#to be fair though. I did ask for this. I did say- here's a bigass tattoo please make me go insane

[mutantninjamidlifecrisis]

when u described fleos pants in the fic, i said "whore" outloud, i feel very bad about it tho

screaming

[rainboq]

Thank you for the prompt! Here's one in return. #3 (kiss on the cheek) pricefield

You asked for a kiss on the cheek, you get an entire date and Chloe being a massive disaster. Enjoy! Apologies in advanced for my nonexistent Spanish skills. I’m going insane. It’s just Max, why the hell am I going insane? Chloe sighs as she sits in her truck, one hand on the wheel while the other hovers over the send button on her phone. Fucking Rachel and her big ideas. Just ask her out Chloe, it’ll be fine Chloe, you’ve known her since you were a little kid Chloe. 

A little traitorous part of her wished that Max had just said no so she could get the rejection over and done with. Instead, her dorky little face with it’s stupidly cute dimpled smile and earnest eyes had light up like Chloe had told her that there was going to be new episodes of Hawt Dawg Man or something. And not, you know, a date with her dumb punk ass.

Just hit the damn button Chloe so you can blow this already and tell Rachel you told her so. There’s no way someone as smart and talented as Max wants anything to do with me. She’s just doing this for old time’s sake.

Her finger taps the button and she locks the screen so she can’t stare at it and ratchet her anxiety up higher.

Ha. As if she has any control over her anxiety right now.

Her phone buzzes with Max’s reply and she takes a few deep breaths to try and steady her nerves. Her usual go to right now would be smoking, but she forgot her damn pack at home like a dumbass in her flurry of getting ready. At least I didn’t fuck up Rachel’s makeup job.

Is Max even going to like me with this much makeup on? She knew me before I ever started wearing any.

She does an impromptu drum solo on her steering wheel to try and get some of her nervous energy out, to mixed success when her eyes spot movement in the lobby of Max’s building. She turns in her seat, gets a look at her and promptly forgets to breathe. Chloe had said to dress up a bit, and Max had taken the liberty of wearing a flowing black dress with some matching leggings. It’s not nearly as showy as the things Rachel wears to parties and events, but there’s something about the way her freckled shoulders look under the straps that makes her heart squeeze. Those damn freckles, why do they have to be so cute?! Dammit, breathe, don’t be a total dweeb in front of Max because she grew up and got hot.

Fuck she is hot though.

I’m so boned.

Max spots her truck as she pushes out through the inner door and a great big dorky smile spreads across her face as she waves enthusiastically. Chloe waves back and scoots across the bench seat to throw the passenger door open. A moment later Max is climbing in, all winning and too god damn adorable smiles. “Hey Chloe!”

“Uh, hey Max! You look… hella great.”

Max’s cheeks go a bit red as she hunches her shoulders forwards, one hand rubbing the back of her neck. “I don’t know about that, but you look amazing.”

There’s no part of Chloe’s stolen blazer and worn black jeans that qualify as amazing to her, but if Max likes it she’s not about to complain. “Thanks,” Chloe tries to say as smoothly as she can muster despite the slight wobble in her tone, “You down for some food?”

“I’m hella starving.” Max replies with a cheeky grin as she shuts her door. “I’m so down for this ‘best taco truck in town’.”

Rolling up to a dumpy taco truck in her old brick with someone as gorgeous as Max suddenly has Chloe feeling like Max really deserves a better first and probably only date, but plans are plans. “Then let your noble steed be off, fair maiden!”

Max breaks out in gigglesnorts as Chloe pulls out of the parking lot. “You did not just use one of William’s lines on me!”

“I so hella did Caulfield, what’re you gonna do about it?” Chloe adds a wink, hoping it’ll cover up how obviously sweaty as hell her palms are right now.

“Oh, I’ve got something in mind.” Max says in a low tone that makes Chloe have to fight to not choke on her own spit.

Oh god, is Max actually flirting with me? I’m so not fucking ready for this. “You down to thrash a bit hippie?”

“As long as your bony elbows don’t hit me!” Max replies with a laugh and Chloe punches the radio on.

The scratchy punk from the local station starts blaring and Chloe internally breathes a sigh of relief at not having to try and deal with Max’s flirting for a moment. Oh god, I can hear Rachel laughing her ass off at me right now.

Max for her part grooves along, and Chloe has to focus to avoid going off the road because of it. God she still dances like a total dork! Fuck, it should be illegal to be this cute or something.

Thankfully they make it to the taco truck without Chloe running into anything, despite her distracted driving, and she pulls them up to the sidewalk. I just hope she likes it or this is going to be a hella lame date.

“Hungry Max?” Chloe asks as she throws her door open after shutting off the radio.

“I’m so hungry, you have no idea.” Max replies as she does the same before sheepishly admitting, “I also kinda skipped lunch.”

Chloe jumps out of her truck and jogs around the front of it as Max clambers out. “Jesus Christ Caulfield, no wonder you ended up so short.”

“What! Hey! Not all of us get to be so freakishly tall.” Max groans and sticks out her tongue.

“Yup, it’s just my burden to bear. Now what do you wanna eat?”

“I mean, you know what’s good here.” Max shrugs as she walks alongside Chloe towards the food truck. “Order for me?”

“Spicy or nah?”

“No way, never spicy.”

Chloe can’t help but laugh at the way Max shakes her head and waves her hands in the air. Yup, still a total dork. “Can do Maximo. Just wait here.”

Chloe skips ahead a few steps and shouts out, “¡Hola Alejandro!”

There’s a clattering sound inside the truck and a middle-aged man’s face appears, “¡Aha! ¡Flaca! ¿Como estas?”

“Muy bien, gracias. ¿Y tú?”

“Bein.” He says with a nod and a big smile.

“Bien, quatro numero doce con polo por favor.” Chloe says, before turning to grin at Max who looks a little stunned.

Alejandro sticks his head out to see what she’s looking at before pulling back in and grinning broadly. “¿Tu amor?”

Chloe shrugs, unable to keep the smile off of her face as she rubs the back of her head. Fuck, fuck, fuck! I forgot how to say that in Spanish. Way to go dumbass.

Alejandro, to his credit, doesn’t need it spelled out for him as he pokes his head back out and calls out to Max, “¡Hola bonita!”

Max freezes up for a moment before doing a little wave back. “H-hola.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” Alejandro grins at her, before retreating back into the food truck to start working on the order.

Chloe pulls out her wallet from her blazer’s pocket and takes out approximately the right amount of money plus tip and drops it on the counter before jogging back to Max with a big idiot grin on her face. “And that’s the food!”

“I guess I should probably learn some Spanish if I’m going to be living large in LA, huh?” Max asks sheepishly, doing that thing she used to do when they were kids where she’d hold her arm.

“Prolly a good idea,” Chloe says as she moves to stand next to Max. “This shouldn’t take too long.”

“Maybe I should have brought a sweater, I always forget how cold it gets here when the sun goes down.”

“Here, stand next to me, the food should warm you up.” Chloe holds out her arm and Max doesn’t hesitate to tuck into her side.

A sort of silence settles in as Max hums softly to herself and chews on her lip while Chloe watches the window for the food. The pressure of Max against her feels good, great even, but it all feels so surreal. “I can’t believe we’re actually on a date.”

“Oh no?” Max giggles softly as she snakes an arm around Chloe’s waist, “What’s so unbelievable about it?”

“How about the part where you said yes?”

“When I told my parents, my dad announced that Joyce and mom owe him fifty bucks.”

“Wait, what?” Chloe somehow manages to not stammer.

“They all had a bet, our dads bet that we’d date some day.”

Chloe turns her eyes heavenwards, where the few stars visible in LA are starting to poke out as the sun sets. I guess you’re smiling on my dumb ass from up there, huh dad?

“¡Loca!” Alejandro shouts from the truck as he puts their food out.

“That’s us.” Chloe says before reluctantly pulling away from Max, “we’ll eat in the back of my truck, meet me there?”

“Sure thing.”

Chloe trots over, grabs the two trays of food. Damn, dude threw in tortilla chips gratis, I fucking owe him a bigass tip next time I come.

Max waits for her, standing next to the now open tailgate. “After you, mademoiselle.”

“You know French?” Chloe asks with a cocked eyebrow as she slides the trays into the bed before climbing up.

“I picked up a couple things from an ex.” Max shrugs as Chloe turns, offers her a hand and hauls her up into the bed.

They end up sitting together at the far end, their backs resting against the cab as Chloe divides the food between them. “Eat up, short stuff.”

“Oh my god, stop making fun of my height you beanstalk!” Max laughs as she elbows Chloe.

Chloe just cackles as she pulls out her first taco and takes her first bite. Come on Chloe, it’s Max, but it’s still a date so don’t eat like a total fucking slob.

She waits until she’s actually finished her first mouthful and swallowed before turning to Max, “How is it?”

“Oh my god I think I’m in love,” Max mutters as she finishes her first mouthful, “Legit the best taco I’ve ever had.”

“Did I tell you or did I tell you?” Chloe grins in triumph before taking another bite of her taco.

They don’t talk much as they consume their tacos, they’re too tasty. Chloe finishes first and has to resist the urge to shout her victory like they did when they were kids having stupid eating contests. Instead, she starts popping tortilla chips into her mouth and just kind of watching Max while she waits.

Damn, I’ve seen her a bunch since she moved here and I still can’t get over how damn cute she got. Like even her ‘ugly duckling’ pics from high school look great. I can’t believe I missed out on her braces years though, damn, that would have been hilarious to be around for. That or I would have gotten in a lot of fights for jackasses making fun of her, which wouldn’t have been much of a change honestly…

Max finishes her tacos and beams up at Chloe, “That was delicious! Thank you so much Chloe!”

“Hey, you deserve it, also hang on, you got some sour cream on your nose.” Chloe grabs a napkin and wipes it off, prompting a giggle from Max.

“You’re adorable.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Max laughs and steals a chip from Chloe’s basket before grinning at her as she eats it.

“What, hey! Those are my chips! You’ve got your own!”

“Yeah but yours are tastier!”

Oh my god, this old game. “What, you want me to feed them to you?”

Chloe’s heart skips a beat as Max’s cheeks flush red. “I-I mean, I wouldn’t mind…”

“Only if you feed me yours.” Chloe grins as she feels her own cheeks heating up.

“It's a deal then.”

Chloe holds up one of her chips to Max’s face, who promptly devours it before holding up one of her chips for Chloe, who returns the gesture. Before long they’re both grinning at each other like sappy idiots and swapping chips until their baskets run empty. Max makes a little disappointed noise as they run out and Chloe gathers up their baskets.

“I’ll run these back and we’ll hit the road?”

“Sure thing.” Max says, before stifling a yawn. “Man, I didn’t realize how late it’s getting already.”

“Nah, you’re just getting old, the night’s still young.”

Max jabs a finger into Chloe’s side before laughing, “You ass, don’t you know it’s rude to joke about a lady’s age?”

“I’m older than you!”

“I said a lady.” Max retorts with a smirk as they both get to their feet and hop out of the bed.

“You got me there Maximus Wrecked.”

Damn, I think this is actually going pretty well! She thinks to herself as she jogs back to the food stand and drops the baskets off on the outside counter. From inside Alejandro flashes her a double thumbs up and Chloe grins back at him before turning around to head back to her truck.

Max is already in the cab, holding herself and shivering a bit as Chloe gets in. “Definitely should have brought a sweater.”

Thinking fast, Chloe pulls off her blazer and holds it out to Max. “Here, until the heater decides to start working.”

“Thank you so much,” Max says as she puts the blazer on in a hurry, “This has been great.”

“Hey, you’re great so…”

There’s a giggle from Max before she stifles another yawn. “Dork. We should probably head back though. I had a crazy long day.”

Chloe’s heart sinks and her mind immediately starts racing for ways she fucked this up as she starts her truck up. “Oh, okay.”

“I had fun Chloe, seriously.” Max says, reaching out across the bench and laying her hand on Chloe’s forearm as she shifts the truck into gear. “We’ll have to do this again.”

Oh, okay, so I didn’t completely fuck it up. “Second date, huh?”

“Definitely,” Max smiles warmly as they pull out into the street, “Mind if I put some of my tunes on?”

“Sure, knock yourself out.”

Soft indie rock fills the cabin as Chloe drives back to Max’s place. Despite the promise of a second date, she really, really, really doesn’t want this to end. She’d hoped to go walking down the beach or something with max, maybe hit up a bar and get a little crazy.

Can’t you just be happy dumbass? You got the second date, just… take it easy. You know better than to rush Max of all fucking people.

The drive back to Max’s apartment is way too short, or maybe she’s so wrapped up in her thoughts that the usual nightmare of LA traffic barely registers. Either way, she’s sitting in front of Max’s building and wishing she was anywhere else in town with Max.

“So, uh…”

“Thank you, I had a wonderful evening,” Max says softly as she scoots across the bench seat and presses a gentle kiss into Chloe’s cheek, one hand cupping her chin.

It takes Chloe a second to remember what words are, much less how to put them together into sentences, but she does manage, eventually as she turns to look at Max. “You’re, uh, hella welcome.”

Something mischievous that ties Chloe’s guts in a knot sparkles in those brilliant blue eyes of Max as she smiles wide, “Do you hella want to come up to my apartment for some coffee?”

[theladyofdeath]

Alone in the Ashes {19}

A Court of Thorns and Roses fanfction, characters belong to Sarah J Maas. Modern au. Revolves around Nesta x Cassian, Feyre x Rhysand, and Elain x Azriel. Other characters appear throughout. Based on multiple prompts sent in by anons tbr below.

Warning: Mature content. Alcohol abuse, verbal abuse, drugs, sex, language, eating disorders.

For summary & chapter index, click >  Alone in the Ashes {Acotar}

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: This one is actually pretty fluffy, friends. You’re welcome.

“It's a rare person to face who they are and not run from it - not be broken by it.” ― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Wings and Ruin

“What do you think of an October wedding?”

Rhysand was flipping pancakes in the skillet - it was breakfast for dinner night. He’d already made a plate piled high with bacon. “Sounds nice.”

“This October,” Feyre clarified, scrolling through her newsfeed on her phone from the barstool behind the island.

Rhysand glanced over his shoulder. “As in...three months from now?”

“Yeah,” Feyre said, smiling. “Why not?”

“Don’t weddings take ten years to plan?” Rhysand asked, turning off the stove top burner. 

“Usually, but I don’t want anything big,” she said, setting down her phone. “And, I always wanted a fall wedding. Early October will allow us to do it outside before it starts getting too cold...and I don’t want to wait a whole year and a half to become your wife.”

Rhysand turned around and leaned against the opposite side of the island. “Tell me when and where, and I’ll be there, waiting for you at the end of the aisle.” 

Her grin widened. “Good answer.”

Rhysand winked. “See? I’m making a good husband already.”

“I never doubted that you were husband material,” Feyre said, eyes softening. “I have to tell the girls. Oh, fuck, there’s so much to do in three months time. Okay. I need a notepad.”

“A notepad?” Rhysand chuckled.

“Yes,” she said, giving him a pointed look as she dug through a few junk drawers before finding a small notepad and a pen. “Alright. I need a dress. I need bridesmaids...they also need dresses. We need to pick out wedding bands. Oh, and an actual band to play at our reception. Food. We need food. A place to get married. A priest. Oh, Mila will be the flower girl, of course. What else….alcohol! We must have wine.”

Rhysand stared as she listed off item after item after item.

“You realize all this needs to be done in three months, right?” he asked. “If you must get married this October.”

Feyre nodded, slowly, looking uncertain as she looked through her final pages that made up her list.

“Hey,” Rhysand said, quietly. “We can wait.”

“No,” she said, setting the list down and looking up at him. “Rhys, I wanna be your wife, and I don’t wanna have to wait. You asked me to marry you, I said yes, now we’re going to get married. And I don’t want to wait. As much as I love calling you my fiance, I’m already ready to call you my husband.”

Rhysand huffed a laugh. “Alright. Give me the notepad, then.”

Feyre slid the notepad and pen across the island, along with her ridiculously long list. Rhysand starting writing out a new one, and when he was done, he handed two sheets to Feyre and kept two for himself.

She raised her brows. “What’s this?”

“I split it in half. You and the girls take care of what’s on that list, me and Cassian and Az will take care of what’s on mine. You wanna get married in October, then we’ll be ready to get married in October.”

A small smile appeared on Feyre’s lips. “I constantly wonder how I became so lucky.”

“As you should,” Rhysand muttered. “I’m fucking awesome.”

With a roll of her eyes, Feyre stood from the barstool and ran around the island, into Rhysand’s arms. She kissed him, long and slowly, before grabbing a plate off the counter and loading it up with food. They ate on the couch, watching a ridiculous, old rom-com. 

Feyre thought that if this was a preview of the rest of her life, she was, truly, one lucky woman.

~~~~~

Mila was playing with Elain’s new kitten in her living room while Azriel sat with Elain in the kitchen.

They had spent the last few hours clearing out Elain’s guest room, which they had just unpacked the week before. Nesta would be moving in for a while. Elain had offered, and Nesta had jumped on the opportunity.

“It sounds like she’s doing well,” Azriel said. “All things considering.”

“She will be,” Elain said, nodding. 

Azriel moved his chair closer to hers. “And how are you doing? Still okay?”

Elain nodded, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

The first week after she stopped her diet pills was hard on her body. She woke up every morning, feeling sick, starving for the first time in ages. She had tried to get on a regulated, healthy eating schedule, but her body was adjusting.

As time went on, though, it grew easier. 

“Lain!” Mila called from the living room. “Can I watch t.v.?”

Elain looked at Azriel, who nodded. When she left to help Mila turn it on, Azriel stood from where he was sitting and wandered around the kitchen. There was a picture she had put onto her fridge of her, Feyre, and Nesta in high school.

Not much had changed.

In the picture, Elain wore her cheerleading uniform, Nesta was wearing a black cropped top and jeans, and Feyre was wearing Rhysand’s Letterman jacket. It was after a basketball game, taken outside among the falling Autumn leaves. He wished he would have known Elain, then. Wished he would have found her sooner.

“Admiring me in my cheer uniform?” Elain asked, coming up behind him. When he turned and wrapped his arms around her, he was grinning.

“If you still have it, I wouldn’t be mad if you put it on.”

Elain laughed, shoving him in the chest. “Keep dreaming. I remember watching you play. Basketball. You were good.”

“I loved it,” Azriel said. “Smoked too much pot, though, to ever make anything of myself playing. At least, that’s what coach used to say.”

Elain chuckled. “Well, little did he know you would turn into such an amazing man.”

“You think too highly of me,” he mumbled, leaning down to capture her lips with his. The kiss was soft, but it lasted a while, Elain melting into his touch, Azriel’s arms tightening around her waist. 

He lifted her up and set her on the edge of the counter. Her slim legs immediately wrapped around his body, pulling him closer to her. His tongue swept between her lips, and he only hesitated when he heard Mila laughing at something on the t.v.

He’d forgotten she was there.

Azriel jerked back, feeling guilty for melting into their own little world, but Elain was laughing, quietly. 

“I suppose we should keep off each other while the little one is awake,” she whispered.

Azriel nodded, then kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips, one final time. “Maybe so.”

“But when she goes to sleep…” Elain trailed off, running her fingers down his chest.

Azriel grinned, eyes lighting up as he said, “Tease.”

“Only for you,” Elain muttered, wrapping her arms around him in an innocent embrace.

Even though innocent it was, Mila thought it was horrifying.

“Ewwww, I’m right here!” she yelled, standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips.

Azriel laughed as he spun around, narrowed his eyes, and started running toward Mila. She yelled and started running the other way, but Azriel’s legs were just a little bit longer. He caught her and threw her over his shoulder. 

“Let me down!” she giggled.

“Never!” Azriel cried, but he threw her down onto the couch before tickling her tummy. 

Elain stood in the doorway, watching the sight with a full heart.

~~~~~

Cassian had just gotten home from work when he saw Nesta, coming out of her apartment, struggling with a bigass box.

It had been almost two weeks since Feyre had spent the night at her sister’s apartment and Cassian had been trying to keep his distance. He had noticed, too, that Nesta hadn’t been home much. She had either been with Feyre or Elain. She couldn’t trust herself to be alone.

“Need help?” he asked.

She stopped, and although he couldn’t see her over the box, he assumed he was the last person she wanted to see.

“No, it’s okay.” There was nothing hard in her voice, just exhaustion. Feyre said she was detoxing - which, judging by the amount of drugs she had pulled out of Nesta’s apartment days before, Cassian wasn’t surprised.

“I don’t mind,” he said, taking the box from her before she could protest. “Moving?”

She sighed, finally able to meet his eye once she was free of the box. She grabbed another one, a smaller one, from just inside of her doorway. “Going to live with Elain. She has an extra room.”

Cassian nodded, surprised, and a small, selfish part of him was upset she was leaving the apartment across from his.

“Well, I can help you carry some of this down to your car. And, if you need more room, I don’t mind helping,” he said. “I do have a truck.” 

She smiled, softly. “Thanks.”

Nesta closed her door and started walking toward the staircase, Cassian close behind. When they made it to her car, Cassian shoved the giant box into her trunk.

As they began to walk back up the stairs, she cleared her throat. “Cassian…I’ve been meaning to come by-”

“It’s okay,” he said, cutting her off. “You don’t have to-”

“I’m sorry,” she breathed. She stopped in front of her apartment door to meet his gaze. 

Cassian said nothing. He just leaned against the brick building with his hands in his pockets.

“What I did to you wasn’t fair, and I know that, but I just want you to know that it had nothing to do with you.”

It’s not you, it’s me. It was the oldest line in the book; but, for once, Cassian knew it to be true. Even if it did make him feel guilty.

“I should have been there for you,” he said, then. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t.”

Her eyes grew wide. “Are you fucking kidding? I pushed you away. You had every right to react as you did. I wanted you to react as you did. I wanted you to hate me. And I was glad when you did.”

Cassian cocked his head to the side. “Why?”

She shook her head. “It’s not important.”

“It is to me,” Cassian whispered.

Nesta nodded, and leaned against the wall opposite of him. She blew out a long, slow, unsteady breath. “It’s easier when people don’t like you.”

Cassian thought of all the times he had told Nesta how he felt about her. Not once did she tell him that she liked him back; and when he had told her that he loved her, she wouldn’t even let him finish. 

“Maybe so,” he agreed. “But it’s lonely.”

“I’ve always been lonely,” she said, simply. 

Cassian nodded. “You don’t have to be, though. Start letting people in, Nesta. You’ll find it’s a hell of a lot nicer that way.”

She huffed a laugh and looked out at the parking lot, where the sun was setting. “Maybe I’ll give it a try.” 

“Good,” Cassian muttered, and when she looked back at him, he was already watching her. “Need help packing up?”

“You just got home from work,” she said. “You should go relax.” 

“I never relax,” he countered. “I’ve got nothing to do. Amren is out walking Bryaxis. Last offer.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed, but there was a small smile on her mouth. “Okay. Sure. Thanks.”

He nodded before following her into her apartment. She had already packed quite a bit up. Boxes of all shapes and sizes sat around the living room and the kitchen.

“All I really have left is my bedroom and the bathroom.”

“Boxes?”

“At the end of the hallway. A Sharpie is there, too.”

“Right,” Cassian said. “And if I forget to label a box?”

“I’ll know it was you who forgot and I’ll kick your ass.”

Cassian laughed. “Holy fuck, Nesta Archeron made a joke.”

She looked over her shoulder as she padded down the hallway. Her eyes were bright. Weary, but bright “It wasn’t a joke.”

Humored, Cassian walked after her and into her bedroom. “Where do you want me to start?”

“You’re tall,” she began, “mind getting all the stuff from the top of my closet?”

Cassian nodded, grabbed a box from the hallway and taped up the bottom before getting to work. 

“So, how are you feeling?”

She didn’t answer for a minute, and as another minute passed, Cassian thought he had pissed her off. But, then she answered, “Decent. Thankfully, Feyre found the hard stuff before I could really get into it. Most of what I took were those pain pills...Last week was hell. I was miserable. But the last couple days…” she shrugged. “The last couple days have been decent. I’m really fucking tired, but my head is clear...Even though my thoughts run a little more wild with a clear head. I’ve got a long road ahead of me, and I’ll have to fight for myself, every day, but, for the first time, I look forward to that.”

“That’s good,” he said, and when Nesta gave him a curious look he said, “Not about being tired and feeling like hell, about...you know. You just...You look good.”

She gave him another curious look.

“Not in like a sexual sense. I mean - you look good that way, too, but, I meant...you know. You look….hydrated.”

Nesta laughed, quietly. “Hydrated. Thank you.”

“Yeah,” Cassian said, then quickly faced her closet to stop whatever words were wanting to come out of his mouth before he could think better of it.

Just when he thought Nesta couldn’t have any more books than the ones that had been displayed in her living room, he pulled down stack after stack from the shelf at the top of her closet. There were also photo albums, which she refused to let him look through, and old CDs. There was one thing that really surprised him, though, that he found in the back of the closet. 

“You play the violin?”

Nesta stopped what she was doing by her desk. “You sound surprised.”

He looked at her, from the top of her head to her socks that were covered in black cats. “I just….never saw you as the violin type. Or, you know, the musical type in general.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “I haven’t played in years. My mom gave that to me, though, when I played nearly every day. Can’t get rid of it. Maybe I’ll pick it up again some day.”

Cassian unhooked the case and looked inside. It was made of a red wood, the bow was well worn. With a smile, he shut it safely inside and placed it in the top of his box. “You should. Pick it up again.” 

“Do you play anything?” Nesta asked, her back turned to him, once more.

“No,” Cassian answered. “I sang in choir in high school though.”

Nesta’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“You can sing?”

“Fuck no,” Cassian said. “I was horrible.” 

As Nesta’s laughter filled the room, Cassian taped the box shut and wrote in big, obnoxious letters, Top Closet Shit. He underlined it three times before putting the lid back on the marker and tossing it on her bed. 

She watched him, brows raised.

He shrugged. “At least I labelled.” 

Cassian stayed with her all night, helping pack the rest of her belongings. He did most of the work as she ordered him around, which Cassian was happy to do because he could tell she was exhausted. She seemed to be doing well, though. But every now and then when he looked at her, when she didn’t know it, her eyes were distant, heavy. But when she smiled at him, it was true. Genuine. And when she spoke, he knew she meant the words coming out of her mouth. For once, she seemed excited at the thought of going to live with her sister.

As midnight rolled around, everything Nesta owned was packed away in a box. She walked Cassian to her front door.

“Thank you for helping,” she said, eyes still bright from their night of talking about useless shit and laughing about nothing, even though that exhaustion lingered. “Truly. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I care about you, Nesta,” he said, voice quiet. “And I’m proud of you.”

Her smile faded, and she nodded, blue eyes shining. “Thanks.”

“I’ll be here in the morning to load the back of my truck up,” he promised.

“Great,” she whispered, smiling once more.

Cassian turned to leave, but when he opened the door, Nesta called his name.

He turned around and she had taken a step closer to him.

She shook her head as she said, “I was falling in love with you, too. For whatever it’s worth.”

Cassian froze before closing the distance between them and pressing his mouth to the top of her head. 

After one last smile, he left, and let himself into his own apartment.

Amren watched as he closed the door and leaned against it.

She asked him a question, but he didn’t hear it.

Nesta’s words were replaying in his mind, over and over and over again.

I was falling in love with you, too.

Cassian smiled.

When she said it, her eyes were clear, her voice sturdy. 

She was sober.

Nesta was sober.

Friends may be all that they remained, but that confession would stay with him.

For whatever it’s worth.

It was worth everything.

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

tag List (to be tagged, comment or send me an ask!)

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Prompts:

{ “I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you ever met that asshole” - Feysand } -anonymous

{ “How about Nessian needing to fake date when they go home for the holidays?!” } - anonymous

{ “could u pls do like an elriel fic where azriel is like this mysterious bad boy and elain is a goody two shoes lik aaaaa i cant get that image out of my head” } - anonymous

[highgaarden]

a lover’s concerto; game of thrones au. written for @klaroline-events‘ kc june bingo: ROYALS.

He shouldn’t be sitting so close, really, seeing as they were only just betrothed – and Caroline really wanted him to push his chair a bit further, but she had been told that you don’t tell a Targaryen what to do, much less the Mad King himself.

“Are you always so improper? Back it up, Dragon Boy,” said Caroline, who had never liked being told what to do.

Highgarden was a madness of wine and song. Enzo was trying not to vomit across the table whilst Damon was passed out underneath it. Loras was busy regaling a very drunk Malachai about that one time he accidentally set half their gardens on fire. Margaery was giggling, leaning heavily into Bonnie, who looked like even she was enjoying all the commotion around her.

It was strange that the everyone would have so much cause for celebration considering – everything – but… there you have it. Maybe she’d enjoy the party better if she wasn’t sitting at the head of the table, so far away from her friends.

“You’re sulking, Princess,” Klaus pointed out from behind the rim of his goblet.

“I don’t sulk,” she said, sulkily.

“Would it make you feel better,” he said, “if I named one of my dragons after you?”

“It would not,” she said primly, but Klaus hardly missed the little flare of curiosity in her eyes.  

“Qeldlie, I think I’ll name her,” Klaus decided. “It means golden. After your hair.”

Caroline, who had not yet started to learn High Valyrian, had to take his word for it. “A dragon in the Reach. Who would have thought?”

“These fertile lands suit them, it would seem,” Klaus said. He tipped his goblet at her. “Here’s to us Growing Strong.”

She tipped her own goblet back at him. “With Fire and Blood.”

—

The day the Targaryens came to Highgarden was quite a thing to behold.

Niklaus the Mad came swooping in on his dragon Viserion, whilst his sister Rebekah was on Drogon, and his brother Elijah was on Rhaegal, just like the stories they always hear about.

Katherine, a good handmaiden and a very bad flirt, was fanning her cheeks. Caroline wanted to snort. Who the hell did they think they were, rolling up into her lands with their bigass envoy and their stupid sunglasses?

“It’s not that hot here,” she grumbled. “No, Elena, do not wave!”

—

William had decided that to remain in his seat as one of the most ancient houses in the Kingdom, declaring friendship wasn’t enough when Klaus, apparently bored one day, wanted to liberate Westeros.

As if being an era ahead of them in technology made Dragonstone the ballers of the Seven Kingdoms. Klaus certainly thought so.

He was in William’s audience chamber when Caroline stomped in, huffing, and Klaus had tilted his head at her.

“Princess of the Summer courts,” he greeted.

“Your Grace,” she managed as graciously as she could, and sunk into a curtsy. “What brings you here?”

Klaus didn’t answer her. Instead he turned to William. “My Lord, your daughter speaks out of turn.”

“I—” blustered her father, turning a magnificent shade of magenta.

“I like it,” Klaus said. “So, have you heard? I am in search of a wife.”

“No, Your Grace - I hadn’t heard,” William said, the cogs already turning in his head.

Caroline’s barely had time to think whether this was a good opportunity to faint before Klaus has his lips on her knuckles.

—

Rebekah took to her at once, not because she was a lady as equal in beauty and stature as herself, but because she was someone to talk to that wasn’t one of her brothers.

“You’re lucky you’re an only child,” the Princess of Dragonstone confided one afternoon whilst they were practicing their stitching. She peeked at Caroline’s work – a pull of the needle here, a little thread there, and a flower bloomed to life in her hands – and looks approving. “You wouldn’t believe it, but brothers! They take ages getting ready.”

“You don’t say,” Caroline mumbled. There was already a ring on her finger, one of promise, and apparently there were two more to come before she and Klaus were finally to marry. She was disgruntled not at the fact that he had crafted her a ring so soon but more the fact that she didn’t hate it. She’d expected a big rock, and yes, it did come with that, but it was also surprisingly tasteful.

And it suited her very much, as if the gifter had taken exceptional notice of her hands.

—

He wasn’t bad company, she supposed. Things could be worse. According to Katherine things almost had been worse – apparently her father had considered a proposal from Winterfell.

Sure, the Starks were cool and all with their Direwolves, but she still hadn’t forgotten the time in Year 10 when Tyler, having invited Caroline over during one of those tedious Royal Exchange Programmes to experience court life in the asscrack of winter, had warged into his Direwolf in an attempt to impress her and had shed all over her favourite dress.

“Do you like dragons?” Klaus asked over breakfast. It was just the two of them since everyone else was still nursing their epic hangovers from last night’s wedding announcement celebrations.

She chewed thoughtfully on her lemon cake and swallowed before answering. “I do,” she said. “But I’m not talking to you until you tell me why you chose me.”

“I fancy you,” Klaus said.

She looked at him sharply.

“Is that so hard to believe?” he asked, sipping his coffee.

“Yes.”

The look he shot her was incredulous. “I see beyond your petals, you know. That you’re beautiful is a given – that you are strong, I have no doubt, considering your House words. But you are also full of light. A maiden fair as summer, with sunlight in her hair.”

Caroline frowned down at her tea and fought down a blush.

“If we finish up quickly, I’ll take you to see Qeldlie,” he said.

Caroline blinked at him. “Did you really name a dragon after me?”

“Of course.” He ducks his head. “It is not something I do often, mind you.”

She looked at him from behind the rim of her teacup. “I know.”

“Do you now?” Klaus asked with a tilt of his lips. He hesitated for a moment. “Dragons, they’re the opposite of humans.”

“How so?”

“They’re loyal,” he said simply.

“To a point, I’ve heard,” Caroline said.

“That’s true,” Klaus conceded. “If you treat them well. With the deference they deserve – but not so much that they can sense weakness. You must command them – and I saw that in you. You would have a dragon bend its knee to you, Princess.”

Caroline didn’t quite know what to say to that. She put down her teacup, and for the first time looked him in the eye. “Take me to see her.”

—

She was a magnificent creature, creamy white with gold markings, flapping her great wings and snorting hot air onto her cheeks. She stared up at it, wide-eyed with wonder, her heart in her throat as she took in its size. When Qeldlie spread her wings it spanned almost the length of her entire private garden.

“Golden,” Klaus murmured and tugged on one of her curls. “She’s a youngin, still, but under your care she will flourish. Have your other teenage lovers ever accorded you so magnoliously?”

“This isn’t a competition, Your Grace,” Caroline rolled her eyes. Qeldlie butted his hand out of the way to nuzzle into her cheeks, startling her with its sudden proximity.

“Klaus,” he corrected. “And I know it isn’t. They couldn’t possibly compare.”

“You’re assuming I’ve been courted aplenty,” she said, reaching a tentative hand towards Qeldlie before pulling it back. “I don’t think having a profile on RoyalMatch.com counts.”

“Have a word with your team about taking that down, will you?” Klaus started to scowl, before realising she was kidding. He returned her smile slowly, like he was out of practice or something.

“Like this, Klaus,” she almost chastised. She cleared her throat once and turned to face him fully and turned on him the famed Tyrell charm, the beguiling femininity of a rose.

Klaus studied her. “I don’t care much for pretence, sweetheart. I’d much rather you show me your thorns.”

Insistently Qeldlie returned her snout to her neck, and she yelped at the sudden heat.

“ȳdra daor!” Klaus commanded in his native tongue, batting the dragon out of the way. “Keligon bona.”

She recognized those words of reprimand at least – she really should had paid more attention in class. But how was fifteen-year-old Caroline to know she’d end up marrying a Targaryen, a House so ancient they were almost myth? Ironic, innit? twenty-year-old Caroline thought.

“Qeldlie,” she said slowly, and the dragon rears back and lopes gently behind her, growling something she can’t understand yet but hopes to one day.

Wait, hold up.

Was this dragon—

Was this dragon pushing her into Klaus?

“I hope it’s true about Targaryens being immune to fire,” she muttered when it’s clear the high heat in her cheeks can’t be politely ignored. Klaus laughed and buried his nose in her hair, breathing deeply.

“I’m immune to many things, love,” he said softly. “Apparently not to you though.”

She pulled out of his embrace and made a face at him – and he shrugged, like he couldn’t help himself.

[dredreadsdrawing]

Oc-tober Day 13: Future

........... Yall ready for a bigass story dump? Oh boi. Here we go..... (also bonus points and possibly a free sketch will be given to whoever guesses what this story was originally a fanfic of ;p) Again, hate these sketches but im short on time for these posts lol and my pen tablet broke. No more pen pressure, the lines come thick and round always now. big oof.

This story is set in an apocalyptic future.

Small note, i had written originally written half of this in a post, it crashed and didn’t save, so i rewrote it and it became more detailed and uh. im basically like. almost halfway through the fuckin story so..... please enjoy? :,3 I tried going full but its so much plz i cant ah i already have two other oc-tober prompts to complete ;o;

I would also like to specify that uuh this story situation is something I need to work out the kinks for lol. Definitely. Buuuut this is all I have for now XD please take it with a grain of salt. Oke here story:

-        First and foremost, make no mistake, the Yellow and Pink siblings are the main characters. I haven’t fleshed out the others as much as I have these two because of this.

-        It starts with Yellow and Blue. Friends since before they could walk. Their parents were already friends, so it was only natural. Pink was born once they finally hit school, and she grew up seeing Blue as a second brother figure. He was clearly a part of the family.

-        As time went on, though, these familial feelings were turning into something else. Yellow was hit with the realization that he liked his best friend. More than that, he was head over heels in love. But there were lots of problems with this.

-        For one, as soon as he realized his feelings, Blue had made it big in the newest gaming scene. The newest consoles had yet to be mastered, but he pioneered it, creating the first high scores, and charming the onlookers with his commentary as he did so. The rest of the bunker took him in as a new young celebrity.

-        Another big problem was, of course, how close they already were. ‘Brothers’ this, and ‘siblings’ that. The world already saw them as having this relationship, Yellow himself has told them before that Blue was this to him. But now he wasn’t. Yellow could die from embarrassment and shame.

-        And no matter how hard he tried following behind Blue, Yellow just isn’t as gifted; neither on screen nor with his people skills. Yellow does well enough to be a part of the top, but he never stands out. He doesn’t feel special enough.

-        Meanwhile, Orange and Pink are the best of friends. When Pink was little and saw how well her brother got along with Blue, she felt she wanted something like that too. She found her match at school, with the shy and quiet Orange. She was always nervous, but when she opened up, Pink found her to be clever, quick witted and sarcastic. She was a blast. They were inseparable babies, and quickly, they made a promise.

-        It started with Pink proposing to Orange. She liked her! They should clearly get married! But Orange wasn’t so quick to agree. Marriage is such a big commitment! Her mom would never allow it! So they compromised. No matter their future, they’d live close together. They’d always be together.

-        Even as Orange’s older sister took a dislike to Pink’s rowdiness.

-        As time went on, and puberty hit, some things came to light. Pink was very much into girls, in very explicit ways. Orange was…. Not. Nothing explicit for her, thank you very much. Through teenhood, the two kept their strong friendship, though, and always comforted one another. Lots of Pink’s girlfriends ended up jealous of Orange, but Pink would stop them at their tracks. Orange would always be a part of her life. If they don’t get along with her, there’s no point keeping a relationship that doesn’t recognize this.

-        Moving onto the plot, here it is. Everyone is already an adult, Pink and Orange being the youngest. There is a prestigious event that’s going to happen; the launch of the newest console that will feel the most life-like. To celebrate this launch, seven players will be chosen through competitions, and they’ll get to play the first quest in a livestream. It’ll take them three days.

-        Competitions come and most people that were already suspected to be chosen make it. With two surprises. Yellow, who barely got top due to pure luck. And White who… well, Orange is the best medic, hands down. Everyone knows she knows her strategies and most effective ways to save the group. She’s effective. Always where she needs to be. And yet, even though she got the highest score, she’s been pushed aside and her place in the team was given to White. Everyone screams malarky.

-        Pink is pissed for her friend. She was going to have a great time with her in the game! They would be pioneers together! Orange calms her down. Pink should have fun without her, it’s not a big deal. Orange still has her high scores, and she can keep her notoriety. This won’t affect them in the long run. Pink relents but isn’t happy. She hates White and sees him as a prissy elitist. As they go to get lunch, they pass Red. Pink casually invites her to eat with them. Red says she’s busy. Pink is disappointed and Orange laughs. Pink’s got her eyes on Red. If she can’t spend her time with her friend, she’ll be spending it getting closer to her instead…

-        Orange goes home and mopes in secret. She stayed calm for Pink’s sake but she’s really taken this loss hard. She needed to make a break in her record. Have a flashy accomplishment. And it was stolen from her. Her older sister comes in. She’s the head of coding for this new game. Orange mopes around her, begging for her to let her in, or to at least tell her why she didn’t make it. Her sister keeps her lips shut. But. She does concede that it was unfair. She prepares Orange’s favorite dinner and bought her favorite dessert. Orange smiles at the heartfelt show of sympathy and doesn’t bring it up again. Whatever it was that happened, it wasn’t her sister’s fault.

-        White is from a legacy of high-rankers. They’ve always kept their marks perfect, and drilled perfection into their kids. IF there wasn’t a white player in a prestigious event, they had failed. Out of the newest generation’s three, White is the youngest and…. The least skilled. They try! They’ve worked so hard all their life, but their reflexes aren’t as polished no matter how hard they focus. They just can’t be better than Orange, the true best medic. Before the tournament, he had become depressed. He didn’t even want to try out for it, knowing what would happen. But he ran into Red, an old acquaintance from past games, who picked up on how red his eyes were. She treated him to a warm drink. She let him vent. She showed genuine concern, and was gentle as she reassured him she knew his worth. He’s always been a great partner in the games she’s played with him. She knows he’d be a great addition to the team if he makes this. With her words of confidence, he’s flushed. A renown sense of hope…. And a new attraction makes him try harder. He competes. He pushes and pushes to save his teammates. But he’s just not as effective or calculative and Orange gets the big win save for hers. She won, fair and square. But when they present the awards…. It’s White they call out. He’s…. floored. He didn’t win. Why was he getting into the group?

-        He accepts the award. He’s not happy about it, but… it’s all he can do. He asks his family what strings they pulled. They never give him an answer. They don’t even congratulate him or leave any messages as he prepares to stream. He’s left alone to face the wrath of the people who knew Orange deserved his place, her best friend Pink at the forefront. To treat him like the petty sore loser he didn’t want to be. He slapped himself. He can’t let them win. He’ll do it. Red believed in him. He’ll show them what he’s made of with this game! He won’t die. And… he notices the looks Pink is giving Red. He doesn’t like that. He’s going to get closer to Red for sure. He knows he stands no chance with her… but he wants to be someone she opens up to too. And she may not like him romantically, but Pink is in no way someone who deserves her attention. With how brash, rude and self-centered she is? White hates her. They’re going to keep butting heads.

-        Yellow and Blue practice together nonstop. They are in sync, years of getting to know each other’s play style has them adept to being a team. After beating a favorite of theirs, they go out to celebrate. On the way there, Blue keeps being stopped to be congratulated. No one congratulates Yellow. Not that he minds… he doesn’t do well under the spotlight. But… as they sit down to eat, Yellow’s concerns bubble up. After a few drinks, he comes clean. He’s not sure he deserves to be a part of the team. It was pure luck that he barely scraped by and got the most points. He doesn’t even remember what he did to get them. Blue pats his shoulder, and shakes him. He reassures him its only his insecurities making him feel like this. Yellow deserves to be there. And he won’t be alone. Blue will always have his back. Yellow smiles and they have a good time the rest of the night.

-        After a month of preparation, presentations, and practice, it’s finally time. They wave to everyone as they step into the room that will start their procedure. They’ll be knocked out, have their bodies connected to the game, and awaken in it.

-        They’re up. They’re in a metal chamber. They’ve already got their armor suits on, and their weapons are right beside them. It’s a survival game set in what the upper world would look like. They must treat this as real life. Supplies are provided; this is just a trial of the game. The setting isn’t on difficult. Their main focus is to not die, and to get to the end of this delivery mission. They’ll send a note to a sanctuary, the path already set, and it should only take them three days tops. Easy enough. They leave the chamber and take in the view outside, blinking at the harsh morning light. Their livestream begins, their helmets broadcasting what they see.

-        The world is a dump. Nice graphics though. They step out and thus begins the journey. From this point forward, I’ll just mildly explain some events. Some will be more detailed than others cuz this is all a haze.

-        First, as they walk around, they catch the attention of people in cars. Their first bad guys. The bad guys don’t stand a chance against them, and retreat. Red is cautious of them coming back.

-        They stop when they reach an abandoned house, no neighbor houses anywhere. It looks so normal. They step inside and, though decrepit, everything looks ok. Until they reach the basement. An underground lab. Years of gaming has made them apprehensive. They can’t understand what’s going on but this doesn’t look good.

-        Before they can find logs on an old computer, the bad guys they fought before indeed burst through with reinforcements. It’s a close battle, and most of the lab is destroyed in the process. The team beats most of them as one drops a light. The building is set on fire. The team runs away, but Green dropped her gun. Black can’t let them go empty-handed, he leaves his sniper with her and goes back to get it. The fire reaches the lab, to the gas storage and the house explodes while he’s inside. Black is out of the game.

-        Green is miffed. He died so early, and for such a dumb reason! They told him not to go in!! Everyone crowds around them. He’ll be ok, they can yell at him when they win the game. They are comforted by that fact, but still, this loss is taking a toll immediately. They were supposed to be seven and now they are six. So they really will just die and not respawn. For now, they need to continue.

-        The team move forward a bit more but stop to rest for the night once they reach an old city. Red just lost her second in command. She needs someone else to fill in. Pink and White go hard trying to impress her all night. Their stumbling and forcefulness leaves Red more exasperated. She ultimately chooses Blue instead.

-        Where before, Yellow and Blue would be goofing off together, now he has to stay beside Red and help her be vigilant and strategize. Yellow feels a bit left behind again, but Blue reassures it’s only temporary. For them to win the game.

-        They take a rest in an old mattress shop. Perfect for their sleep. They take turns being on watch, not taking off their suits. They were told to keep them on at all times. For safety reasons. And the slight discomfort they felt sleeping with them wasn’t unbearable. It was a calm enough night.

 ~~~

-        A shift in perspective to Orange, she’s been watching the livestream nonstop from the comfort of her home. She checks the media (idk technology I guess these phones just work within their space? Underground? Lolol man idk XD sorry) and everyone is sad about Black being the first to go. Somewhat meanly, people start callously saying Yellow or White should’ve died first.

-        The question pops up. When will they be seeing Black? Now that he’s out of the game, he should be returning. No answer from the game manufacturers. Radio silence.

-        Her sister comes home late that day. She looks frantic and doesn’t even tell Orange hello. She goes straight to the kitchen, picks up a container, and packs in food. She does this when she’s staying the night at the office. Orange is concerned. She asks about Black’s return. Her sister flinches. She stops. After a few, quiet moments, she shakily confesses.

-        “He’s…. dead.”

-        It’s all over the media the next day. There was a malfunction in the game machine. There is a risk of the players dying in real life if they die in game. They just lost Black. Everyone is horrified and outraged. The government tries to reassure the public. They are looking into it. They will bring justice. Orange is beyond worried for everyone, but particularly Pink. She should’ve been there. She wouldn’t let them die. But here, at the Bunker, there’s nothing she can do. Only watch and hope.

~~~~~~~~~

-        Two days left. They’re doing well on time. Their map is a general one, only showing the straight line they need to take. No small details or markers to be had. Pink and White are still at each other’s throats, blaming the other for not getting the position beside Red. A scuffle comes to them. Not the same bad guys, new ones. More sophisticated ones. They aim for their heads, and shout insults at them. Calling them ‘Bomberbees’.

-        In the scuffle, Yellow notices something off. A child by themselves, no older than four or five, in the middle of the street, getting caught in the crossfire. They hide behind an old, toppled over car, but stray bullets hit the gas. It drips and Yellow remembers Black’s death. Without much thinking, they scurry from the fight to pick up the kid and run. Sure enough, a spark from a fire close by lands in the gas, and causes another fire. Then bam, second explosion. The kid is clinging to him, Yellow has gotten them out of the fire, but now they’re being chased by someone from the attackers. They get caught in a shop without exits. Yellow tries to shoot with one hand, but he can’t get the attacker. As they near, they pick up a heavy display, readying to crush Yellow and the kid. A shot hits them in the neck and stops them, making the heavy load also slip and fall on their head. They’re dead. Blue rushes inside. He’s furious.

-        He’s cursing at Yellow for putting his life in danger like that. Yellow lets go of the kid, and they run away immediately, scared of Blue. Yellow is anxious, wanting to follow the child. Blue is incredulous. It’s an NPC. Yellow tries to reason. Maybe it’s a side quest? It’s a kid alone in this dangerous hell hole. They should help. Blue shakes his head, they already lost Black. They can’t lose Yellow. Not for this. He uses his rank, as second in command. Yellow can’t look for the kid. It’s an order. They return to the group.

-        They had managed to kill enough for the bad guys to retreat, but the toll was heavy on their resources. In just these first two days, they’ve gone over half their ammo. Realizing their situation, Red begins prioritizing looting. She was right the first time when she said bad guys return with reinforcements. These new dudes can too.

-        Taking advantage of the big city, they venture a bit to get more ammo. They split into groups. Unfortunately, despite her protests, Pink gets put with White. Red was hoping they’ll work whatever they have going on. They bicker as they leave, and she already regrets her decision.

-        Yellow gets put with Green, and they go the opposite direction. Close to where the child ran off. He recounts what happened as they scavenge around, Green listening with only mild interest. Then she sees a kid herself, at the end of a street with a toppled skyscraper. It motions to them. They follow.

-        The kid leads them to their home inside the topped skyscraper. There’s a bunch more kids. They’re surrounding one of themselves, a hurt girl. The boy Yellow saved quietly steps forward and asks him to help her too. Yellow and Green look at each other. Side quest?

-        Blue and Red are on their own. They have the easiest time out of all of them. They started by looting the bodies. They never really got to appreciate it before, but these gory details…. Went above and beyond. Almost felt surreal to Blue that he was gathering bullets from the pockets of a man’s bottom half torso, his top half across the room. He suspected if he took off his helmet, the place would smell too. Red is quiet, but she eventually breaks the silence. She apologizes for putting Blue as her second in command without asking him. He shakes it off. It’s alright. Black’s death was unexpected. Black’s death. Blue almost shivers thinking about it. Everything in the game has felt so lifelike. He’d hate to go out with a bang like that. He tried making the situation lighter by bringing up what Black would be doing right now. Probably, he’d be escorted to the hotel nearby to stay and watch the livestream until his teammates finished. He’s probably beating himself up over being the first to die. Red shakes her head, remembering how her friend hated losing first. But more than that, he hated being separated from Green. This would be his true hell. And the comments he’ll get on his news feed! The roasts! They laughed, imagining it. All for his lover’s gun. Green has him whipped. Blue sorts through some more piles of trash, the laughter dying down. Behind his smile, he hid concerns. It was so fast to die here. No health bars to keep in check. Nothing but realism. He had to keep Yellow safe.

-        Cut back to Pink and White. Though they hate each other, they do work together. There’s no point letting their disagreements drag the group down. They manage to find an old gun store. Jackpot? As they scavenge, a wild, and mutated animal enters the store. A chase ensues. White is quick and small. He manages to get away fast, leaving behind the stocky and slower Pink. She curses at him for not sticking to her. She gets cornered as more of the same mutants show up. She decides she needs to blow them in one go. It’s her only choice. Though it’s one of her last three, she readies her grenade, but is beat to the punch by a giant beam crushing all three mutants. The dust settles and she sees White on top of the beam, having pushed it down with his entire weight. He’s hurt.

-        He turns on his healing, but it’ll still take a while. She helps him up. She’s salty, but grateful. He’s limping. They’re far from the group. And they still need to go back and check for ammo. Stuck together for longer, they finally break the ice. She was impressed by how quick he was. He hesitantly takes the compliment. As they continue, curiosity burns. She’s been chastising him for so long, she wants genuine answers. She asks him why he chose to be a medic. He says he didn’t. He was forced into it because, naturally, his siblings and parents already filled other roles. She doesn’t like this answer. So he relented?  Just like that? She lets him have it. Orange loves being medic. She put her heart and soul into her job. He just does this because of his family.

-        White bites back. Yeah he gave in. His family is so overwhelming. His entire life was already given goals he didn’t choose. An idea he had to live as. Of course she wouldn’t understand. No one but them would understand. He has no choice. But he doesn’t want to disappoint or be a burden. That’s his reason for training! He…. Breaks down at this. He cries. Pink is very uncomfortable. They reach the gun store and separate again. Its quiet with the occasional sniffles. Pink feels…. A bit bad.

-        They do find ammo. White heals. They walk back. Pink relents after a few minutes, and tells White that… he isn’t.. the WORST medic. He did manage to be second in the competition. That counts for something. He’s surprised by her try at peace. He also gives in. He says he’s sorry for taking Orange’s spot. He honestly didn’t ask for it. But his family… Pink is surprised by this confession. So he didn’t get in because he pulled strings. It was his overbearing parents. She finally gives up her hatred for the short dude. It’s not helping either of them. They return more successful than the others, being the second group back. To Red’s delight, White and Pink aren’t fighting anymore. She gives them both a pat and congratulates them. She’s proud they can work through their differences. As she leaves them, they both sigh at the same time. Then look at each other. Oh yeah. They’re still rivals.

-        Yellow and Green get back late. They tell the group about the kids. Blue is quick to groan, but Red takes an interest. She allows the team to accept the side quest. They just need to help one hurt kid, after all. They turn to White, pleadingly. Can he do it? White gulps, the pressure being on for him to succeed. Now was his chance to prove himself as a medic.

-        Still not sure how to make the healing system work exactly, but ultimately, he succeeds. The kids swear he’s a wizard, but he brushes it off. Still, he’s flattered and riding a high from his success. They say goodbye to the kids, who take a liking to White, Green and Yellow for being nice. They still don’t like Blue and are wary of Pink and Red. Either way, they leave, and the three favored talk about how real the kids acted. The NPCs in this world are well-made.

-        They’re on the move and there’s some lighter bickering between White and Pink as they continue trying to get Red’s attention, but she ignores them. They halt their walking as a familiar event occurs, dirty beat up cars coming and circling them. They stop and open. A big man, clearly in charge steps out. He’s there to give them a warning. When they stepped inside that normal-looking house, they were in Crumble territory. His lackeys foolishly followed behind, and now the building is gone. He’s barely placated these ‘Crumbles’ by making a deal with them. To catch this team and bring them back. His lackeys point their weapons. Are they going to come quietly or do they need to make a scene?

-        Pink is excited. “Oh the plot is picking up!” It’s a fight. It’s super close, the hardest fight they’ve been in by far, but it’s completely thanks to their armor that they get the upper hand, and leave by stealing a vehicle. All those driving games taught White how to be a getaway driver well. They escape, and along the way, ditch the car in case they can track it. They survived the second day.

-        Back to it being night, they make a fire and gather around. They have bedrolls to sleep in, but it’s uncomfortable. One person will stay guard while the rest sleep. They SHOULD be sleeping in their armor no problem. But especially with the bedrolls… its uncomfortable. So Pink takes hers off. As they choose spots to put down their rolls, she ends up setting hers next to White. She tells him he’s impressed her today. “If you can’t make it as a medic, you can definitely win competitions with those skills you know.” White is embarrassed, but… hopeful. He liked the thrill of going fast. Maybe… this could be something he’s good at. As Pink lays herself down, she slips and hurts herself on a jagged rock. She starts to bleed. White stares. They’re baffled. Having never taken their suits off prior, they hadn’t realized they can bleed. “It even hurts.” Pink laughs it off. “Damn, they went all out for this.” White agrees, but it still doesn’t sit well. Red passes them and his concern fades into thoughts of her instead. He gets up.

-        Red is first watch. He stops by to just…. Tell her she’s doing a good job leading them so far. Red is surprised. He never talks to her first, always shy and skittish. She smiles back at him, sadly. She thanks him, but she can’t take the compliment. Black’s loss was a failure on her part. A real good leader would’ve held him back by force. It was a stupid death, no way around it.

-        After an awkward silence (because White didn’t know how to follow that up), Red decides its her turn to be nice. She thanks White for saving them today. Her compliment is genuine, and she follows it with a head pat. He’s incredibly happy from this, and goes to bed looking beet red with a goofy smile. Pink notices. She decides it’s time for her to get a bit more aggressive. Gotta put down all her cards before slowpoke seals the deal.

-        Pink’s shift is next. As she goes to relieve Red, she also tries for small chat. It doesn’t work. Red calls her out for not being in her armor. Pink says she’ll get it in a bit. Red starts to leave, she is tired. Pink blurts in a moment of impulsiveness.

-        “When… all this is done, can we go for a drink?” Red stops and turns around. She’s confused. “Uh.. sure? I imagine we’ll all have a big celebration with alcohol anyways…” “Yeah, but I’m not asking to just get wasted. I’m asking to.. be able to get alone with you.”

-        Ah. Now Red gets it. She’s embarrassed. After a momentary pause that feels like forever, she speaks. “I’m… sorry.” Pink is hurt. She knew she had less of a chance with her but she’s still hurt. Pink brushes it off. “It’s ok.” Red still looks like she has more to say, but… she turns back. She’s tired and now isn’t a good time. The stream is still on. God, Red remembered and so did Pink. She just got rejected in front of the whole Bunker... Pink is frustrated and cant sleep even when her shift is done.

~~~~~~~~

-        Back at the Bunker, Orange watched the confession and felt terrible for her friend. She had been embarrassed today. Still, more than the concern for her love life, was the concern for her life. The confession was secondary to the threat of them all dying.

-        The media has blown up much much more. Everyone was scared for the player’s lives already, but after today’s stream, more joined in. The people that hated White have mostly turned around, finding his day as redeeming. Instead, blame was shifted onto his family as they were now seen for the perfectionist robots they were. But more than that, they have now effectively put their youngest in danger for his life by forcing him onto this game. Very unexpectedly, the Whites…. Showed remorse. They never expected to sign away their child’s life. It was just supposed to be another prestigious event to get their name into. They’re mad at the game developers and are with the people hounding the government to get answers. They’re mad, and they want their family member back. Alive.

-        Yellow also begins getting his own fans. Showing care for the NPCs, especially contrasted with Blue’s disregard of them…. Blue fans are buzzing. What kind of person doesn’t care for children, EVEN in a game? Defenders of Blue make their case, it’s a dangerous situation and they’ve lost Black. Though he doesn’t know it, keeping everyone in the team alive over NPCs IS the way to go. Still, it doesn’t sit well with half his supporters, and alliances are shifting. Yellow is gaining followers.

-        Pink’s bold declaration made her gain new fans. Many proclaimed that if Pink made it out, they would gladly take her. Orange grimaced at these. Red, likewise, got a lot of…. Hate. Pink fans thought she was too mean with her rejection. Red stans defended her right to say no. There was a battle between the two, and in any other day this would be normal, but the underlying pressure of either not making it highlights their hate for one another. These could be their last moments, and now they’ll spend them awkwardly. Orange sighs and drops her phone.

-        All day, Orange’s sister has been out of the house. Though she had taken food with her, Orange guesses it wasn’t enough. Orange hasn’t talked to her all day, not after finding out her friend was in danger and her sister was part of it. There are no words to describe her feelings. Still. With how stressful things are right now…. Her sister should be at her top game trying to fix this. She should be eating well. Orange makes her dinner, still… upset but resigned to what’s happened, and goes to deliver it. Having done this before, she has no problem getting through to her office. She meant to leave the packed, warm lunch in her desk if she wasn’t there, but she dillydallies when she finds the picture of White on her sister’s screen. She looks around. No one is watching her, everyone busy with the catastrophe at hand. She clicks through and discovers. Her sister specifically made the deal to keep her out of the game. To bring White in. In her emails, she seemed aggressive this be done. Even threatening to quit her beloved job. Orange hears the clicking of her sister’s heels and returns everything back the way it was. She sits down at her sister’s seat with the dinner in her lap and her phone in her hand, pretending to have been waiting for her. The interaction is normal. She hugs her, gives her the food, and leaves. On the way out, she sees a group of her sister’s coworkers rush out of a familiar room. The room that’s always been showcased as where the players would be held. She slips behind the cameras and peeks in through the door’s small window. The machine that was supposed to connect everyone’s minds is… empty. They’re not here. Orange’s stomach twists. Where are they then?

-        Hearing more people coming, she rushes out of the corridor and out of the building. She has too much to think about. Too many implications. She. Wants. Answers.

~~~~~~~~~~~

-        One day left. They are close! They wake up and get ready. Their last stop crosses through a town. They’ll get to interact with more NPCs! Everyone is excited. They begin the walk, Blue talking to Red, Green to White. Pink stayed quiet. Yellow is concerned for his sister. All their time spent here, she’s been making googly eyes at Red, and now she won’t even look at her. Oh no. He knows whats up.

-        He tries to cheer her up, reminiscing her old girlfriends… and some other nice girls waiting back home. Pink snorts. She’s not in the mood for this. Not from someone like him. Yellow is hurt. What does she mean someone like him? Much to his dismay, Pink gives him a look. Then she looks back at Blue. … she knew? “You knew?” “It’s… not exactly subtle.” She teased. “You’ve liked him since you wer-“ “PINK! SHUT UP!” “What? Rude.” Yellow looks furious. Slow realization dawns on her yet again. She forgot that they were on a stream. Ooh dear.

-        Now they were both in a bad mood. Yellow terrified of going back when they won, to having clips of his sister’s words thrown in his and Blue’s face. He never wanted to confess! This will ruin their friendship! And the audience backlash!!!! Blue has a lot of diehard stans that… to put it mildly, are not keen on giving him up. To hear his own best friend, whom they barely tolerated already, has a crush on him. Yellow. Was. Scared.

-        Pink feels so guilty. She was already in a crappy mood and now she’s gone and made things worse. It’s her turn to try to reach out and reassure Yellow, when more dust picks up from behind. They hear the sounds of vehicles. Oh great, there’s more. They ready for a fight, but are caught off guard when the cars aren’t stopping. They instead, zoom by, each one trying to wrap a rope lasso around a member as they move. Most of them dodge or cut the ropes in time. Pink doesn’t She’s caught by the midriff and dragged along, her armor taking most of the hits for her as she bounces along the ground. This is NOT her day! Her teammates chase after her, but the cars are too fast. Thinking fast, she pulls a grenade from her backpack. The one she didn’t use against the mutants. She aims, and luck is on her side as she’s able to chuck it inside the open window holding her rope. The car explodes and she’s blown back. She hits her helmet. She dents it. Her livestream is shut off.

-        Her teammates get to her just as soon as the cars double back and try to lasso them again. They’re prepared now, dodging and even pulling someone out by yanking on the rope. They kill them. Per Red’s orders, they aim for the wheels. They get one car to pop, the others drive away, having failed. The car they left behind is quiet. They inch closer. They see the figure inside, staring at them. He opens his mouth, but before he can say a word, Green from behind everyone shoots him in the head. She needed to practice using Black’s gun anyways. Everyone congratulates her for her aim… though it wasn’t as good as it could be. She laughs with them, promising to give up being a sniper one this was over. She’s only taking over because she lost her gun.

-        Pink gets up. From her reads, its clear her livestream set up is too jammed to start back up again. Her footage is lost now. It’s a bummer. Yellow helps her as they continue moving towards their destination, but neither speak. Still mad. Still guilty. They reach the town. It’s huge! And unlike the abandoned city, it’s full of people… They decide to stay and explore a bit. They had time, their destination was just a ways across from here. They’d make it.

-        Trying to distract herself from her conflicting emotions, Pink leaves the group when they’re not looking to go to a bar. There, she finds what she believes to be a mini quest. An old man is complaining about what he calls ‘the abomination’ taking his wares the other day. Pink jumps into accepting this NPC’s quest, to defeat the abomination and retrieve his goods. She follows his directions to the outskirts of town. To a normal-looking cabin. Wanting this to be quick she carelessly blasts the front door open and immediately, a fight begins. The abomination has green fur, different sized golden eyes, and scales and spikes scattered around its body. The abomination makes some clear sounds that reminisce garbles. So it can’t even communicate. This has got to be it.

-        They fight, almost destroying the home in the process. The abomination almost bites the dust with a full face blast, but manages to scurry away, Pink hot on their trail. In the chase, she follows it out of the town… into a valley… behind a fence clearly stating danger… The creature leads her to a cave where it gets darker… and warmer… By the time she notices her radiation alarms going off, she’s already feeling sick and exhausted. She passes out.

-        She comes to outside, feeling something in her mouth. She swallows unconsciously, but gags at the foul taste and sputters. She looks up at the person holding her. The abomination. Pink is quick on the draw…. Except her gun is not with her. Neither is her suit. She panics but a voice is heard from behind. “She saved you, and you still want to blast her?!” She turns around to see a shiny, scaled person judging her. “You should’ve left her in the cave, Charger.”

-        The abomination makes more garbles, with a shrug. Pink is confused. With the help of the draconic(?) (who is the abomination’s brother???) the situation is cleared up. So the quest was a lie. The old man is a smuggler, and the goods they confiscated where weapons stolen from another smaller town nearby. Pink was being played. Pink apologizes, not knowing what else to do. She had thought this was just another clear cut mini-mission. Who knew this game had moral complexity like this?

-        Charger forgives her, to her brother’s annoyance. Pink stick around for a bit, offered a place at their dinner table. She got to meet their oldest brother, and taste what local food is really like. It’s not bad. She gets back her suit and weapon. She’s allowed to go. But before she does… she ends up opening up to these nice NPCs. Why not? Her comms where off and her livestream camera was busted anyways. The NPCs nodded along and Charger gave her a hug by the end. The middle brother gave a few words of wisdom. “So it’s not what you wanted. But at least you’ve got a great friend to add to your collection. And she sounds pretty bad ass… you gotta keep those close.” Pink laughed. Yeah… she’s been lucky in the friend department. She mused how much she missed Orange. She got to leave finally, a load off her shoulders. She went back to the group, where stuff… is going down. The town is in chaos and her team is in the middle of it. What happened while she was gone?

-        When Pink left, the group had decided to split again. Green, Blue and Yellow went to see something (idk lol haven’t worked this out yet) and White and Red stayed together. They explore the local food and shops. They have a nice time taking everything in. They peak a few people’s curiosities, but they aren’t outright being aggressive, so the NPCs leave them alone. It’s a fun day…. One could even say…. It’s like a fun… date…

-        White can’t hold it in anymore. He’s ready to confess. He takes her to a secluded spot and very nervously fidgets with his helmet… taking it off and begins to talk by bringing up a memory. The day Red helped him. Red’s attention is piqued. What about it? White continues. That day, he had hit his alltime low. He was ready to quit gaming altogether. But she… gave him hope again. Made him strive to be someone worthy of working beside her. Her cheeks redden and her eyes widen. She’s realizing where this is going. White continues. Being here, watching her work…. He was content with just staying in the background... but after today. He holds her hand, he himself turning into a tomato. Nervously, he blurts. He wants to stay by her side, even outside of this game. He has his eyes closed. No sounds respond to him. He nervously opens them to see Red’s expression. She looks sympathetic… but that’s it. His heart drops. “White…” His face stays aflame, he wants to cry.

-        With a shaky voice he rushes out. “Oh-nonono its ok I just. I pushed this on you- Im ok I just-“ “No. White, listen to me.” He stops his tumbling and listens. He wont look at her, but he’s readying himself for her response. She sighs, and takes his shaking shoulders. “I like you White… but I’m not… interested in being in a relationship. With anyone.” White’s shakiness drops. Ok… now he’s looking at her. Her expression is sincere. White is confused. Red makes a disgruntled noise. “I should’ve explained this sooner to people… I’m not looking for any romance. I just. Don’t have any interest in it.” She looks away, taking another breath and continues. “I know most people don’t understand it but please… believe me. This isn’t me lying to you to make your rejection easier. I…. genuinely am trying to… get you to understand.” Her expressions. Her trying to hard. He’s seen enough. He’s convinced. And he’s honestly... touched. He sniffles and rubs his eyes, he was just about to cry a second ago. But he feels it’s silly now. He’s still sad, but more than that. He smiles at her. He thanks her for confessing this to him… he hopes this means they can stay friends. She smiles back, relieved, beaming. Of course. She thanks him for understanding and ends the conversation with a hug. It’s a nice rejection.

-        It’s at this moment, that they are attacked. Caught completely off-guard, they are easy targets. Still, they put up a fight. Red can get to her gun and fends them off. White isn’t as lucky. He’s knocked down easily, tied and gagged. He’s got a concussion, but he’s still fighting to stay conscious. Red chases after them, shooting. People around the streets flee from the scene. Green, Blue and Yellow heard the commotion. They run and are ready to help, weapons raised. The kidnappers know they are outnumbered. But they have leverage. They hide behind White, holding his struggling body. If they shoot, they can hit his soft nogging. The one holding him grips his hair tightly. White makes a noise of pain.

-        Pain. In game. The team looks at one another. Red tells them to put their weapons down. They slowly do. A car comes blasting through the now empty streets. Their ride. They’re taking White. If they want him safe, they’ll come with them without any problem. More bad guys get around them. They’re ready to bind them. Red is the quickest shot. She knocks back the person behind her, manages to shoot the two behind Green and Yellow, and Blue followed suit with his own. She points her gun to the one holding White, but a sharp cry of pain makes her hesitate.

-        What was he doing? He twisted White’s arm forcefully and doesn’t stop until it snaps. White is screaming. His arm socket has popped off. It hangs loosely. The holder is cursing at them. They should’ve played nice! He throws White into the car and jumps in, closing the door. The car slams it. They shoot but its too late. White is gone. They’ve lost a member to an unforeseen obstacle.

-        They’ve failed.

-        And more than that.

-        Those cries… wont leave their heads. Red throws her gun in anger. White was in pain. There is pain in this game. Real, fucking pain. Blue and Yellow immediately look at each other. Green is in shock. What the fuck is going on.

-        Pink returns to this, White missing and the group in shambles. Pink is confused. Of course there is pain. Had no one else noticed? They look at one another. They never left their suits. They never got hurt before this. No. Only White has gotten bruises from the pillar he toppled. Only Pink has gotten cut from a rock. Their only concerns were dodging bullets that didn’t even penetrate their armor. They didn’t think pain would be a factor. This new information sets a series of horrid questions through their brains. It was this easy to get hurt. And Black? He died in an explosion. His suit may protect him from bullets but not from fires that hot. He may be chilling back home now, but at what cost?

-        What madman programmed realistic pain into a fucking game.

[dibs-on-holland-blog]

Apparently Spies Can Hide Everything But Their Underwear

Request: Hii, can I request a James Bond!tom/spy!tom where the reader is also a spy of the rival agency(or whatever) and they have to work together and end up going from hate to really liking each other???? Or like anything along those lines :)

Pairing: spy!Tom x reader

Word count: 2k

“You’re expecting me to do what?” you asked your underboss, James, who was a fair bit older than you, his dark brown hair peeking strands of white, but he was a good friend of yours. In that moment your eyes were surveying his face like looking for a catch of some sort, you couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“I’m expecting you to go the Montage Hotel, Beverly Hills, where you will be working with Tom Holland on our newest case. You need to watch a Sir. Richard Jones, we suspect that he might have something do with the ongoing missing of military machinery. He poses a threat to everyone as well as himself, and needs to be stopped.” he repeated to you, almost word for word like he said it the first time, and you couldn’t help wondering if he had memorised that off the report description.

“Tom Holland?” you asked him plainly, remembering what the mission was but that name was sticking out like a prick on a cactus, and you didn’t like it “He’s a rival company agent, what do you mean, ‘Tom Holland’?”.

“I know, Y/N, I don’t like it either but this is too big a case to take on our own, it’s not a decision I made, it’s Boss’ decision, and I’m sure he didn’t want to cooperate with them either, but he had to listen to a higher power” he said, shuffling through some paper that sat on his gray desk, pin neat and if you didn’t know better you’d say he never spends time in this room, considering how clean it was, but of course that wasn’t the case; he spends his life in this office, it cost him his wife and kids, his family and everything around him, this man lived through his work, and it almost made you feel sorry for him, which isn’t a trait a spy should have.

“A higher power? God?” you asked, a smirk tugging at the ends of your lips, you seen James sigh patiently, he didn’t like when you joked about anything during work hours, when your profession is a spy, every second counts.

“A higher corporation, Y/N” he said in a tolerant voice, though it sounded somewhat strained.

“I know, I’m just kidding. Anyway, when do I start the mission?”

“Five minutes ago; a car is waiting for you downstairs, please don’t crash it again. Here are the keys.” he said hurriedly as he reached into his desk drawer and retrieved a pair of shiny car keys and handed them to you.

“I didn’t crash it on-” “Yeah yeah, Y/N go we don’t have time at our leisure.”

You rolled your eyes as you took the keys out of his hand and made your way out of his office, around the building and down the stairs. It wasn’t fair, you really didn’t crash that car on purpose. It’s not like it was exactly your fault that you were in a high speed car chase after a suspect and one of his buddies decided to ram the bumper of his car into your ass. Of course, this didn’t explain your swerving a whole 220° and going front first into the wall of a Target, no it didn’t, but the bigass fucking spider that was sitting on the floor beside your leg sure did. Good thing you crashed that car because it was only later found out that the spider wasn’t there by accident, it was put into your car by the same guy who rammed his car into yours, and was a Black Widow spider so either it died or you died, and there was no argument about it.

You open the door to the car and sit it the comfortable leather seat, the ‘new car’ smell lingering in the interior. As you start driving down the beautifully crowded streets of LA, you turn the radio on and lightly bop your head along to whatever’s playing, side window rolled down, breathing in the sweet smell of diabetes: Randy’s Donuts. You rolled up to your destination, and had to agree that it was a beautiful hotel, but you couldn’t focus on the hotel itself, you had a mission to do and a Tom to square up to. You walk up the front desk and the small lady at the till asks you for your name and gives you your room key, while saying “Your fiance came early, he’s already in the room.”

My what now? You thought as you thanked her, taking the key and taking the elevator to the third floor, and walked towards your room, using your key to get in. As you walk in, you were greeted by the view of a chocolate haired boy standing by the big King sized bed. You’ve got to be kidding, you thought to yourself as the boy turned round and looked at you, his face was one that you couldn’t read. It was almost expressionless, only his eyes moving as he scanned you from head to toe, and immediately you knew you didn’t like this guy. This guy was territorial, scanning your whole vicinity to place you into one of the categories that he himself had made up.

“Do that again and so help me God I will scrape both your eyes out” you warned him, his expression apparently not changing, but you swore he looked the tiniest bit amused by what you just said, which -you weren’t going to lie- really annoyed you because you most certainly would claw both his eyes out.

“You’ll do nothing. The subject still hasn’t arrived, though he was due to arrive half an hour ago, which, by the way, also means you were late.” he stated in a London drawl as he turned his back on you and looked out of the vast window that sat in the walls of the room. You felt something pulling you from the inside of your chest, and you were ready to terminate this guy off the face of earth, though of course you couldn’t, that wouldn’t be professional.

“Maybe the subject sensed a suckass in the vicinity and decided to change his place of stay?” You suggested innocently, cocking your head to one side as he glanced at you with a face filled with distaste, and you couldn’t help but feel satisfaction that you were getting to him with such child’s play.

You may be immature in your ways but you’re respected in your field, every case that was ever assigned to you was carried out up to standard in an example setting way, and this one was going to be no different.

“Okay so we need to think of a plan for action, so you’re going to have to be professional for a moment, okay? Great. What’s his room number?” you asked, putting the suitcase that you had carried with you, up on the bed and opened it, revealing a whole load of things you were going to need, trackers, listening gear, thermal vision glasses, night vision goggles, the sorts.

“245” he said reading off the report in his hand, his voice a monotone, hearing it you knew he was in business mode. You nodded as you made a mental note of that, you two were currently in room 239, which mean he was just across the hall. Tom continued “He’s saying until Saturday, it being currently Tuesday morning, he’s staying for five days if we count today as a day.”

You nodded again as you said “He’s going to be out tomorrow from 7pm to an unspecified hour due to a ‘business trip’ so we’re going to have to go on that and follow him closely”.

“Or alternatively, you stay here and look at what his buddies are doing, and I’ll follow him, it’ll be more dangerous.” he said, shuffling papers, not looking you in the eyes. Too dangerous.

“Or alternatively to that alternative, no. I want to make sure it’s been done correctly.” you said to him, you may be a jokeful person but not when it comes to business, you wanted to make sure everything was getting done up to its highest standard, and nothing important was being dismissed.

“You don’t trust me?” he said, the paper freezing and his eyes looking coldly at yours. You didn’t know if that was just how his eyes were all the time or if he was trying to intimidate you but if that’s what he was trying to do then it wasn’t working.

“I have no reason to trust you. Besides, I want to know everything first hand.” you said, returning his monotone voice and hard glare.

“We’re working on this case together. Y/N.”

“I don’t think I need to remind you that we’re rivaling companies. Tom.”

“I don’t see how that is in any way relevant right now, we’re working on this case together, the credit for the solved case is going to go equally to both of us, doesn’t matter who does what” he said, explaining it to you like you were stupid.

“I don’t care about credit, I was to know everything is done properly.” you told him, mirroring his tone, giving him a ‘don’t be ridiculous’ look.

“You want to know everything is done properly yet your shoelaces are undone” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and you almost nearly instinctively looked down but you remembered you weren’t wearing sneaker, you were wearing heels.

“I don’t have laces” you told him, raising your eyebrow as he smirked and said “Okay maybe you’re better than I thought”.

“How insulting” you commented, not feeling insulted because you didn’t care, this guy was a nuisance to you anyway.

“Sure, okay we need to put a tracker on him and put a listening device on his table during dinner” he said, papers still in his hands even though he wasn’t reading them.

“I’ve got it” you said, already planning out how you would manage doing both things at once.

“I don’t doubt you do” he said, though his voice sounded like he was trying to keep sarcasm out of it. You didn’t bother saying anything back and just shot him a dirty look.

---------------------------------------------------

“That’s him” you said to Tom, sitting at the table during dinner.

“Okay agent, you’re up.” he said to you as he signalled to the waiter.

You stood up and smoothed your dress down, you were wearing a mid-high royal blue bodycon dress with a pair of nude heels with a matching nude bag, and you walked past the subject’s table on your way to the bathroom where you spent five minutes getting the tracker and listening device ready. On your way back from the bathroom, you ‘accidentally’ dropped your bag right beside the subject’s table, and apologizing, bent down to pick your bag and the contents of it off the ground, you swiftly put the tracker right on his heel, where he he won’t see it unless he’s specifically looking for it and put the listening chip on the downside of the table. You straightened up, apologizing again, and him telling you in a voice that didn’t sound like one that belonged to a criminal, that ‘it’s okay, don’t worry about it’.

You sat back at the table with Tom who was looking at you, maybe a hint of being impressed on his face.

“Well done,” he commented on the little performance “nice pants, by the way” he added as he took a sip of his wine, not taking his eyes off yours. You felt your cheeks get warm, You must’ve bent in such a way that stretched out the fabric of your dress, and so anyone looking for it, could see your underwear.

“Shut up” you said, taking a sip of your own wine, in an attempt to hide your crimson face.

[magalamantle]

SO THIS IS... a really long post of a bigass ask meme, all the answers, about a fallout oc!!! ummm for warnings. #violence #alcohol #alcoholism #drug abuse ?

IM LIKE INFINITELY SORRY if this is just long, and the whole dash, on like, mobile or anything, i got carried away and had a lot of fun with it um,,,,

OK SO TO START OUT a quick summary of this character: marion tremblay, 26 years old, they/them pronouns, a courier six (but i might write them into a non-six role idk) with Sight Gone Wrong. imagine savestates, but the character only experiences the "canonical" ie last save. so they go from neutral to knowing exactly how to process a situation, but it causes a LOT of stress on them, including an incredibly distinctive negative feeling when a "save" occurs and nightmares depicting all the plays gone wrong. in addition, the successful path isnt always harmless, and often leads to heavy injury - just not death. not to mention the fact that the successful path doesnt always help people theyre trying to help, just them.

http://www.hairfinder.com/hairstyles5/carpy-hairstyle7.htm

http://www.hairfinder.com/hairstyles6/hairstyle-carpy12.htm

marion is incredibly stressed and doesnt get it, runs into danger and knows exactly what to do, doesnt know why, doesnt understand how it all adds together, and doesnt understand to maybe take it a little slower. then again, when they try to chill out and live normally the nightmares just get worse and worse. so basically they self medicate to dull the dreams a bit and it just makes everything even more stressful.

theyre a courier/jack of all trades/mercenary type that uses a recharger pistol, and has no self of self preservation. is struggling, indulges often, and is impossibly easy to charm. does things for the fuck of it, anxious, hesitantly affectionate, eventually very protective and supportive, childish and constantly tired lol.

anyway heres the questions!!!

Which Fallout game are they from? new vegas :Y

Which faction(s) did they join and which did they destroy? Why? they end up joining the ncr - they have plans and intentions to go for a free vegas, but realize eventually that the ncr is probably a lot closer to a safe vegas than they were before. kind of insists that the people get a say in things.

DOES have enough time to basically fuss with all the families on the strip and various societies - basically destroys the omertas, takes a long time and a lot of trauma to fix the situation of the white glove society, keeps house alive but out of power which basically really fucks marion up for a long long time, they then spend a million years slowly working their way into the brotherhood of steel to try to get them to kind of... not be involved anymore, same with the khans

they dooooo clear out vault 3 entirely though

What is their S.P.E.C.I.A.L.? str 4; per 8; end 5; cha 4; int 7; agi 3; luk 9. peep that luck bro

Give us a summary of their backstory. OK SO... marion was part of a pretty biggish family closer up north, just kind of, they did business and were vaguely well off. they were always pretty pretentious and loved reading books n shit, tinkering with tech, so their parents were v happy with it. then around the age of thirteen their sight started kicking in, which manifested itself at first as just like a really heavy uneasy feeling whenever something was about to happen, and later kind of... worked itself into what it is now. anyway, they didnt cope very well with it and ended up fucking up a lot of relationships and things when they booked it at about seventeen.

at which point they kind of became a jack of all trades, constantly travelling, settling generally in the mojave. courier mostly at first, then eventually also a mercenary when the business started booming. they constantly had like, at least a couple dozen things going on, so occasionally they would forget a job or two. but considering their sight, they more or less had the ability to go into places that literally no one else could and come out bruised and bloodied but alive. so generally? business was good.

they did a lot of putzing around the strip, helped the followers a bit, etc. just generally has a little bit of history in most parts of the mojave.

after they got shot they forgot some... importantish things, but anyway they eventually fucked off, got ed-e, wandered around, rescued raul+visited him until they eventually just invited him along.

What’s their full name and does it have a meaning? Do they have any nicknames and how did they get em? marion tremblay - a quebecois name basically, uh pretty much their family line came from canada pre annex and were bitter about it.

What’s their sexual, romantic, and gender orientation? Do they feel comfortable telling other people? theyre nonbinary, just kind of, everythings a mess. nothing is definite. they have bigger stuff going on lol. just accepts whatever theyre labelled, but will explain if pressed

Do they have any mental illnesses? How do they cope? uhhh technically they have... some sort of flashbacks, from their sight, that gives them really horrible nightmares. they definitely self medicate its pretty bad. of course they dont really associate their habit of running into danger with their anxiety and attacks and shit, so they basically end up dissociating and confused most of the time, and figure thats just the way it is. and drink. gestures

Do they have any medical conditions? Is medicine/ treatment available for them? nah marions got nothing. theyre surprisingly physically healthy considering the fact that theyre basically useless physically

How much do they care about their outer appearance? What’s their “beauty routine”? How often do they shower/ bathe? they care just as little about bathing as most people in the mojave, but appreciate the ability to wash their hair - comb it pretty regularily. it gets really bad and knotted if they dont

What do they fear the most? their shitty vision failing to manage to do anything for people they love. its done it before

They’re biggest flaw? Do they recognize it as a flaw? their total lack of self-preservation and knowledge of self. like theyll do unhealthy stuff and get totally confused why they feel like shit, dont understand that running into things carelessly is what is making them constantly anxious and depressed, and they think that their inability to talk to people is what is fucking things up

What are they most insecure about? they pretty much lack any insecurity. they know theyre pretty bad at talking to people, but theyre not so much nervous about it as just dont really like doing it

What Wasteland threat do they fear the most? (ex. Deathclaws, super mutants, raiders) most bugs actually. since their sight kind of just keeps them from dying, it usually keeps them from dealing with deathclaws at all - but hanging around cazadores and getting poisoned just kind of means downing so many bottles of water and antivenoms, and it fucking Hurts. plus they just find the way they move really really disgusting lol

What’s their zodiac sign or which one do you think they relate to the most? What are their placements (if you know them)? (ex. Aries sun, Taurus moon, Aquarius Venus) mnmnnmn pisces sun. taurus moon. 

What’s their Myers–Briggs Type? (ex. ENTP, ISFJ) infp lol

What Harry Potter house would they be in? (ex. Gryffindor, Ravenclaw) gonna say hufflepuff because theyre a big softie when it comes to people they actually do like

Which Pokemon Go team would they choose? (ex. Instinct, Valor, Mystic) uh probably instinct? i think thats the yellow one right? 

Out of the nine forms of intelligence (rhythmic, spatial, linguistic, mathematical, kinesthetic, interpersonal, intrapersonal, naturalistic, and existential) which one(s) are they really good at and which one(s) is(are) their weakest? theyre really good with math and rhythm - not quite as good with interpersonal stuff, or intra for that matter. they dont know shit about themself lol. theyre really good at science stuff in general, though - comes from fiddling with that sort of shit

What natural alignment are they? (ex. Lawful Good, Chaotic Evil)

im not too good at pinning down characters, but honestly somewhere between chaotic good and true neutral. will help people, sure, for a price - or if they seem really really desperate. dislikes copious rules but wont go out of way to topple rules so long as they seem more or less fair

Do they have any hobbies? What are they?

they play harmonica! they like to think up songs, make harmonies to the songs on the radio. when they were little they liked to fuss with math puzzles and science shit but lost a lot of the focus as their sight got stronger, stopped being able to sit still long enough to really work on stuff. they like to fuss with ed-e sometimes lol. upgrades n stuff. polishin him

Do they have a favorite holiday? How do they celebrate it? when marion was more into consistent courier-ing, they liked pretty much any holiday that people sent gifts to each other. good for business, it was nice to see people so happy, PLUS people always tipped really well and gave them free food n stuff out of thankfulness.

What’s their favorite season? autumn, mostly - most fair weather. loves the winter when theres no storms or anything - nice to wear lots of layers of clothing and have it be appropriate.

Do they have a temper or are they level headed? pretty level headed, but when they lose their temper they sound kind of ridiculous because their voice gets really high and they??? talk like???? this?????? and theres a lot of gesturing.

they dont really so much lose their temper when they go into combat situations simply because they tend to go from zero to everyones dead, pew pew pew. it does happen sometimes in really tough, long situations, but as it turns out being angry doesnt really make your laser pistol shoot any better or harder Do they express their emotions freely or hide their true feelings? theyre so un-in-tune with their own feelings that they tend to not understand why or what theyre feeling. so its not so much hiding as like ????!??!!?!?!?!?

Are they a leader or a follower?

a leader out of necessity.

How do they come off to others? What first impression do they usually make? creepy. first impression is generally that theyre very businesslike, probably too frail to complete a job. “whys this person being so nice when they look like they want to eat me”

Do they prefer to travel alone or with company? Who have they traveled with if any? Current companion if any? they basically never travelled with a companion until recently. started traveling with ed-e, basically just because he makes sounds when things are happening, eventually found raul and after a good couple times of going back to him to get their laser pistol fixed just kind of invited him to come along. didnt realize he wouldnt be able to fix their pistol on the way lol

Would you describe them as selfless or selfish? Does it depend on the situation? they have the ability to be pretty selfless for the most part since theyre pretty well off from all the work they did before getting shot in the head. on the other hand, theyre not really used to hanging out with other people so theyre kind of selfish when it comes to food n stuff, at least until they got sassed enough for it

What do they find most attractive in others? Name at least one psychological and physical trait. (doesn’t have to be romantic attraction) they usually like people with silver tongues and wide shoulders

Do they flirt often? How easily do they fall in love? they basically do not flirt. they dont register flirting, either. its pretty easy to charm them, but marion is not... a charming person

What’s their love life like? Are they interested in anyone or in a relationship? listen i made the with the almost exclusive purpose of dating raul so. interested lol

Do they prefer to solve things diplomatically or using violence? diplomatically. they generally dislike having to actually, be in danger, but theyre really not charismatic so it usually ends up resorting to either violence, or very well-backed up threats

What is their combat style? What range do they prefer? Do they sneak? they are TOTAL SHIT at sneaking, for like no reason. theyre just... really not athletically inclined. their strategy is usually run and gun, dont stop moving, ABS - always be shooting. turns out when you have a rechargeable gun and the luck of the devil, it doesnt matter how many bullets you take as long as you win lol

What weapon(s) do they always carry with them? recharger pistol!!! they also carry a tiny bowie knife just in case. mostly used to cut plants off stems and cut meat off things. its a whole experience

Their most prized possession? pretty much everything they own is replaceable. the harmonica is nice, cause it pretty much still works entirely, but its definitely not super special or anything. theyd still sell it for a nice meal though

Their thoughts on power armor? a nice idea, but full heavy armor makes it kind of difficult to travel large distances, especially over mountains n shit

Favorite armor/ outfit? gecko-backed leather armor, plus a shitty hood they slapped on top of it. they think it looks so cool, plus its plain enough that its comfortable. they really want a tux lol

How’s their aim? Do their hands shake while pointing a gun? a gun? yes. a laser pistol? no. the second things have like, physical bullets in it, they get super stressed. using lasers instead of pistols or bullets allows a certain level of, like, disconnection from the situation.

What are their thoughts on having to kill on a daily bases in order to survive? Does it take a toll on them? Or do they shake it off rather easily? they really hate it. but honestly they get worse nightmares if they dont keep doing things, like constantly. they prefer to not really have to kill people, so tend to like... threaten and bluster their way through things pretty often. they wont chase down a fleeing enemy unless theyre really super in the zone

Thoughts on death if any? (ex. Fear it, accept it) definitely fear. they pretty much cant die, so theyre pretty confident about it, but its mostly because they manage to disconnect so much from situations that it basically just gives them night terrors. like i said before, complete disconnection from their own emotions. basically a whole lot of marions problems could be fixed by accepting that maybe running into danger is a bad idea, even if they basically cant die.

tl;dr, they think they accept it, but 100% fear

Do they move around a lot or prefer to have a place to call home? they move around SO much. marions pretty much been on the move since they turned 17, constantly doing just about anything they could get their hands on. a million jobs all at once

What’s their favorite location? the strip. they pretty much used to spend most of their spare time down there - loved the food at the ultra luxe, the booze n drugs at gomorrah, and the music company and games at the tops. a couple days of throwing caps down the drain, followed by doing a bunch of odd jobs in the area is a good way of spending a whole week. then, once they had enough messages and packages and people to kill/find, theyd take off again

Their opinions on ghouls, feral and not feral? marion kind of sees themself in feral ghouls. impossible to kill, but at what cost, etc etc. very angsty. thinks ghoul voices are actually kind of pretty

Do they scavenge for their supplies or simply buy them? combination. scavenges what they can, buys the rest. when youre as lucky as they are when finding bullets and bits, you definitely have enough caps for everything else. since theyre shit at repairing, they always get their equipment repaired while out

Are they the type to get distracted and go off to an unknown nearby location or do they stay on track? they definitely amble. long term plans are definite, but when you have maybe five jobs happening at once it doesnt hurt to step aside and grab a new one on the way

How do they sleep? Are they picky about where and how or can they sleep basically anywhere? they tend to get themself pretty blitzed to be able to sleep with few dreams. as a result they can pretty much sleep anywhere, but theyre pretty fitful about it

What’s their favorite radio station and song? (post-apocalypse) they used to like butcher pete but got pretty tired of it after a good, long amount of time. now they think aint that a kick in the head is super funny. since they got shot in the head.

theyre okay with literally every radio station, but likes black mountain radio a lot even though its a lot weirder than it was before. theyre really not sure if the people on the radio are uh ok but uh. makes it a point to eventually check that out.

What’s their favorite post-apocalyptic food? Are they a picky eater? Do they know how to cook? they fucking LOVE fresh fruit - trail mix is a huge fave, nd theyll pay pretty much any amount of money for it, especially since it keeps pretty well. theyre also a fan of like, gourmet shit, since they have the money to spend on it. good steaks are nice. theyre pretty picky, but they usually have a pretty good supply of long-keeping foods to eat on the road. they cant really cook that well though

What’s their favorite beverage? Do they drink alcohol? vodka is a fave. gets them real drunk real fast. a long time ago they managed to trade for some nuka-cherry and its basically their favourite thing in the whole world??????? has a weird distaste for sunset sarsaparilla and gives it all to raul

Do they have any tag skills? energy weapons, science, medicine. really good with e.weapons, more than decent with science, pretty good with medicine. mostly out of patching self up.

Anything they like to collect? (ex. Unique weapons, Bobbleheads) Caps Lol. nah but really they pick up anything that seems interesting to sell. they do have a big intention to buy the unique recharger pistol but its never in stock whenever they go to the kiosk

Are they good at disarming traps or do they constantly miss them? theyre pretty shitty at getting traps, but their luck is amazing with it. they can pretty much walk through a minefield just fine. like running through is safer than trying to disarm, because when you run through a minefield you either die or you dont - when you try really delicately you might blow some important bits up, but you wont die lol

[rainygalaxynerd]

Brave New World - Chapter 55

Warnings: None

Summary: Planning, plotting, burning.

Word count: App 2200

A/N: Oh, look, more plot, still too many characters to keep track of. Maybe I should kill some of them off. (just kidding. Or am I? Of course. Maybe. Who knows :P )

This is part of a chapter story. Link to mobile friendly master list here.

Tagging: @littlegreenplasticsoldier  @twenty-onepages  @jotink78 @fangirling-instead-of-working @winchesterprincessbride @kbrand0 @deandoesthingstome @mrsjohnsmith @vibou25 @jencharlan

Dean bit his tongue to keep from arguing how wrong being considerate to a demon was. Sam stood impassively next to him and when Dean chanced a look at him, he was bleeding from his ear again. When he looked back at the trap, it was empty.

Chapter 55 - Revenge of the Techies

WE KNOW HOW TO TAKE OUT DICK - LET’S FIND A WAY TO GET YOU BACK TO NORMAL.

“No. You have no idea how much knowledge I have ready access to right now, Dean. Faster than the Internet and so much more powerful. Not being able to hear is a tiny price to pay, okay?”

WE DON’T KNOW IF THAT’S THE ONLY PRICE. BITCH.

Sam chuckled. “True. But fuck, Dean, even if the price is my life, it’s worth it.”

Dean stood and ran a hand over his mouth. He shook his head. “No, dammit. Nothing is worth that. He took in the stubborn set of Sam’s mouth and sighed. He raised a finger at his little brother. “This discussion is not over.”

Sam met Dean’s glare with a stony expression. “Whatever you just said, this discussion is over. You can help me get back to normal the day I’ve transferred this knowledge to a database and not a second sooner.”

Dean threw his arms up and left, slamming the door behind him.

Outside in the hallway, he could hear the chatter from Sam’s room. Unprepared to face Caitlin’s worry, the tech girls’ geekspeak, and Morgan’s likely questions about what to do next, Dean went outside to the parking lot.

He kicked the tires of the piece of shit car they had driven in. He got behind the wheel and pulled out Bobby’s old flask. Instead of drinking, he put it on the passenger seat. “Are you really okay with us melting that thing and sending you topward?”

Bobby showed up in the seat next to him. Dean rubbed his hands together against the cold.

“I ain’t gonna lie, I’d feel better ‘bout it if we could undo whatever Sam did first. But yeah, I’m okay with it.”

“He won’t listen to me.”

“You’re the only one he’ll ever listen to. He’ll come ‘round, Dean.”

Dean didn’t say anything. He had his hands on the wheel as if driving, fingers drumming unconsciously against the hard plastic. He glanced sideways at Bobby, colorless and more transparent than ever in the sunlight.

“I’ll miss you.”

Bobby snorted. “Son, I’m already dead. I can’t whack your head for being an idjit, anyway.”

Dean nodded his agreement and swallowed hard. “Right. Bobby, I…”

“I’m gonna stop ya right there before you go ‘n embarrass us both. C’mon, kid, you know ya don’t hafta say it.”

Dean met Bobby’s eyes and nodded again. “Thanks.”

“Now git, son. I believe you have an old friend waiting to be avenged.” Bobby disappeared.

Still, it was a while before Dean moved.

Caitlin watched Dean sitting in the car. She didn’t like how lost he looked. They had a plan, had everything they needed to set it in motion. Why wasn’t he in here, yelling at them to get moving?

The door to the room opened to reveal Sam. He stood in the doorway, regarding every person in the room for long seconds. “We’ve got everything,” he finally said. “We should get started.”

Sam pointed at Charlie and Garcia. “You two, work your magic, get Dick Roman out in the open sometime tomorrow, okay?”

The girls nodded silently.

Sam looked at Morgan. “I know nonhuman monsters aren’t your forte but I trust you to have their backs, got it?”

Morgan gave a curt nod.

“Caitlin you can stay with the others or come with us. But I warn you. Dean’s gonna be a mess and he probably won’t want you to see.”

Caitlin looked out the window. Dean was resting his forehead against the steering wheel. “I’ll come with you but I’ll stay in the car while you work.”

Sam nodded as if he’d understood and left. Caitlin scrambled to follow, waving a quick goodbye to the others.

They had built the fire unnecessarily high. It wasn’t a matter of practicality, of course.

As the flask turned liquid, one of the three men watching was consumed by the flames.

The other two continued to sharpen one end of the bone they had brought, determined and silent. They dipped it in Cas’ blood first and then Megs. Then they pulled the pot with liquid silver out of the fire and took their time, submerging the tip of the weapon into the molten silver and letting it cool until they had to reheat the remaining silver and continue.

After it was done, they were both sweaty and squinting against the heat and firelight and it was easy to pretend that was the sole reason for their wet faces and red eyes. Caitlin, huddled under a blanket in the car against the increasing cold, exchanging regular updates with Charlie, didn’t call them on it when they finally returned to the car.

It was dark when they drove back to the motel and during the entire drive, no one said a single word. Somehow, the car was emptier than it had been when they drove the other way.

“Okay, you’re both grinning like cats eating canaries. Or in this case, canaries eating cats. What did you do?” Dean crossed his arms and pinned Charlie and Garcia with an expectant look.

“Us? Not much.” Charlie kept grinning, though.

“We might have leaked all Frank’s evidence and speculations on mind controlling food additives and pointed out that Roman Enterprise’s recently acquired ownership of SucroCorp.” Garcia snickered. “The vegans and GMO haters are livid, planning to meet up in front of SucroCorp at noon tomorrow for a bigass protest.”

Dean clenched his fists. “We can’t let that happen.” His voice rose. “What the hell were you thinking? It’s too damn dangerous and those people have no idea what they’re risking.”

Instead of looking chastised and contrite, Charlie continued to smirk. “What people?”

Garcia giggled and clapped Charlie’s back. “See, the information is not really out there for everyone to see. But if your IP-address happens to belong to Roman Enterprise, it’s a different story. Then you can access a bogus blog, fake news articles, read posts shared millions of times on facebook, petitions, protest plans, and comments from hundreds of thousands of people ready to fight for their right to undrugged food.”

Charlie nodded. “It’s all an elaborate virtual reality just for Roman’s people. Google ads will help make sure they see it. They’ll be expecting an angry mob, use extra manpower on security, and Dick will want to talk to the press and try to clear things up.”

“Okay.” Dean breathed easier and relaxed his hands. “I still don’t see how that makes him accessible to us. They know what we look like. It’s not like we can ask him for an interview.”

“You’re right,” Charlie said. “The fake protest is a diversion, a way to stretch his resources. On the way to SucroCorp, he will receive a message from a hospital a few hours away, that the Winchesters have been killed in a car crash. We’ll time it so it looks like you were going to the protest, they'll think you leaked the info and planned to do something at the event. He’ll be close by. He’ll think you had the tablet you stole from him with you and he’ll go to the crash site to retrieve it. He’ll have a driver and a couple of bodyguards. You pick the battleground, you set up traps, you take the extras out quickly.”

Dean thought it through. There was a lot of maybes and what ifs. Well, that’s the Winchester way, right? He nodded at the girls. “Okay, ladies. Keep grinning all you want. I’m gonna wait until Dick’s dead.” Their smiles fell at that. Dean shuffled his feet a bit before adding: “You did really good. I had no idea it was possible to filter information that way. It’s clever.”

Sam watched Dean talk to the others. His ears were full of strange words of power, softly spoken in a golden timbre, quiet as falling snow and roaring as a hurricane, all at once, drowning out everything else.

There was pressure behind his eyelids, an ache in his skull.

Sometimes, he would forget when and where he was and drift, his awareness untethered from his body, through countless worlds, time ever changing and always the same, his mind battered by concepts as eternal, infinite, omnipotence.

I am Sam Winchester. I need to stop the Leviathan creatures from taking over the earth, 2007 AD. I am Sam Winchester. He couldn’t even hear his inner voice inside his head, as he tried to anchor himself. Dean. Dean worries too much.

The room fell away and became a dark night sky, tiny lights far away coming closer at great speed. Burning giants dancing their intricate dance, sometimes exploding, sometimes growing masses igniting from the press and heat of bazillions of tiny particles. Sam gasped and blinked furiously, returning to the room. Maybe not too much.

“Hey, Sammy. You okay?”

Sam didn’t need to hear to know what Dean was asking him. He nodded as convincingly as he could. I just have to hold on until tomorrow, at least. When Roman’s gone, maybe, I’ll think about severing the link.

Dean held up the notebook, explaining the plan.

“We should make some explosives. Preferably something that spreads borax,” Sam suggested.

Dean nodded and wrote something.

MOLOTOVS, CALTROPS, GRENADE LAUNCHER

Sam couldn’t help it, he threw back his head and laughed. How long had Dean wanted a grenade launcher? How many times had he suggested they use one? Well, last year they had gotten their hands on one but they hadn’t had a reason to use it yet.

“Sounds fair,” Sam said, wiping tears from his eyes and shaking his head fondly at Dean’s excited grin.

Sam didn’t have to pray to call Castiel. He could sense him, sense God’s grace, thousands of unique specs of divinity spread across the earth, resting and scheming in Heaven. All he had to do was reach out with his own essence and tap Castiel’s ephemeral shoulder.

Wings rustled, loud enough that Sam could hear. No one else reacted, though.

“Sam?” There was a subservient tint to Cas’ tone and posture.

“Cas, I thought I’d keep you updated on our plans. Maybe you have something to add to them.”

They all ate together at a restaurant downtown. After reluctantly approving their plan of attack for the next day, Cas had put the same illusion on Sam as Dean. The FBI were still in town and once it was time to go after Roman, they couldn’t risk Sam being recognized as a wanted criminal.

Being deaf meant that Sam couldn’t follow the conversation and missed Dean and Morgan's 'make the most horrible pun-war', Cas’ clueless questions, Charlie and Garcia’s geeky arsenal of dry wit and science humor. He could, however, watch their smiles, the way they all shook with laughter. He saw Caitlin, sitting next to Dean, eyes shining with warmth as she watched him eat. Dean eating. Sam smirked to himself. She’s a keeper, brother mine.

Dean stuffed another slice of pie in his face. This place was more expensive than what they normally treated themselves to and for once, the pie was actually worth the extra five dollars.

Charlie raised her glass and cleared her throat. “On behalf of my peers and just this once, on behalf of everyone else, I propose a toast to Dick. I mean to slay Dick.”

Garcia sputtered and coughed as she started laughing while sipping her frilly drink.

Caitlin smiled. “You’re a savage, Charlie.”

Charlie grinned back at her. “Like you wouldn’t be on my side if Mr. Bad Boy With A Heart Of Gold hadn’t gotten to you first.” She winked at Caitlin and licked her lips, slow and deliberate.

“Okay, you’ve had enough. Morgan, cut her off the good stuff,” Caitlin said, cheeks heating up. She risked a sideways glance at Dean, surprised to find him looking at her, lips pursed, a worry wrinkle on his forehead.

The general conversation around the table continued but Dean kept his eyes on Caitlin’s. “Do you want to come for a ride, later?”

“Where to?” Caitlin bit her lip to keep from saying “On you? Sure.” That’s it. I’m cutting myself off, right now.

“Tomorrow’s D-day. I don’t wanna go into the final big boss battle without my Baby.”

At Caitlin’s confused expression, Dean sighed. “My car. My actual, real car.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe how long you’ve known us and you haven’t even seen Baby.”

Dean pulled out the notebook and scribbled:

WE’RE DRIVING BABY TOMORROW!

Sam read it and his eyes widened. A slow genuine smile spread across his face. “Yeah. That feels right.”

CAITLIN AND I WILL GET HER LATER. DO YOU WANT TO COME TOO?

Sam arched his eyebrows at Dean. “Christo.”

Dean merely scowled at him.

“Dean, I’m fine. Not dying, not seeing Satan. I’ll stop feeling like I’ve been thrown into a parallel dimension as soon as you stop babying me and act like my pain-in-the-ass big brother. Just go get some quiet time with your girl.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

Sam continued unperturbed: “I know you’re dying to show her off. You’re gonna touch her everywhere, aren’t you? Like the time you got her back from the pound after Bela had her towed.”

“Sam, I swear to God, the next time you go three days straight without bleeding from your ears Imma smack your head so hard you’ll think the visions are back, you hear?”

“Sorry, bro, can’t hear you.” Sam guffawed at Dean’s look of utter outrage and frustration.

Eventually, the tension slipped out of Dean. The corners of his mouth twitched and soon he was laughing along with Sam.

[newsmanmdgn]

Eat Wealthy Americans: They’re Cheaper than Food (Inflation)

This is my little rant on rich people. If you're rich, why are you reading my little newsletter? You should be reading the Wall Street Journal.

Amiright?

DUH: Many Wealthy Americans Escape Big Income Tax Bills

Taxes: Jeff Bezos rates them 1 out of 10.

Some of the world’s wealthiest executives, including Warren Buffett, Jeff Bezos, Michael Bloomberg and Elon Musk, pay little to no taxes compared to their wealth, a ProPublica report revealed on Tuesday.

“The tax law is not designed for the wage worker,” said Eric Pierre, an Austin, Texas-based certified public accountant and owner at Pierre Accounting. 

Most Americans earn income through their labor, such as wages, salaries or other employer-provided benefits.

However, the top 1% often receive income from interest, dividends, capital gains or rent, from their investments, known as capital income. 

CNBC

The problem is that we tax income, not consumption. If we really were to practice conservatism, we would discourage conspicuous consumption with a national sales tax.

Don't want to pay taxes? Don't buy extravagant shit because there's a bigass luxury sales tax applied to it. For example, a yacht may carry a 100 percent sales tax.

Food, on the other hand, bought at a grocery store (i.e., no value add like at a restaurant) – 0 percent tax.

Prices jumped 5 percent in May, continuing inflationary climb. Policymakers say it’s temporary.

Prices rose by 5 percent in May compared with a year ago, the largest increase since the Great Recession, continuing a steady climb in inflation even as policymakers insist on staying the course.

Price spikes often coincide with downturns, and officials from the White House and Federal Reserve have predicted that prices will climb over the coming months, especially compared to a year ago, when the economy was reeling from coronavirus pandemic shutdown. However, the move adds new fuel to the Republican criticism that the Biden administration is spending too much, which could lead to an overheated economy.

The most recent inflation figures, released Thursday by the Bureau of Labor Statistics, are not rattling the Biden administration nor the Fed. Both predict that prices will continue to rise until supply chains and consumer demand recalibrate and the economy has time to heal.

WaPo

Yet another reason the rich get richer and the poor get poorer. Inflation measures goods and services we all buy, like food and gas and electricity.

There's A Stark Red-Blue Divide When It Comes To States' Vaccination Rates

Less than a month remains until the Fourth of July, which was President Biden's goal for 70% of American adults to have gotten at least one dose of a COVID-19 vaccine.

It looks like it's going to be a stretch to get there.

As of Tuesday, nearly 64% of U.S. adults have had at least one shot, according to data from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

The key issue is that demand has dropped off. After an initial crush, the number of doses being administered daily is on a steep decline from the early April peak.

NPR

But…

Surveys have shown Trump supporters are the least likely to say they have been vaccinated or plan to be. Remember, Trump got vaccinated before leaving the White House, but that was reported months later. Unlike other public officials who were trying to encourage people to get the shot, Trump did it in private.

The top 22 states (including D.C.) with the highest adult vaccination rates all went to Joe Biden in the 2020 presidential election. 

Some of the least vaccinated states are the most pro-Trump. Trump won 17 of the 18 states with the lowest adult vaccination rates. Many of these states have high proportions of whites without college degrees.

Source: NPR (see above)

Fucking DUH. Trump supporters, anti-(COVID)vaxxers, and anti-maskers are all the same people. And they're really REALLY stoopid.

Biden to lay out vax donations, urge world leaders to join

One year ago, the U.S. was the deadliest hotspot of the COVID-19 pandemic, forcing the cancellation of the Group of Seven summit it was due to host. Now, the U.S. is emerging as a model for how to successfully recover from more than 15 months of global crisis.

In a speech Thursday on the eve of the summit of wealthy G-7 democracies, President Joe Biden will outline plans for the U.S. to donate 500 million vaccine doses around the globe over the next year, on top of 80 million doses he has already pledged by the end of the month. U.S. officials say Biden will also ask fellow G-7 leaders to do the same.

The U.S. has faced mounting pressure to outline its global vaccine sharing plan, especially as inequities in supply around the world have become more pronounced and the demand for shots in the U.S. has dropped precipitously in recent weeks.

“We have to end COVID-19, not just at home — which we’re doing — but everywhere,” Biden told American servicemembers Wednesday on the first stop of a three-country, eight-day trip, his first since taking office. He added that the effort “requires coordinated, multilateral action.”

The new U.S. commitment is to buy and donate 500 million Pfizer doses for distribution through the global COVAX alliance to 92 lower-income countries and the African Union, bringing the first steady supply of mRNA vaccine to the countries that need it most. A price tag for the 500 million doses was not released, but the U.S. is now set to be COVAX’s largest vaccine donor in addition to its single largest funder with a $4 billion commitment.

AP

It's working. The EU is also donating vaccines now. Way to go, good government (it does exist)!

Airline travel horror stories mount as Americans pack the not-so-friendly skies

With Americans rushing to travel now that the end to the coronavirus pandemic is coming into view, flights are packed, ticket prices have soared, airports are bustling, and tempers are flaring.

Laura Ramirez is relieved to be home in New York after what she calls a “nightmarish experience” traveling by plane from Miami this past weekend.

“I was supposed to get back on Sunday morning, and American Airlines at the Miami Airport is a mess,” Ramirez, a reporter at Yahoo News, said. “They don't have enough agents to handle the amount of people traveling, and I missed my flight even though I arrived at the airport two hours [early]. The line to see an agent was a three-hour line.”

When Ramirez finally got to speak to an agent, there were no more flights available for that day. So she rebooked for Monday, only to have that flight canceled as she arrived at the airport. She was left to book another flight at a different airport.

“The airline didn't offer anything — no hotel or food vouchers,” Ramirez said. “It was a terrible experience, and I know I wasn't the only one going through that.”

Yahoo

The wealthy don't have to wait in airport security lines or get on cattle commercial air busses. Just another “jab” at the wealthy who forever haven't paid their fair share for what civilization provides them. (Can you tell I'm on a rant about rich mofos?)

By the way, I hate flying. The airlines are the biggest pricks on the planet.

Where Voters Are Losing Patience With Lauren Boebert

Charles Perko gestured past a vine-covered chain link fence toward a hulking steel facility with massive mills and squat brick office buildings. The 140-year-old complex had forged the iron that built the West, and once was Colorado’s largest employer, with some 10,000 workers. Now, much of the complex sits in disrepair. Some of its cylindrical stoves are rusted and empty—a symbol of an industry that Perko, a fourth-generation steel worker and president of a local union, says is in need of government help.

Lauren Boebert, the controversial pro-gun, Covid-skeptical freshman congresswoman who represents Pueblo, has credited working-class voters for her improbable 2020 victory. But it’s not clear her version of “working-class” includes the steel workers here. Perko didn’t vote for her. And, based on her opposition to President Joe Biden’s $2 trillion infrastructure plan, which Perko sees as a lifeline for his struggling industry, he doesn’t think Boebert cares all that much about his union members. He has tried to schedule a meeting with her to discuss these issues, he says. But the door to her local office is often locked, and her staff doesn’t return his calls.

Politico

She is nothing more than a lucky bimbo. There. I said it. Fight me.

The article was originally published here! Eat Wealthy Americans: They’re Cheaper than Food (Inflation)

[mrstevenbushus]

Kitchen Process: The Holy Shit Edition

Yeah. That’s all I have to say about the 22 hours of counter-installation I did this past weekend. Holy. Shit.

Looking back on it, it’s funny to think that I was under the impression I was “really close” to being doing a week ago. (Ha.) I mean, I thought I had one cut straight cut left to do, trim the sink hole, join everything together, and that would be it. I was sure I’d have it done Saturday, with Sunday left for clean up.

That face says it all.

The awesome part about Saturday was that my mom came up to the farm to help out with odds and ends (and help me move pieces of counter around as needed) and it was SIXTY DEGREES OUT. In February. In MICHIGAN. (This is literally unheard of… as in it has never been this warm on that particular day in February in all of recorded history.)

That was such a blessing because not only was it just plain awesome to be outside, it also meant I could work on the counter right out on the porch instead of hauling all of the pieces in and out of the garage.

The chickens also thought this was an awesome arrangement.

So the first challenge of the weekend was joining two sections of board together to make one fifteen foot long section. The sink hole is roughly in the middle of that section, and I debated for a long time about either putting the seam behind the sink (where it would be less noticeable) or just down somewhere near the end of the counter where it would run the full width of the counter.

I decided on putting it behind the sink… and I’m still debating on whether or not that was the right call, but it is what it is.

So, first step, glue these together…

Except I decided not to use the exact right tool for this job–a biscuit joiner–even though I’d already purchased one and was sitting in its box in the back of my car.

I don’t… I mean… guys. I’ve been doing this shit for over a decade. I know how this goes, and it is always, always harder and more frustrating if 1.) you don’t have the right tools, 2.) you don’t have good quality tools that can handle the job, and 3.) you don’t take the time to learn how to use those tools. I know this, like, intrinsically, deep down in the depths of my soul, and yet sometimes I still fall into the trap of not wanting to pay the money for the tool, or not wanting to take the time to figure out how to use it correctly, and guess what? That shit goes horribly wrong every time.

Here’s the conversation that happened between me and my mom to illustrate how this went down.

11:10 AM

Me: Mom, what time is it too early for happy hour to start on the farm again?

Mom: Well, the farm has special rules but we should probably wait until afternoon?

11:58AM – After the first failed glue-up attempt

Mom: Is it afternoon yet?

Me: Holy shit, close enough.

I did eventually manage to get the board glued up (and held in place with some clamps and pocket screws while the glue dried) and, in the meantime, my mom and I rode around on the golf cart and staked some of the cages around the fruit trees that had blown over recently….

And then I got to work cutting out the template for the sink hole.

I’d already had enough success with a cobbled-together jig for the stove hole that I wasn’t super nervous about this, I just really wanted to do it right. (I actually started a template a week ago and it broke in half while I was cutting it, so this was my second attempt.)

I know some people cut out the paper template (or glue the template directly to the board with a photomount spray) but I usually have a roll of graphite paper on hand, and I find that it’s the best way to transfer a template pattern without ruining the original. (You can get it for under $10 on Amazon… so worth it.)

With the original template transferred on to the board I then had to add 3-1/8″ to accommodate my  my router guard (which was easier on the straight lines than on the radius corners.)  I used to make sarcastic comments back in elementary school math classes about “never actually using this in real life.” Ha. I hope all my old math teachers get some satisfaction out of this…

I used a scrap piece of plywood for the template and cut the two straight “sides” with the circular saw, and using a jigsaw for the curves. My very favorite part of this process was when I was debating how to cut the straight line that would end up behind the sink… the easiest thing would have been to continue cutting with the jigsaw, but I know from years of experience that won’t give me an actual straight line, so I said out loud to myself “I really should just make a plunge cut with the circular saw to do this right…” (Even though that’s not at all what I really wanted to do because I hate making plunge cuts with the circular saw.)

And my mom standing four feet behind me– doing something else entirely– was like, “WELL JUST DO IT THEN.”

I’m still laughing just typing that. It was exactly the thing I needed to hear, so I picked up the saw and got to it…

And ended up with a really good template.

The next step, of course, was clamping this to the 15′ piece of counter and then using the router to cut it out, but there were a lot of challenges that came into play with this step as well.

The first was placement of the template. I spent a lot of time like this…

Because unlike most sinks that will be dropped in or mounted below a sink hole after it’s cut, my gazillion pound cast iron sink is already in place on a base in the cabinet. And also, nothing in my 160 year old house is square, so measuring from the only wall that was a viable measuring-point (and, of course, not square) left me with more questions than confidence in where the template should be placed.

At some point I gave up measuring, re-measuring, drinking more, and measuring again, and just said, “fuck it, I’m cutting this hole.”

Like the stove top, I did multiple passes with the router (this time, four passes) and the cut turned out beautifully.

Of course, now I had a 15′ piece of butcher block with a bigass hole in it that was tenuously held together by some un-cured wood glue and a couple of undersized screws on a 5″ section of board.

In other words, moving this without breaking it was going to be a bitch.

I braced the shit out of both the joint and the board, and then my boyfriend came over and the three of us attempted to move the piece of counter in the kitchen.

And of course the glued seam cracked right before we got it in place. I was 50% livid and 50% resigned because I knew this was going to happen the moment I put that seam on the smallest section of wood behind the sink. But the real reason I was disappointed was because my sink hole was about 1/4″ off.

The cracked seam wasn’t so much of an issue as was the fact that I was potentially going to have to lift that 15′ piece of counter up again and move it outside to trim the hole to the right size AND join this board to shorter board that makes the “L” of the counter. I was sure that picking that piece up again would cause the screws that were in it (and unable to be removed in its current position) to crack and split the wood beyond repair.

I’d just like to take this time to point out that if I’d used the biscuit joiner that I currently owned and was sitting in its box in my car and had also just glued/clamped that section in my house and let it cure 24 hours, it would have been fine. All of my frustration at that point in time was due to 1.) not using the proper tool, and 2.) rushing the project and not taking the time to do things right.

Those are rookie mistakes, and there’s no excuse for them. I know better. But, you know, I’m still human… a particularly impatient one when I don’t have a working kitchen sink (which is weird because we all know I’m not in some huge rush to do my dishes, but still) and I did a lot of mental gymnastics on Saturday to convince myself that I didn’t have any other option but to make those less-than-stellar choices.

Listen, a lot of this stemmed from the fact that I am really bad at asking for help, and this was a particularly awkward situation where I really needed someone on-hand for 8-10 hours, but actually only really needed them for maybe 15 minutes of real work at random times throughout the day. Also I’m really easily distracted so when I’m doing a lot of measuring and holding numbers in my head– or just mentally planning out the next steps of a project– I can’t entertain or chat (or sometimes even talk civilly) to other people when I’m working. So basically I needed to ask someone to spend their whole day on the farm not talking to me except for the half a dozen random times I needed help lifting or moving a piece of counter? That’s awesome.

And it’s exactly what I asked my boyfriend to do the weekend prior (and he was super gracious about it) and then asked my mom to do Saturday (and she was also awesome about it), but come Saturday evening when I had an off-center sink hole, a cracked seam, and no help lined up for Sunday? I’m not going to claim that was one of my most shining moments as a human.

But…

I obsessed about it for the rest of the night, slept on it, woke up bright and early Sunday, and had nearly convinced myself to leave the off-center sink hole as is (I even posted about it to Facebook and very much appreciated all of the comments voting yea or nay on trying to fix it) and then I did a thing I almost never do mid-project and called my dad. This is how the conversation went:

Me: I don’t know if I should try to fix it or just leave it as is…

Dad:  Fix it.

Me: …

Dad: I feel like you just want someone to give you permission not to fix it, but you need to do it.

Me: Okay, fair. But what if I fuck it up?

Dad: Honey… it’s already fucked up.

Ha. Dads. If I’d decided to call literally any other person in my life– any person– they would have told me to leave it, but I called my dad and I think it’s because subconsciously I wanted someone to call me on my shit and tell me to fix it. I mean, in the moment I was like 45 seconds away from an emotional breakdown, but after I talked to him I was like, well, yeah, that’s exactly what I needed to hear, and now how the fuck am I going to fix this by myself?

I had two choices: 1.) Use the router to make the sink hole bigger on one side, or 2.) Use the circular saw to trim a 1/4″ off the end of the counter and shift the whole thing over.

I decided the second option was going to be easier and less risky, but it was also going to create some complications for the 45-degree cuts I’d already made for the L shaped part of the counter. Also, I had to just mentally get over the fact that I didn’t want to cut in the kitchen and create a shit-ton of sawdust inside the house, because no way I was going to be able to move that 15′ counter out of the house by myself.

So I did what any reasonable person would do at a time like this, and taped my shopvac hose to my counters and basically cut the boards in place on top of my cabinets…

(I managed to get some plywood under them so I wasn’t cutting directly on top of the cabs.)

Which– holy shit– actually worked!

Then I had a little more confidence to tackle the issue with the 45’s I’d just created, and I’m telling you, I basically winged it. I was able to move the 6′ piece of counter in and out of the house, and I had to trim 3 sides of it to make it work. And, even then, the 45’s I’d cut (and recut) with the circular saw weren’t fitting tightly. But at this point I was actually super confident in my ability to cut and use the router “in place” without damaging anything, so I trimmed 1/16 of an inch off the angles to square everything up.

Earlier in the day my dad bragged about his router with the attached dust collection system and asked why mine didn’t have one (and the answer is because I stole this router from him ten years ago, obviously, so it’s way older than his) but his fancy newer model has nothing on my shopvac/painters tape dust collection system…

This is what happened…

Holy shit, you guys, do you see that fit?

There was maybe 1/16″ gap between those boards, where there’d been 1/4″ or more before. I know in my last post I said I didn’t love using the router to trim up those straight cuts, but I very much changed my mind.

Okay, so there was only really one big challenge left at this point. I needed to attach the 15′ piece of counter (with a cracked seam) to this shorter piece to make the L, and in my mind that had to be done from underneath, either with pocket screws or some temporary boards screwed in to brace the clamps with. But that would also mean somehow lifting up both sections of board and then attaching them and then putting them back in place 1.) by myself, and 2.) without breaking anything.

And then I realized I was being an idiot.

Well, not as big of an idiot as I’d been about other things in this process, but I was stuck on this idea that I had to attach the boards from underneath. Just like earlier in the day I was stuck on the idea that I had to move the counters out of the house to cut them.

Those are actually not real obstacles.

This time, I’m happy to say, I learned my lesson. I broke out my newest tool–the biscuit joiner– and made some practice cuts.

Then I made the actual cuts in my two counter pieces, glued them together, and…

I screwed two boards right into the fucking top of those things to clamp it together.

Yeah, you might be horrified by that (I kind of was) but I realized that the only thing keeping me from getting the counters finished was four tiny screw holes that could easily be filled with some wood filler. So I screwed those bitches in and then, using another tip from my dad, and just emptied some of the sawdust out of the sander I’d been using on the counters…

And mixed it in with with the wood glue that was compressed out of the seam, to make my own wood filler.

Which worked fucking beautifully. I also used it on the screw holes once I removed those blocks for clamping and on the seam behind the sink.

I also drilled the holes for the faucet…

(That’s a new 1-3/8″ forstner bit I bought specifically for this job, and it worked beautifully.)

And caulked along the sink…

And then, then, late Sunday night, after a 14 hour day working by myself on these counters, I finally put the first coat of oil on them and…

HOLY. SHIT.

Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.

Remember what it used to look like?

I’ve been continuing to oil the counters every night this week, and it’s just now starting to look like a functional kitchen again…

Still pretty far from being done, but it’s looking just a little different than it did on the day I bought this place five years ago.

I’m really happy about all the decisions I’ve made so far, from removing the pantry and wall oven, to painting everything white, extending the bar area another foot, and adding that little bookshelf. And definitely– even though they were a pain in the ass to install– those beautiful walnut counters.

It certainly wasn’t the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it’s definitely the most difficult thing I’ve done in a while. And the challenge of it reminded me of things I might have been taking for granted, like how to do things correctly (don’t rush and always use the right tools), and what great advice both of my parents give when I’m least expecting it (and definitely don’t think I’m asking for it), and, frankly, that there’s always a way to solve the problem. Sometimes you have to be willing to modify, adjust expectations, cover your kitchen in sawdust, and drill right into the top of that beautiful fucking counter, but, by god, you can do the damn thing. 

If nothing else, this counter will always be a beautiful reminder of that.

And now, I need to go sleep for a week and let all of my muscles heal. Because, holy shit.

Article reference Kitchen Process: The Holy Shit Edition

[cessanderson]

Kitchen Process: The Holy Shit Edition http://ift.tt/2mmqhsz

Yeah. That’s all I have to say about the 22 hours of counter-installation I did this past weekend. Holy. Shit.

Looking back on it, it’s funny to think that I was under the impression I was “really close” to being doing a week ago. (Ha.) I mean, I thought I had one cut straight cut left to do, trim the sink hole, join everything together, and that would be it. I was sure I’d have it done Saturday, with Sunday left for clean up.

That face says it all.

The awesome part about Saturday was that my mom came up to the farm to help out with odds and ends (and help me move pieces of counter around as needed) and it was SIXTY DEGREES OUT. In February. In MICHIGAN. (This is literally unheard of… as in it has never been this warm on that particular day in February in all of recorded history.)

That was such a blessing because not only was it just plain awesome to be outside, it also meant I could work on the counter right out on the porch instead of hauling all of the pieces in and out of the garage.

The chickens also thought this was an awesome arrangement.

So the first challenge of the weekend was joining two sections of board together to make one fifteen foot long section. The sink hole is roughly in the middle of that section, and I debated for a long time about either putting the seam behind the sink (where it would be less noticeable) or just down somewhere near the end of the counter where it would run the full width of the counter.

I decided on putting it behind the sink… and I’m still debating on whether or not that was the right call, but it is what it is.

So, first step, glue these together…

Except I decided not to use the exact right tool for this job–a biscuit joiner–even though I’d already purchased one and was sitting in its box in the back of my car.

I don’t… I mean… guys. I’ve been doing this shit for over a decade. I know how this goes, and it is always, always harder and more frustrating if 1.) you don’t have the right tools, 2.) you don’t have good quality tools that can handle the job, and 3.) you don’t take the time to learn how to use those tools. I know this, like, intrinsically, deep down in the depths of my soul, and yet sometimes I still fall into the trap of not wanting to pay the money for the tool, or not wanting to take the time to figure out how to use it correctly, and guess what? That shit goes horribly wrong every time.

Here’s the conversation that happened between me and my mom to illustrate how this went down.

11:10 AM

Me: Mom, what time is it too early for happy hour to start on the farm again?

Mom: Well, the farm has special rules but we should probably wait until afternoon?

11:58AM – After the first failed glue-up attempt

Mom: Is it afternoon yet?

Me: Holy shit, close enough.

I did eventually manage to get the board glued up (and held in place with some clamps and pocket screws while the glue dried) and, in the meantime, my mom and I rode around on the golf cart and staked some of the cages around the fruit trees that had blown over recently….

And then I got to work cutting out the template for the sink hole.

I’d already had enough success with a cobbled-together jig for the stove hole that I wasn’t super nervous about this, I just really wanted to do it right. (I actually started a template a week ago and it broke in half while I was cutting it, so this was my second attempt.)

I know some people cut out the paper template (or glue the template directly to the board with a photomount spray) but I usually have a roll of graphite paper on hand, and I find that it’s the best way to transfer a template pattern without ruining the original. (You can get it for under $10 on Amazon… so worth it.)

With the original template transferred on to the board I then had to add 3-1/8″ to accommodate my  my router guard (which was easier on the straight lines than on the radius corners.)  I used to make sarcastic comments back in elementary school math classes about “never actually using this in real life.” Ha. I hope all my old math teachers get some satisfaction out of this…

I used a scrap piece of plywood for the template and cut the two straight “sides” with the circular saw, and using a jigsaw for the curves. My very favorite part of this process was when I was debating how to cut the straight line that would end up behind the sink… the easiest thing would have been to continue cutting with the jigsaw, but I know from years of experience that won’t give me an actual straight line, so I said out loud to myself “I really should just make a plunge cut with the circular saw to do this right…” (Even though that’s not at all what I really wanted to do because I hate making plunge cuts with the circular saw.)

And my mom standing four feet behind me– doing something else entirely– was like, “WELL JUST DO IT THEN.”

I’m still laughing just typing that. It was exactly the thing I needed to hear, so I picked up the saw and got to it…

And ended up with a really good template.

The next step, of course, was clamping this to the 15′ piece of counter and then using the router to cut it out, but there were a lot of challenges that came into play with this step as well.

The first was placement of the template. I spent a lot of time like this…

Because unlike most sinks that will be dropped in or mounted below a sink hole after it’s cut, my gazillion pound cast iron sink is already in place on a base in the cabinet. And also, nothing in my 160 year old house is square, so measuring from the only wall that was a viable measuring-point (and, of course, not square) left me with more questions than confidence in where the template should be placed.

At some point I gave up measuring, re-measuring, drinking more, and measuring again, and just said, “fuck it, I’m cutting this hole.”

Like the stove top, I did multiple passes with the router (this time, four passes) and the cut turned out beautifully.

Of course, now I had a 15′ piece of butcher block with a bigass hole in it that was tenuously held together by some un-cured wood glue and a couple of undersized screws on a 5″ section of board.

In other words, moving this without breaking it was going to be a bitch.

I braced the shit out of both the joint and the board, and then my boyfriend came over and the three of us attempted to move the piece of counter in the kitchen.

And of course the glued seam cracked right before we got it in place. I was 50% livid and 50% resigned because I knew this was going to happen the moment I put that seam on the smallest section of wood behind the sink. But the real reason I was disappointed was because my sink hole was about 1/4″ off.

The cracked seam wasn’t so much of an issue as was the fact that I was potentially going to have to lift that 15′ piece of counter up again and move it outside to trim the hole to the right size AND join this board to shorter board that makes the “L” of the counter. I was sure that picking that piece up again would cause the screws that were in it (and unable to be removed in its current position) to crack and split the wood beyond repair.

I’d just like to take this time to point out that if I’d used the biscuit joiner that I currently owned and was sitting in its box in my car and had also just glued/clamped that section in my house and let it cure 24 hours, it would have been fine. All of my frustration at that point in time was due to 1.) not using the proper tool, and 2.) rushing the project and not taking the time to do things right.

Those are rookie mistakes, and there’s no excuse for them. I know better. But, you know, I’m still human… a particularly impatient one when I don’t have a working kitchen sink (which is weird because we all know I’m not in some huge rush to do my dishes, but still) and I did a lot of mental gymnastics on Saturday to convince myself that I didn’t have any other option but to make those less-than-stellar choices.

Listen, a lot of this stemmed from the fact that I am really bad at asking for help, and this was a particularly awkward situation where I really needed someone on-hand for 8-10 hours, but actually only really needed them for maybe 15 minutes of real work at random times throughout the day. Also I’m really easily distracted so when I’m doing a lot of measuring and holding numbers in my head– or just mentally planning out the next steps of a project– I can’t entertain or chat (or sometimes even talk civilly) to other people when I’m working. So basically I needed to ask someone to spend their whole day on the farm not talking to me except for the half a dozen random times I needed help lifting or moving a piece of counter? That’s awesome.

And it’s exactly what I asked my boyfriend to do the weekend prior (and he was super gracious about it) and then asked my mom to do Saturday (and she was also awesome about it), but come Saturday evening when I had an off-center sink hole, a cracked seam, and no help lined up for Sunday? I’m not going to claim that was one of my most shining moments as a human.

But…

I obsessed about it for the rest of the night, slept on it, woke up bright and early Sunday, and had nearly convinced myself to leave the off-center sink hole as is (I even posted about it to Facebook and very much appreciated all of the comments voting yea or nay on trying to fix it) and then I did a thing I almost never do mid-project and called my dad. This is how the conversation went:

Me: I don’t know if I should try to fix it or just leave it as is…

Dad:  Fix it.

Me: …

Dad: I feel like you just want someone to give you permission not to fix it, but you need to do it.

Me: Okay, fair. But what if I fuck it up?

Dad: Honey… it’s already fucked up.

Ha. Dads. If I’d decided to call literally any other person in my life– any person– they would have told me to leave it, but I called my dad and I think it’s because subconsciously I wanted someone to call me on my shit and tell me to fix it. I mean, in the moment I was like 45 seconds away from an emotional breakdown, but after I talked to him I was like, well, yeah, that’s exactly what I needed to hear, and now how the fuck am I going to fix this by myself?

I had two choices: 1.) Use the router to make the sink hole bigger on one side, or 2.) Use the circular saw to trim a 1/4″ off the end of the counter and shift the whole thing over.

I decided the second option was going to be easier and less risky, but it was also going to create some complications for the 45-degree cuts I’d already made for the L shaped part of the counter. Also, I had to just mentally get over the fact that I didn’t want to cut in the kitchen and create a shit-ton of sawdust inside the house, because no way I was going to be able to move that 15′ counter out of the house by myself.

So I did what any reasonable person would do at a time like this, and taped my shopvac hose to my counters and basically cut the boards in place on top of my cabinets…

(I managed to get some plywood under them so I wasn’t cutting directly on top of the cabs.)

Which– holy shit– actually worked!

Then I had a little more confidence to tackle the issue with the 45’s I’d just created, and I’m telling you, I basically winged it. I was able to move the 6′ piece of counter in and out of the house, and I had to trim 3 sides of it to make it work. And, even then, the 45’s I’d cut (and recut) with the circular saw weren’t fitting tightly. But at this point I was actually super confident in my ability to cut and use the router “in place” without damaging anything, so I trimmed 1/16 of an inch off the angles to square everything up.

Earlier in the day my dad bragged about his router with the attached dust collection system and asked why mine didn’t have one (and the answer is because I stole this router from him ten years ago, obviously, so it’s way older than his) but his fancy newer model has nothing on my shopvac/painters tape dust collection system…

This is what happened…

Holy shit, you guys, do you see that fit?

There was maybe 1/16″ gap between those boards, where there’d been 1/4″ or more before. I know in my last post I said I didn’t love using the router to trim up those straight cuts, but I very much changed my mind.

Okay, so there was only really one big challenge left at this point. I needed to attach the 15′ piece of counter (with a cracked seam) to this shorter piece to make the L, and in my mind that had to be done from underneath, either with pocket screws or some temporary boards screwed in to brace the clamps with. But that would also mean somehow lifting up both sections of board and then attaching them and then putting them back in place 1.) by myself, and 2.) without breaking anything.

And then I realized I was being an idiot.

Well, not as big of an idiot as I’d been about other things in this process, but I was stuck on this idea that I had to attach the boards from underneath. Just like earlier in the day I was stuck on the idea that I had to move the counters out of the house to cut them.

Those are actually not real obstacles.

This time, I’m happy to say, I learned my lesson. I broke out my newest tool–the biscuit joiner– and made some practice cuts.

Then I made the actual cuts in my two counter pieces, glued them together, and…

I screwed two boards right into the fucking top of those things to clamp it together.

Yeah, you might be horrified by that (I kind of was) but I realized that the only thing keeping me from getting the counters finished was four tiny screw holes that could easily be filled with some wood filler. So I screwed those bitches in and then, using another tip from my dad, and just emptied some of the sawdust out of the sander I’d been using on the counters…

And mixed it in with with the wood glue that was compressed out of the seam, to make my own wood filler.

Which worked fucking beautifully. I also used it on the screw holes once I removed those blocks for clamping and on the seam behind the sink.

I also drilled the holes for the faucet…

(That’s a new 1-3/8″ forstner bit I bought specifically for this job, and it worked beautifully.)

And caulked along the sink…

And then, then, late Sunday night, after a 14 hour day working by myself on these counters, I finally put the first coat of oil on them and…

HOLY. SHIT.

Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.

Remember what it used to look like?

I’ve been continuing to oil the counters every night this week, and it’s just now starting to look like a functional kitchen again…

Still pretty far from being done, but it’s looking just a little different than it did on the day I bought this place five years ago.

I’m really happy about all the decisions I’ve made so far, from removing the pantry and wall oven, to painting everything white, extending the bar area another foot, and adding that little bookshelf. And definitely– even though they were a pain in the ass to install– those beautiful walnut counters.

It certainly wasn’t the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it’c definitely the most difficult thing I’ve done in a while. And the challenge of it reminded me of things I might have been taking for granted, like how to do things correctly (don’t rush and always use the right tools), and what great advice both of my parents give when I’m least expecting it (and definitely don’t think I’m asking for it), and, frankly, that there’s always a way to solve the problem. Sometimes you have to be willing to modify, adjust expectations, cover your kitchen in sawdust, and drill right into the top of that beautiful fucking counter, but, by god, you can do the damn thing. 

If nothing else, this counter will always be a beautiful reminder of that.

And now, I need to go sleep for a week and let all of my muscles heal. Because, holy shit.

Kit

[thomasrush851]

Kitchen Process: The Holy Shit Edition

Yeah. That’s all I have to say about the 22 hours of counter-installation I did this past weekend. Holy. Shit.

Looking back on it, it’s funny to think that I was under the impression I was “really close” to being doing a week ago. (Ha.) I mean, I thought I had one cut straight cut left to do, trim the sink hole, join everything together, and that would be it. I was sure I’d have it done Saturday, with Sunday left for clean up.

That face says it all.

The awesome part about Saturday was that my mom came up to the farm to help out with odds and ends (and help me move pieces of counter around as needed) and it was SIXTY DEGREES OUT. In February. In MICHIGAN. (This is literally unheard of… as in it has never been this warm on that particular day in February in all of recorded history.)

That was such a blessing because not only was it just plain awesome to be outside, it also meant I could work on the counter right out on the porch instead of hauling all of the pieces in and out of the garage.

The chickens also thought this was an awesome arrangement.

So the first challenge of the weekend was joining two sections of board together to make one fifteen foot long section. The sink hole is roughly in the middle of that section, and I debated for a long time about either putting the seam behind the sink (where it would be less noticeable) or just down somewhere near the end of the counter where it would run the full width of the counter.

I decided on putting it behind the sink… and I’m still debating on whether or not that was the right call, but it is what it is.

So, first step, glue these together…

Except I decided not to use the exact right tool for this job–a biscuit joiner–even though I’d already purchased one and was sitting in its box in the back of my car.

I don’t… I mean… guys. I’ve been doing this shit for over a decade. I know how this goes, and it is always, always harder and more frustrating if 1.) you don’t have the right tools, 2.) you don’t have good quality tools that can handle the job, and 3.) you don’t take the time to learn how to use those tools. I know this, like, intrinsically, deep down in the depths of my soul, and yet sometimes I still fall into the trap of not wanting to pay the money for the tool, or not wanting to take the time to figure out how to use it correctly, and guess what? That shit goes horribly wrong every time.

Here’s the conversation that happened between me and my mom to illustrate how this went down.

11:10 AM

Me: Mom, what time is it too early for happy hour to start on the farm again?

Mom: Well, the farm has special rules but we should probably wait until afternoon?

11:58AM – After the first failed glue-up attempt

Mom: Is it afternoon yet?

Me: Holy shit, close enough.

I did eventually manage to get the board glued up (and held in place with some clamps and pocket screws while the glue dried) and, in the meantime, my mom and I rode around on the golf cart and staked some of the cages around the fruit trees that had blown over recently….

And then I got to work cutting out the template for the sink hole.

I’d already had enough success with a cobbled-together jig for the stove hole that I wasn’t super nervous about this, I just really wanted to do it right. (I actually started a template a week ago and it broke in half while I was cutting it, so this was my second attempt.)

I know some people cut out the paper template (or glue the template directly to the board with a photomount spray) but I usually have a roll of graphite paper on hand, and I find that it’s the best way to transfer a template pattern without ruining the original. (You can get it for under $10 on Amazon… so worth it.)

With the original template transferred on to the board I then had to add 3-1/8″ to accommodate my  my router guard (which was easier on the straight lines than on the radius corners.)  I used to make sarcastic comments back in elementary school math classes about “never actually using this in real life.” Ha. I hope all my old math teachers get some satisfaction out of this…

I used a scrap piece of plywood for the template and cut the two straight “sides” with the circular saw, and using a jigsaw for the curves. My very favorite part of this process was when I was debating how to cut the straight line that would end up behind the sink… the easiest thing would have been to continue cutting with the jigsaw, but I know from years of experience that won’t give me an actual straight line, so I said out loud to myself “I really should just make a plunge cut with the circular saw to do this right…” (Even though that’s not at all what I really wanted to do because I hate making plunge cuts with the circular saw.)

And my mom standing four feet behind me– doing something else entirely– was like, “WELL JUST DO IT THEN.”

I’m still laughing just typing that. It was exactly the thing I needed to hear, so I picked up the saw and got to it…

And ended up with a really good template.

The next step, of course, was clamping this to the 15′ piece of counter and then using the router to cut it out, but there were a lot of challenges that came into play with this step as well.

The first was placement of the template. I spent a lot of time like this…

Because unlike most sinks that will be dropped in or mounted below a sink hole after it’s cut, my gazillion pound cast iron sink is already in place on a base in the cabinet. And also, nothing in my 160 year old house is square, so measuring from the only wall that was a viable measuring-point (and, of course, not square) left me with more questions than confidence in where the template should be placed.

At some point I gave up measuring, re-measuring, drinking more, and measuring again, and just said, “fuck it, I’m cutting this hole.”

Like the stove top, I did multiple passes with the router (this time, four passes) and the cut turned out beautifully.

Of course, now I had a 15′ piece of butcher block with a bigass hole in it that was tenuously held together by some un-cured wood glue and a couple of undersized screws on a 5″ section of board.

In other words, moving this without breaking it was going to be a bitch.

I braced the shit out of both the joint and the board, and then my boyfriend came over and the three of us attempted to move the piece of counter in the kitchen.

And of course the glued seam cracked right before we got it in place. I was 50% livid and 50% resigned because I knew this was going to happen the moment I put that seam on the smallest section of wood behind the sink. But the real reason I was disappointed was because my sink hole was about 1/4″ off.

The cracked seam wasn’t so much of an issue as was the fact that I was potentially going to have to lift that 15′ piece of counter up again and move it outside to trim the hole to the right size AND join this board to shorter board that makes the “L” of the counter. I was sure that picking that piece up again would cause the screws that were in it (and unable to be removed in its current position) to crack and split the wood beyond repair.

I’d just like to take this time to point out that if I’d used the biscuit joiner that I currently owned and was sitting in its box in my car and had also just glued/clamped that section in my house and let it cure 24 hours, it would have been fine. All of my frustration at that point in time was due to 1.) not using the proper tool, and 2.) rushing the project and not taking the time to do things right.

Those are rookie mistakes, and there’s no excuse for them. I know better. But, you know, I’m still human… a particularly impatient one when I don’t have a working kitchen sink (which is weird because we all know I’m not in some huge rush to do my dishes, but still) and I did a lot of mental gymnastics on Saturday to convince myself that I didn’t have any other option but to make those less-than-stellar choices.

Listen, a lot of this stemmed from the fact that I am really bad at asking for help, and this was a particularly awkward situation where I really needed someone on-hand for 8-10 hours, but actually only really needed them for maybe 15 minutes of real work at random times throughout the day. Also I’m really easily distracted so when I’m doing a lot of measuring and holding numbers in my head– or just mentally planning out the next steps of a project– I can’t entertain or chat (or sometimes even talk civilly) to other people when I’m working. So basically I needed to ask someone to spend their whole day on the farm not talking to me except for the half a dozen random times I needed help lifting or moving a piece of counter? That’s awesome.

And it’s exactly what I asked my boyfriend to do the weekend prior (and he was super gracious about it) and then asked my mom to do Saturday (and she was also awesome about it), but come Saturday evening when I had an off-center sink hole, a cracked seam, and no help lined up for Sunday? I’m not going to claim that was one of my most shining moments as a human.

But…

I obsessed about it for the rest of the night, slept on it, woke up bright and early Sunday, and had nearly convinced myself to leave the off-center sink hole as is (I even posted about it to Facebook and very much appreciated all of the comments voting yea or nay on trying to fix it) and then I did a thing I almost never do mid-project and called my dad. This is how the conversation went:

Me: I don’t know if I should try to fix it or just leave it as is…

Dad:  Fix it.

Me: …

Dad: I feel like you just want someone to give you permission not to fix it, but you need to do it.

Me: Okay, fair. But what if I fuck it up?

Dad: Honey… it’s already fucked up.

Ha. Dads. If I’d decided to call literally any other person in my life– any person– they would have told me to leave it, but I called my dad and I think it’s because subconsciously I wanted someone to call me on my shit and tell me to fix it. I mean, in the moment I was like 45 seconds away from an emotional breakdown, but after I talked to him I was like, well, yeah, that’s exactly what I needed to hear, and now how the fuck am I going to fix this by myself?

I had two choices: 1.) Use the router to make the sink hole bigger on one side, or 2.) Use the circular saw to trim a 1/4″ off the end of the counter and shift the whole thing over.

I decided the second option was going to be easier and less risky, but it was also going to create some complications for the 45-degree cuts I’d already made for the L shaped part of the counter. Also, I had to just mentally get over the fact that I didn’t want to cut in the kitchen and create a shit-ton of sawdust inside the house, because no way I was going to be able to move that 15′ counter out of the house by myself.

So I did what any reasonable person would do at a time like this, and taped my shopvac hose to my counters and basically cut the boards in place on top of my cabinets…

(I managed to get some plywood under them so I wasn’t cutting directly on top of the cabs.)

Which– holy shit– actually worked!

Then I had a little more confidence to tackle the issue with the 45’s I’d just created, and I’m telling you, I basically winged it. I was able to move the 6′ piece of counter in and out of the house, and I had to trim 3 sides of it to make it work. And, even then, the 45’s I’d cut (and recut) with the circular saw weren’t fitting tightly. But at this point I was actually super confident in my ability to cut and use the router “in place” without damaging anything, so I trimmed 1/16 of an inch off the angles to square everything up.

Earlier in the day my dad bragged about his router with the attached dust collection system and asked why mine didn’t have one (and the answer is because I stole this router from him ten years ago, obviously, so it’s way older than his) but his fancy newer model has nothing on my shopvac/painters tape dust collection system…

This is what happened…

Holy shit, you guys, do you see that fit?

There was maybe 1/16″ gap between those boards, where there’d been 1/4″ or more before. I know in my last post I said I didn’t love using the router to trim up those straight cuts, but I very much changed my mind.

Okay, so there was only really one big challenge left at this point. I needed to attach the 15′ piece of counter (with a cracked seam) to this shorter piece to make the L, and in my mind that had to be done from underneath, either with pocket screws or some temporary boards screwed in to brace the clamps with. But that would also mean somehow lifting up both sections of board and then attaching them and then putting them back in place 1.) by myself, and 2.) without breaking anything.

And then I realized I was being an idiot.

Well, not as big of an idiot as I’d been about other things in this process, but I was stuck on this idea that I had to attach the boards from underneath. Just like earlier in the day I was stuck on the idea that I had to move the counters out of the house to cut them.

Those are actually not real obstacles.

This time, I’m happy to say, I learned my lesson. I broke out my newest tool–the biscuit joiner– and made some practice cuts.

Then I made the actual cuts in my two counter pieces, glued them together, and…

I screwed two boards right into the fucking top of those things to clamp it together.

Yeah, you might be horrified by that (I kind of was) but I realized that the only thing keeping me from getting the counters finished was four tiny screw holes that could easily be filled with some wood filler. So I screwed those bitches in and then, using another tip from my dad, and just emptied some of the sawdust out of the sander I’d been using on the counters…

And mixed it in with with the wood glue that was compressed out of the seam, to make my own wood filler.

Which worked fucking beautifully. I also used it on the screw holes once I removed those blocks for clamping and on the seam behind the sink.

I also drilled the holes for the faucet…

(That’s a new 1-3/8″ forstner bit I bought specifically for this job, and it worked beautifully for this job.)

And caulked along the sink…

And then, then, late Sunday night, after a 14 hour day working by myself on these counters, I finally put the first coat of oil on them and…

<img class=" aligncenter" src="https://c1.staticf

from Bathroom & Home http://diydiva.net/2017/02/kitchen-process-the-holy-shit-edition/

from Kitchen Process: The Holy Shit Edition