#so like. ive been getting up. thinking about making buttered bread for a meal (yes a meal) and sitting back down

[pizzapizzadickz]

Me rapid-fucking-firing between my two (2) interests I have at increasingly rapid rates.

[desireatmidnight]

Setting Realistic Goals for your own self-sabotaging Brain

yes, I am starting my first original post like this. yes I know it is kinda cliche for someone to talk about setting goals but this is gonna be different!

Just for some background, Ive been keeping a bullet-journal for at least 4 years. I have never since successfully used a monthly spread in a way that felt like I had actually used it. I am a college student now, so I have allot more things on my plate and a whole lot more free-time interspersed between them. I also have tried out a whole bunch of different spreads. All of them have mostly failed to be really used in a way that mattered. Either I forgot about the spread entirely whenever I got too stressed out, or I never gave myself the right tools to use on the spread for fixing those stresses

So instead of just thinking about what was going wrong and looking for a different spread to try and magically solve my problems; I decided to actually write down what those problems were. Took on of my one of a million copies blue Bic pens that I got as a present ( IE. a disposable non fancy pen) and a scrap piece of paper and started dumping all the reasons I couldn't use it.

Looking through those reasons I could then pinpoint the root cause to my problems, the thing that killed my spreads as soon as I finished making them.

Outside of events scheduled in the future, I had no real reason to use the spread or check it.

See, all of my habit trackers migrated in my weekly spreads around year two of having a bullet journal. I’ve been stuck in a sort of ‘ survive this week’ mode for a long time, so everything I do revolves around my weekly spreads. It was just natural to only track my small habits, like eating twice a day, on my weekly. But that just meant there was nothing left for my monthly spreads. Re-tracking my small habits did nothing for me on a long scale.

So it made me look into how to make this monthly spread more accessible for me, and if it couldn't become accessible, what would replace it’s space and limited functionality.

This is where I go into the meat of why I am making this post, goal tracking is one of the perfect things to track on a monthly spread. Problem being, I have a really hard time setting attainable, do-able goals that work with me versus against me.

So how do I set those goals? By tossing almost everything everyone else had to say about setting goals. Smart random acronyms don't help me identify what goals i need, what does help? Looking for the laughably, smallest achievements I could do in a single day.

Read 5 pages, only 5 pages, a day. Write 200 words a day of anything at all, keep a duolingo streak through the lowest possible daily goal setting.

because guess what, if you do that. If you manage to laugh your way through those 5 pages of whatever book, it doesn't matter what book. those 200 words, even if it is all pre-planning for future writing or just dialogue-outlining? just keeping up with your duolingo streak by doing one lesson a day?

You’ll have read 150-155 pages, written 6000 words, and completed 30-31 lessons in just a month.

None of these tiny goals are difficult to muster. The worst for me is the 200 words. 5 pages is a 10-20 minute task you can do while eating a meal, a duolingo streak you can do walking down the sidewalk between classes.

Easy achievements every day are your bread and butter.

From there you can work outwards, breaking larger chunks of what you want to do into the most insignificant steps possible. Even if that step is “ I got out of bed today” That is still an accomplishment, and achievement, something you have done to make your next step.

Work with yourself, not against. And if something doesnt work, dont get upset, just look at why.

Were you too busy to write 200 words a day? Try 50. Try 25.

[tobesoeros]

part 1 - 5 & 17!

17. Are you more of a sunrise or sunset watcher?

sunrise. i go on camping trips with my frat and i get up really early to always see the sunrise on the lake :) 

you can’t make read mores in asks rip

PART 1. Ask me about myself…

1. Do you like the way you look?

yeah most of the time. i know i could look better if i put in more effort into working out and stuff, but overall yeah. im not completely mad. 

2. Have you ever cut your hair yourself?

yeah when i was little my bangs were a shit show lkjdads

3. What’s your Instagram @?

mutuals can follow at @xsabrinalynn :)

4. Favorite console to play video games on?

i don’t play a lot of video games now, but i really loved my nintendo ds when i had one.

5. Do you collect anything?

all my tickets from flights, concerts, movies, etc.!! 

6. Have you ever smoked a cigarette?

nope!

7. Are you a fan of bread and butter?

yes!!!!! outback bread is my fave 

8. Does everything happen for a reason?

yeah. 

9. What’s the most embarrassing thing that happened to you?

oh god. i accidentally texted my dad that i wanted to f*ck harry styles. 

10. Have you ever almost died?

yeah. i fell off some stairs and went backwards, falling half way down the long staircase, but i grabbed onto the railing somehow. i know if i didn’t try to grab onto something i probably would’ve broken my neck. 

11. Go-to ice cream order?

anything strawberry!! or taro! 

12. Do you like your room?

yes!! i like my college and home now, we just redid my home room :’)

13. What do you like to do when you’re feeling stressed?

do nothing. sleep. 

14. Who’s your best friend?

idk honestly. 

15. Favorite animal?

cats! 

16. Do you like to read?

yes!! 

17. Are you an extrovert or introvert?

ambivert!

18. Biggest regret?

not confronting people in my past sooner. would’ve saved me my mental health. 

19. Are you a fan of theme parks?

yes!! california adventure was the best! 

20. Have you crossed anything off your bucket list in the past 2 months?

i don’t have a list???? but im doing everything i wanted to do this summer. 

PART 2. Ask me if I’m a believer…

1. Do you believe in aliens?

yeah! 

2. Do you believe the butterfly effect is real?

uhhh idk 

3. Do you think love at first sight is legit?

yeah i think so. 

4. Do you think we go to heaven or hell when we die?

idk im not religious so idk 

5. Do you believe in karma?

yeah to some extent

6. Do you believe in witches and/or magic?

no

7. Do you think ghosts are real?

yeah! 

8. Do you believe in anything mythical/supernatural? (Bigfoot, Mermaids, Vampires, etc.)

yes and no, like i want them to be real but i don’t think they are. 

9. Do you believe in a God?

no

PART 3. Ask me about relationships & love…

1. Are you in love with anyone at the moment?

no

2. Do you want to eventually get married?

idk if it’s really the right person

3. Have you ever broke a friend’s trust?

yeah

4. What was your first kiss like?

haven’t had it

5. If a friend called you to help hide a body, would you help or turn them in?

god idk i don’t think i would do anything?

6. Have you ever had a crush on someone that, now as you look back, is completely embarrassing?

oh god yes 

7. Explain your dream date.

a theme park. 

8. How would you react if you had a secret admirer?

try to figure out who they are (ive had one and knew who it was lol)

9. You’re having dinner with your s/o, are you guys eating at a restaurant or having a home cooked meal?

restaurant unless they know how to cook

10. Talk about one of your favorite memories you share with a friend.

i got close with one my friends at a party and it was really nice cause we clicked immediately we’re really great friends now! 

11. Have you ever secretly taken something from a friend and not given it back?

i don’t think so?

12. How would you react if a friend started dating your ex?

haven’t had ex’s so

13. Do you think any of your friends talk about you behind your back?

yeah

14. Where would you want to have your honeymoon?

santorini

15. Do you believe in sex before marriage?

yeah why no 

16. Are you currently single?

yeah

17. Have you ever broken up with someone?

no 

18. Have you ever cried over a break-up with a friend?

no 

19. If you were in an emergency, which friend would you call first?

my dad 

PART 4. Ask me about my favorite things!

1. Favorite feel-good movie?

to all the boys ive loved before

2. Favorite song from before 2005?

hey ya! - outkast

3. ALL-TIME favorite album?

god. probably i like it when you sleep, for you are so beautiful yet so unaware of it - the 1975 

4. Favorite actress?

brie larson

5. Top 3 favorite colors?

pink, blue, purple

6. Favorite book genre?

young adult

7. Favorite poem?

ithaka by c.p. cavafy

8. Favorite actor?

tom holland dakjsdk obvs

9. Favorite type of food?

italian!

10. Favorite pair of shoes you own?

my white leather converse 

11. Favorite song right now?

senorita - shawn mendes, camila cabello

12. Favorite show you’ve ever watched?

bates motel 

13. Favorite show as of right now?

good trouble! 

14. Favorite quote?

“we are the choices we make. and have to make. we aren't anything else.” - chaos walking  

15. Favorite thing to do when you’re bored?

tumblr, watch a movie or sleep

16. Favorite food?

baked ziti or arroz imperial 

17. Favorite sea animal?

dolphins! 

18. Favorite perfume/cologne/body spray?

elizabeth james nirvana white 

19. Favorite drink to order at a coffee shop?

chai tea latte 

20. Favorite person you know?

my dad 

21. Favorite blog(s) here on Tumblr?

you!! @tomhollandcouk @parkerpete @parkerleeds @zendhaya @officialtessaholland @tmholland​ @akapeterparker​

22. Favorite Youtuber?

mikey murphy 

23. Favorite place to shop?

f21

24. Favorite book?

chaos walking series 

25. Favorite musician?

the 1975!

26. Favorite city you’ve been to?

chicago!

27. Favorite sport?

american football

28. Favorite outfit you own?

my overalls with a simple t-shirt and my converse

29. Favorite app to use?

instagram

30. Favorite flower?

sunflower

PART 5. Ask me Would You Rather…

1. Eat a slug OR Eat a cockroach?

cockroach

2. Not take a shower for a week OR Not brush your teeth for a week?

teeth? gum right??

3. Cuss out your boss OR Tell your mom she looks fat?

tell my mom she looks fat cause she asks me this anyways 

4. Fart in front of your crush (and they know it’s you) OR Accidentally sneeze in your celebrity crush’s face?

sneeze dkaskd

5. Jump off a cliff into the ocean OR Go skydiving and jump out of a plane?

skydiving

6. Be the girl who was known for eating her tampon OR Have everyone in your life legitimately hate you?

the tampon i think rip 

7. Not be able to own anything that costs more than $20 OR Only be able to own things that cost $100 or more?

$100 more 

8. Shit your pants on nation television OR Shit your pants at a job interview?

job interview shit happens lmao 

9. Be famous while you’re alive but forgotten when you die OR Be unknown while you’re alive but famous after you die?

famous after i die

10. Go to jail for 5 years for something you didn’t do OR Get away with a horrible crime and live with guilt & fear?

jail for 5 years 

[facethroughthemirror]

IN THE END, WE COME RIGHT BACK

CHAPTER FOUR

They’d seen Maine get back up after taking massive amounts of damage. And every time, he would get up and keep swinging, rush his opponents like an angry bull, shrug off the pain like it was nothing. This was Maine. Hulking, indestructible Maine. Maine with god-tier endurance and an adamantine skull. Maine with the strength of, according to Agent Pennsylvania, about twenty-three bears, give or take a bear or two. Maine, who was both the unstoppable force and the immovable object.

But Maine didn’t get up.

Cross-posted on ao3

After North and CT finally left, apparently fed up with being careful around Wash and watching their words, there were no more visitors. Not even one. He thought that maybe he'd seen another freelancer watching them from the observation window a few times, possibly South or Texas from the height, but he couldn't be sure. Honestly, it might've been a nurse, or his own imagination. He didn't really dwell on it when it happened, he'd simply looked up, then back at Maine almost immediately when he realized there was, visibly, no one there. It occurred to him to ask Scarlett, the nurse that had more or less been tasked exclusively with checking on Maine, if anyone was checking in on them, but he figured she was doing enough for them without his needing to bother her about it.

Scarlett had been the best about this whole thing. She was a friendly young woman with blue eyes, and hair in about three shades of pink, this second thing being something that Wash was sure the Director hated, but didn't detract from her ability to do her job. In fact, Wash would argue that it helped. It made her highly visible, and her choices of pink were bright enough so as to be oddly calming. She seemed to have the ability to remain visibly positive, even genuinely cheerful, even when she was up to her shoulders in blood. She had been a civilian nurse before enlisting in the UNSC. She had been shifted to Project Freelancer when the Director had encountered her on a visit to a military hospital to look for medics. But it was her civilian experience that Wash admired and appreciated immensely: it seemed to afford her a certain extra level of genuine compassion, not just for her patients, but for the uninjured who were stubbornly refusing to leave her patients' sides.

She had very patiently showed Wash how to check Maine's bullet wounds and change his bandages, had explained Maine's injuries in as much detail as possible so that Wash was fully up to speed on what was going on, had explained what the IV in Maine's hand was providing him, the specific fluids and medications, and had even explained why the IV was in his hand, rather than in the vein near his elbow. There had been one in his arm during transport, and during surgery itself, but once his blood pressure had been stabilized and he was settled in the Mother of Invention Recovery bay, it had been a little safer for them to start the IV in his hand. That way, if something happened, he had a seizure or a spasm and damaged the vein in his hand, they could remove the IV and replace it further up his arm, away from the damaged area.

Hours bled together, so much so that he was able to spend an entire twenty-four hours by Maine's side, not leaving and hardly sleeping, before even Scarlett had started to drop hints that he was more than welcome to take a walk. Still, Wash adamantly refused, and Scarlett hadn't pushed him out just yet. That had been hours ago by now, probably. He'd lost track of how many times she had been by since then, and even so, her appearance no longer necessarily marked the beginning of a new hour. It wasn't like there was a legion of wounded soldiers flooding Recovery, so Scarlett and the rest of the medical team had been letting their strict routine slip a little, showing up a little after the hour or a little before, sometimes checking in two or three times in the span of an hour or so.

"Good evening, Agent Washington."

He was dozing off again, fading in and out of awareness of his surroundings, entering his second night of keeping watch over Maine, when the voice startled him. He whipped around in his seat to face the new arrival, breathing out a sigh at the sight of a round-faced man dressed not unlike a yoga instructor, with a serene smile on his face that didn't seem to quite reach his eyes. Once he confirmed that it was another freelancer, and not someone that would make him leave for napping, Wash relaxed.

"... hey, man."

Florida breezed forward, settling himself cross-legged on the cot next to Maine's and placing something that had been in his hands down beside himself. He rested his forearms across his knees. "You missed dinner. Again. And you missed lunch. And breakfast."

"Did I? Whoops."

"Well, it's no problem. In fact, I brought you something in case you were starting to get a little hungry." He picked up the object he'd been holding, which the younger agent could now clearly see was a tray from the mess hall, and held it out to him. "Can't have you wasting away down here, now can we?"

Wash scanned the contents of the tray as he took it and set it down beside Maine on his cot, thinking in the back of his mind that it was probably really unlikely that Florida had put it together for him, at least by himself. There was no way Florida knew for sure what he'd eat: they barely knew each other. If he was being honest, sometimes Florida creeped him out a little. He seemed really nice, but sometimes he seemed... too nice. And the way he was always smiling whenever Wash saw him out of armor...

"Some of the others gave me a few ideas about what you might like, even though this doesn't seem to be nearly enough to keep up with our diet," Florida confirmed. "How's the patient doing?"

"... he could be better. But I mean... he could be a lot worse, I guess. But you get that, right?" Wash looked toward the door to the next Recovery bay, thinking immediately of what North had said, about Wyoming and Florida. He then realized that he wasn't sure if he was supposed to know about what North had said. "I-I mean, you and um... you and Wyoming bunk together. And you eat meals together. I assumed you guys are... close, so... h-how is Wyoming anyway? I saw him for a little but just after they brought Maine in, he looked good. Is he out of Recovery yet?"

"Yes, he is. He's resting very comfortably in our bunk. Agent Wyoming will be just fine," Florida said serenely. "And yes, we're very close. I'm sure you understand what that's like."

"... yeah, I do."

Humming to himself as if confirming a thought, Florida nodded at Maine. "So, he hasn't woken up at all, huh?"

That... was a weird question. They'd stopped the sedative in Maine's IV, just kept the regular painkillers going, but those weren't supposed to keep him under. Maine had opened his eyes a few times since they'd cut him down to just painkillers and fluids, but he'd given no indication that he knew where he was, or what was happening, or even that he was actually conscious. The last time it had happened, Wash had told him to go back to sleep, and he had. But whether that was because he was never even really awake or because he was actively listening to Wash was unclear.

"Not... really. He opened his eyes about an hour ago, but he probably won't remember that. He looked... I just told him to go back to sleep. He looked too confused to really be awake."

"How badly was he injured?"

Wash bit his lip, looking away from Florida. "He took ten bullets to the chest and throat. They didn't hit any organs, but one did crack a rib, and he sustained a lot of blunt force trauma. His collarbone took some damage. Basically all of his ribs are damaged to some degree, most of them are just bruised but three are cracked. And his spine's okay but they're being really careful with him for right now."

"How long until he's free to go?"

"He's gonna be off the duty roster for a little while, but once they're sure his spine's not badly damaged and he's okay to be out of here, he can at least go be miserable in his own bunk like CT and Wyoming. If he recovers as fast as he usually does, he may be good to go on shore leave in a couple weeks with the rest of us, as long as he keeps the stress to a minimum."

"Been taking good care of him?"

"The medical team has. The nurse that checks in on him, she's been showing me how to check his stitches and change his bandages. I'm only good at first aid, so this is all new."

"Well, you are being just an excellent little nurse, Agent Washington. But even excellent little nurses need to keep their strength up. So, maybe you try eating a little bit of your dinner. How does that sound?"

Wash really did appreciate Florida bringing him food, but he was sure that if he tried to eat anything, he'd throw it back up from anxiety. But Florida's tone made Wash immediately feel as if he was being threatened, despite the fact that nothing he said was conventionally threatening. By someone who had no qualms with doing something very unpleasant to ensure that his instructions were followed.

He pulled the tray into his lap, picking at some of the food on it before settling for picking up the roll in the corner. He could see the butter shining on it, and a flutter of excitement actually tried to flicker in his chest when he noticed that it was garlic bread. From the roll, he moved on to the fruit, and finally to the chicken. He took his time with it, finally finishing it and wiping his hand off on his jeans. It occurred to him to maybe be embarrassed that he'd eaten an entire meal with just his hand, but he was too tired to care.

"... thanks, dude. I appreciate it." Wash bit down on the inside of his cheek, then looked up at Florida. "And... thanks... for being so chill. I think North and CT are mad at me right now. And Carolina..."

"Of course, Agent Washington, you are very welcome. I like to see anybody's problem as everybody's problem. It could have happened to anyone. But odds are that he'll probably be alright." Florida rose to his feet, then reached over and patted Wash's arm. "And don't you worry about Agent Carolina. She seemed much more chipper today, I think she's processing this whole thing quite well."

Wash nodded again. "Thanks."

"You're very welcome," Florida said again, turning and starting for the door. About halfway, however, he stopped, prompting Wash to turn over his shoulder when his footsteps stopped. He didn't turn around, but what he said was very clearly meant to be heard. "By the way? I never told North that I thought you were gay. Just that I couldn't wait to see how long it would take you and Maine to figure each other out."

Wash's blood ran cold. Had North told Florida about their conversation? No, why would he? There wasn't anything weird or unusual about... wait, fuck, he'd confessed to liking Maine. Dammit, who else knew now?! North wasn't usually part of all the gossip! What the hell?! Wait, had it been CT? Maybe it had been CT. Maybe it was payback for eating her brownie a couple weeks ago. Wait did CT even talk to Florida? She didn't even know about his crush on Maine, did she?

"Now, don't you worry, your secret's safe with me. One switch-hitter to another. Anyway, I'll be sure to tell Agent Wyoming you were asking after him. I know he'll appreciate it." Florida chuckled. It was a quiet, unsettling sound, downright terrifying compared to any of the laughter that Wash had ever heard from him. "Here, I'll take that tray right back to the mess hall for you."

[ec-sanderssides]

Come Find Me VII

It’s here! Also heads up, the advice in this chapter is real, so if ever do go without food for a while, you should follow it. I’ll probably need it soon ironically enough, because it is officially too hot to keep anything down, so I’m living off liquids and the occasional fruit. Also @fallingineternity​ @parsnipit​

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VIII

Anxiety buried his head in his hands. And here he’d though this week couldn’t get any worse. But no.

The thing was, finding out that the others didn’t care had hurt, but had not been entirely unexpected. He’d just never wanted to admit it to himself before. So despite the pain this little experiment had caused, Anxiety would have been able to deal with it and let things go back to normal. And chances were, the others would have never noticed a thing.

But now, just when he had managed to accept that he was on his own, that he wasn’t the kind of person people wanted to be around, Prince had to come in. And now he was going to have to deal with all his bullshit guilt and pity, because while the other side may have hated him, but Anxiety knew that his hero complex wouldn’t let him leave Anxiety alone either, not when he thought Anxiety was in distress. It was the exact same attitude Prince got when he saw anyone he thought needed help.

Although, Anxiety really, really wished that for once Prince could leave off with all his heroic crap, because having him try and “help” Anxiety out of uncomfortable obligation was actually worse than the others not noticing him disappear for a week.

Still, at least it wouldn’t last long. A few days, heck maybe even just one, and Prince would remember just how much he hated being around Anxiety, and he’d give up. Till then, Anxiety might as well accept some of his help, like the soup.

Anxiety hated to admit it, but he had really screwed up on the whole not eating thing. Sure, this was hardly the first time he’d skipped meals, but he’d never skipped so many before. And if Prince knew how to help him recover from his mistake, then fine, Anxiety would let him help. Then Prince would feel appropriately heroic and leave, and Anxiety would go back to being forgotten.

Anxiety reached for the glass of water by his bedside, taking small sips until he’d drank the entire thing. He set it back on the bedside table. While he still felt like crap, his headache had eased up slightly.

He stifled a yawn. Despite having spent most of the last week sleeping, he still felt exhausted. Actually he felt more exhausted than when he’d last fallen asleep. Anxiety let his eyes close. What the hell, he was tired and it wasn’t like there was any point in getting up. He might as well sleep

When Anxiety woke up, it was to a cool sensation on his forehead. He squinted up as he reluctantly forced his eyelids to open. Prince was sitting next to him wiping down his forehead with a damp cloth.

“…the hell?” he muttered, only half awake.

“Your skin’s rather warm,” Prince explained briskly, “Likely from the dehydration. I brought an entire pitcher of water this time. I thought it would be easier, since until you recover more, walking will be rather difficult. Oh, and I have that soup I mentioned. I told Morality I’d had a craving and simply had to have minestrone soup. You should eat it while it’s still warm.”

Anxiety blinked trying to process the wave of words. Right, okay.

He forced himself upright, shoving away Prince’s hand as he did so. Prince let him without a fight, although he kept staring at Anxiety with a weird kind of intensity. Anxiety tried not to squirm under it.

“So you got minestrone?” he said, pressing his hands to his eyes trying to wake himself up more. God, he still felt tired, like his very bones were exhausted.

“Well, I realized once I reached Morality’s room that I don’t actually know what kinds of soup you like, and while chicken noodle may be an old standby, I also didn’t want Morality to start thinking I was coming down with something. And well, minestrone was the first kind of soup to pop into my head after that. I figured you’d probably be fine with it, correct?”

“Yeah, no, minestrone’s fine,” Anxiety mumbled. It was actually his favorite kind of soup, but he wasn’t going to give Princey the satisfaction of knowing that. He took the bowl and began to sip it carefully.

After a few minutes, he glanced up. Prince was still sitting on his bed.

“Did you want something?” he drawled.

“What do you like to eat?” Prince asked in reply.

Anxiety paused, setting down his spoon. What? His confusion must have shown on his face, because Prince clarified.

“Eating is going to be hard for a short while as your stomach readjusts to having food again, so there’s no point in making it an even worse struggle by making you eat food that you hate. So I’m asking you what you like to give me a better plan for your recovery.”

“I thought this was my recovery?” Anxiety said confused. “I mean, this will get me upright again, and then I can make my own food. Or at the very least go grab the leftovers Morality always leaves me in the fridge.”

“Of course this isn’t enough to fully recover!” Roman spluttered. “You haven’t eaten in a week! Wait, those leftovers were specifically for you?”

“Yeah,” Anxiety dragged out. “Why do you care- you’re the one that’s been eating them.”

“I will endeavor not to do so in the future,” Roman said, actually looking a little contrite. Then he flung his hands out dramatically. “But this is not the point! You can’t just eat one meal then be better, it takes time for you to recover your appetite.  I doubt you’ll even be able to finish the soup. In fact, I imagine you must be feeling rather full right now, don’t you?”

Anxiety scowled down at his soup. There was still half of it left, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat much more. He hated that Roman was right.

Despite Anxiety’s lack of response, Roman was happy to continue on.

“What’s important is not for you to try and gorge yourself the minute you can walk again. Rather, I recommend having smaller meals every few hours or so. Bread would be a good thing to try and eat next. It’s solid food, unlike the soup, but not overly heavy, and the carbs will be good for you. Oh, and while it may still be too heavy for you right now, perhaps tomorrow we could add some peanut butter for protein. Do you like peanut butter?”

“You’ve seen me eat peanut butter” Anxiety said dryly. Dammit, so much for everything being over quickly. Still, he doubted Prince would feel this invested tomorrow. He’d just listen to the stupid diet plan, and work it all out on his own.

“You know,” Prince said thoughtfully, ignoring Anxiety’s last comment. “It’s probably faster just to ask which foods you don’t like.”

Anxiety rolled his eyes, but since he could see Prince staring at him with expectation, he reluctantly replied.

“I don’t like fish, and I’m not really huge vegetable person,” he muttered and then because he could see Prince gearing up for a lecture, he hastened to add. “I mean, they’re fine in things, I just don’t like them on their own. Um, aside from that, I’m not a huge mayonnaise person, but that’s about it.”

Prince nodded briskly.

“I’ll be sure to remember that,” he said. “For now, try and eat a little more if you can. If you can’t, just rest, and be sure to keep drinking the water I brought.”

“So I’m supposed to just stay in bed? All day” Anxiety asked, not at all happy about taking orders from Prince.

“And here I thought you enjoyed spending your days lazing away,” Prince said with some amusement in his voice. “But yes, pushing yourself and expending energy when your body’s running on nothing would be foolish.

“Well then can you at least grab my laptop,” Anxiety said, gesturing towards his desk, irritated that once again Prince had a point.

Prince deposited the device in his lap.

“I’ll be back later,” he said, and then with a hesitant smile. “Perhaps we could watch some Disney movies together?”

“Whatever,” Anxiety snapped, shoving his headphones over his head. Like he cared.

There was short pause, during which Anxiety kept his eyes firmly fixed on his screen. Then there was sigh and the sound of footsteps.

“Remember to drink water,” Prince called out one last time, as he shut the door.

Anxiety rolled his eyes. God this whole heroic act was annoying. He seriously wished that Prince would just go back to normal, instead of acting like he cared. This wasn’t a fairy tale, and Anxiety was no damsel in distress. Prince could go be the hero somewhere else.

[greensungnostic]

(Grand)father's day

Well, it's Sunday. You promised the old man you'd come for a visit, have a special little father's day with him. It'll be nice, spending time with him outside of his study. You start things off by shuffling sleepily down to the kitchen, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you start up the stove. In a cast iron skillet, you lay down a few slices of thick bacon, a few rolls of sausage, and once they're starting to sizzle and fill the pan with a cheerfully popping sizzle, you crack a few eggs in the to fry in the fat. Next you add some tomato, a few mushrooms, and a strip of black pudding all together, two servings sizzling merrily away in the large pan. You pop a few slices of bread in the toaster, put on a pot of beans to cook, then put the kettle on while you wait for it all to cook up. A Full English Breakfast, his favourite. Once it's all nice and ready, you butter the toast, cut it into triangles, and plate everything up. With a newspaper tucked under your arm, you gather the pair of plates up, floating your teacups along behind you with your powers. You ascend to the second floor on foot, lightly tapping at it with your toeclaws to announce your presence. You call through the door -

grandpa! its fathers day! i brought you your favourite! breakfast in the study!

You finagle his doorknob with your hands full, using your elbow to twist it just enough to pop the latch and enter into the dim, musty room once more. He's here of course, staring long and thoughtful into the fireplace once more, which flares into life when you approach. He never seems to get tired of that trick! You set the plates down at the desk, pulling up the stiff side chair to face it.

oh come on i know you are busy but it is your fathers day breakfast, at least come over here!

He makes no moves from his firewatching vigil, so you roll your eyes and push him over there directly, leaving him standing behind his desk, looking at the pleasant tendrils of fragrant steam rising from his plate. He doesn't sit - never has been one to sit for anything but the fanciest meals. But you do sit, tucking into the hearty meal with a soft smile on your face. You don't go to the trouble of a Full English very often, but it is good. You can see why it's his favourite. He doesn't seem very hungry - he scarcely seems to want to touch it - but you can tell from the twinkle in his eye that he appreciates it all the same.

are you gonna finish that bacon and sausage? no? okay thank you grandpa! hehehe, i know, you dont want to mess up your mustache. it looks very nice today! so sharp, so smart!

You snag his uneaten meats, munching them up, as well as one of his little mushrooms. While you eat, you figure he'd like to hear any new news. You were just here the other day so there's not a ton new, but you can touch on it all the same. It's sweet of him to take interest in his granddaughter's life, after all! You look up at the old man in his Stout Dignity, offering a small smile while you speak.

hmm? no nothing super exciting has happened this week, honestly. just did some more gardening and stuff, you know i love to do that! yes grandpa i make sure im armed. no i dont think every earthworm has a chance to grow - yes i read dune, those dont actually exist or if they do the worms in my soil are not precursors to sandworms!! pffft!

How silly of him, to even think that your garden worms could become shai-hulud.

other than that, ive mostly just been playing this game with some friends! no like an online one! it is called mine craft and it has you... well, mine ores and craft things out of them! theres lots of adventure, monsters to fight, and more! yes im well armed ive got a magic bow and sword! i might be one of the better strife combatants on the server honestly. i run around on a horse named hubble, exploring for resources and building tunnels and quarries and supplying people with stuff! its really fun, id only ever played it alone before recently. you might not like it though, theres no guns! just bows and crossbows. maybe some could be modded in though! or shoot fireworks at people!

He seems interested, though a dourness seems to befall him when he hears there's no firearms. Maybe it's not a good idea, he'd probably kill all the cute non dog animals. At least he seems tickled by your horse's name. Always naming things for scientists, it's the Harley way. You put your fork and knife down, stacking his half full plate atop your empty one to do away with them both - a quick zap of dishes into the sink. You down your tea, then do the same with the cup. You rise up, looking up at the towering old gentleman.

so tonight is a werewolf night so i dont have aaaaalll night unless you really wanna see me go full furry and cavort around like a loon, but i thought you might want to spend some time together outside today? i set up a little shooting range so i can show you my marksmanship! wanna go see how im doing? im on my sixth prestige level on riflekind so you could say im pretty good!

Grandpa doesn't seem averse to the idea. He always wants to make sure you're well armed, well prepared, so showing your prowess is likely to be a good activity! You loop your arms around one of his, green lightning dancing around the two of you before the scene suddenly shifts to a spot outside in the fields. The fruits of your gardening labour, both figurative and literal, sprawl out in all directions to the edges of the ship. The Breeze ruffles through your hair and the looser bits of Grandpa's expeditionary outfit, the smell of flowers and vegetation in the air. Dotted here and there, you've set up little dummy copies of monsters - a papier mâché ogre here, a clay swarm of imps, little rudimentary robotic underlings bobbing and weaving as targets. You can tell Grandpa is surveying the targets, his grip on the Blunderbuss tight. But they're not his to destroy, they're yours. You draw out a stopwatch, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. It's quite a stressor, showing off your skills to your Grandfather. Okay, you're ready. You click the starter....

Strife.

Your spring into action, your GIRL’S BEST FRIEND deploying from within your specibus and into your hands. You fire a volley of pinpoint-accurate shots into a swath of imps, each one perfectly removing the heads in a spray of fine dust. You YOUTHROLL as if avoiding a barrage of attacks, stopping on a knee to switch to the GREEN SUN STREETSWEEPER and eviscerate a mechanical lich. You swap through your rifles one by one, blasting apart the targets you've set up, each shot dead in the middle of the bullseyes painted on them. You slide, you run up a tree and jump off to shoot upside down in midair, you rifle butt a basilisk. For a grand finale you light the papier mâché ogre ablaze with a green sun flamethrower to soften it up, then swap to your LITTLE BUSTER guitar-rifle to first ventilate it, then pummel it into cinders with the base of the instrument. You let out a little cheer and stop the stopwatch, dancing on the spot in celebration. You check the timer. 1:34.62. Just over a minute and a half, not bad. You bound back over to Grandpa, a big grin and a light sheen of sweat on your face. You gesture out over the dust of your destruction, other small bots already scurrying out to collect the destroyed targets, the spent casings.

voila!! howd i do grandpa?? not a bad time for all those baddies, if i do say so myself! do you like the bass guitar? it shoots .45s and also grenades from the headstock and its good for bashing with too! it dual-classes as an axekind weapon too, haha... i converted it from a regular old classic rickenbacker myself!

You hold up the LITTLE BUSTER for his perusal. He looks on with what feels like an air of appraisal, as if inspecting your craftsmanship. You stay quiet for a long moment to just let him see, before he seems satisfied. A glint of approval, what might be interpreted as a smile behind your grandfather's dense moustache. He's never been good at praise, but you can tell he's proud.

haha, thank you for coming out and watching, grampa. it means a lot to get to show you that, and all this too! do you like how the gardenship looks? ive been up to my eyebrows in dirt making it all cute! look over there, you can see rip van maple, just growing and growing! technically its only a few years old but the growth acceleration puts it at like three hundred!

You spend the next hour or so pointing out nearby points of interest, talking about the care and maintenance and upkeep of your garden, your robots, even the dogs. As if conjured by the utterance of his name, Becquerel appears, curling up at his master's feet like he's prone to. You scratch between your direwolf sized hound's ears and sit down against him, still quietly talking to grandpa.

so how has work been going in there, grandpa? oh, right i know, business trade secrets, cant discuss them! still i hope you are not working too hard in there. you always seem so lost in thought... maybe looking out the window once in a while instead of into the fireplace would give a fresh perspective! shhh i know it is the favorite spot but still! you might even see me running around from in there, haha...

You sigh, looking up at the imposing figure above you. The wind rustles his mustache, and he stalwartly gazes off into the middle difference. Maybe, he seems to think. Maybe he'll try it out. You can tell he must be getting tired though, time to get back to work. You lightly grasp his shirt hem, and Bec returns all three of you to the study. This time his perch does seem to be near the window, overlooking the grape vines and the little bench you built for Rose, just offset from the pane to spare himself the excess light and the ominous silhouette in the window. You pull a little box from your sylladex, a gift for your beloved Grandpa. You can tell he's too lost in thought to pluck at all the lavish ribbons and paper you've wrapped it in, so you unbox it for him. Within he finds a few Artifacts - the skull of a monster that you put onto his mantlepiece immediately; a bottle of his theoretically favourite Cognac, which you put on a shelf next to a few similar bottles of brown alcohol. Clink. And last but not least, a loud Hawaiian shirt with a computer woven into the threads. It's bright, it's garish, it's absolutely nobody's style. You set this neatly folded on his desk, where he can deal with it at his leisure.

okay grandpa, i know you gotta work... thank you for coming out with me today! it was nice to spend time with you... ill come visit again soon, okay? i love you soooooo much grandpa!! happy fathers and grandfathers day!!

You hesitate, then scurry over and hug the old man, clinging tight to his sturdy frame. A single tear runs down your cheek and musses his khaki attire, but it's only a small watermark. You gaze up at the lofty gentleman, ears angled backwards for a moment, wishing he'd return your affection now and then. But it's alright. It's tough for old men full of machismo to show their love. You know he cares from the wistful look in his eyes. You hold onto his hand for a moment, squeezing gently, then depart. As you go, you hear the soft chime of a wardrobifier, perhaps triggered by the teardrop. You look back, and he's wearing the shirt you got him. With a soft smile you slip from his study and close the door behind you, murmuring one more time -

happy fathers day, to a wonderful grampa...

[yarnings]

Mellow the moonlight to shine is beginning

There was renewed discussion about the lack of Bree/Roger fics. I may have tripped and fallen, hitting the keyboard on the way down and this popped out.

As my frivolity suggests, this has not been beta’d, edited or even checked against the timeline. Any and all mistakes and places where things don’t make sense should be assumed to be errors that I would appreciate having my attention drawn to so I can fix them.

Roger groaned, tired from trying to keep up with his father-in-law all day, and walked through the cabin door. To his disappointment, the table had no food on it, being covered instead with Bree’s workbook and a bunch of loose sheets full of sketches and notes in Bree’s distinctive hand. As he stood, blinking to help his eyes adjust to the relative dimness inside, he noticed a pile of charcoal- smeared boards discarded beside Bree’s chair, presumably her even-rougher work that she did before consigning designs and calculations to expensive paper. It wasn’t the first time that Bree had managed to carve out some free time from the toil of trying to take care of the house entirely by hand, and spent the afternoon designing. However, and Roger frowned as he noticed that the hearth was cold, normally when she did this there was a pot of stew ready for the evening meal.

Just then Roger heard a noise outside, and turned back, squinting his newly-adjusted eyes against the bright sunlight. Bree was coming back from the big house carrying Jemmy, with a basket over her other arm. He stepped out to meet her and relieve her of her burdens. She handed him the basket with a kiss as Jemmy snuggled himself more securely against her side.

“He’s being a little clingy since I neglectfully abandoned him to be spoiled by Mrs. Bug all afternoon. Apparently he’s worried I’ll leave him to get stuffed full of sweets again.”

Roger wisely didn’t say anything, and peeked instead into the basket, finding a loaf of fresh bread inside.

“They were firing the big oven, and I was offered a loaf of bread so that I wouldn’t have to bother with the dutch oven today. I figured we could have sandwiches for dinner tonight. We have some pickle and I mixed up a bit of mustard to go with the sausage.”

Roger’s mouth watered at the thought. He resolutely pushed memories of sandwiches he’d had in the twentieth century from his mind as he followed Bree inside. He wasn’t about to suggest that mayonnaise would be a nice addition, as he had no desire to find himself assigned to the job of whisking it up himself.

Once inside, Roger washed up and set to slicing the bread while Bree picked up her notes and stuck them on the bed in a haphazard pile for organizing later. Jemmy was bribed with a chunk of hard sausage to sit in his chair. He gnawed on the sausage and banged his horn cup on the table as he watched his parents prepare the meal. In addition to the pickle and mustard, Bree brought out some butter and a small basket of greens that her mother had thinned from the garden that morning. Despite his enthusiasm for the meal, Jem had clearly had a full day of running around with his mother in the morning and exploring the big house in the afternoon, because part way through his eyes closed and he narrowly missed falling asleep in his dinner. Bree coaxed him into enough wakefulness to get ready for bed. When she tucked him into his cot he didn’t even make a token protest, just closed his eyes and went to sleep. Roger watched her from the table, not feeling energetic enough to take advantage of Jem’s early bedtime, but still appreciative of how she moved and the occasional tantalizing glimpses of skin that he got.

Bree looked up and caught Roger’s gaze, giving him a smile that celebrated everything they were to each other. She came back to the table, and they sat together for a while, finishing their meal in silence, enjoying simply being in each other’s presence with no urgent tasks to draw their attention away. Roger broke the silence first.

“What were you working on this afternoon? You seem to have made some progress.”

“I want to make a treadle spinning wheel. You know the kind where you can sit down, and work a foot pedal to spin the machine, rather than needing to walk back and forth like Marsali is always doing?”

Roger was vaguely aware of the fact that spinning was done on the ridge, and had a fuzzy memory of seeing what he persisted in thinking of as “modern” spinning wheels on a school trip to the museum as a child. He nodded anyhow, secure in the knowledge that Bree would give enough detail in her explanation to fill in any gaps in his understanding.

“The thing is that there’s a reason you have to walk back and forth with the wheels now. I could put a treadle on it easily, but it wouldn’t work. The hard part is spinning the yarn. You have to walk back and forth, because it’s done in two stages, so unless I can get it down to a single continuous process there’s no point.”

“Well, can ye?”

“I know it’s possible, that’s the hardest part. I’ve seen one at a historic site before, and while they didn’t go into details, I don’t think it was a very complex thing to make, so we should be able to do it here.”

Roger smiled at Bree’s confidence. She never accepted the idea that there might be something too difficult for her. Of course, that was why there were here.

He gathered what dishes there were, and gave them a wash in cold water while Bree cleared the leftovers into their pantry. By the time he was done, she had retrieved her work and spread it back over the now-clean table. But rather than trying to keep working, she just organized her notes to put away until she had another chance to work on the design.

By unspoken agreement, when she and Roger had both finished and put everything away, they lay together in the growing darkness. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as they drifted off to sleep.