#Sawdust is Jigsaw of course

[residences-of-the-darkforest]

Dark Forest Residences: Fathomcry & Goldenrue

Fathomcry

Aliases / Nicknames: Flint, Fathompaw

Gender: male

Sexuality: demisexual

Family: Quiver (mother), Gravel (father), Goldenrue (mate)

Other Relations: Goldenrue (mentor [Clan]), Marshglare (mentor [rogue])

Clan: BayClan (Southern)

Rank: warrior

Characteristics: vengeful, obsessive

Murder Motive: vengeance

Number of Victims: 5+

Number of Murders: 4+

Murder Method: varies

Known Victims: Dunestream, Harebreeze, Stoat, Pikefin, Driftbite, Goldenrue

Victim Profile: Clan cats who hurt rogues

Cause of Death: old age

Cautionary Tale: ??

Story: 

Flint would never forget the sight of his father's dead body.

Nor would he forget the sight of his savior.

Goldenrue had rushed in, demanding what happened from Dunestream.

"He tried to kill me."

Flint had shaken his head from where he was crouched underneath the bush. Dunestream hadn't seen him. But Goldenrue had, and shushed him when Dunestream wasn't looking.

Flint heard the gossip a little later. Dunestream had been thrown out, on the testimony of Goldenrue. Flint would have just lived his life, if not for the stories.

Sawdust, an exiled cat who had created a small colony of cats who would test others. Rehabilitate them. Or kill them.

Sawdust had died a long time ago, but his legacy lived on. Flint wanted to be part of that. Marshglare, a cat who had been left to die by another apprentice of Sawdust, thought he was ready as well.

So he grew up, getting lessons from the other rogues around the city, or training himself.

When the time was right, he caught a rabbit shortly outside the city, and brought it to the leader. Driftstar had retired, so Ospreystar was the current leader of Southern BayClan. She let him join as an apprentice, and there he was. Goldenrue.

Everything was in position, and it was time for him to start his work.

Harebreeze, a cat who would always back up the falsities of the other warriors, was his first victim. A bear trap, an old favorite of Sawdust's apprentices. Though it made Marshglare tense to look at it.

Fathompaw and Goldenrue were sent to investigate it. Fathompaw fought hard to keep down his excitement. Goldenrue could see his work. He wasn't really upset, he just didn't understand yet.

And then, Marshglare showed off something incredible he had been born with.

Cavecrawl's spirit was summoned, and it spoke to the senior warriors gathered to investigate the murder of Harebreeze.

The mangled spirit spoke of a reformation, telling the warriors that they have fallen into darkness. Harebreeze failed, would they do the same?

Next up was Finchback. This one was personal for Fathompaw. Well, not really. Finchback had left Goldenrue alone, while the two were chasing down two stray dogs. Goldenrue gained a nasty scar that day. If he had died, Driftstar wouldn't have left Finchback alive. Fathompaw was glad he had. That meant he could have all the fun to himself.

This time, he recruited Stoat, a rogue with a pretty fast running speed, to lure the dogs to Finchback, who he had knocked out and dropped into a tangle of silver thorns. He promised that if Finchback got out, he would call the dogs off.

Finchback didn't get out, and Fathompaw hoped to everything and everyone that he didn't imagine the positive look in Goldenrue's eyes when looking at the gory scene.

And then, to allow himself to set up the tests more frequently, he faked his death. Skinning Stoat after the cat fell ill, the blood covered up the differing scents and the fur color was similar enough.

He went after Pikefin next. A cat who covered up the cruelties of BayClan. She drowned, and it was beautiful. To get rid of the ones who had hurt so many. To watch Goldenrue put the pieces together, and go and find his old friend.

Before the biggest test yet, Marshglare decided he was ready, and gave Fathompaw a warrior name. Fathomcry.

This one was a dual act. Slicing the back of Dunestream's legs, throwing him into a ditch in a cavern, and placing Goldenrue on a nearby ledge. Giving him a choice.

Dunestream died, and a flicker of movement had Goldenrue chasing down Marshglare in the tunnels connecting the cavern to the surface.

Fathomcry revealed himself, smiling as he told Goldenrue of his true identity.

And then....

Goldenrue

Aliases / Nicknames: My Savior, Angel, Love of my Life

Gender: male

Sexuality: bisexual

Family: Breezesting (mother), Driftbite/star (father), Fathomcry (mate)

Other Relations: Dunestream (mentor), Fathomcry (apprentice)

Clan: BayClan

Rank: warrior

Characteristics: exasperated, defensive, distrustful, heart of gold

Murder Motive: protect innocent cats

Number of Victims: 6+

Number of Murders: 6+

Murder Method: N/A

Known Victims: Various warriors

Victim Profile:  Clan cats who hurt rogues

Cause of Death: old age

Cautionary Tale: ??

Story: 

"It's time for your final test."

Goldenrue's fur bristled. Fathompaw--No, right, he was Fathomcry now, turned and gestured for him to follow. He did, trying to instill anger and resentment in every step. The resentment was deeper, though.

There really was nobody he could trust.

The tunnel opened up into a larger cavern, where Driftbite hung from an old Twoleg fishing hook. A spirit, the crushed limbs making the identity clear. Cavecrawl was holding into the chains of the hook, looking down at the confrontation with interest. Outside, Marshglare was leading several warriors of BayClan on a wild goose chase.

Fathomcry stood in front of Goldenrue.

"I have an offer for you. Goldenrue, you took a stand against the cat who killed my father. What did that get you? There's nobody in BayClan you can trust. Nobody except for me."

Goldenrue was about to point out how incredibly stupid that was considering the situation he was in, but Fathomcry didn't give him a chance to talk.

"I mean, Finchback abandoning you. That fox-heart won't get to repeat that mistake. And Harebreeze, I wouldn't have started off with him, but he covered up for so many other atrocities. You, Goldenrue, you're different. Find me the best targets, and I'll do the rest. You wouldn't even get your paws dirty."

Goldenrue squinted at Fathomcry, who did really seem hopeful about this. "You....want me...to help you kill my Clanmates?"

"Just the bad ones. They aren't really your Clanmates, are they? None of them trusted you, none of them even liked you." Fathomcry replied.

"....Okay."

"Okay?"

"I'm in. But let Driftbite go."

Fathomcry's face fell. "Just a second." He turned around, looking at Cavecrawl. "You know what to do." He turned back to Goldenrue.

"I'm going to give you a choice. You go with me, you join me. Your father dies, like he deserves to. You could try and attack me, which results in the same fate for your father. Or you could free him. Kill me, we lose. Free your father, and I lose the battle but not the war. Join me, and this is the happiest day of my life."

Now, that was something Goldenrue was going to unpack later, but not now.

"Driftbite, when he was the leader, let certain things slide. Why did Dunestream feel free to kill my father? Because Driftbite let him. The Clan felt safer because the warriors were willing to kill innocents."

Goldenrue looked from his father to Fathomcry, back and forth, back and forth, until....

He lunged, taking the narrow path up to where Cavecrawl was languishing. The spirit gave a bored nod, and dragged the hook over to solid ground. Fathomcry sighed, and began to walk towards the tunnel out.

Things happened fast after that. Marshglare burst out of a tunnel that led straight to Driftbite and Goldenrue, followed by a few warriors too many then what they had thought. Goldenrue bolted down the path and to Fathomcry. One of the warriors went for Cavecrawl while Marshglare escaped, and went right through the spirit, slamming into Driftbite. The fall killed him.

Fathomcry escaped. Marshglare escaped.

Goldenrue was left to deal with the aftermath.

-------

"Hey."

".....Hey."

"You know what I said was true."

"I know. I just need some time to think."

"I understand."

-------

"Let's do this."

-------

Marshglare sighed in contentment as he rested his head on the shoulder of Cavecrawl. "It's nice. I think he's the only one of us who tried to follow Sawdust's teachings to die of old age, and to die happily."

Cavecrawl rolled his eyes. "What, you didn't die happy?"

Marshglare smiled. "I couldn't be happy until I was able to touch you again."

"Oh, and who's fault is that?" Cavecrawl responded.

Marshglare ducked his head. "....Mine."

Additional Information:

--Submission by @frightnightindustries

--Quiver is a distant relative of Rabbithollow.

--Warrior cats version of William Schenk from Spiral: From the Book of Saw. Took some liberties with the story. After Driftbite dies, it goes to fully original.

Also Warrior Cats version of Ezekiel Banks from Spiral: From the Book of Saw. Rue is also a synonym for regret

--BayClan has four sections. Northern, Southern, Eastern, Western. It's a massive clan in an abandoned city based off of Baltimore.

--Fathomcry was warrior aged when he became Goldenrue's apprentice. People who know about Saw, try and guess who Sawdust, Marshglare, and Cavecrawl are.

--Goldenrue is the one who matches Game of Life, Fathomcry is the one who matches Gasoline.

--Other notable residents of BayClan: literal poster child for cannibalism, falcon tamer with a brain disease, someone who fell into a brick, someone who killed his cheating mate, child who is done with this shit and part eldritch moor.

#dark forest oc #dark forest profile #profile #dark profile #dark forest submission #submission #dark submission #long post #fathomcry #goldenrue #Sawdust is Jigsaw of course #the others are harder to tell because there's several apprentices to choose from #Maybe Lawrence and Adam? I know they're shipped

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

S.T. REWRITE - S2:E3; Chapter  Three, The Pollywog - [Pt. 3]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

Dustin adopts a strange new pet, and Eleven grows increasingly impatient. A well-meaning Bob urges Will to stand up to his fears while Y/n’s powers grow stronger, bringing to light many questions about her past.

A/n: Another long chapter ahead, featuring a callback to book 1!

||3rd Person POV||

El laid still and unmoving on her bed, where she had been since her fight with Hopper. He had left hours ago and she had been left alone with her thoughts once more.

She gazed at her reflection in the TV set that was still in her room from the other day. She sat up, thinking. She wasn't in the mood to watch TV, again. But maybe she could look for Mike again?

Her eyes glazed over the bed frame and they spotted the blindfold, and she quickly tied it over her eyes. It wasn't until then that she realized it wasn't 3:15, he would still be in school.

El sighed, taking off the blindfold in defeat. Hopper's words from earlier popped into her head.

"You're gonna see him. Soon. And not just in that head of yours. You're gonna see him in real life."

So El decided would. She got up, grabbing one of the warmest pieces of clothing she could find. She ended up putting on an old flannel that Hopper had washed and given to her.

With timid steps, she crept out of her room and slowly towards the front door. She knew she wanted to this, she had been dreaming about doing this for months, but suddenly it all became very real to her.

She faced the many locks on the front door. They were there for her protection, of course, not for keeping her in. She recalled the day she had been brought to live at the cabin.

[FLASHBACK]

Hopper swung the old door open, and before stepping inside, began kicking the doorframe with each foot, shaking off all the snow. He stepped inside and discarded his jacket, while Eleven, repeated his actions by kicking the snow off her shoes.

She began looking around at the dusty and cluttered cabin. She could see the beams of light streaming in from the dust that littered the air.

"My granddad used to live here, long time ago." Hopper shut the front door, preventing any more cold air getting in, and discarded his hat. "I mainly just use it for storage now,"

El listened as she walked slowly through the cabin, trying to take it all in.

There were boxes everywhere, and cloth-covered all the windows so it made the cabin quite dark. There were cobwebs everywhere.

Hopper walked across the room and picked up one of the old boxes, and moved it. "Lot of history here,"

Sighing, he put his hands on his hips and shrugged.

"So, uh... what do you think?" He asked. "It's a work-in-progress. You know, it's, uh... it takes a little imagination, but uh... once we fix it up, it's gonna be nice. Real nice."

There was a small pause.

"This is your new home," he confirmed.

Hopper smiled kindly at Eleven and she looked at him, a new sense of hope blossoming in her chest.

"Home," she answered.

+++

Hopper quickly rifled through the box of old records he had stumbled upon until he finally found one that caught his eye and painted a grin on his face.

It was Jim Croce's "You Don't Mess Around With Jim"

He pulled it from the selection and showed it to Eleven, who had found a place to sit.

"All right, this," he pulled the record from its sleeve and put it on the record player. "this is music,"

Eleven looked at him skeptically, not knowing what to expect. Hopper put the needle on the record and the rhythmic sound of bass and drums began to play, Hopper snapped his fingers in tune with the music.

Eleven watched in stunned silence as the usually grumpy man began to bounce around with a large toothy grin.

"Uptown got its hustlers The Bowery got its bums"

Eleven's brows furrowed softly as she watched the man continued to bounce. His face was scrunched up now and he began to sway his body, something that confused Eleven even more.

"42nd Street got Big Jim Walker"

"All right,"

Hopper suddenly clapped his hands together and spoke, seemingly returning to normal.

"Let's get to work,"

"He's a pool-shootin' son of a gun Yeah, he's big and dumb As a man can come"

Eleven ripped the old cloth off the small bed, unintentionally whipping a thick cloud of dust in her face. She was sent into a coughing fit.

"But he's stronger than a country hoss"

Eleven was trying to sweep while Hopper cleared out the boxes. Having never used a broom before, she was attempting to sweep by pushing the broom forward, and in turn, wasn't making much progress.

"But he's stronger than a country hoss"

Hopper ripped the old and tattered pieces of cloth off one of the windows, soft morning light spilled into the room.

"And when the bad folks All get together at night"

Hopper glanced over in Eleven's direction and noticed her attempts at sweeping. He gently pulled her aside and asked for the broom.

"You know they all call big Jim 'boss' Just because"

Hopper pulled the broom back in swift motions, showing Eleven through demonstration. She watched carefully.

"And they say You don't tug on Superman's cape"

Hopper was knelt down on by the front door, as he screwed in various locks to the front door as an added precaution.

"You don't spit into the wind"

Eleven had now grabbed the broom from Hopper's hands, getting the idea. She began sweeping, just as he had and Hopper returned to the boxes.

"You don't pull the mask Off that old Lone Ranger"

El plopped down on the bed she previously been cleaning, bouncing up and down as tested the mattress. She looked to the tiny red lamp they had found and plugged in and began to feel more at home already.

"And you don't mess around with Jim"

Hopper had set up the old CB radio he had found, and was teaching Eleven morse code. This was how he would contact her from outside the cabin, and she would always have a guide to look at for reference.

"Well, outta South Alabama Come a country boy He said I'm lookin' for a man named Jim"

Hopper was now stocking the kitchen with groceries and kitchen supplies. Eleven had found an old jigsaw puzzle, and she happily got to work. It reminded her of Y/n, who had left Eleven some of her puzzles to play with while her and the boys were at school.

"I am a pool-shootin' boy My name is Willie McCoy"

Hopper cast a glance over his shoulder and saw how invested she was in the puzzle, and how much more relaxed she had become since they had arrived and he felt himself relax as well. He smiled to himself as he pulled the box of Eggos from the grocery bag and put them away in the kitchen.

"But down home they call me Slim"

Eleven repeated the sequence that Hopper had beeped in the CB radio, and he smiled at her. She smiled in return, knowing she had successfully translated the sequence.

"Yeah, I'm lookin' for The king of 42nd Street"

Eleven looked up from her puzzle, to see Hopper carrying in what she recognized to be a TV set and she watched hopefully as he set up.

"He drivin' a drop top Cadillac Last week, he took all my money And it may sound funny"

At night, Hopper had gathered some old mousetraps and made several adjustments to them.

"But I came to get my money back And everybody say, Jack, don't you know"

He knew he needed to take precautions to intruders or any possible threats. He needed an alarm system.

"You don't tug on Superman's cape You don't spit into the wind"

He attached bullet shells to each trap. Blowing away the piles of sawdust as he worked under the lamplight at the kitchen table.

"You don't pull the mask Off that old Lone Ranger"

He wound up the spool of wire around another nail in one of the many trees surrounding the cabin.

"And you don't mess around with Slim"

Eleven trailed curiously behind him as he carried the unwinding spool with him. Finally, he reached the tree with the mousetrap and softly took a seat on the ground, Eleven knelt down beside him.

Eleven was in charge of holding the wire cutters and he gestured for them, grabbing them and cutting the wire. She watched as he grabbed the end and rigged it into the mousetrap as he talked.

"Now, this is called a tripwire. It's like an alarm. You, uh, set it up like this. And then, anybody gets close, it's gonna make a loud noise like, uh, gunfire."

"Bang!" He said, and Eleven jumped back softly, causing him to chuckle.

He runs a hand over his face and he looked at her, growing serious.

"Those bad men aren't gonna find ya. All right? Not way the hell out here. We'll take some precautions. There's gonna be a couple ground rules."

[END OF FLASHBACK]

El recalled Hopper going over the ground rules with her. She could hear him still in her head. But she didn't care. She needed to see Mike.

She walked in front of the draped windows.

"Rule number one: always keep the curtains drawn."

El ripped the drapes aside, and pulled on the blinds, sending them straight up, sunlight pooled into the cabin.

"Rule number two: only open the door if you hear my secret knock."

Every lock on the door came undone with a series of clicks and El opened the door.

"And rule number three: don't ever go out alone, especially not in the daylight."

Her heart pounding, El stepped outside, into the fresh morning sun, and relished in the crisp autumn breeze. She quickly scanned the area, when her eyes found nothing but open space and an empty forest she knew it was safe.

She heard Hopper's voice once more in her head, and she cast one last glance at the cabin in hesitation.

"That's it. Three rules. I call 'em the, Don't Be Stupid Rules. Cause we're not stupid. Right?"

As El got further and further away, she could feel her heart hammering in her chest, increasing with every step. She stopped suddenly. Not in fear, nor had she changed her mind. But the tripwire. It was right where she remembered it. She glared at it defiantly.

"Not stupid."

She stepped over the tripwire and marched on.

||Reader's POV||

Dustin's trap swung open and we all leaned in to get a better look. My eyes bulged when I caught a glimpse at the slimy creature writhing around inside.

"His name is d'Artagnan." Dustin cooed, beaming at the gross slimeball.

I watched carefully as he took d'Artagnan from the trap and picked him up, still smiling warmly at him.

"Cute, right?"

"Uhh..." I trail off.

Dustin just rolls his eyes at me, and I hear Will give a weak chuckle.

"d'Artagnan?" Mike asks, ignoring our bickering.

"Dart for short."

"And he was in your trash?" Max asked, clarifying.

"Foraging for food."

"Awesome," I mumble sarcastically, less than enthusiastic at the thought that thing was crawling around outside my house.

"You wanna hold him?" He asked hopefully at Max.

She quickly shook her head several times. "No, no"

"He doesn't bite," Dustin insisted.

"I don't want to--" Before she could finish, Dustin had thrust Dart into her hands, giving her no choice but to hold him and she cringed.

"Oh, God, he's slimy!" She panicked and handed him to the closest person who happened to be Lucas.

He recoiled in disgust when Dart jumped into his hands.

"Ugh, he's like a living booger!" He was then passed to Will who gagged.

"Ugh, oh, God" I saw the look in his eyes, he was panicking and he turned to me, the closest person to him.

Oh no.

"No, I don't think that's such a goo-" Dart was writhing around in my hands and my face scrunches up in disgust.

Lucas and Max were right, he was slimy and he did feel like a living booger and my stomach twisted in knots. I felt like I could hurl.

I tensed up, and suddenly Dart let out a horrible screech that hurt my ears and it startles me, making me yelp and jump back in fear dropping Dart.

There was a scatter of worried responses.

Mike was able to catch Dart, and he is the only one out of us who is able to tolerate him. He picks him up to examine him and Dustin lightly scolds me and then reluctantly asks me if I'm okay.

"I'm fine," I grumbled.

"What is he?" Mike asks.

"My question exactly," Dustin replied.

He got out some books from his back and plopped them on the table.

"At first, I thought he was some type of pollywog," he began.

"Pollywog?" Max wondered.

"It's another word for tadpole." He clarified. "A tadpole is the larval stage of a toad."

"I know what a tadpole is," she deadpanned, and I chuckled slightly.

We shared a slight smirk.

"All right, then you know that most tadpoles are aquatic, right?"

He opened up on of the books to a bookmarked page, I glanced at it and I made out the words 'Frog Life Cycle' from upside down.

"Well, Dart, he isn't. He doesn't need water."

"Yeah, but aren't there nonaquatic pollywogs?" Lucas asked.

"Terrestrial pollywogs? Yep. Two to be exact."

He opened up another bookmarked page from a different book.

"Indrana semipalmata" he flipped to another page. "And the Adenomera andreae. One's from India, one's from South America. So how did one end up in our trash?" He concluded.

"Maybe some scientists brought it here, and it escaped?" Max wondered.

"Yeah, and no offense Dustin, but we don't know anything about him. And you just found him, how do we know he's completely safe?"

Before anyone can answer my question, Mike speaks up, his attention on Dart who Dustin let roam around inside the barrier of the coils from his trap.

"Do you guys see that?"

We all lean in to get a closer look. Mike was right, on either side, just above the base of his tail, something began... shifting.

'Okay, ew'

"It almost looks like something is moving inside of it," I said.

Mike adjusted the lamp so it was hovering over Dart. And once again, he screeched, exactly like he had before, startling all of us. I start to panic when he crawls over the barrier of coils and jumps off the desk. Dustin quickly catches him.

"Whoa. It's okay. It's okay. I gotcha little guy. I know you don't like that. It's okay" I stared at my brother in shock and confusion.

Lucas and I shared an uncomfortable glance.

"And there's another thing," Dustin said, perking up. "Reptiles, they're cold-blooded. Ectothermic, right? They love heat, the sun. Dart hates it. It hurts him."

My brow had quirked when I heard this.

'Heat. Of course.'

It happened again. It must have. When I held Dart I must have burned him or something by accident and that's why he reacted.

'Shit, I really need to learn how to control that.'

I tried ridding my brain of the thought and leaned in to get a better look at Dart as my brother spoke.

"So, if he's not a pollywog or a reptile..." I urged.

"Then I've discovered a new species."

I looked around as I took in the information. However, I noticed that Will had an odd look in his eye. I was about to ask him with the bell rang, startling us all. The six of us grab our stuff and file put into the hallway.

"We gotta show him to Mr. Clarke," Lucas suggests, and I nod my head.

"No, what if he steals my discovery?"

"He's not gonna steal your discovery," Mike states.

"Yeah, I really don't think he would," I add.

"You know. I'm thinking about calling it Dustonius Pollywogus."

I laugh. "I'm sorry, the what now?"

"Dustonius Pollywogus. What do you think?" He turns, asking Max.

She laughs and shakes her head. "I think you're an idiot."

"You know, when I become rich and famous for this one day, don't come crawling back saying 'Oh, my God, Dustin, I'm so sorry for being mean to you back in 8th grade. Oh, my God'."

I laugh. "Yeah, I don't think you have to worry about that."

||3rd person POV||

Joyce was more than happy to be surprised by her boyfriend Bob at work. He had shown up to work to surprise her and the two were currently enjoying a pleasant lunch on a bench outside.

"Last night was fun."

"Mmm-hmm." Joyce agreed with a warm smile on her face.

She hadn't felt this happy in years. Bob always knew how to make her happy.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped anything," Bob spoke, referring to his previous suggestion of moving.

Joyce was shocked to hear this. "No! No, you didn't." She assured.

He weakly smiled. "Okay. I mean... I... I like you so much. Not just you, everything that comes with you. Your family, your boys."

Joyce felt as if her heart would burst. She smiled at the man as he continued.

"And I hope it's not wishful thinking, but... I kinda feel like I'm breaking through with them. Not so much Jonathan. He's a tough cookie to crack, but..."

She smiled and nodded along. "Yeah,"

"But with Will, I don't know, I feel like we're connecting."

She grinned at the man. "He likes you, too."

Bob smiled hopefully at this. "Yeah?"

"Mmm-hmm. I can tell."

Bob smiled to himself and reached for his Dr. Pepper. He popped open the drink and it fizzled. His mind quickly wandered to the video he had found that morning and he suddenly grew nervous. Bob knew he wasn't in trouble of course, but he hated making her upset. But he knew she needed to know.

"Oh, there was... something else I was gonna mention, but... and it's not a big deal at all, but...I just noticed this morning that my JVC was a little dinged up."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "Your what?"

"The video camera."

Joyce seemed taken aback. She felt bad that his camera was shaken up but she knew that didn't sound like something the boys would lie about. Not her boys.

"Oh,"

Bob nodded his head. "Yeah. It still works fine and everything. I just...I went back and watched the tape... there were some older kids picking on Will."

Joyce set down her lunch immediately, and her expression hardened. "What?"

Bob carried on with a wince. "They scared him."

"Who were they? Were they the Zimmerman brothers again?"

"Um, I don't know. They were wearing masks or sort of makeup and... Maybe. They were the right age."

Joyce looked away and rage-filled her system. "I'll kill them. I swear to God, I will... I will kill them." She scathed.

Bob looked at her with adoration and pride. He shook his head slightly. "That's what I love about you. You punch back."

"And, I know this does not make any of that or what happened okay, but if it's any consolation, that friend of his, Y/N right?"

She nodded, unsure of where he was going.

"Well, she cursed them out something awful. I think she was ready to actually punch them." Bob let out a weak chuckle as he spoke.

Joyce felt a sense of pride. "Good. They have it coming to them."

She shook her head, still fuming from the knowledge.

Bob chuckled. "I was never really one to put up a fight. I struggled a lot like Will when I was a kid. With bullies. It's ones like us, that don't punch back, that people really take advantage of, you know? Really, rub your nose in it. Just a little bit more."

Joyce fell silent as she listened to Bob. She couldn't recall him being this passionate about something and she was listening, captivated.

"That's why, that's why it makes it all the more special. People like me, and Will. We are fortunate enough to find people in our lives that punch back. Like you, and Y/N. Will and I, we are some of the luckiest fellas on earth, cause we are fortunate enough to have people like you and Y/N around, and Will has you both. And me?"

Joyce smiled, and she felt all the anger melting away as Bob continued.

"Look at me now! I get to date Joyce Byers! Ha!"

A laugh escaped her lips and she smiled, leaning forward and pecking him on the lips.

And the two enjoyed the rest of their lunch together in peace.

+++

Tag List: @dickkwad @aimee-lucass @iblesstherainsdown-in-africa@miscellaneoustoasts @happyandlonely

DM me if you want to be added!

#stranger things #stranger things 2 #stranger things rewrite #cosmic season 2 #will byers x reader #will byers x y/n #y/n henderson #will byers #mike wheeler #dustin henderson #el #eleven #max mayfield #lucas sinclair #you #noah schnapp #finn wolfhard #gaten matarazzo #milly bobby brown #sadie sink #caleb mclaughlin #the pollywog pt. 3 #chapter three the pollywog

[qqonlinepoker]

Scroll Saw Buying Guide

A parchment saw is a little electric or pedal-worked saw used to cut complex bends in wood, metal, or different materials. The fineness of its cutting edge permits it to cut more gently than a force jigsaw, and more effectively than a hand adapting saw or fretsaw. Like those instruments, it is fit for making bends with edges[clarification needed], by rotating its table[clarification needed].

The look over observed's name gets from its conventional use in making scrollwork, sculptural adornments which conspicuously included parchment head designs.[citation needed]

Substance

1 Advantages

2 Size

3 Uses

4 Mode of activity

5 Blades

6 Further perusing

Points of interest

While to some degree like a band saw, a parchment saw utilizes a responding sharp edge as opposed to a ceaseless circle. Like a hand adapting saw, the look over observed's sharp edge can be expelled and put through a pre-bored beginning opening, permitting inside patterns to be made without a passage space. Likewise, the fineness in both width and tooth tally of a parchment's cutting edge allows fundamentally more perplexing bends than even the tightest check band-saw edge.

Most of parchment saws offer a little light on an adaptable arm that enlightens the work territory and a residue blower spout to keep the work space clear while working. Table-inclining empowers calculated slices to be made unequivocally and without any problem. Variable-speed support permits much better command over cuts when working with fragile materials or when making complicated cuts.

Size

Parchment saws are ordered by the size of their throat, which is the good ways from the sharp edge to the back edge of the saw. The throat profundity decides how enormous a bit of wood can be cut. Littler saws have a throat of as meager as 12 inches (300 mm), while business saws can move toward 30 inches (760 mm). Prior to the time of PC mechanization, modern saws were now and again used to make significantly bigger items by balancing the top mechanical linkage from the roof, in this way giving a self-assertively profound throat.

Parchment saws fluctuate in cost from under $100 to near $2,000. The more expensive saws are more exact and simpler to utilize, as a rule since they limit vibration, however this is reliant partially upon plan and recurrence, with numerous models offering no vibrations in certain frequencies, and expanded vibration in others.[citation needed]

Employments

Parchment sawing is a mainstream leisure activity for some carpenters. The apparatus permits a considerable measure of inventiveness and requires relatively little space. Also, many parchment saw ventures require minimal more than the saw itself, lessening the interest in devices. A drill is required for inside patterns, ideally a drill press for finely point by point work.

Parchment saws are regularly used to cut unpredictable bends and joints, an assignment they can finish rapidly and with incredible precision. They can likewise be utilized to cut dovetail joints and are a typical apparatus for thicker intarsia ventures. At the point when a fine cutting edge is utilized, the kerf of a parchment saw is practically imperceptible.

Alongside band saws, jigsaws, and now as of late observed cutting tools, scroll saws are utilized with current intarsia.

Parchment saws are nearly protected. Specifically, coincidental contact between the edge and the administrator's fingers or appendages is probably not going to bring about genuine injury, because of a littler sharp edge and generally more slow speed contrasted with apparatuses, for example, a table saw.

Method of activity

There are a few sorts of parchment saws. The most widely recognized plan is the equal arm, where an engine is connected close the rear of the arms and the two arms consistently stay corresponding to one another. The C-arm variation utilizes a strong "C" formed arm, with the sharp edge being mounted between the two closures of the "C". The equal connection type, utilized by Hawk, Excalibur, and DeWalt, has poles in the upper and lower arms that are "pushed" by the engine to move short (around 4 inches, or 100 millimeters) explained arms which hold the sharp edge.

The unbending arm scroll saw was well known until the 1970s however is not, at this point made. It has a solitary piece cast iron casing. The sharp edge is connected to a pitman arm on the base, which pulls the edge down. A spring in the upper arm pulls the cutting edge back up once more. This structure has a huge shortcoming in that the strain on the sharp edge changes with each stroke; current parchment saws are all "steady pressure" plans.

Cutting edges

Hand-worked scroll saw, around 1900

Except for cutting edges made for extremely light obligation saws, ordinary parchment saw sharp edges are five inches in length. The significant kinds are:

Skip tooth (or single skip tooth) which have a tooth, a hole, and afterward another tooth;

Twofold skip tooth (two teeth, a hole, at that point two teeth);

Crown or two-way, which have teeth confronting both all over so the sharp edge chops on both the down-stroke (likewise with every single other edge) and the up-stroke;

Winding cutting edges, which are basically standard level sharp edges with a turn, so teeth venture on all sides;

Metal cutting sharp edges made of solidified steel;

Precious stone edges (wires covered with jewel sections), for cutting glass.

Pin end sharp edges are commonly somewhat thicker and are made to use on scroll saws that require pin end cutting edges which are commonly more established, more affordable or made for passage level scrollers. Most fresher better quality parchment saws don't acknowledge pin end sharp edges.

Sharp edges come in numerous loads, running from #10/0 (for making gems—about the size of a coarse hair) to #12, which is like a little band saw edge.

Another variety is known as a converse tooth cutting edge. On turn around tooth sharp edges, the last 3/4" of the teeth are switched (point up). This course of action assists with diminishing fragmenting on the base edges of the cut. Be that as it may, it doesn't get sawdust out of the cut just as a customary edge, so cutting is increasingly slow more warmth. This warmth diminishes edge life and makes burning of the workpiece more probable. Turn around tooth edges are particularly helpful when cutting softwood and pressed wood, for example, Baltic birch.

[warp6]

The Incongruity of Softness

I offered 5-10 sentence fics as a favor in return for readers of my WIP doing me the favor of giving me some extra feedback, and, as mentioned when I filled mia-cooper’s prompt, I’ve never kept a fic to a short word count in my life, sooo... This is this for the inimitable @jhelenoftrek. It ended up blooming even farther over the supposed sentence count than Mia’s and became enough of a Thing that I put in on AO3, which I decided to roll with since Helen wrote me not one, but TWO, fics when I was sick/sad about being Left On The Wrong Side Of The River this spring. So she deserves much thanks for that as well! <3

(And yes, I promise am still working on the actual WIP that started all this.)

Prompt: I don't see nearly enough writing about Chakotay building things. Can you write something about him in a wood shop for me?  Or making something with his hands?

content warnings: past battle/intense violence description; past major injury description; food mention

Fun Facts:

The Nechayev knitting joke is a bit of a mythology gag (let’s pretend I planned it that way rather than realizing the happy coincidence as I was already typing it out), since Natalija Nogulich is an IRL knitter!

Tomorrow today, June 24th, is, in fact, National Praline Day. Happy NPD!

Read on AO3, or...

The circular saw bites through the soft pine-like wood, spraying aromatic sawdust across the floor. The tarp spread over the carpet under my makeshift workstation shows off the pale specks like stars, except in the places where my feet have scuffed through the drifts as I work. If the tarp were a galaxy, my footprints would be...black holes? Exceedingly large black holes wider than Federation space?

Oh, well. No analogy’s perfect.

I have eight front chair legs cut--a much simpler process, merely trimming the ends of the pre-cut alien wood--and twenty-one days to cut these angled back legs and all the other pieces, and assemble the four chairs and their matching table. I could have made any other gift for the newlyweds, of course, any of them less time-consuming, but I wanted to do this. A family should have some furniture that isn't replicated.

Kathryn has been making a lace table runner, knitting the delicate pattern by feel. Sometimes as I pass by her door, I can hear her voice querying the computer about stitch count or pattern rows, and the calm tones of Voyager’s response. At our first dinner back in the mess hall after the mission, I told her--Kathryn, not Voyager--that she should save her time. After all, what crewmen would dare use a tablecloth made by their captain? She just laughed and told me we should visit the newlyweds for dinner, and then they’d have to. And when we’re there, Chakotay, you spill just a drop, just a drop of red wine on it. Then it’s no longer flawless, and they can use it when they have a gaggle of fat, rambunctious babies and they’re all throwing mashed carrots across the table.

I don’t know. I don’t think I’d risk staining a gift from my commanding officer, even if my other commanding officer messed it up first.

I would. If Admiral Nechayev gives me a table runner when we get home, I’ll use it.

Well, Kathryn, you’re not just anyone.

The last scrap falls from the end of the fourth back leg, and I blow the sawdust from it--more a ceremonial gesture than a practical one--and walk across the room to place it with the others. Every time I stand for a while, I forget the newly healed bones in my foot, and every time I start walking, the unevenness of my gait reminds me. Enough crew members were injured during the mission that, in consultation with the brides-to-be, we ended up postponing Mariah and Evelyn’s wedding by a month and a half, long enough to get repairs comfortably underway, and for most of the wounded to recover or at least get mobile again. And, last but not least, for some of us to catch up on our gift-making.

It hardly seems fair, Tom opined the other day, leaning his elbow on our table in the mess hall. You two are pretty much obligated to make a gift for everyone who so much as gets a haircut on this barge. Births…weddings…milestone birthdays… The Captain made her future assistant a baby blanket way back in our old glory days in Kazon space, and now you’re both roped into making cutesy gifts for the next few decades.

Some of us might consider that a stroke of luck, Tom, Kathryn drawled in return. We have a chance to exercise our creative abilities, much as you do with your holodeck programs. In fact, I can’t help but notice that you’ve presented a new holonovel or setting to just about everyone who has had a milestone life event on board.

Yeah, Tom, chimed in Harry. We can’t help but notice.

Well, that’s different. I’m always trying to hone my skills, and if I happen to be working on something I think someone might like around the time they’re having their bash, I gift it to them. It’s not as though I suckered myself into Starfleet arts-and-crafts for the next few decades. He leaned back, smirking broadly, and the young ensign sitting next to him stiffened, eyes widening as though she expected lightening to strike our table in retribution for a mere lieutenant calling his commanding officers suckers.

Kathryn, of course, simply rolled her eyes and laughed, and I had to duck my head to hide my amusement at poor Ensign Blain’s shock at the humor--or what passed for it--on display at the officer’s table. This was the first time she had sat at the same table as her captain, or at least, the first time she had intentionally brought her tray to the table where Kathryn was sitting for a full meal, as opposed to Kathryn sitting at her table for a few minutes as she made a few connecting-with-the-crew rounds.

I could tell, without a word from Kathryn, that the first time she went down to the mess hall after the mission, she was assuming she would be eating close to alone. That instead of officers and crewmen joining the table where she sat with whoever on the senior staff was free, they would be inclined to avoid her, consciously or not. I could tell by the resigned yet still tense set of her jaw; from the way she took her tray and retreated to the corner table, taking a chair facing out towards the viewport so that no one would have to look at her.

It was with fierce pride and gratitude that I watched as, instead, more crewmembers than ever joined her. The trend continued over the following weeks: crewmembers of all stripes, from the middle-aged officers who were Kathryn’s closest friends off the senior staff to young, mildly terrified crewmen and everyone in between. Some of them were awkward about looking at Kathryn, but to a person, they were tactful. And they were there. I was still walking with leg braces for the first few weeks while my crushed ankle bones regenerated, and it was at once surreal, touching, and hilarious to see two young lieutenants bounce out of their seats at once when I made to push my chair out mid-meal. Did I need more ketchup? Yamok sauce? Mustard a la Neelix?

Glancing at Blain that day, I found myself thinking of the long, tense week near the beginning of our journey when she’d been laid up in sickbay with an alien virus. It was before many tight friendships had had time to form onboard, and it was Kathryn who dressed in full bioprotective gear every day after her bridge shift and sat beside her very young officer, reading aloud and talking to her and dozing beside the biobed through the night.

Reaching the midpoint of the next back leg, I power down the circular saw and reach for the jigsaw. I can’t help but smile as I inhale the scent of the smooth, pine-like alien wood gained in that long-ago trade with the Tak Tak and watch the sawdust drift through the air like stars.

I killed five or six aliens on the away mission. At first, it was a firefight, dodging behind rocks and into sodden ravines, but we lost our weapons before long in the crush of bodies and the driving rain. After that it was a melee. Fists against skin, boots against teeth, bodies slammed into the mud and piling on top of each other.

The first two I shot, phaser set to stun, but in a half-drowned bog, with the lead pellets of the enemy weapons flying through the air, that was certain enough death. The next four I fought hand-to-hand, and it’s the last one I wrestled in the mud, the one who got his hands around my throat after I’d been shot, that I’m not sure whether or not I killed. There was a crack even over the sound of the rain as I got a knee into his chest and pushed, but I didn’t see whether his eyes went glassy or not. I didn’t see anything. I woke up in sickbay.

Five or six. The or bothers me. I took lives, and would like to know how many. But to choose a number would also feel wrong, as though I were trying to make something as real as life and death falsely pat for the sake of something as immaterial as memory.

So. I killed five or six aliens on the away mission. Kathryn must have killed a similar number in the melee, and at least a dozen more when she crawled into the enemy shuttle’s engine and triggered the explosion that ended the battle and ripped half of her face apart.

The chair legs have all come out well so far, the silken wood with its beautiful streaks and swirls cutting as easily as the pine they smell so similar to. I run my fingers gently over it as I set the penultimate back chair leg in the corner, wondering at the incongruity of this softness in hands that so recently spilled blood and broke bone.

I wonder if Kathryn feels the same dissonance, carefully knitting her domestic wedding gift by feel as the biobandage and headgear wrapped around her face do their slow work, regenerating muscle and cartilage and restoring the majority of her sight. I wonder if she has made a count of the lives extinguished by her actions and under her hands; if she has or’s, and whether she finds those uncertainties a torment or a comfort or besides the point. I wonder if the table runner will smell like her when it is finished, coffee and perfume.

The final back chair leg emerges from the alien timber, and I blow away the sawdust, setting the saw back on my makeshift worktable. Front legs and back legs are all stacked in the corner behind the couch. I’ll begin assembly after dinner, or failing that, after tomorrow’s shift--Neelix is hosting a dessert celebration tonight in honor of an ancient Earth holiday he rooted out of the database, National Praline Day. He declined to mention what Earth nation it was that set aside an entire day to honor pralines, but one thing is certain: like all of Neelix's cross-cultural culinary ventures, tonight will be an experience to be remembered.

I suspect that Kathryn will kick my ass if I walk over and imply she might need help getting to the mess hall--aside from her habit of self-reliance, Starfleet ships’ computers provide plenty of well-honed guidance for blind visitors and crew.

Still, we are both going to the same place.

I ring the chime right as the door opens and she emerges, stopping on her heel just before she collides with me.

“Come to escort your captain to dinner?” Her voice is amused, but with just a trace of warning.

“Come to ask if my captain will escort me.”

She chuckles and steps forward, reaching for me. Her hair swings near my face as she takes my arm, and I catch the scent of her, coffee and perfume.

“You smell like pine.” She is smiling at me, her lips curving upwards as much as they can around the thinner, contoured bandages covering the bottom of her face. “Were you working on the gift again?”

“Just now. Were you?”

“I was.” We step into the turbolift. “It’s relaxing, isn’t it? Working with one’s hands?”

“I’ve always found it to be.”

We ride in comfortable silence, which Kathryn breaks again as we step out of the lift. “Have I ever told you how much I appreciate that you make time for these things? Gifts; helping to coordinate celebrations? It’s not in your job description--well, not to this degree--and I appreciate you--” She pauses. “I could direct you to do a basic level of party planning, but...I could never order you to be the kind of XO who builds chairs for crewmen who are getting married. And I…appreciate that you are that kind of XO, Chakotay.” She’s already using her Captain Voice in preparation for dinner, all graceful humor and round speech-giving vowels.

“Kathryn, I think it’s safe to say that we both do more than a few things outside of our Starfleet regulation job descriptions.”

“Maybe so,” she allows with a light chuckle. Her footsteps abruptly slow as we approach the mess hall doors, though, and she halts just before they will sense out motion, turning to me and placing a hand on my chest.

“I’m glad we can do this,” she says softly. “I’m glad that, after everything, you’re still…we’re both still people who choose to do this.” With that, she turns back towards the doors and leads us through, gracefully unlinking her arm from mine as we mingle into the dinnertime crowd.

I’m glad too.

#chakotay #kathryn janeway #ensign blain #my fic

[batandrogynousthingstudentu-blog]

For Professionals: Electric Jigsaw Reviews 2018

Looking for a jigsaw machine? Read our jigsaw reviews, examination diagrams and best picks for 2018 to empower you to settle on the right buying decision.

Bosch JS572EK: A certified heavyweight, this jigsaw offers top notch execution. With wise design features, customer convenience is at the bleeding edge. If you require a savage to manage ALL OF YOUR sawing occupations, this is the thing that you should get.

Best Jigsaw for Hobbyists and DIY wanders

DEWALT DW317K: The best a motivation for money jigsaw a DIYer could ask. Packs enough vitality to manage most of your endeavors and littler scale adjustment settings and accommodation, make it a whole package.

A jigsaw is an incredible saw that can make correct and exact cuts that empower you to make a grouping of things. Adding a jigsaw to your social occasion and going along with it up with a thickness planer and sliding miter saw allows you to make all the more enhancing things and can oblige you to work significantly harder on your endeavors. In any case, there are an extensive variety of choices that you can make while picking a mind boggling jigsaw.

That is the reason we will isolate seven of the best saws accessible today. Each study will go over the features of each thing and give you an idea of who it suits best.

For example, we have a best pick that is the best jigsaw available. In any case, we also have a spending pick that is helpful for the people who don't have a lot of money to spend. With our help, you can pick the best jigsaw for your necessities.

In-Depth Jigsaw Reviews

Each one of our overviews will isolate your jigsaw just. By means of definitely scrutinizing our reviews, you will get a more critical learning into their favorable circumstances and shortcomings.

Proposition: Bosch JS572EK Barrel-Grip Jigsaw Kit

Bosch is one of the greatest and most predominant contraption makers on the planet. They have over 60 years of experience conveying amazing instruments to address your issues. These days, it has in excess of 40 particular generation lines endeavoring to outfit people like you with first class gadgets at a sensible cost.

This Bosch jigsaw is our pick for the best of 2018 because of its various personality boggling features. We will isolate these focal points underneath to give you an unrivaled idea of why it is such a magnificent wander. While pricier than various saws on this once-over, it is so far a fabulous choice for essentially anybody.

The best thing about this saw is viably its Precision Control II twofold roller structure. This structure is planned as far as possible bleeding edge evasion to make a more correct cut each time that you work. It works by using an at the edge self-altering course system to align the spots of the rollers depending upon the edge thickness and cutting speed.

Thusly, you can make the most correct cuts possible. While using this kind of watched, it is basic to be as exact as could be expected under the circumstances. Saws that don't have this kind of control system are much of the time less correct, harder to control, and more slanted to risky breakdowns that devastate their ampleness for your undertakings.

#2 Recommendation: Makita 4350FCT Top Handle Jigsaw

Makita is a Japanese power mechanical assembly association that has been working together since 1915. In the midst of their broad life, they have made a couple of innovative instruments. For example, they made the primary rechargeable power gadget and the vital nickel-cadmium battery gadget. That imaginative streak is something that brings a lot of fun and vitality to this fundamental, anyway convincing, jigsaw.

Fast Blade Change

We've quite recently discussed a couple of saws that have a quick forefront change structure. This model has its own specific novel turn on it. With a flick of a switch, you can discard an old bleeding edge and put in another. In this manner, you can work quickly and capably on your errands.

Ergonomic Grip

The easy to-get a handle on plan of this saw is planned to make it easy to hold and charming to use. It should fit the two people who are right or left-gave. Along these lines, it is a ready to utilize the two hands saw that essentially anybody can use. We particularly like the way the versatile holds feel under our fingers with this model.

Clean Vacuum Port

Regardless of the way that this model does not have a blower contrasting option to take out sawdust from its inside, it has an adjustable clean port that appends to most shop vacs. Joining it for just a few minutes is regularly enough to get out the saw and keep it perfectly healthy for a spell.

Last Thoughts

While this Makita saw isn't the most fit or grouped mechanical assembly on this summary, we totally assume that it offers an unprecedented issue. It's mobile motor and basic front line foundation system makes it smart and simple to use. It is in like manner a fun extra observed for the people who starting at now have several options in their shop starting at now.

#3 Pick: DEWALT DW317K Top-Handle Jigsaw (Best Budget Jigsaw)

DeWalt is an unfathomable American association that has been making carpentry instruments for pretty much a century. A champion among the most entrancing things about this association is that it made the primary extended arm found on the planet. It instantly reached out to wind up a champion among the most acclaimed and splendid makers on the planet. It has made genuinely extraordinary and best spending jigsaws accessible today. Here is the thing that you need to consider this particular saw.

5.5 Amp Motor

A capable motor is a principal thing of any incredible jigsaw. This particular saw goes with a 5.5-amp motor. This little engine is generous and fit for passing on 0-3,100 SPM. Higher rates are perfect for more correct and smooth cuts. Lower rates are better when exactness isn't as basic as quick doing what needs to be done. Most exercises should probably be possible quickly with a medium-go speed.

Slope Detents

When working with wood with a saw, you justify the kind of point precision that is unavoidable with a superb detent. This saw empowers you to adjust the shoe from0°-45° for correct slanted cuts. For example, you may need to cut shingles to 45 degrees to fit them on your housetop properly. It can in like manner be set at these plots for less requesting control. The 4-position orbital action makes getting expedient cuts less requesting.

#4 Recommendation: DEWALT DCS331B 20-Volt MAX Li-Ion Jigsaw Kit (Best Cordless Jigsaw)

We starting at now analyzed the authentic setting of DeWalt earlier, yet one thing we neglect to state was their reliably inventive accomplishments. For example, they made a Smartphone in 2016 that was arranged especially to fabricate industry pros. While it costs over $544, it could be dropped from in excess of 10 feet onto concrete without breaking. It could in like manner withstand high temperatures quickly. That imaginative potential features vivaciously in this cordless jigsaw, a fun and strong instrument that is proper for a variety of necessities.

Cordless Battery Power

Quickly, it is great to work with a saw that doesn't ought to be associated with the run. We appreciate the competent battery in this saw in light of the way that it gives hours of precision control after just an overnight charge. We prescribe placing assets into various batteries for this contraption. Why? If you by and large keep one totally charged, by then you'll never miss the mark on control at a delicate moment in an undertaking!

Basic Portability

The reasonably minimal size of this jigsaw makes it a fun one to take to an extensive variety of occupations. For example, you could quickly stack it up in the rearward sitting game plan of your truck and assist it site to a building work.

Once here, you could put in its battery and work for 6-8 hours on one charge. Bring along the second battery and a charger, and you have a reliable flexible jigsaw. This adaptability makes it perfect for in a rush makers or repairers.

Keyless Blade Change

We've talked about the upsides of fast sharp edge change already, and this model has one of the speediest to change decisions accessible today. The keyless edge change locks to ensure that the edge doesn't come free unexpectedly. In any case, it moreover holds set up while you work and will open when you require it. It releases the hot forefront without you touching it, protecting you from replicated fingers and quickening your working time exponentially.

#5 Recommendation: Bosch JS470E Top-Handle Jigsaw

Having quite recently discussed the start of Bosch, it justifies contemplating their spread over the globe. Beginning today, they have spread to 80 unmistakable associations in excess of 50 one of a kind countries. They at the present time use around 56,000 people with moving aptitudes and limits. In like manner, they can manage improving their things and making them as unprecedented as could sensibly be normal. This Bosch demonstrate is one of their best commitments.

Precision Plunging System

Precision is an essential piece of any stunning jigsaw. This Bosch show helps increase your exactness by including an upgraded jumping structure. This structure plunges into the surface of the wood quickly and cuts in a more correct manner.

It is furthermore more right than various sorts of saws like it accessible today, settling on it a dumbfounding choice for a wide extent of people.

Ready to utilize the two hands Lock-On

The dart on get for these saws pinpoints a correct region for cutting. The puzzling thing for left-gave people is that they are arranged in a way that is sensible for right-gave people.

This saw uses a ready to utilize the two hands dart on get. This catch region helps keep the saw c

#jigsaw #machine #woodworking

[firstjustgoin]

Geena Davis

The spring I fell out of the old pine tree in our front yard and fractured my tibia bone so bad I had to warm the bench of the field hockey team for the rest of the season, Geena Davis signed onto the film Tootsie, her first ever movie deal. I was nineteen and all fractured bone and acne scars and this dry scalp condition that made it look like it was always snowing right above me. She was twenty-six and already years into a career as a model, straight white teeth that looked like the picket fence outlining her parents’ house over on Sycamore and red curls and six feet tall.

With all of this newfound time on my hands, I was instructed to put in those hours at mother’s candle shop, upselling retirees on the waxy scents of honeydew and french vanilla. The shop was still in its infancy then, before the foreclosure and the bankruptcy and the unfortunate incident of the South African Gooseberry that nearly burnt Mrs. Fishkis’ house all the way to the ground. Mother was on high-gear that spring –– barking orders out at me as I moped around the aisles complaining of headaches induced by an onslaught of different scents wrapped up together –– defending her title to all those who inquired as a New Age Homemaker. Her and dad had married in an era, she told me and Janine anytime we whined about schoolwork and college applications, when a woman was expected to follow around their man like a dog waiting to lick up their messes. This candle shop, she waxed poetic, would be a pathway to a new world by and for working women.

“A real homemaker provides the love and the financial support to make a home,” she would say. That was before, of course, her candle shop almost burnt through mine and Janine’s college savings account and turned mother and dad’s marriage to ash.

Geena Davis had just been cast in the television sitcom Buffalo Bill when Mrs. Davis came into the shop while I was manning the register. Mrs. Davis wore the knowledge of her daughter’s imminent success quietly hidden under the strong scent of patchouli and orange. She wore a long wool coat, dark gray, and a hat that covered her blue eyes in shadow. It was a breezy day in late March, overcast and sharp, so the shop was in a lull. I was flipping through an old issue of Star, Brooke Shields’ demure face and thick, enviable eyebrows smiling up at me. I almost didn't even look up as Mrs. Davis walked in, bringing a wave of biting wind with her, until I heard the click of a heel against the mint linoleum that mother spent almost six weeks selecting out of a range of similarly colored green tiles. The confidence of that heel click sounded too important to belong to any regular folk of Wareham, so I peered up and saw her, regal in her ordinariness, a natural glow next to a line of candlesticks, long and lean.

“Have you got any of these in pearl?” Mrs. Davis said, her crystalline voice floating through the empty store. I leaned over on my stool, still hesitant to put much weight on my bum leg. I watched her long, thin fingers –– the fingers of a pianist –– hold up a pair of white candles, which could have easily been pearl for all I knew.

“I can check, ma’am,” I said, throwing my shoulders back hoping it would make my body look as svelte as hers. Mother always told me that I would never be taken seriously in the business world if I didn’t work on my posture. I would laugh derisively and say back, “You could have the straightest posture in the world and nobody on earth is going to buy your damn candles.” I wondered now if Geena Davis ever threw such painful barbs at her elegant mother.

I hobbled to the back room and after a minute or so found a box labeled 10” Premium Wide Tapered Candles in Pearl. “I found a box here,” I said to Mrs. Davis, who now stood just a few inches from me across the register. “How many are you looking to buy?”

“Four sets of two would be ideal,” she said. I imagined the elegant table upon which she would place the rows of candles, flames illuminating an Easter feast fit for Geena Davis and her new friends Jessica Lange and Dabney Coleman and Joanna Cassidy. The roast golden brown, hints of honey and lemon filling the room; the potatoes marinated in rosemary and thyme and the extra fancy olive oil mother always salivated over at the grocery store; the wine deep burgundy, the color of the lipstick I rubbed off my lips before leaving my room. When Geena Davis walked in, her hair aflame and curled perfectly against her pale face, her mother did not ask her if she had washed her hands for dinner or to set the table or dust the bookshelves for company. Geena Davis was company and even in her childhood home on Sycamore, she was treated as such.

“Honey?” The word punctuated my thoughts and for a minute I feared that I had been describing the roast aloud. “Excuse me, honey? Do you have four sets of two? I’ve really got to be going.”

“Oh. Yes, of course. Let me ring you up. Would you like them gift wrapped?” I said, my face now the color of Geena Davis’ perfectly curled hair.

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Are you sure? It’s free of charge. We’ve got a wide selection of colors and patterns. Even a few for the holiday ––”

“Truly. I’ll be lighting them up in my own house in a matter of hours.” Mrs. Davis’ lips disappeared into a thin, red line. “Just let me pay and get on my way.”

“Of course. That’s no problem.” I fumbled with the bag as she handed me a stack of crisp bills. Did important people only carry newly minted bills? Were they above a crumpled wad found at the bottom of a purse or pulled from a back pocket?

“Have a wonderful holiday,” Mrs. Davis said as she floated out of the store, leaving me alone with my tabloid once again. I wondered if Geena Davis was already in town, at her childhood home on Sycamore, sharing the same air as the rest of us.

The muggy fall that I turned nine, Geena Davis was sixteen and needed some extra cash. She was modeling as a side gig at the time and needed money to pay for transport to and from more cosmopolitan places like Boston and Providence. My parents had just taken out a second mortgage on the house to finance my dad’s newfound love of woodworking, which is how I learned how to use the phrase “return on investment” and auger in the same sentence while still in my single digits. Dad spent so much time out in his shop inhaling sawdust and nicking his fingertips on the jigsaw and mother was worried about leaving me alone while she temped and Janine was at band practice.

So Geena Davis, the daughter of a family friend of a friend, came to babysit me. She was elegant and commanding even then. I remember standing in the living room next to the television, ankle deep in my parents’ dreadful shag carpet the color of Dijon. She waltzed into our shabby split level and even in my memory, lit up the room. At the time, she wore her hair big and feathered and wore a mini-skirt and chunky heels looking like she walked straight out of my copy of Teen Magazine I flipped through at the doctor’s office.

Once Geena Davis entered the room where I stood, all bony knee and bitten down nail and freckled skin, it felt like I had entered a vacuum where the rest of the noise and the mess from world magically melted away. I couldn’t hear mother’s voice rising above the saw in the backyard like usual as she left dad in a pile of woodchips and vice grips. Even the episode of Emergency! faded into white noise. She smiled at me and reached her hand towards mine, so composed, so adult, even at sixteen. I shook her hand and felt for a moment a shock of warmth standing in her light.

Now that my tibia was shot, I was pretty much guaranteed to lose my athletic scholarship, that tiny morsel of dollars that made financing my education the least bit possible. Doused in a heavy wash of self-pity, I wasted most of the hours I spent sitting at the counter of mother’s empty candle shop flipping through old tabloids and picking up a habit to Lucky Strikes in the alley behind the shop. I knew I was bound to get pneumonia from the needling late winter wind or a hacking cough from the filtered cancer sticks, but I was pretty much settling myself into a life of my parents’ mid-level mediocrity.

[ozsaill]

Cruising boat renovations

“I may have broken the aft cabin.” This is the text I get from Jamie a few hours after I’ve departed Totem for an overnight road trip to Miami. The smoky-green smell of sawdust wafts to me from half a state away and the disarray of a deconstruction project easy to picture. The critical path project for our departure from the US for the Bahamas is to replace the soft sides for our hardtop dodger, so of course, the aft cabin is going to be torn apart.

It comes down to this: cruising boat projects are more likely to be done when you can than when you want to. Those you do when you must often leave something to be desired based on local limitations. And over time, these done-as-you-could projects accumulate into something that stands to benefit from a re-do.

Kid / candy store

Here in Florida we have easy access to well-made, relatively affordable goods. It’s a short ride to a spectrum of lumber options and hardware. A selection of dying tools were readily replaced: drill, orbital sander, and a jigsaw Jamie’s had since he was 17. Quality wire at great prices was available with help from a friend. So a combination of two needs based in the aft cabin—getting our batteries wired up correctly, and dealing with mold in the bamboo paneling—pushed this one to the fore.

Breaking the aft cabin stems from a must-do project that wasn’t done entirely right, based on local limitations. Nearly three years ago we replaced our battery bank back in Malaysia. Moving the bank location under our bunk helped address weight distribution on Totem, eliminating a port list. That move required different wiring to connect to the bus bar nearer the old nav station location. We didn’t have access to the right sized wires, so Jamie made it work by patching long cables.

The knee bone’s connected to the shin bone: charge controllers wired to the battery bank had been installed on a piece of bamboo paneling that got moldy thanks to the damp on board (possibly starting from this unpleasant passage, but condensation during the recent cold months was a kicker). Blinking lights reflecting off the headliner over our bunk at night doesn’t make for a romantic atmosphere (and is just kind of annoying!), so there’s a whole new utility closet being built in the cabin to house these in beautiful organization.

This might have been postponed, but access to the right materials to do it right bumped it up. The kicker was some very nice wires that friends helped us source (Asif’s a rocket scientist, a pilot, and a boat owner– thus knows not just a few things about wiring but a great place to buy quality marine-ready stuff for less).

There are a lot of concurrent projects on Totem right now, and while I’m dreaming about getting the dodger and bimini done (it will happen! It has to) it’s pretty exciting to see the improvements in our cabin.

Life rolls on! The roadtrip was relatively spontaneous. My friend Patricia Leat takes special needs kids and families out sailing on the healing waters of the ocean: she wanted to meet with her friend and Active Disabled Americans board member, Kerry Gruson, in Miami. As it turned out, I’m the one who lucked into a sail with this inspiring woman: Kerry has been paralyzed from the neck down for decades, but helms with tenderness I can only dream about through the limited mobility in her arms.

I also met up with Pam Wall in Fort Lauderdale. Pam and I are delivering a two-day Cruising Women seminar alongside the spring boat show in Annapolis and had some coordinating to do! Between those two priorities, Patty and I worked in some meetups (Harden Marine, with the supremely helpful JT who provided watermaker troubleshooting for us from halfway around the world, and at Strataglass, to get materials for Totem’s dodger). Of course, you really should have a Cuban sandwich in Miami, too.

We’ve been lucky to spend time with special people, like my old nanny / au pair, Jorunn, who visited from Norway. I haven’t seen her in at leat 40 years, but the face and the voice – I knew them, and it was wonderful.

Or hanging out with our friends on MV Cortado, who we can’t wait to see again down in Miami soon.

The ocean beaches, where hunting ospreys flaunted their catch, are best visited with a friend.

There are homemade pasta dinners with the McMermaids, another family who feels at one with the ocean.

Spontaneous visits by neighbors Kristen, Hans and their daughters, via dinghy, keeping our psyches closer to cruising while tied to a dock.

Getting to know Jacksonville a little: Anne Frank’s diary facsimile, in an exhibit at the Museum of Science & History.

Yet another Amazon delivery,.

And yet another sunset.

from Sailing Totem http://ift.tt/2lA18K2 via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Sailing Totem