bit, you'll want to tap the thin end of the shims behind that trim until it brings it forward enough:

By the way, it's not the end of the world...most of the time only you will notice these small imperfections. (And anyone else who does gets a cookie...)

You may have to do it from both the top and the bottom, but it will work! When you have the shim where you want it, score it with a razor and snap off the end with the thin part still behind the trim.

Use caulk to fill in any gaps the shims created on the top of the shelf. (On bookcases most will be above your head anyway.)

Picking the perfect piece of wood

The more you spend on wood, the less you'll have to watch for imperfections. It's worth it to me to spend (a lot) less on pine and spend a little more time digging to find "cleaner" boards.

Watch for large knots (they may pop up or out of the wood over time), sticky sap (that is impossible to get off) and missing chunks of wood.

If you find a board that checks all of those off the list, you'll also want to check the wood for bowing. A piece will look great on the shelf, and then you'll get it home and realize it's so horribly uneven you can't get it to lay flat.

You can avoid this by holding the board in front of you on the floor and eyeing it right down the middle:

You'll immediately be able to tell if it's straight and flat.

If you look closely, you'll see that my board is slightly bowing at the end -- just a bit of a bow that goes to the right. This doesn't bother me at all if I'm using the wood for front trim, as I know I'll be able to secure it well enough.

I always check my skinnier molding pieces for bowing as well. If it's thin enough you'll be able to straighten it out during install, but some pieces should be avoided all together.

Check wood boards from all sides, as the wood can bow all kinds of ways.

Get uniform spacing

If you're adding a vertical or horizontal shiplap wall, you really want to make sure your spacing between each board is exactly the same throughout the project.

If the spacing isn't consistent you will notice that small imperfection more than you think.

I have found a coin is an easy way to get that perfectly thin, consistent gap between each shiplap:

You'll want to move it down the plank as you nail it in. Sometimes I use a penny for a smaller break, sometimes a nickel.

Scrap wood cut to the length you need is also GREAT way to easily keep measurements consistent when you're installing a trim project:

I find it especially helpful when installing wainscoting. I keep my "jigs" nearby and hold them up on the wall as I nail in the trim.

They make it MUCH easier to keep continuous distances throughout your project:

Cutting a hole in the middle of wood

Sometimes you'll need to cut a hole for an outlet, switch plate or vent on the wall. A jigsaw is the best way to cut those smaller, detailed spots:

It's easy to do when your cuts are on the side of the board -- just start cutting with your jigsaw from the side.

But if you need to cut a hole in the middle of the board, this trick is helpful. Do NOT try to start a cut with a jigsaw directly on the wood. It will rattle all over and potentially snap the blade.

Instead, use a drill and drill bit to drill holes into your wood as a "starter" for the jigsaw:

That way you can slip your jigsaw blade into the hole and start a straight cut. I like to use four holes so I don't have to do any curved cuts.

Use scrap to protect your projects

I tend to keep way too much scrap wood...I've learned to let go over the years but it hurts my soul a little bit every time.

I do keep some scrap because I've learned it's hard to finish a lot of DIY projects without it!

When you have a board that is going to fit just a tad too tight into a spot (and you really don't want to go cut millimeters off of it for the THIRD TIME), use scrap pieces to pound your trim into place:

Here I'm holding the scrap underneath the trim and hammering it into place till it is level. If you tried to do this directly to the nice trim part, you'd dent the sides or front with your hammer or mallet.

You don't ever want to force your wood where it won't fit, so if it's way too long cut it down.

A piece that is thisclose to fitting, you can easily maneuver it into place by pounding it with your scrap wood. And your good wood will still look great!

If you look closely, you'll see that I also use scrap to write down my measurements. Especially helpful if you're going up or down steps to cut your wood and you tend to forget the exact measurement by the time you get to the saw. :)

I also use scrap wood pieces to remove trim -- if you put too much pressure on a crowbar it will dent or break the drywall:

If there's much resistance as you push the crowbar back to pull the base away, it will dent your walls. Place a thin piece of scrap wood behind the crowbar and the wood will disperse the pressure.

You can see how to remove baseboards without damage here.

Easily clean paint brushes

And finally, the little paint brush cleaning tool I couldn't live without! (Now they are made to clean rollers as well!)

I use this brush cleaning comb every time I clean my paint brushes:

You use it to comb the paint and dried up bits out of your paint brush. I use it when I wash the brushes, and then sometimes later after they dry to get any little additional bits out of there before painting again.

If you use it consistently, your brushes will last a very long time. It has saved me hundreds of dollars over the years!

I share a bunch more painting tips and hacks in this post.

Do you use any of these simple DIY hacks? I use them on ALL of my projects, big to small. I'm sure I've forgotten a few, but these are my favorites.

Any others you use consistently? Feel free to share in the comments. :)

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dreamtimeagain · 4 years ago

Text

I had only come into the office as a favor. My old boss needed some files and I was the only one who could find them. The desk was broad and silvery grey and propped in the corner of a room with deep blue painted walls. His desk was next to mine and he typed frantically on his silver keyboard as I searched. Click. Click. Click.

The phone rang over and over as we worked, each time he would stop what he was working on and, with a sigh of frustration, answer. The events people kept him busy. Too busy for his advanced years, but that wasn't my business anymore. And that's what I told everyone who stopped by to see me as they handed me their welcome back gifts, small lego kits in crinkled baggies.

The sales reps had noticed when I hadn't come back to work, and even some of the other office drones were happy to see me again. Their smiling faces, lego gifts, and half-assed attempts at small talk before jumping into asking me for favors, was kind of comforting. A return to normal.

But I wasn't employed here anymore I explained again and again. Boss was overworked and underappreciated and I was only in for the day to help because he asked. He was good to me when I worked here, it was the least I could do, and could you please leave so I can finish and go home? Thanks. Yes, it was good to see you again, thanks!

The files were finished and he was again stuck on another phone call, so I swept up all of the tiny lego pieces on the desk. Why did everyone insist on handing me kits with tiny pieces? Such a pain to clean up. As my hand brushed across the smooth silvered desk, the legos got mixed with other debris. Mostly little grey bits of plastic and dust. I tried to pick the legos out of the piles as someone from sales walked up to let me know it was their turn to use the computer.

I tried to speed up the process, picking legos out of the pile and sweeping up the grey dust and debris, but the mess kept getting bigger and bigger. Finally I realized that this was pointless as the legos and dust could be sorted later, so I just shoved it all into a bag and stood up to leave.

At that moment, my old boss got off his last phone call and turned to look at me, his short grey hair and pale face glowed in the light from his screen. He smiled with a smile that screamed for a vacation somewhere tropical and asked if I would join him at the evening's event, some kind of fancy party for all the bigwigs to rub elbows and pat themselves on the back.

I never got to go to any of the events before, at least not the ones that mattered, so I agreed. As we left the dark room behind, we were immediately in the foyer of a mansion, burnt umber wood paneling waxed to a high shine lined every wall and floor, and party voices echoed from outside.

He walked with a quick and steady pace, his long straight legs always made me struggle to keep up, but today I didn't care. I strolled to the back garden at my own pace as my old boss disappeared into the crowd, intent on making his presence known to those who cared so he could go home without consequence.

I walked along, my boots sinking into the deeply plush grass, the whole place filled with people in cocktail attire and floating lights and lanterns. Everyone here was so full of their own self importance, caring only about making sure the others around them knew the right names when the money started moving later.

I watched, disconnected from the throng of self-importance and enjoyed the crisp night air, and the dewy gras beneath my heels, letting the tinny music fill my ears. Somehow I found a champagne glass in my hand and took a sip. Always too bitter, but you drank it anyway. Had to make sure everyone thought you were just like them after all.

Then the boss was back, looking much happier than before. He asked if I would like that ride home, and if I had enjoyed myself. I didn't have to pretend to care about their sales pitches, so I actually enjoyed myself for once, and told him so. He smiled warmly and we left the crowds behind.

As we walked to his SUV, he asked if I wouldn't mind stopping by his house on the way home, as he needed to pick up something for his daughter. I had nothing better to do, so why not? And we walked up to his door, just like that, the rich brick facade shone in the daylight.

He opened the door and beckoned me in to his crowded little living room. With a distracted wave he introduced me to his youngest daughter, a quiet woman with mousey brown hair and a sweet smile. She nodded at me amicably and returned to her book.

His living room had large reddish brown overstuffed chairs and a fireplace that looked like it had never been cleaned since it was built. But what was most striking about the room was that every surface and wall was covered in glass. Not panes or shards, but art and sculptures. There were small figurines and large twisted blobs hanging from the celling, stained glass paintings and colored bottles. Every corner stuffed with glistening knickknacks and stunning artworks.

The glass collection had alot of reds and gold and oranges. Some had a pearlescent sheen and others opaque or patterned, but mostly warm colors. The light from the windows shone and sparkled from every corner. Then I noticed that the room was bigger than I thought, stretching off into the distance, 100 feet or more. His house was way bigger than I expected.

But then again, he had been working his whole life for everything he had. I couldn't expect him to understand how much harder it was these days. His living room alone was so much bigger than where I lived. And suddenly I felt sad, small, left behind and unwanted. I let him know that I was going home, and walked out.

Home was a double wide trailer. Decrepit and falling apart. The carpet was thin and torn while the wallpaper peeled away to show the cheap plastic siding underneath. I hated this place, but it was 'home'. Wasn't it? There was no furniture, or really anything at all. Just a empty dusty room. I didn't want to be there, but I had to go to the restroom.

Even the bathroom was pathetic. The room was small, with no door, and the walls were rusted and flecked with scraps of old paint. With dismay I noticed that the toilet was gone, stolen again I'm sure, and all that was left was a small rusty pipe sticking out of the floor.

Well I'd peed in worse places, so I was going to do my business and leave, but suddenly a pipe in the wall burst, streams of water tearing through and soaking me to the skin. It was shockingly cold and I shivered as I tried to step around the quickly forming puddle and leave.

At the doorway stood a woman, heavyset and in her 50's. Her dark hair framed face twisted into a scowl as she put her hands on her hips. She looked so disapprovingly at me, and I could see the bags under her cold stare. I felt like I had messed up again somehow, which she confirmed when she spoke to me.

Are you finished yet? We don't have time to sit here and watch you fail!

...then I woke up.

#dream #lucid dreaming

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emilymosby · 4 years ago

Text

An Unwinding

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I feel empty, but I know I am not. I need to be, though. I need to carve everything out, begin again with nothing. I did it all wrong the first time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I built my house upon a foundation of shame. The last time I remember being purely happy, with my soul untarnished by the stain of others crimes against me, was when I was a small child. I have this time map in my head, and like a tree, the roots begin at my birth. The first tender green shoots poking through the dark, rich soil, growing and laughing, creating tiny blossoms from time to time. There was laughter, and even in the rain there was trust, trust that everything would always be okay. I was protected me, there was humor and laughter, my world sparked wonder for me. The darkness and the rain, the wind that bent the trees all around our home on those stormy nights, they didn’t scare me.It electrified me. I felt that spark deep inside me that this world could be raw and beautiful and terrifying all at the same time. But this wonder was from my six year old self, I’d never experienced more pain than a scraped knee or a smashed hand in the car door.

This was my home. A very good start. The foundation seemed solid, but the cement was still drying. As any young lady should be taught, there are always wolves sniffing at the door.

These wolves, they disguise themselves in familiar forms, costumes made from familiarity, from gleeful games, seeming so innocent. Their fabric is deceiving, it shows a patchwork of regret, need for forgiveness, a need to seem true. There’s a soft patch of wishes sewn in, a patch of fury. A patch of revenge and rage. And that revenge will be used as a knife anything they want to tear apart. And me? I was their weapon. The tool that the wolf will use to tear apart my humble beginnings. To bestow cracks in my foundation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is where my story grows a new line of branches. These branches were stunted, black and smelly things. They still grew, but they grew other unnatural things, perversions of what could have been pure. It was my tree, though, and so I learned to love the rot, needed to surround myself with the putrid smell of decomposing love and attention. To be seen was to be seen by the monsters. I let myself be caught. It was my fault. I should have known better. I made him do it. I was dirty, and I was ruined. So I hid, in the darkness that hid the shame from the light, darkness that protected me from those who meant me harm more harm.

Once you become a victim, it is so easy to stay there in that closet. I loved that closet, sitting on the floor, imagining that the darkness was made of warm, soft, silk. It held me, and I let it. But damned if someone turns a light on and wants to know why their little girl is sitting on the floor of the closet, in a pitch black room, with the doors slid shut. This was a reason them to worry, to wonder, to be found out. I wouldn’t talk. I would keep the dirty secrets inside, I would not hurt them. I would hold that pain, knowing that if they knew that parts of their souls would be forever darkened.

Time moved on, slowly. My hiding continued. I isolated myself at every turn, usually playing in my room, creating insane lists, alphabetizing them. Assigning numbers to letters, adding them up into codes, trying to find meaning in the math. If I didn’t follow the formula perfectly, the formula that I had created in order to have some sense of control over... anything, then I would have to scrap everything that I’d done and start all over again. Brow furrowed, cross legged on the floor, pencil in hand, fingers sore from gripping it too tightly, I would begin again. And again. And again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I grew. The perversions of my tree helped sustain my need for badness throughout adolescence. Every awful experience adding cracked tiles to the home I’d built in my head. The roof was leaky, and nails that were meant to strengthen only poked up through the floor, crudely. Walking around in my house was a practice in paying attention. One wrong step, one wrong sound, one wrong move. Game over.

I gave myself over to a relationship that was safe. I made vows, with the intention of growing in to them. Like a lie you tell yourself often enough that you start to believe it. We made babies, making new life would heal me. If I had babies to look after, I would have to make me safe for them. And whole.

I hammered away at my rotting house, bending nails, knocking holes into walls, letting the insects huddle and spread. Denying my dark proclivities instead of exposing them to the light, pretending I was fine. My branches were growing longer, the degradation of the wood becoming ever more perverse.

And then...

I woke up. Half of my life is over and I’m still living as if I’m that little child that just needed to hide. Something clicked. I could no longer lie to myself, or let alone another person. I chose to ask for what I needed, then realized I don’t need to ask. I need to take it. No longer could I continue to patch my foundation with chewed gum and duct tape. The rot had taken everything over. I couldn’t move anymore. I was doing everything I could to numb the pain and still stand up and look like a normal human. All of a sudden I was just angry, all of the time. About everything. No more lies. I’m not running. I’m choosing life.

I’m pruning the ugly branches, cutting, sawing, burning them. I have good branches in here somewhere. Branches that want to bear fruit and give nourishment to the world. They were waiting for me to remember that I had the power to, I always did. My tree is very lop sided looking now, but so much brighter.

I’m clearing the chess board, knocking down the house built wrong. Destroying the foundation that was faulty from the beginning. I am my own craftsman, now with wisdom, building anew. Creating a foundation built in sturdy soil, away from the corruption of lies. An empty, strong foundation. One that’s finally deserving of a home above it. I’m ready to move into that house.

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myvoicenottheoneyougiveme · 4 years ago

Text

1 of 3 Sept 4

[not talking about the person I work with and see every day, just FYI, though this last round of rage is certainly disconcerting... no it’s the pull me aside and tell me everything you believe I want to hear on top of some things yesterday that have been lobbed my way which I didn’t put much thought to at the time. And in that tell me what I might want to hear, true or not, it was the added bit to the overall theme since the other day, putting a gun to someone’s head. An “or else”. It was out of character, and even if I don’t like the guy (and he’s given me plenty of reason) who would be displaced, going that extra distance for effect as a play like the timing of some of these "encouragements”, it’s like what are you trying to say right now? On the whole over a long period of time a pattern seems to have emerged, and this breach has tipped me to wonder about a lot else. This was all set against the backdrop of my sentiment concerning what’s happening to me. Here, let’s be super encouraging and simultaneously “incept” a reason for you to not set your sights on wanting to sign on here in this line of work. Whatever the case, cause there’s always some angle, always some game being played (just a few other dots since them came in to actually reframe that exchange) the following stream of consciousness has got nothing to do with choice of job or career or what might be miserable or not about this or that. The problem I have, has got nothing to do with any of it or with anyone in particular but rather the person creating “this” “storm” in the first place in the blank spaces between people directly out of sight. It’s the “game” I have a problem with. It’s how not what. It’s the antithesis of communication. I’d refer back to that video about toxic relationships where coercive/manipulative ways of interacting create confusion. Actually post 3 of 3 incoming.]

From the edge of consciousness something has clicked and I am now awake 2-3 hours earlier than normal without actual incident or old attempt to simply deprive of sleep for god knows why...

And where I was at a moment “encouraged”, I now read the situation decidedly differently.

It’s low. It’s all of it so very very low. But still I know better than to blame any one person. ...You scream “to arms” or “crisis” or simply allow a thing to run its own course and maintain that you’re only here to “help things go right” while pretending to be very hands off.

Where do the lies end and the truth begins? And even with any actual standing with any one person or group of persons being in such a state of decay, it’s still far better than every new stranger you read into “this”. You still pretended to give a damn about the truth or finding the truth when I first came to this state. Every new person or group of persons or... you know it wasn’t the absolute destruction to isolate and control or to have me for yourself or whatever the hell you want to call “this”.

I’m getting closer to the point here and how you’ve adeptly completely sidestepped the issue to make it about something else and get the whole world to follow suit to further and deepen the schisms and create further dependence on you to “intervene” for the lot of us.

“Spit it out”, I, me, or anyone would say to me at this moment, but I’m completely taken back by this. But now I can reframe the instance in light of many other weird coincidences involving this person, and not know what’s bullshit and what’s not. ...I just, I’m at a loss for words. Am I someone you have to tell grandiose lies to? For what reason? “For what reason” might suggest an answer to what’s just happened. It’s the string from which I’ve reverse engineered the entire thing now, even going back months.

...Speechless, and not knowing what goes out the window with it. Do I even bother addressing what you’ve just managed to do here in the null spaces between everyone?

It’s no matter of pride or ego (as the story probably reads) as much as false hope or anywhere near as much ...believing that despite everything and all this time ...it’s got nothing to do with a job or careers or ...anything. Just a rapport, a relationship of sorts, what might have been “friend”, feels to me like something built of rotten wood that isn’t anything I once believed it to be.

And I suppose, I still suppose ...though quite faintly, whatever rotten state of decay anything is anymore, it’s nothing compared to every new person indoctrinated without my own person as a frame of original reference. And you sit there “ready to take me back”, after the world has been mean to me just like you planned it. [insert image]

After you’ve done your absolute best to destroy and burn down and leave ruin, you stand there around the corner or over top of me with a satisfied smile on your face, the kind of glee of someone in absolute control over a life and who is salivating at finally getting everything exactly the way she wants it. And he’ll crawl back to you, and you’ll live happily ever after. After you’ve broken him, his soul, his spirit, like an animal to be tamed, to be owned, you will finally have the horse you always wanted for your fairy tale ending.

...I don’t even know where to begin because it’s so large and spans so much time now. I’ve been touching the edges of it, but this deflection, this latest suggestion, it’s an adept sidestep, an evasion of responsibility, and a pinning on me as the one with a problem and how unfairly --how wrong I am to hold anyone responsible for the part played in what’s happening.

We’ve been round this block before. If the message was “if you don’t like it here, you can always go somewhere else” I didn’t think much of it because we’ve already been round this block before.

Truth is, I’ve never demanded or expected anything from anyone except the simplest of common decency. The actual problem however obscured now has been sidestepped and we’ve made this all about something completely different. Oh, how you’ve managed my life for me. Gonna tell me what I want. ...getting off track here. ...Off track, too many threads over too long a time involving too many instances and people.

I’ve never demanded or expected anything except common decency. Let’s just leave telling me what I want or what I can have or should have in life and a career and whatever else aside, ...that may sound misleading, but fact is there are multiple layers to this from many different directions. I made a resolved decision, for myself, cause I’m a big boy now, you came back with “why are you gonna do that if you don’t really want it?” I responded with “because it’s my best option, and seeing also how you’ve barred every other path forward or every other space I’ve ever tried to exist in, my own skin and own personal space for fuck’s sake, I don’t have time for aspirations. This is about survival”. I went on to say, “and what’s more... you know I’d do just about anything if it freed me from your grip.” The unanimous callback was in essence, “if you’re so miserable here and feel so trapped, why pin all of your hopes on a make or break of any kind here at this institution?” adeptly sidestepping the actual issue at large, as though there were absolutely nothing wrong with what’s been done to me in my life for 11 years.

Too many layers and angles, I should just state where I stand and not try to address any of the implications and seeming attempts to make the real problem about anything other than what it’s about.

My life, is not my own. It’s hers. I have been enveloped. My lived experience of it, it’s an iron maiden. It’s a person shaped chamber with inward facing spikes or knives or protrusions. I can’t put it any simpler than that. ...And if I may zero in on it, your queen, our queen has made it abundantly clear to me ad nausuem that it doesn’t matter where I go, she will get there before I do.

What is my aspiration in life? What drives every decision I make? Taking back the life stolen from me in every way shape or form by whatever shred or scrap of it that I can.

You can’t just make this about me like what’s happening to me isn’t actually happening to me, while shoving off and evading any responsibility in the outcomes I’m ever reaching for to that end, that aspiration.

It doesn’t matter if it’s here, another school, another job, another state, another videogame, another show, another computer, another house, another room, something without networking capability, life out in the middle of nowhere where at least I know it’s physically impossible to follow stalk me digitally... It doesn’t matter where, it doesn’t matter who, “THIS“ will remain the same. What’s being done to me will remain the same.

I already moved across the country for a lot of good reasons but a plus being leaving all of “this” behind. “This” bled out like ink, like a stain, like blood on paper, corrupting and contaminating slowly but surely as you played more of a saint to work your way in initially. A helper, healer, whatever the hell, your aggression has always been proportional to the amount of power you feel you have. Always. When you feel like you’ve got the knife in, you can never help showing the glee with which you would twist it despite what you need to maintain in the mirror before your audience. Your civility and goodwill goes about as far as you feel you have to. Tentative, you have to make sure not to let it show through at least initially. Secured, the act gives out for what you’re actually here to do... aggrandize yourself at my expense and to exert power over me.

It doesn’t matter where I go. This is the literal translation. I mean let’s just refer to that one content creator who went out of his way to say it. Oh, man, these Skoolies these bus conversions are so cool. And as I really started to sink my teeth into the possibility of freedom from my present living situation, the message next was in essence, “this isn’t going to solve your problems.” “You can’t get away from your problems.” “You won’t solve anything with this lifestyle.” The lifestyle in question here was what most do with a “home” of this variety and that’s travel while working from “home”. Telling me what I’m actually trying to do or trying to tell me what I want, and then coming back with what was in word and has been 100% in action over the course of “this” the message to me...

it doesn’t matter where I go.

Every action ever taken is to send the message to me, that you’re in control, and it doesn’t matter where I go. It doesn’t matter what I do. Give up

Every action, every orchestration. Surrender. Surrender to you.

I already moved across the country and found “this” waiting for me, already here, but not initially. It happened in the blank spaces and slowly over time. You like a worm, eroding--consuming--weaving yourself into the ether.

You can’t now say there are lots of other places and opportunities and paths in life.

Places and opportunities are one thing, that’s the external--the world. Paths in life is internal, between self and state of being. Not only are you out there salivating, ready to wrap yourself around whatever you can like a great snake, but you’re in here, in my personal space ready to punish and exert control over my very being.

Everything you’ve ever done, everything, everything, everything, everything... has been to this end. This person or that person or you oh, Queen, you don’t get to come back now and shove it off onto me like I’m being unreasonable to hang all my hopes like “this” were a final stand. ...Because it is.

It doesn’t matter where I go. If it’s here or it’s there or somewhere else. “This” will remain the same. And if I ever thought “this” was bad with anyone that had an initial chance to see some shred of me apart from the person you paint of me, every new person, every new relationship, every new friendship, the verdict has already been cast. You’ve accelerated. You have accelerated the ways and the means and the number of strangers to whom I am nothing but what you say I am. Every new semester and class of peers has illustrated this absolutely. Where at one time you feigned “science” and people were given the chance to come to their own conclusions, those interactions went too well for me and you didn’t get the result you wanted. Some even completely rejected the shit you were trying to sell because they could see for themselves that you were full of it. You don’t allow that possibility anymore. They come armed for bear shooting from the hip from the first second as you probably say something along the lines of what a devious and crafty and manipulative person I am. It’s right back to master manipulator secret agent spy that can pull the wool over anyone’s eyes as you totally project that onto me despite that being everything you ever do here. You don’t allow the possibility anymore, for me to ever seem or appear to be anything but what you want me to be. There is a narrative and it’s indoctrinated and drilled into a person before ever even meeting me now. And you’ve done everything you can since to corrupt and destroy whatever other connections I had made here with any of the tentative others who were read in while you were still feigning objectivity and even handedness in your “investigation”.

It doesn’t matter where I go. It doesn’t matter if it’s here, or somewhere else, another job, another career, a different place, different people, different personal space, different computer, air-gapped computer, ...you can’t now say as some kind of evasion of responsibility that there are lots of other places and opportunities and paths in life and that if I don’t like this or that or what you’re doing to me that I can just go somewhere else.

No. I can’t. I can’t go anywhere.

And I can’t aspire. I’m not even allowed the personal space to exist, much less feel anything anymore that isn’t absolutely shutting down in the face of a never-ending assault from every direction at the same time as though the purpose were to ensure destruction, much less allow the room to breathe even in the slightest.

How much more so the gauntlet with every new “jury” (as you all are to her in effect) than in a place where there still exists (at least I believed and am believing it less all the time) a measure of good will and (at least in terms of employability) where I’ve made a good impression or earned a reputation that becomes me in a particular line of work.

This is my final stand because “this” situation, the one where I am enveloped and owned by the god-queen, remains the same regardless of location, regardless of my own presence in my own shoes and in my own skin, and regardless of relationship (friendship, work, life, romantic, or generally).

How many times should I just start over? How much of my life do I have to surrender? How much has to be destroyed before I’m shown abundantly that it doesn’t matter what I do or where I go or who I meet, that “this”--she--is already there waiting for me more aggressive and more destructive all the time?

This fight, this stand, is every stand. And it’s the last. I hold no expectations about possible advancements or whatever ruses are on the menu today. I’m simply going to make decisions for myself to better myself and to put myself on firmer or more solid ground financially so as to secure greater independence at least in one small but large aspect of my life. If that’s remaining at my current station or finding a new door open up over here or over there, understand that every decision I’ve made has had one motivating factor, and it’s been to the securing or reestablishing of the simplest of basic human needs...

...the peace and safety of a home, in whatever form that may take. A place where when I shut the door for the night, a psycho stalker has not already invited themselves in. If I can’t have the simplest of basic human rights in this regard, to not be abused in this way in at least one small shred or space in my life... absolutely nothing else matters. Absolutely nothing else matters. The homeostatic border between me and my attacker is punctured and rended and I don’t even have room enough to breathe much less thrive and lead a life.

What’s being done to me is cruel, and it’s criminal, and I will not spare you that reflection in the mirror I am holding up--the reality of my lived experience that I will not surrender ever again.

This fight is the same fight as every fight in every place. My last stand is here. There are no more lines in the sand for me to surrender. To abandon one hostile environment for an even more hostile one in another place with people you’ve indoctrinated like you’ve never indoctrinated before... This is the cliff, this precipice, you will own me oh, Queen, have me for yourself, how you want me, the way you want me, having your way with me and everyone around me as you stir up and create drama about and around us, or I can just take a long walk off that short cliff. If I don’t like it there’s the door.

...duly noted

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dunmerofskyrim · 7 years ago

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When they came to the rivermouth the water lay low on its banks. Wide and widening towards the strait where it let out into the sea, the river was spread too thin over too much bed. Long ago smoothed by the river in high-flowing months and years of springmelt, rocks stumped up from the ground, dry now. Fallen weeds and stranded reeds, silver with frost. And what of the river still ran was skinned with a sheen of ice. A veinwork of currents, ankle-deep, travelled sunbright towards the sea.

“Ought to mean we’re halfway,” said Simra.

He leaned on his spear, both hands gripped high on its shaft just below the hook that spurred back from its head, and hunched with elbows crooked towards the river. If you could call it that anymore. He wouldn’t if it weren’t on his map.

“To Davon’s Watch?” said Noor.

She still rode her guar, albeit at a walk. Vereansu pride; why walk when you can ride. They’d spent two days in the woods and coves in ground too rough to ride through. She was making up for lost time now and it bothered Simra. The deepening cold was cruel on the guar, and Tammunei and Simra reined theirs along on foot to rest it. It carried only their packs. The slackening sack of millet; the skillet hitched to its empty and arse-worn saddle.

“Mhm.” She was about to complain, Simra reckoned — didn’t take a seer to say so. He pre-empted her. “Before you say a fucking thing, yes it’s slower going than I said before.” His teeth barely parted to speak and they grit again straight after.

“Three days already,” she said.

“This is the third,” he corrected. “You wanna thunder on ahead alone? Lame your guar into the bargain? Just as well throw twenty drams down the first ditch you find — only buyer’ll buy him in Davon’s Watch after that’s the butcher. Or the knacker.”

Her face stiffened. Steam from her nostrils as she let out a huff. Chastened though, Simra reckoned. If half of Vereansu pride’s in their riding beasts, worst thing you can do is threaten to waste one.

“Nothing?” Simra cocked his head at Noor. “No further contentions to shove at me? Good. Glad we’re of a mind.”

The wind struck up whistling and stung at Simra’s ears. Grease them, his mother would’ve said, else they’ll snap straight off. She’d have shelled out on pork or mutton for that very purpose. Whatever seemed better marbled at the Gulleybottom market; more likely pig after Redrunsday, and cuts of heart and black pudding, going cheap before they soured. Cooking them, she’d render out what fat she could to rub her children’s eartips. You smell like a bad candle, Soraya would say after.

Around them the land was heady, rolling, trapped with ditches and gullies half-hidden in yellow and red heather. Streaks of snow bright amongst the scrub. Stones and spars of rock, starting to look like seacliffs, but no gulls any more to shriek — not so far east. Mountains rose to right of where they stood, days away in the distance and bleak already with snow. The rivermouth began to yawn if you looked off to northward, a growing confusion of stillwater and sea.

“Cross?” Simra jutted his chin at the shallow river. “Nice not to have to ford or ferry over for fucking once.”

His mood was sour by then. He forced sunshine into his voice, hoping to drive it off, repair the bitterness built up between he and Noor. Wouldn’t do to sour her towards him worse than he needed to. Wouldn’t do to have nothing tying her here but debt — and Tammunei, he supposed, but what if she took them with her? What then? Simra thought of the rattling pouch in his gathersack, useless without someone who could use it, and sure as snow he couldn’t.

“I didn’t know we were going to sell them,” said Tammunei. No sorrow in the words. Not quite. Only a strange weighted surprise.

“Well we can’t ride them over the Inner Sea…” Simra answered, careful. He might have said more – unless you’ve got some better idea as to how we can afford to take ship then I’d love to hear it, but no, of course you don’t because who else thinks this shit through but me? – but he held his tongue.

“We’ll leave them with the right person then. Someone who’ll ride them,” Tammunei said. “Feed them.”

Simra pointed a glance at Noor, over a hunched shoulder and the tall line of his knotwooded spearshaft. “If I can.” Not a hard thing to almost-promise. Selling them as riding guar would bring back a better price than selling them as meat or leather and bones. But a riding guar has to be ridable.

Tammunei joined their look to his, but blunter, harder. A slow persistence of pressure, like the dropstone lid on a jar of preshta-lo, crushing by patience the wet from the leaves. Vereansu pride, it seemed to say; had she any left, or was she as clanless in heart as in line and in name?

Noor’s face went hard like she was holding her breath. A leathern creak of stirrups. She dismounted. Flat shoes on the frosty ground and then she reached down to take those off too, and stood barefoot like some much-suffered saint.

Simra looked down. Fixed his gaze on his wrist. Prayer beads he’d never prayed with, in a string of clay and lacquer, red and blue and black. The copper coiled snake bracelet. Two thin rounds of etched silver, locked each into the other. The six-faced pewter ring, warm on his left middle finger. Eyes dropped like it had humbled him, or stirred up some scrap of penitence. But inside he was bitter-pleased. With himself; with Tammunei for siding with him on this small and sticking thing. So long as he had Tammunei, he had them both in hand.

I had hiding places all through Dyer’s End by then. The stoved-in top of the store-tower, well out of the way, and safe and steep in peril as only high places feel, but airy and cold. The colour shop low in the depths, with its weights and scales, and its rust-screeching iron grate that covers the door. A factoring pit in a dusty and dim dyer’s workshop, where I buried myself on the wintriest nights of that closing year. The overhang between two roofs, where ill-planned buildings crowded together, its entrance hedged with weeds grown up from the silt and the ash of a gutter, and looking out and down towards the citadel’s eastern harbor and the slate-grey sea.

In each of them I cached goods and supplies. Jars of rain- and well-water; scraps of good cloth or metal; grain and gram and the compact of saltfish I found breaking into another basement. And in each of them – whichever was nearest – I hid at the first sign of life beyond the life I was living. Runners across the rooftops or scavengers down on the streets. Quiet and careful folk who moved like hunters — with them I feared the worst, remembering the glassgarden, and the savour of meat in the pot.

I remembered they’d asked me about the coat I wore. Known by name the one who’d worn it. The eggfarmers — gone, are they? All but one, I knew. Drosi and Guls were dead by my hand, the life burnt out from both their bodies. But of Tepa I knew nothing; not even a face to remember, let alone a fate to put to it. Tepa with their pack of nix and their hiss-clumsy voice. And each time I heard the pitchy rilk or chatter of nix in the night, I still thought: They’ve scented me out. They’re coming for me.

That was part of the reason why I struggled to not stay put. One night in the warehouse tower, the next in the dye-pit with its purple walls and purple-dust floor and the stains that stuck to my elbows and knees til the next rain washed them off. I didn’t know then how a nix tracks prey, tasting the air and tasting the dirt. I only knew that if my passing was to leave traces, I’d best leave a mess of traces, a confusion of them. My tracks would lead nowhere but back on themselves. Or so I thought.

Still I wondered: How long before they find me? How long before the sound or shadow I jump at turns out to deserve my fear? Not long, it turned out. I proved far better at outrunning my hunger than I did the last of the eggfarmers.

Past trampledown earth and underbrush scarred with the cookfires and foraging of an army on the move. Past saltwater ricepaddies clinging to the coast, to the small stilt-hut or stone-perched houses of farmers, seen from up on the way they walked. Past the rough hard-crossing country that lay inland, all pink-grey stone and the distant shapes of herders and their nix on the low sharp hills. Winding along the seacliffs, between banks of dirty-blond heather and rills of silt where the ocean rushed in at high tide, the narrow road led to Davon’s Watch.

The millet ran low after crossing the first river, but they camped the next two nights close to some beach or small rocky bay, and each time Tammunei caught dinner from the water. Pale flat sandeaters with mottled wings and squashed alien faces that hovered into Tammunei’s hands as they waded knee-wet in the shallows and came back legs glittering with salt. Sea-shalk from traps of woven twigs and flotsam, cobbled together more to keep fishcatching magic in than to catch fish themselves. Tammunei sang soft as they worked and only Simra went taskless as night set in, using the time to write. They made soups of salt and kelp and bony fish. They cooked the shalk in their shells, sucked out the bitter-rich meat, and Simra saved the chitin to sell. They fried the flatfish in red oil from Simra’s jar of preshta-jan and scraped the flesh from off the hundred fingers that skeletoned their wings.

Only the guar went hungry, got skinny. This was bad land for grazing, and what grass there’d been was burnt or champed to the roots by the army that had passed this way. Tammunei tried to feed them white soft fish, kelps from rockpools. Said they remembered Ahemmusa guar would graze from the sea just as well as from grasslands, scraping barnacles from stones with their blunt flat teeth and searching out snails and weeds at low tide. But these guar were Vereansu. They wouldn’t eat. Simra wouldn’t have thought somewhere sparse as the Deshaan Plains could leave a beast or a person spoilt but here they were all the same. Stupid animals. Probably wouldn’t fare well on a boat, even if they could pay their stabling over the Inner Sea.

Fifth day out from Senie, another deeper river struck across their path. A gorge deep enough that falling down it would likely break your legs if not kill you outright from the impact. At the bottom, rocks and coursing water, impatient to get at the ocean and kicking up a rise of freezing spray. But on the far side, a spur of land leaned down toward the sea.

Simra made out the far-off prickle of jetties and piers, shapes reaching out into the water. The far-off shows of boatsails, and flashes of paint-bright hulls. A cram of tiled roofs, parched yellow in the vacant sun, and streaked here and there with wild herbs blown as seeds from off the hills and growing up now in their gutters. Every roof sloped seaward, like a shieldwall braced for a hail of arrows — angled to cast off ashfall from Vvardenfell. And beyond the town roofs and the harbour, paddies stretched past seeing, out along the tiderace of the seal-black beach.

“Pretty,” said Simra at the hem of the gorge. The water roared below as it scrummed against the rocks. “Hadn’t expected it to be pretty.”

“So what did you expect?” Tammunei asked.

They leaned over the gorge to look down and Simra had to silence the urge to snatch them back from it. They’re older than you by who knows how much. Older and wiser in every way but the worldliest. Stop making them a child in your mind just for the sake of feeling needed.

“Nothing,” said Simra. “A name on a map, on the other side of a river. Didn’t know the river would be like this either.”

“It’s impressive,” said Noor. “Anyone with a mind to raid in from this way would have hard work ahead of them.”

Simra shrugged. “The best fortifications are those the world gives you. Why dig a moat when you can build near something like this?”

Tammunei leaned further. Closed their eyes and stretched out a hand over the drop. Again the need to steal them back from the fall. But they sat down, feet hanging into open air.

Simra almost spoke.

“Wait,” said Noor. “Something’s being given.”

“A vision?”

“A memory, I think. When the ghosts speak, you listen.”

“They’re hollow,” Tammunei said at last. A voice not quite their own. “The walls of the gorge. Passaged. At low tide the ways in are dry. Caverns combing the cliffs underneath the town. Pored and chambered like a seasponge. From the sea to the stream to the shrines below. From the sea to the stream through the stone…”

Tammunei came back to themself as the sun moved westward and past them. They stood and dusted themself down.

Simra stirred from one foot to the other and tried not to show his discomfort. But it had seemed to hurt Tammunei. This was what he’d hoped travelling with Noor – learning from her – might help prevent, and all to no end. The ghosts still knew where to find Tammunei, and Tammunei still let them in — or perhaps couldn’t keep them out.

“Tunnels under the town,” he said. “Your ghosts say anything about where we can find a bridge?”

“This way,” Tammunei said, leading off. No dream in their voice so much as the tiredness of one who has slept overlong. “Something else too. Someone, but they’re waiting. They’ll make themself heard when they’re ready.”

Hasten the day, Simra thought, bitter as salt-pickled plums.

#TES #Morrowind #Dunmer #Simra Hishkari #SH Forth and Back #SH New Canon #Tammunei Ereshkigal #Noor Jedhredzuk

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martymango0 · 5 years ago

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I Was Benched

So, I visited my dad for the Fourth of July and Dad Visits - as anyone who’s been here a while my have observed - mean Dad Projects! In this case, we put reinforcement on a table/bench we made last summer to keep the slats even.

This one’s fairly picture heavy so the rest is under a cut

So there are three of these table-benches around the property. The way they work is the backrest is on a swivel & can swing flat to become a tabletop; put two of them together & voila! Picnic table! It’s pretty nifty.

We (my dad, stepmom, & I) built these last summer while I was down & they’ve been outside since then. We brought this one in because the boards were starting to warp a bit & Dad wanted to mitigate that, plus staining.

But first!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜Power washing ゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Because spiders. So. Many. Spiders. Also ants. Many, MANY ants.

[Image Description: my stepmom aims a power washer wand at a light-colored wooden bench which has been upturned on a gravel driveway]

We used scrap wood my dad had in the garage ‘cause why buy stuff when you can salvage?! Seriously, my dad has never bought a storage container in his life; it’s all butter tubes as far as the eye can see. Also, I got to use Dad’s really nice circular saw so that was fun. We actually cut a fifth length as well because one of these split when we started putting screws in it (the perils of using scrap). In addition, we cut bevels in a length of 2x4 to shore up the center of the seat back/tabletop (the way you can see the seat is reinforced in the picture above)

[Image Description: four lengths of various colored cut wood - two long and two short - lay on a cluttered table surrounded by sundry tools and supplies on the periphery of the image]

Conveniently, the diameter of our can of stain was almost exactly the width of two end caps side-by-side, so we used that to trace a curve onto them to round off the ends. I cut two of the eight curves before I abdicated the responsibility to Dad; I am Not Good at Jigsaws, apparently. Instead, I took over filing down & sanding the curves we cut so they were nice & smooth. The wood we used was fairly splintery so this was a fairly important step.

Also, unlike with the oyster tree, I actually remembered to wear gloves while working with handheld tools this time & didn’t injure myself this time!

[Image Description: two lengths of wood sit on a cluttered table surrounded by a jigsaw, a small can of stain, several measuring devices and pencils, and some scrap chunks of wood. The ends of each length have been roughly cut into quarter circle curves]

[Image Description: Four lengths of wood lay on a cluttered table. Their ends have been cut into quarter circle curves and smoothed down. By the ends near the camera lay a leather work glove, a sheet of sandpaper, and a wood rasp]

Our pieces cut, we move on to attachment! First, we attached the center reinforcement. We offset our screws, alternating sides from the center line, for reasons I do not know but which Dad was adamant about. I assume he knows what he’s on about; he was lead on this project & he has been at this a lot longer than me. We used a hammer & an spare nail as an old-school center punch to mark where our screws would go & keep them from skidding off-mark.

I already knew going into this that I am Bad At Drills (I just can’t get the right pressure on them so either the screw doesn’t go in or it binds) so Dad was Toolmaster from here on out & I was in charge of holding, bracing, marking, & handing him things.

[Image Description: a bench lays face down on concrete. A short board lies perpendicularly across the boards of the seat back, marked with Xs where screws will be put in. Next to it is a cordless drill, a pencil, a jar of screws, and a hammer. A screw sits on top of the board.]

The end caps were easier to position as Dad could partially set the screws in the new piece before attaching it to the bench. Doing this is also how we split the one end cap, but hey, at least we found out it was cut with the grain instead of perpendicular to it before we attached it to the bench!

[Image Description: a man sits at one end of an upturned bench, using it as a table to preset screws into a piece of wood]

[Image Description: a closeup of a man’s hands as he aligns a piece of wood with screws sticking out of it with the end of a bench. He has a cordless drill in his right hand]

The most exciting part of this process I don’t have pictures of because I am the photographer & I was busy. See, the whole reason we were adding these reinforcements to the bench is because the boards were starting to warp out of alignment which means we had to realign them as we put the end caps on. These are 2x4s so it’s not like you can just bend it back with your hands. No, dear readers, for this I got to use... a CROWBAR!

[Image Description: an upturned bench sits on a tarp in the shade next to a gravel driveway. It is made of light wood with darker wood end caps on both the seat and back]

And we’re done! With the woodworking, at least. We did cut more pieces so all three of these benches on the property could be done up like this, but at this point it was over 90 degrees out & the next one was all the way out on the unshaded dock so we decided to be done & Dad & my stepmom will go do the others once it’s not so horribly hot outside.

While Dad & I ate lunch my stepmom stained the bench we’d finished so now its both protected from the elements & a cohesive color!

[Image Description: A bench sits in the shade on a tarp on a paved patio. It is stained a middle shade of brown]

Good job, team! A family achievement!

Seriously though, it looks great & I’m proud of our work.

#Dad Projects #woodworking #Marty crafts

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im-living-a-charmed-life-blog · 8 years ago

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scraped knees

This is pre-carryon where there is a gathering at Baz’s house and Penny drags Simon along with her. I am actually really proud of this and I would love some helpful suggestions. It’s 1.7k words with no warnings, Simon just skins his knee from being clumsy,,, I hope you like it!

There was classical music jumping out of the open windows in the house. It was soft and light and it made his house seem even more elegant. That tosser was just that arrogant.

I really did not want to come. Social gathering – especially ones that took place at Baz’s house – are something that I avoid.

I felt ready to blow up but I did my best to force myself to calm down. While I wouldn’t mind hurting Baz, hurting his guests is not something I want.

What I do want, is to be back in the Mummer’s House in my room. It would be great not to have to share it with Baz for an evening. And I would’ve if Penny hadn’t been so stubborn about going.

I sighed, hands near my hips, ready to call my sword with a flick of my hand.

Penelope hurried toward the front door eagerly, letting me follow close behind.

I tried very hard to convince her not to go, but Penny is very stubborn and she was very clear of her intentions. “The Pitch’s have a well stocked library and I fully intend on checking it out,” she said, her chin high and her eyes daring me to try and stop her.

I honestly think that she admires the Pitch family quite a bit. After all, they do care a lot about education and believe that all knowledge should be shared just as much as her family. And they both have large libraries filled with books forbidden by the Mage.

So, of course, Penny won.

But I couldn’t have let her go to this party by herself. She was smart and very strong (much stronger than me and most people I know), but I didn’t trust Baz. Who knows what kind of things he could have in his home?

The house (or should I say manor because it was just that huge), was tall and gothic with dark features and sharp angles, a lot like Baz’s face.

A small part of me that was curious to see the inside of his house. Would it smell of the same posh soap Baz uses? And would it be as tidy as his side of the room?

I halted suddenly, to look at the house one last time before entering. It seemed 15 meters high from this angle, and more than slightly intimidating.

Penny noticed that I was no longer at her heels and she looked back at me. “Simon?”

“I- I’ll be right there,” I replied, waving her to go on.

She opened her mouth to say something but then just nodded and then stepped inside, closing the heavy door behind her.

I took a deep breath then skipped up the small row of stone steps leading to the door, reaching out to grab the door handle. But as I ran to catch up with Penelope, I tripped on my shoes and landed on all fours. I scraped my hands and both of my knees.

“Fuck.”

The word flew out of my mouth as the brick ripped my skin. I frowned at the sting of pain that shot up my leg.

My hands rose to my face and I examined the skin on my palms. They were fine. My knees on the other hand…

There were two large rips where my knees kissed the stone. I sighed exasperatedly as I looked down. These are the school’s pair.

I got two pairs at the beginning of each year but I had already spilled tea on the other one. Now, I have to wear my old jeans from when I was at the boys home.

At least Penny will be able to mend these and clean the stains from my pants. She will scold me first though, no doubt, and I definitely wasn’t looking forward to that. I suppose that I could always try to fix them. It’s just that I didn’t trust myself to say the spell correctly, and magic always went wrong around me.

I ran my palms over my thighs, trying to rid them of dirt.

I tried to think of a way to tell Penelope my reason for staying on the Pitch’s porch all night. If I didn’t wanted to go inside then, I definitely didn’t want to go inside now. Not with these big holes in my jeans and blood coaxing my knees.

Then, I heard the door creak open and a voice followed. “Are you just gonna stand there or are you going to come in?”

My gaze flashed up.

It was Baz. I could feel a grimace form on my face.

He peered into his house for second before stepping outside, closing the door behind him. His skin was reddish-gold like the previous headmaster, his mother. It always was when he was properly fed. The blood helped with the pigmentation of his Egyptian heritage.

“Sod off.” I glared. “How did you even know I was here? Were you watching me?”

“No, Snow, that’s something only you do.”

“Hmph, whatever.”

His mouth smirked and he adjusted his dark green blazer and leaned back against the wall by the door. (Where do you even get a dark green suit???)

I was immediately filled with rage. I wanted wanted to say something - anything - that would wipe that smirk off his face. “W- well,” I started, clenching a fist, “well, at least I’m human!”

Baz laughed at this.

Only, it wasn’t it wasn’t actually a laugh. It was more like a smirk that grew more prominent on his face as he quickly blew air out of his nose.

I don’t even know why there was a party here in the first place. Some stupid school event. I was about to push past him to get to Penny when he firmly pushed my shoulder to sit on the brick steps.

I allowed him to, keeping a glare at the floor. I saw my blood near the entrance and I hoped that Baz hadn’t seen it as well. Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice as he stood by me, his shoes in my line of sight.

They were polished and they looked very expensive. Why did he have to show off all the time?

Baz slowly sunk down next to me on the steps. I moved my head the other way, refusing to acknowledge him and completely forgetting about the sting on the legs.

“Can I see your knees?” he asked.

I shot my gaze back to his face. “What?”

His ears turned bright red and I wondered how many animals he had to drain in order to be able to blush. And then I wondered why he was blushing.

“Y- you’re bleeding.” He pointed to my legs shyly.

I frowned, the confusion still sitting on my expression. “I am aware of that.”

“I can mend your pants if you’d like,” he started to reach for his wand but I smacked his hand away from his pockets.

“I don’t need your help.” I jumped up and headed up the steps to the door.

But Baz was there in an instant and he blocked the door with an arm.

I flared my nostrils, trying to look down on him. (It is very hard to look down on someone who is taller than you.)

“Well, do you want a bandage at least?” he offered, concern briefly filling his face before quickly shifting back into his cool mask of indifference.

I scoffed, noticing how close his face was. I bet if he opened his mouth wide, I could see his fangs. “I am not having a vampire get me a band-aid.”

Baz blinked in disbelief. “I’m just trying to be nice, Snow.”

“It’s Simon,” I growled. “Besides, I’ve fought dragons before, scrapped knees are nothing.”

He ignored my second statement and tilted his head. “And who said I was a vampire?”

“I did, Baz. I know your little secret and I’m gonna tell the mage.” I crossed my arms and immediately regretted it. I felt like a little kid sticking his tongue out before tattle-tailing.

I thought that this statement would faze Baz, but he just smiled widely, his eyes glittering maniacally. He leaned toward me.

“Haven’t you already told the mage?” He was making fun of me now. “I am quite sure that you have. Many, many times.” Baz ran a hand through his hair, exposing his already prominent widow’s peak. “Give up, Simon. You have no evidence. No one believes you.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it. I swallowed my own words. “B- but I know it, Baz. And you have to slip up someday!” It was quiet for just a beat and I continued, the words tumbling out before I could even process them. “You– you called me Simon, just then…”

Baz pretended not to hear. “It’s been six years, Snow.” I felt his cool breath on my face when he whispered, “you’re never gonna catch me.”

My cheeks burned. “D- did you just–?”

Baz shrugged and turned to open the door.

“You just admitted it!” I grabbed his dress shirt roughly and spun him around. “That’s proof right there!”

Baz gently grabbed my hands and removed them from his lapels. I ripped my hands away.

”There are no witnesses here,” Baz frowned. “Not a single person knows about this conversation and no one’s gonna believe you when you tell them. You have no proof, Snow.”

“B- but, they will. I’m the mage’s heir! They have to!”

Baz smiled again, regaining his cocky attitude. “Have fun at the party, Snow.” He stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

I was so angry that there was smoke fuming off my clothes. I quickly stepped away from the door to avoid setting the house on fire.

Just what was I thinking? I should’ve had Penny with me! She would’ve backed me up! Now I had nothing to show the Mage!!

A growl built up in my throat and I ran back to kick that jerk’s door. I hoped to leave a large dent where my foot had been, but the door was solid wood, and all I had done was make my knees hurt again.

I considered healing them with a spell but decided against it. No need to have it go wrong and make my situation worse.

I marched over to a large tree that was in the yard and plopped down beneath it, cursing under my breath. One day, I’ll find proof on that evil, blood-sucking git. And then, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch will have hell to pay.

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solotheloso · 7 years ago

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A BOON BARELY GIVEN - CH. 4

When I woke, the storm was still raging and the sky so deeply clouded that at first I thought I had slept through to the evening. My phone read only a few minutes past 1:00 p.m., which was a little early for me. Left to its own devices, my body is happy to lie in a near-comatose state for half a day, but sacrifices are to be expected when you’re on the job.

It took just over a half an hour for me to drag myself out of my stupor. My exertion last night had ensured that, by the time I reached my apartment, I was far too exhausted to think about anything but falling into bed. I’m normally fastidious when it comes to personal hygiene, so the realization that I had laid in sweat and grime for the entire night sent chills up my spine. I took an especially long shower and went about my morning routine, but not before depositing my soiled clothes in the trash and the shrine watcher’s skull fragment in a double-sealed sandwich bag.

My apartment was simple but well-suited to my needs, a one bedroom unit located high above the ground on the fifth floor. The building itself was old and of sturdy construction, one of the first structures that had been built with modern techniques when the city made the switch from single-family houses to multi-story tenements. Bare brick walls and wrought iron were practically everywhere, attractive complements to the age-polished wood floors. It gave off an intensely nostalgic vibe, which you could consider odd, given that the area I had grown up in was strongly French Colonial. The only reason I was able to afford such a place was due to its location overlooking a rather unattractive abandoned lot behind the building. That, and what I suspect was a murder-suicide some time in the past five years. I did always get strange feelings from the hall closet.

I prepared a simple breakfast in the kitchen: eggs, a bagel and a huge mug of coffee. Like much of the apartment, the room was spotless and meticulously organized, everything in its proper place. It had little in common with my office. That space took up most of my living room, two card tables and a rickety stool set against the wall with windows bathing the area in natural light. It was strewn with scraps of paper, half-filled notebooks and uncategorized junk. Any other adult mage worth half their salt would be horrified by the chaos in my work area, but I found that it suited my improvisational style rather well; I had never been one for formulae and rote memorization.

I took a seat and tucked into my breakfast. While I ate, I examined the skull fragment again. It was charred and blackened, barely resembling the typical white of human bone. Portions of it were brittle and others threatened to turn to dust at the slightest provocation. I had taken it from the ridge of bone above the eye socket, close to the frontal lobe, the seat of reason. This kind of association was good for magical purposes since it lent the object a special significance that I wouldn’t have gotten as strongly as something from the cheekbone or back of the skull. If I were so inclined, I could use it to lay a curse on one of the owner’s living relatives; something involving forgetfulness or even dementia would be entirely reasonable. This time, however, I had a different goal in mind.

I finished my meal and pushed the plate aside. A small lockbox just to my side contained several small objects, one of which I took and placed on the plastic surface of the table. It was a small disc of supple leather, originally a light pink but stained with a patina of age and some unidentifiable yellowish substance. It was human skin. I had discreetly ‘inherited’ the thing from an uncle. It and the other objects in the lockbox were universally things that I would most certainly not want to be caught with (by mages or otherwise), and with that in mind I had laid a spell on the container to burn the contents if I ever failed to touch it at least once every two days or someone else touched it at all. It wouldn’t stop someone from discovering it in the first place, but it would definitely keep the evidence out of their hands.

I pulled the bone fragment from its baggie and set it gently in the center of the leather disc, which I then slowly rotated until a tiny mark on the outer rim faced due north. Now that the construct was prepared, I could feel a dark warmth radiating from the objects, a mana field that brought to mind the taste of copper and a suffocating redness. As with every time I used this kind of magic, there was a vague feeling of intoxication, almost like the pleasant buzz one gets from just the right amount of alcohol. I fought off the feeling as I always did, refusing to be pulled into its grip, and focused on the bone fragment. The construct was a form of anthropomancy, divination powered through human blood and flesh. While there was no overarching authority in the world of magic, most clans frowned upon human-fueled magic at the very least. If I were caught at it, the only trial I would be likely to get would be at the wrong end of a bullet. Considering the monsters that had flourished before execution became a matter of course, I couldn’t exactly blame them.

Almost twenty minutes of deep concentration followed. I was beginning to think that the whole process was a bust until I started to feel the faint metaphysical sparking that signified a newly formed magical connection. The construct was working, the spell churning along at full force. With a surge of energy that tingled from the crown of my skull to the bottoms of my toes and back again, an image rushed into my mind’s eye. The image was a face. I saw the shrine keeper as he was in the last days before his death, a haggard visage of a white man somewhere between forty-five and sixty, cheeks hollowed and eyes sunken by months of lost meals and forsaken sleep. Oily hair hung limply over his eyes, which themselves seemed to fit a corpse better than a living man. His sharp cheekbones and stern nose meant he could have been considered quite handsome if it weren’t for his state.

Another, smaller jolt brought me a second chunk of information: the sound of the man’s name. Augustus Varga. I quickly scribbled it down before it could fade from my mind. The image of his face would likely remain for a while; for me, faces are always easier to remember than names. Just after I finished, the bone fragment swiftly crumbled into dust, which itself seemed to vaporize into thin air. Consumption of the reagent was an unfortunately common byproduct of any spell, especially those where said reagent was bodily remains.

I put the leather disc back into the lockbox and moved over to my couch, where the laptop was sitting plugged into its charger. I kept the thing on hand more for utility than entertainment, but even so, most nights I found myself crawling through bunk amateur websites dedicated to cryptids or magical minutiae. Or watching movies. Hey, despite my otherwise stoic lifestyle, I’m as human as anyone else.

I utilized the wonderful world of modern technology in an attempt to find the deceased shrine watcher. Luckily, his name was fairly unique as far as those go-- at least in this country-- so it only took a few quick searches to find him. I found myself looking at the company website for a local chain of convenience stores (Go-Rite!, the cheerful yellow logo exclaimed), a photo of a smiling and healthy Augustus Vargas staring back at me. My initial suspicions had been spot on: He was a handsome individual, possessed of bright grey eyes and that rare sort of charisma that was somehow innate to the structure of his face and his expressions; he gave the impression of a close family friend, or perhaps a trusted professor. There was no trace of the tormented obsession that my spell had shown me. The photo labeled him as the owner and operator of the chain, yet he wore a bright blue polo shirt labeled with the company’s logo rather than one of the drab suits typical to management types. The shirt was pressed but slightly faded and a tiny stain marred the collar, which told me one of two things: either he was the hardworking type that got his hands dirty alongside his employees, or some poor schmuck had been forced to lend out his work uniform.

Given that I hadn’t found any clues as to the identity of the fool who had trashed the shrine, my best bet now was tracing out every possible angle on this. The most prominent was Augustus himself. It might be beneficial for me to take a look at his old life and scope out any possible clues as to the culprit, if there was any connection at all. I’m no investigator or cop, but there was little else I could have done at that point. Ten million procedural crime dramas couldn’t be wrong, right?

I took out my phone and dialed the number I found on the website’s contact page. It rang a full six times before someone picked up. The woman at the other end sounded frazzled and forcefully cheery, like someone who had just run a marathon and been told to smile like her life depended on it. “Go-Rite!, this is Eveline speaking, how can I help you?”

I adopted a polite and chipper tone. “Hi, Eveline, may I speak to Mr. Vargas?”

The girl hesitated, and when she spoke it sounded wary. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Vargas is unavailable. Can I ask what this is about?”

“Do you know when he’ll be in?”

“Uh, no, I haven’t seen him in a while… sorry, what do you need to speak to him for?” She was starting to sound suspicious. It would be wise to ease the tension a bit.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. I put an upward lilt into the end of each sentence to give my speech a bit of a bubble vibe. “I’m not a telemarketer or anything. My name is Brenda, I spoke with Mr. Vargas a few weeks ago about buying a used TV. He was selling it on Craigslist and getting a new one, and the number he listed on the email he sent me was the one I just called?”

Eveline sounded immediately exasperated, but to her credit she didn’t hang up. “I’m sorry, Mr. Vargas isn’t here right now, can you call back later?”

“That’s the thing, I don’t want someone else to get to it before me! Mine broke and I have just been dying without my shows. Do you have, like, a home number or something?”

There was a moment’s hesitation before she spoke. I could hear clattering in the background. Apparently she decided that getting me off the phone in a hurry was more important than any potential violations of her boss’ privacy. “Fine,” she acquiesced. “Do you have a pen?”

She gave me the number and I thanked her happily, then hung up. It took a moment for me to shake out the Valley Girl. Never a pleasant experience. It was a matter of minutes to find the address associated with the number online. With that done, I leaned back into the couch and blew out a breath, massaging at my neck where a mother of a headache was starting to take root. I glanced at the paper in my hand with Augustus’ information written on it. “Not great,” I murmured, “but it’s a start.”

#writing #fiction #urbanfantasy #prose

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andreafestefano · 5 years ago

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How to install a board and batten wall for super cheap!

Hey there! I've FINALLY started the stairway wall project I've talked about forever!

After going back and forth on what I wanted for at least a year, I just went for it. I hit a snag along the way and redirected...I'll share that in a minute!

I started with the lowest wall because it was the easiest to reach. ;) Here's how it's looked for awhile after I built and installed my picture ledges/shelves:

I decided on a super simple look that won't compete too much with the fireplace design I did late last year.

I started by removing the trim under the stairs -- it's pretty standard for builders to use baseboard (didn't get a before pic so this is another spot on the stairs):

The trim I was planning to use is 1/4 inch thick and if you butt it up against the smaller side of the base, it didn't meet up to my liking. I wanted them to be as flush as possible.

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I don't LOVE the baseboards used as trim anyway, so I wanted to change it up. I wanted something a little cleaner, so I was planning to use these thin lattice strips from the hardware store:

Here's the thing that sometimes bites me in the butt. Once and awhile I'm impatient and just want to get after a project. Normally I'd have the luan I usually use cut down instead of buying the lattice. Luan is only $15 for a 4x8 piece and it gives you ten or so strips (depends on how wide you have them cut).

Thing is, I was being lazy and didn't want to go grab the wood and have it cut down at the store. And the cuts aren't always GREAT -- it's a free (or very low charge) service and I'm so thankful they do that at our local hardware stores. But sometimes they aren't cut well and you're left with a lot you can't use. It just depends on who cuts it! I wanted to go the easy route this time and I should learn by now that that doesn't usually end well. ;)

Soooo...when I took the base off below the stairs, the gap between the stained wood and the drywall was too large for me to use the lattice. For all the parts farming the wall, I was going to have to use something wider.

I didn't even realize I had scrap strips of luan already cut down in our garage from another project. Score!! I was able to take all of the base off (except at the bottom) and replace it with luan:

This part was pretty easy because I just held the old base up to the new trim and marked the length and angle it needed to be cut.

Now my trim had something it would fit perfectly flush against. You can see I also added some along the left side so the whole thing was trimmed out.

I thought maybe I could still use the thin lattice for the rest of the wall so I started installing:

And I hated it. It looked all wrong.

I do have to say -- until it's painted it's really hard to envision how it will look. Keep that in mind as you work on projects like this. A coat of white paint (or whatever color) will unify everything and make it look better 100 percent of the time.

I could just tell immediately that the thin strips were off with the thicker stuff framing it.

So I dug around more in the garage and found enough of the luan strips to finish the whole wall. DUH. I could have saved so much time!

Here's a little trick when you're installing trim up against an angled wall or trim -- hold the end of the piece you're installing up against the angle (use a level to make sure it's perfectly horizontal or vertical):

Mark the top and bottom (and then draw a line if your saw doesn't have a laser line). Place your trim on the saw and move the saw angle till it matches up. It will get you an exact match!

Figuring out the spacing for board and batten is a math game. I figure the space between the two end pieces of trim on each side of the wall. That was 129 inches. My strips are 4.5 inches wide, so I figured out how many I wanted (four) and subtracted that total:

129 inches - 18 (4.5x4) = 111

Then I divided 111 by how many "open" spaces I'd have vertically. Four pieces of trim means five spaces so...

111 inches ÷ 5 = 22.2

I ended up doing 22 inches to give myself a little wiggle room.

I added a horizontal piece across the top (placement is wherever looks best) and I was done!:

Well not done done. Next up: filling holes, light sanding and then at least two coats of paint, probably three.

I went with one line across horizontally instead of a few because I didn't want it to get too busy. It's easy to take away or add more if I want to change it up. I want this to be an accent that adds character to the room, but I don't necessarily want it to be the main focal point.

I should have known that I'd like the thicker trim much better anyway! That lattice was going to be way too wimpy.

I know it's hard to envision this in it's unfinished state, but bare with me. When it is all white it will look sophisticated, but won't overpower the space. It will be very pretty when I'm done...that's the plan. ;)

Oh, and I never plan to remove those picture ledges so I trimmed around them.

It's been awhile since I've shown you how to do basic wall trim with this cheap stuff. You can do so much with just one 4x8 sheet! Stay tuned to see that first wall finished up.

See below to see just a couple of the projects I've done with these luan boards. It's easy to use and looks great when painted!

Board and batten accent wall for $15

Extending kitchen island with planked sides

Mud room gray planked wall

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peachhplum · 6 years ago

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RENOVATION STORIES – A HAND BUILT KITCHEN BEFORE

It feels like forever, since we started the overhaul of this little house of ours, this year and the last have been exciting and busy. My posts here have been sporadic, to say the least – so thanks for sticking with me. The truth is – once our hand built kitchen and living space was almost completed we just started living in it. It was so nice to be able to cook on an actual oven and wash up the debris in an actual sink, that the days rolled past and I nearly forgot all about the documentation and the fun of sharing what we’ve been up to!This post is filled with photos I managed to take during the refurbishments and a dash of decorating fun. I must add the paint we used were colours we had chosen ourselves but were generously given to us by Farrow & Ball and Annie Sloan, everything else we bought ourselves, salvaged or repurposed from around our home or garden. I hope you’ll enjoy a peek around our building site and then a tour of the room now – to follow soon!So, way back when – we knocked a massive hole in the living room wall to make the kitchen and living room a joining space then blocked up the original narrow doorway. The old kitchen door can be spotted above right (with a fridge wedged in it), it felt like the world was caving in at this time and we would be under a blanket of hostile brick dust for the rest of eternity. For six months all that remained of our old kitchen (a cheap rental update put in by the previous owner) was a section of ugly worktop, an oven that barely worked and a washing machine.Our bath was now the sink and once we finally ripped all of this out for the plasterers to come in – we were cooking on a camping stove down in the Tea Shed or out in the hallway for another five months.Luckily the floorboards that were hidden under the laminate were just what we were hoping for, so we took off the skirting, ripped up the floors and insulated underneath and then put the rustic boards back down. It has taken an age as we have been doing nearly everything ourselves in between real life and work. We got our log burner and windows/bifold doors fitted by professionals and plasterers came and put neat edges on all the walls and the gaping hole. Then they came back the next day and smoothed everything over – except one kitchen wall which Dean rough plastered for a textured backdrop to our kitchen.The only jobs we didn’t do were – the bulk of the plastering, fitting the log burner, some electrics, install the windows and the main kitchen replumb. It has been a slow journey but one that has been a lot of fun in amongst the stress of chaos and having no mod cons.Above – the radiator pipes were poking up out of the floor where the wall used to be – we moved these, sprayed black water everywhere and nearly severed a thumb – but we did it! On days like this we found oursleves looking around and wondering if it would ever be normal around here again, but then we got going and it snowballed towards completion and everything was almost good again. After a month of letting the walls dry we got to finally open the paint! We chose Dimpse by Farrow and Ball a lovely soft and calm grey to settle us back down after all the crazy. It’s a soft and gentle grey, just the type we have been looking for.This finished corner was my salvation for the next few weeks as we handbuilt our kitchen from bought, salvaged and found things. We have a garage full of hoarded stuff that might look like junk to an untrained eye – but old floorboards became shelves, copper salvaged from under the floor when we moved the radiator pipes became curtain rods and a huge slice of elm got cut down into the best worktops ever!We bought our ‘naked’ kitchen units from a maker on eBay that was nearby in Kent. They are solid FSC pine and we painted them inside with Osmo clear varnish and outside in two colours of Annie Sloan – Paris Grey as an undercoat and Graphite on top. I absolutely love using this paint – so much so that we also painted our kitchen wall with it too (keep scrolling). Now for that kitchen wall paint job – I was quoted thousands for polished concrete or Tadelakt so we rough luxed this ourselves and it was the most fun ever! Easy peasy and all you need is a rough surface (or not – as adding thicker layers of the paint can do that too) some cardboard scraps, three paint colours in varying tones, paintbrushes, bare hands and high spirits!Above our plainish wall ready for an art attack, the bottom half we left raw as it was to be hidden behind the cupboards and I didn’t want to waste any paint! We used the Annie Sloan mixing mat placed inside a cardboard box (to form edges) which was great for blending and making a confined mess. It has some paint mixing tips on it – I’ll admit we didn’t pay much notice to that and just went wild. We sealed up all the plugs and sockets and started by scraping the darkest shade of paint and a grey all over the walls randomly with no particular pattern just gusto and care not to go over the edges on to the other walls! I chose the Annie Sloan Paris Grey wall paint for the main bulk of this wall and used the smaller tins of chalk paint in Old White and Graphite as accent colours. We just kept wiping, scraping, painting and building the layers until the colour and tones were blended to our liking.We worked all three colours over and over each other, swiping a bit of extra dark or light where needed. As you can see above perfection is not required for this look, this pic shows before all the shelves were finally put up and the tiles we were considering for a splashback. Once the paint was dry Dean brushed a layer of the Anni Sloan Clear Wax all over as a seal – this is great and I highly recommend it, as it is wipeable and resolved our dilemmas about a splashback, we didn’t need one – hooray!With the walls complete we moved on to the worktops – we made these out of a huge slice of English Elm that we got from a local woodsman and are so happy with it.The stainless steel (Ohio) sink in white was bought online from Reginox, and it was a sweaty palm situation cutting the hole in that gorgeous piece of wood with only one chance to get it right! It was quite a bit of work and a hell of a lot of sawdust and sanding outside on fair weather days but so worth it as we couldn’t find anything we really liked the look of pre-made (they are still unsanded in these pictures). Almost ready to install everything – finishing touches were the door handles which I bought from Rowen & Wren and our new Smeg oven. We got this from an online discount store that sells big brand items that have minor cosmetic faults. Ours had a barely visible scratch on the tea towel bar and some marks on the sides (where they would never be seen) – so perfect in my book. Something that is discounted because of a scratch or minor dent seems like a good money-saving plan to me – plus I don’t feel bad for marking it myself! Sadly our kitchen is too modest for the matching fridge.We had been looking for a vintage style oven for ages and I spotted this beauty in a Pinterest photo of the River Cottage Australia kitchen – it was great to discover it wasn’t actually old and still available online.The oven also added to delays as before it could be installed – we had to have all our outdated electrics re-done as it required a stronger power cable than our old oven had used. But we got there in the end. Then it was time to make some shelves out of old floorboards and crates, get the curtains up, find a kitchen table, stain the floor and paint the pantry door to match the kitchen units – phew!So there you have it! The bad and the ugly – only the good to come – just need to get the latest images off my camera and hopefully, I can share in a few days. Happy Halloween! xxx

#home decoration #interior design #floor care

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