#I've lived without a toaster for years

[jfk-blown-away-blog]

Blender

[youre-a-total--poser]

Can you please write one with mama nat and teen reader where Fury sends the reader on a mission with another one of the Avengers even when nat told him not to, and the reader got injured or something and nat helps nurse her back to health cuz she sees her like her own kid <3

Or you can write anything with mama nat, i just love your writing so much aaaaaaaaaaa 🧎🏻‍♀️

Accident Prone (Request)

Warnings: I don't know anymore Age: briefly 10 and 15 Word Count: 955 Requests: Open Summary: Read the request and it will explain everything Requested by: Anonymous Date: 28/09/2024 paring: N/A A/N: Thank you for your request I hope that you like it. Not sure if this is even good enough since it has been so long since I've written anything

Masterlist

---⧗---

You were taken by HYDRA when you were about 10 and let's say you were one of their failed experiments.

You had telekinesis powers well sort of. Honestly, you had no clue how to make it work and when it did happen it would happen at the most inconvenient moments.

Things would be moving about randomly people, mainly you, would be getting whacked by flying objects. It wasn't great definitely a 0/10 wouldn't recommend.

Then one day the Avengers came in and put a stop to everything that was happening and rescued everyone like they do but the only thing that was different about this whole operation is that they found something or someone sitting in a cage who would change their lives forever.

You were sitting there covered in cuts and bruises and they assumed the worst but that wasn't the case at all. You didn't tell them what happened and even to this day you never did cause it's pretty embarrassing not gonna lie but eventually they figured out why.

They ended up taking you back with them and letting you stay probably because they felt bad for this little thing that can't walk in a straight line, trips over nothing and chokes on air.

---⧗---

You were now 15 life is great everything is great.

You were getting help to figure out how to use your powers and after years of training, you could successfully move… a penny.

Sure it wasn't the biggest thing in the world but at least there was one less thing randomly flying at you so you called it a win.

Over the years you had developed a close bond with Natasha. What started with her tending to your every wound gradually turned into a mother/daughter-like relationship.

Every time the Avengers went on missions you were left home alone and you wanted nothing more than to go with them to see what it was like but every time Natasha would say 'No it's too dangerous.', 'You're too young.', 'Do you really think I'm going to let you go when you can't even make toast without nearly burning the place down?'

In your defence it wasn't even your fault that the toaster caught on fire someone turned the dial too high.

You knew that Fury was here assigning Steve on a mission and you just happened to overhear that it would be an easy one so it would be perfect for you.

Your plan was to be as annoying as possible so he would get frustrated and say yes so that's exactly what you did you followed him around repeating the word please and just as expected it didn't take long for him to give in.

Your excitement lasted all of 4 seconds as soon as Natasha heard what was going on.

"Absolutely not," she said crossing her arms.

"Please, Nat." you begged, "nothing is going to happen."

"I'm sorry but I said no Y/N."

"Not fair," you mumbled while crossing your arm in a huff.

Then the best idea, well the best idea at the time popped into your head however now you regret it.

"I'll never ask for anything ever again if you let me go."

While Natasha was thinking you were giving her your best please face it's never failed you before.

She let out a sigh "fine."

Your face lit up and a large smile appeared.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," you said while hugging her.

"Don't make me regret it Y/N," she said sternly.

---⧗---

The mission was easy and boring it was just to collect paperwork or something you weren't really listening or paying attending.

It was all going well until it wasn't…

Natasha was anxiously waiting for the Quinjet's arrival once she heard you and Steve were on your way back.

She watched as Steve carried you out of the Quinjet. Natasha was already going out of her mind but when she saw Steve carrying it it sent her over the edge.

"What happened?" she asked hurrying over.

"She tripped over a stone and sprained her ankle." Steve briefly explained

"It was a very large stone actually." you chimed in.

"God sake Y/N, I thought something bad happened to you," Natasha said her voice still sounding quite panicky.

"Something bad did happen I sprained my ankle"

Steve let out a frustrated sigh and Natasha just shook her head.

"Can you put me down now?" you asked Steve who was still carrying you.

"I thought you said you couldn't walk," Steve said gently putting you down.

"I never said I couldn't walk I said I didn't want to walk."

"It doesn't matter let go and put some ice on it," Natasha said putting her arm around your waist and you slowly limped back inside.

---⧗---

"what am I going to do with you Y/N?" Natasha asked as she handed you some painkillers and a glass of water then placed a bag of frozen peas on your ankle.

"Lock me in a room and throw away the key?" You said quietly chuckling then you took the meds that you were given.

"Don't tempt me," She replied sitting down beside you.

"It hurts a lot," You said while wincing.

"The meds will kick in soon and it won't hurt as much."

Natasha picked up the TV remote and put on your favourite movie.

While it was playing you felt yourself getting tired.

"Thank you for taking care of me Nat," you said sleepily.

"You welcome, sweetheart," she said quietly.

A slight smile appeared on Natasha's face as she put her arm around you while you moved closer to her.

You ended up falling asleep in the safety and comfort of her arms.

---⧗---

Taglist

@saraaahsstuff // @marvelnatasha12346 // @amolapasta // @knox145 // @ducktamer415 // @romanoffliviv

Go HERE to be added to the taglist

[tarinb]

the big 4 to keep house

its been almost 2 years since I left working outside the home. I've learned a lot about keeping house and managing family life.

I heard on a podcast that if you can move forward with TDL (trash, dishes, laundry) every day, you will be able to maintain a functional home. Maybe not perfectly clean, but functional.

I'm obsessed with figuring out how to spend less time on housework and really just making it more effortless. I want to make progress even if I get interrupted in between tasks (which is highly likely). Here's the order I've been doing these tasks:

Layer #1: trash & recycling. After breakfast I grab a Target bag and walk through the whole downstairs picking up literal garbage. Wrappers, egg shells, paper towels, toddler art (not sorry).

Guess what? If I get interrupted after this layer, at least I'm not living amongst trash.

Layer #2: dishes. This is the one I want to leave for last, but I've realized how important it is. For me, the state of the kitchen is a microcosm for the state of the house. Cooking most meals from home, the kitchen is a war zone. I empty the dishwasher then I collect all dishes from the family, living, and kitchen. After all the dirty dishes are in the dishwasher, I clean the kitchen sink. (This has been the most satisfying result from this whole process)

If I get interruped after this layer, at least I have clean dishes and a place to cook later.

Layer #3: laundry. I've moved to doing one load a day. But not on weekends. I collect the laundry from upstairs, and dirty clothes left downstairs, then put on a load. Then I bring up the load that is dry from the day before and fold it/put it away. It sounds like a lot, but this whole process is probably 10-15 minutes a day.

If I get interrupted after this layer, at least we have clean clothes and don't have dirty clothes laying around.

Layer #4: everything out of its place. I added this layer myself. Now is the time to put the toaster away, replace the couch cushions, help toddler put toys in shelf, etc. This one is honestly my last priority because I know that the main beasts (trash, dishes, laundry) have been slain. But it does feel nice to return everything to order.

I skip some layers on the weekends: laundry and everything out of place. I really can't skip trash and dishes. Without clean dishes, I have no motivation to cook!

This sounds like it would take a long time each day, but each day that I do it, it gets shorter and shorter. Plus, I only do this process once a day. I am not a night cleaner. Morning is when I have my best energy for these types of tasks. I have no qualms going to bed while the house is messy.

What are the tasks you have to do every day to keep your household running?

[leeeeeeeeech]

Desperate Measures

( Beej is attempting to haunt a pretty boring breather. Unfortunately for him, they are very dumb. He gets frustrated, hilarity ensues.)

For years, my life has followed a monotonous routine. Wake up, go to work, come home, eat, and then repeat it all over again. It's not a particularly exciting life, but it is mine, and I have grown accustomed to its predictability. However, recently, strange occurrences had begun to disrupt this routine.

One morning, while preparing my usual breakfast of toast and eggs, I experienced something bizarre. My old toaster, which had seen better days, suddenly acted as if it had received an upgrade from a sci-fi movie. It hummed and sputtered, and to my amazement, two slices of toast levitated out of it. They hung in mid-air, their once white surfaces now blackened and smoking. I found myself staring in disbelief, my outstretched hand halted just inches from the hovering toast. As quickly as they had risen, the slices dropped to the counter with a thud.

Weird.

Shaken by the strange event, I decided to write it off as a momentary lapse of sanity. Maybe I was more tired than I thought? I shrugged, ate the burnt toast, and continued with my day.

My next task was grocery shopping, the highlight of today's events. I stepped into my car, which had seen better days, much like my toaster, and started the engine. As I drove, I couldn't help but notice a peculiar vehicle in my rearview mirror—a neon green Volkswagen Beetle with bold black stripes. It was a distraction waiting to happen, and I couldn't fathom why someone would drive such a garish car.

Arriving at the grocery store, I grabbed a shopping cart without much thought. But as I gripped the cart's handle, something caught my eye. The metal bar at the front, which had always been plain and unremarkable, now bore black stripes, just like the Beetle. And etched into the metal were two initials, "BJ."

Okay, can't write this one off as a coincidence. The letters were a strange choice, and I tried not to think about the obvious acronym those letters could stand for. I tried my best to remain calm and finish up my shopping.

After I checked out and drove home, the evening was back to its monotonous self. I prepared dinner for one, and sat down in the living room to watch a show. As soon as the TV flicked on, it was already on a TV show I didn't recognize. A green-haired man stood alone on a completely white set. He wore a strange suit with the same bold stripes I've been seeing all day. Just as I reached for the remote, the man started to speak.

"Is there something strange in your neighborhood? Something weird that you can't explain?" There was a very long pause, and for a moment it felt like the man was looking straight at me.

"Who should you call? Well me of course! Just call this number below!"

I stared at the screen. It felt like all the strange events of the day were converging. I watched as the man on the TV grinned, showing unnaturally sharp teeth as the number flashed across the screen.

"This isn't just a commercial, is it?" I question aloud, my voice practically quivering. I gasped as the man on the screen winked in response. His dark eyes twinkled with an other-worldly mischief that sent shivers down my spine.

In a panic I decided to turn off the TV and just go to bed. This was all way too strange for my liking, and I needed a break from the bizarre events that had unfolded throughout the day. Maybe a good night's rest would help me regain my grip on reality.

As I headed to my bedroom, my steps sluggish and my mind still racing, I could hear the TV flick back on. I froze in my tracks, my heart pounding as the familiar commercial continued to play. It was as if the man's voice refused to be silenced.

"OH COME ON!" His voice boomed from the living room, a mixture of frustration and desperation.

I clenched my fists, my patience wearing thin. This was beyond anything I had ever encountered. I wanted nothing more than to escape this unsettling situation, but it seemed that the situation had other plans.

"I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR MEEEE." The voice grew louder, more insistent, echoing through the house.

I walked back into the living room, and stared the man down.

"What do you want?" I asked, my voice quivering with a mixture of fear and frustration. I just wanted this nightmare to be done with, to return to the life I had known, where toasters toasted bread and commercials were just commercials.

The man on the TV remained silent for a beat, his dark eyes locked onto mine, unblinking. It was as if he could see into the depths of my soul.

And then, his voice emanated from the TV once more, a sly, almost seductive tone. "Just say my name."

I blinked, disbelief washing over me. "What?" I stammered, my mind reeling. Now, I was certain that this had to be a dream, a bizarre and twisted dream that I desperately wanted to wake up from.

The man's lips curled into a mischievous grin, and he leaned in closer to the screen. "Say my name," he repeated, his words carrying a weight of anticipation.

---------

This is already pretty long, so I'll make a part two!

[dontbelasagnax]

Art Preview for @codywanreversebang

So excited to share a sneak peek of the artwork I've made for this year's Codywan Reverse Bang. @shortcuts-make-long-delays (ao3 here), @inkformyblood (ao3 here), and historical_allusions have been the most lovely writers to work with <3

Fic Previews under the cut!

1. from historical_allusions

“Let me know if you have any food allergies and I can probably recommend something,” Cody offers. “Nothing too sweet. Wouldn’t want to shock your system.”

“No allergies. Next time I’m here, I’ll let you do your worst,” Obi-Wan says, raising his newly filled mug of tea to Cody in a small toast.

Cody can feel a blush starting to rise on his cheeks and hopes he has enough melanin in his skin it’s not obvious. Is Obi-Wan flirting? And is Cody flirting back? Or is that just how people drink tea now, with all that direct eye contact. This is exactly why Cody doesn’t work the counter.

He's about to make a tactical retreat when someone burst through the doors--

2. from QuickSilverFox3

The response is a crash, the shock of porcelain against tiles, and an effluent set of swearing all muddled together. Cody is already moving, undoing the latch and making his way to the kitchen where he had just been able to make out the shape of a person through the makeshift wall of shelves. It’s an action without thought, without a reason except that he couldn’t not. It would kill him one day, he knows.

“Hello, sorry, two seconds— Oh.”

Cody stops, blinks, and does the only thing he can think of. “Sorry. I— Yeah, sorry.”

The man pushes himself back to his feet, his tan trousers dark at the knees due to the water he had knelt in, smoothes his hands over his sides and leaves a secondary set of dark fingerprints before he offers a hand to Cody. “Obi-Wan Kenobi. I would offer you a cup of tea and to come in, but I seem to be having bother with half of that intention today.”

Cody bites his tongue, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and shakes Obi-Wan’s hand. There are calluses on the sides of his fingers, a ridge across the base of them and, curiously enough, ink stains splattered over his skin like he has been playing a losing game of dot to dot with the constellation of freckles he possesses. “I’m Cody, I used to live here and I am truly sorry about barging in. I heard the crash and wanted to help.”

His urge to help might just kill him now out of sheer secondhand embarassment.

3. from Shortcuts-make-long-delays

“You wouldn’t, perhaps, be able to help me pick out a breadloaf, would you?”

Cody clicked his mouth shut and nodded, barely remembering to put his Sudoku book down before walking over to the shelves with the bread. “Anything in particular today?” he asked, preemptively grabbing a bag and trying to recover any semblance of professionalism.

“Well, see,” the man started, fidgeting again, “that’s just the thing. I’m not entirely sure. You see, I’m on my way to my brother’s and I said I would pick something up to go with dinner, but there are so many options here, that I, well-” he tapered off with a shrug.

“A little overwhelmed?” Cody offered.

“Just so,” the man nodded. “The twins, my niece and nephew, that is, they are just reaching the stage where they are extremely picky about what they eat. Well, Leia is. I’m sure Luke is too, actually, I think he is just less vocal about it. He’s really been avoidant of textures with seeds lately, but anyway, I’m getting terribly off subject,” the man sighed. Cody found the rambling cute.

Taking a breath, the man continued, “The point is, french bread has been declared an enemy of the palate according to the princess, and I need to find a substitute that will pair well with a pasta dish and according to my sister-in-law simply throwing Wonder Bread in the toaster is not an acceptable option.”

He finished his monologue with a huff and a pout and Cody couldn’t quite stifle the laugh in time. Gorgeous and adorable, Cody noted. And good with kids, a voice that sounded too much like Fox for his liking, also noted.

Now isn't that amazing!! Just a taste of the fics my collaborators have whipped up!

[asksonicfreedomfighters]

Knothole Message: 09-18-3228

[A flash of white and slowly, through static and blurred vision.]

Sally: "-zzzt- Testing -zzzt- Testing! -brrrrrzzzz- Hey! It works! Thank you miss Rosie! Thank you miss Julayla!"

Julayla: [Off Camera] "Of course, but please be careful with it Sally."

Sally: "Oh, we will! Ahem- loyal and lovely people of Mobius- I hope this finds... someone! My name is princess Sally Ac-"

[Without warning, the camera is snatched and taken to a whole other room in a matter of seconds.]

Sally: "HEY-"

Sonic: "Heya people! I'm Sonic, Sonic the Hedgehog! You don't know me, but ya do now! I don't mean to brag, but I'm kinda like the coolest guy, and not just cool! I'm the world's fastest hedgehog! Heck, I'm the world's fastest period! In fact-!"

Sally: "Sonic! Give that back!"

[It is snatched back by Sally.]

Sally: "This isn't a toy, it's a camera, and I'm trying to get information down for the current and future people of this world!"

Sonic: "Ah, Sally, you can't deprive the people of ME! I mean... just look at me!"

Sally: "UGH! Fine, you can stay, but please be quiet and let me speak!"

Sonic: "Right! Got it! No talking! Absolute silence! Understand! No words from this hedge-"

Sally: "Right... anyway, my name is Sally Acorn, I am 10 years old and I am the princess of Mobotropolis within the Kingdom of Acorn- at least... I was. Three years ago, after the Great War, my father's top Warlord, Ivo Robotnik, took over... he sent me with some other children from the kingdom to keep us safe... I haven't heard from him since."

[Sonic scratches behind his ear and looks away, clearly uncomfortable with all this... emotion.]

Sally: "But... that's okay. We have not given hope, and neither should you! Let me introduce you to my friends!"

Sonic: "Ah-ahem!"

Sally: ".... Fine, but be fast!"

Sonic: "You kidding? Fast is MY middle name!"

[Sonic snatches the camera back and gives a cocky fanged grin.]

Sonic: "Name's Sonic, but I already said that! I'm 10 years o-"

Sally: "You're 9½, Sonic!"

Sonic: "Close enough! I lived way outta town before I came here a few months ago. I lived with my uncles, and they were the coolest dudes! But one day, I got bored. Nothing to do out there, so me and some friends went out to find our own adventure, following every rainbow we came across. But, things got kinda ruined when I was caught by Robt- Robuh- Robb- Ugh! That eggshaped creep man. I don't remember what happened after, but I guess I ran so fast I ended up here! It ain't that bad though~ good food, Rosie's super cool, and I've met one of my best buddies ever!"

Sally: "You done?"

Sonic: "Ehhhh, for now! I'm gonna go on a run!"

Sally: "Remember to stay inside the vill-!"

[Before she can finish, Sonic is gone.]

Sally: "-age... Well- okay. Let me introduce the rest of my ACTUAL friends."

[She walks into another room, pointing the camera at a dull purple (almost blue) walrus tinkering on a toaster.]

Sally: "This is Rotor! He's our resident smart guy!"

Rotor: "Oh, heya Sally! What's that?"

Sally: "It's a camera! I'm hoping to reach the outside world! Anywho, what're you working on?"

Rotor: "Cool! Well, this is a toaster that pre-butters your toast!"

Sally: "Oh... okay. Would you like to introduce yourself to the potential people?"

Rotor: "Sure! Well, my name's Rotor, I'm 11! I'm from a small village in Artika and I came here when my father came to fight in the Great War, and he was always so cool in all his stories, so I wanted to help join the cause!"

Sally: "That's really sweet Rotor... can I ask a question?"

Rotor: "Shoot!"

Sally: "...Why are you making a self-buttering toaster?"

[Rotor goes to respond but he goes silent, going deep into thought before the toaster starts to smoke.]

Rotor: "O-OH! Fish paste!"

Sally: "Right, you're busy, I'll leave you be!"

[She quickly runs out of the room and goes into the next room, and there stands a small coyote boy.]

Sally: "So, this is-"

Antoine: "Eek! P-princez! Pléase, non camairas! Ai 'avé not even doné mon 'air!"

Sally: "Your air?"

Antoine: "Non, not 'air'! 'air! La 'air on top of mon 'ead!"

Sally: "OH! Your HAIR! Got it! Wait... don't you wear a wig?"

Antoine: "Princez! You can notice?!"

Sally: "... No? No, of course I don't notice... um, anyway, this is an introduction to us for peoeple outside of the village."

Antoine: "Ootside the- mon princez, why would you went to leave le veehlaje? We aré safe from robotnik et 'is vairy evil et scary robots!"

Sally: "Relax, Antoine. We're not leaving, I just want people who aren't here to know hope exists. Is there anything you'd like to say about yourself?"

Antoine: "Well… Ai suppose eet wouldn't be bad to let people know abut mé! Ai am Entoiné D'couletté, ze nair-lee 12 yair uld royal protéctair and futuair keng of ze Kengdom of Acairn!"

Sally: "Not princess approved!"

Antoine: "Please, princéz. Ai am speakng! Ai am la son of gréat jénairal Armand D'couletté and wondairful code breakair Marie Depardieu! Ai am quite le great jenairal lik mon fathair, if ai do sai zo mysélf! And-"

Sally: "Okay, I think that's enough."

Antoine: "But ai 'ave mairé to sai!"

Sally: "Um... well, you can't waste all your great stories on this, what about your diary?"

Antoine: "Eet eez a memoir, but you're right! Ai must savé eet pairsonally!"

[Sally rolls her eyes and leaves the room, running across the rooms to a smaller room where a woodchuck woman is sitting in a chair watching over a fox boy running around the room.]

Sally: "This is my nanny, Rosie Woodchuck! And this little guy is Miles! As you can see, he was born with a whole extra tail, but he doesn't let that get him down!"

Rosie: "Hello, Sally."

Miles: "Hiii, auntie Sally!"

Sally: "Miles, I'm not your auntie-"

Rosie: "Leave him be, Sally. He's only just turned four, and he looks up to you. Well, you and-"

[In a flash, a blue streak passes by, scooping Tails up.]

Sonic: "Hey little dude!"

Miles: "Sonic!"

Sonic: "Yo Tails! How's it going?"

Sally: "Sonic! Don't call him that! It's mean!"

Sonic: "It's not mean, it's a nickname! I call him that cause he has two tails. Watch, I'll call you Sal!"

Sally: "Don't call me Sal!"

Sonic: "Why not? It's shorter!"

Sally: "I have a name, use it! I swear, you're so immature! Anyway, Rosie, where did Julayla go? I want to include her in this!"

Rosie: "Sorry Sally, she stepped out for supplies."

Sally: "Oh... okay... I'll just get her next time! Well, people in the world! Don't give up hope, because me and my friends are gonna beat Robotnik! We'll bring back life to our world! We'll... we'll find my father! And never forget, don't give up hope!"

Sonic: "Cause we're the Freedom Fighters!"

Sally: "What?"

Sonic: "I don't know, thought it'd be cool! Teams have names!"

Sally: "Sonic, that's completly idiotic-"

Sonic: "Eh, whatever, Tails thinks it's cool, right kiddo?"

Tails: "The Freedom Fighters! Yay!"

Sally: "I swear, that'll never catch on- Ignore them, but... if you get this recording, send us a return, we're happy to explain or answer anything in this chaotic world. And daddy, if you see this... I -zzzt- miss -zzzt- you."

END RECORDING

[asonofsoddensoil]

So uh if anyone in the brave little toaster fandom finds this, hello, hope you enjoy my ramblings. The themes of these two works are just so fascinating and parallel in ways I find very interesting. This movie was my first fond memento mori in fiction and gave me a safe place to explore existential and societal fears early on in life. It gave me a more conscious appreciation for the horror genre with how gently yet seriously it nudged me towards facing my fears.

🍞 All those nightmares robbed Toaster of restful sleep for years. Toaster tried desperately to protect everyone and keep them all together, so afraid of being the spark that ignites their doom that she kept her distance from them. But watching the gears of the crushing machine turn, its image inverted against her reflective chrome, she felt for a moment that she fully knew this was what fate had in mind for her all this time.

🥀 Blanky was swept up into the trees, shroud in a darkness so deep that a strike of blindingly bright lightning barely even glowed there. It was horribly homesick and wished for someone to hold it tight, feeling as helpless as the child it once warded from monsters under the bed and in the closet. The wind threatened to blow it away at every moment, but it held on tight all through the night, clinging to the branches that tore and dirtied its fabric.

📻 Radio got so used to trouble at the cottage that he readily took on whatever role the situation called for when they left. Leading the charge or signing off for good, he always made sure to put on a good show to keep morale up. But who would put their life on the line to save the one who brought their butcher to them, he wondered...?

💡 Lampy surrendered to the storm in a rare moment of certainty, surviving though he knows now he very much shouldn't have. That night, he would have done anything to pierce the cruel, unyielding darkness, and lightning struck to provide him the way out of it. He learned to trust in himself and others, and from that night on he let compassion be his guiding light.

🧹 Kirby stood at the edge of a cliff, heart heavy with regret for being too weak to hold on tight, for the last things he said to them, for the last thing he said to him. They all fell so . Choking down his fear, he steadies himself and takes a leap of faith.

List of episodes I associate with the main 5 and other important characters directly below the cut. Then there's a buffer space prevent spoiling those who haven't listened to the whole series.

Toaster: 8, 11, 26, 29, 37

Blanket: 9, 12, 15, 22, 32

Radio: 1, 7, 16, 29, 31

Lamp: 4, 12, 17, 23, 38

Vacuum cleaner: 2, 10, 13, 31, 33

Air Conditioner: 8, 13, 19, 26, 35

TV: 3, 5, 24

Rob: 5, 24, 38

Kris: 1, 3, 25

Parts Shop appliances: 14, 18, 30, 34

Junkyard appliances: 5, 15, 30, 32

Tinselina: 21, 24, 28, 34

Ratso: 7, 26, 31, 32, 35

Wittgenstein: 8, 16, 23, 32, 35

Spoilers for episodes 80-200 below this point.

Anyway so now that only the ones knowledgeable of TMA are here, the Dread Powers seem to both kick their asses and love them. Which dread powers I think they'd be aligned with, you likely get a clue based on my descriptions and chosen episodes if you're down here. But I'll make it clear here because the implications are so much to me.

Toaster: Terminus, The Mother of Puppets, The Lightless Flame

Blanky: The Forever Blind, The Crawling Rot, The Future Without Us

Radio: Butchery, Viscera, I Do Not Know You

Lampy: It Is Not What It Is, Beholding, Vertigo

Kirby: Too Close I Cannot Breathe, Everchase, The One Alone

Air Conditioner: The Mother of Puppets, The One Alone, Ceaseless Watcher

TV: I Do Not Know You, The Future Without Us, It Is Not What It Is

The scene where they all sink is like watching the swamp of sadness in The Neverending Story, it's so sad to watch everyone's last instinct be to save their own lives, if it ever comes to their minds. I've thought way too much about this subject in particular because this scene reveals their impulses under crisis very handily. That it's a scene that handles Kirby's greatest vulnerability after we see him overcome his greatest fear is heartbreaking in itself on top of everything it reveals about everyone else. It's his final instinct rather than his first to call for help, and Toaster doesn't even try to save herself when it comes down to the wire before trying to tell someone already sinking deeper to do so.

Radio then saves their lives by not shutting up, as usual, but the helper they receive puts them directly in danger. 😭 He's so slaughter aligned that he maladaptive daydreams about war and always picks fights with everyone even if it's clear he's outmatched or wrong.

If Toaster's chronic nightmare is not End and Desolation coded I really don't know what is. The inevitable loss and mortality vs lost potential burning out, it's kinda crazy to consider the fact that this movie's plot begins and ends with a death. If this movie were a Leitner, it would absolutely be of the End and Desolation. I can even envision a corrupted version where they lose each other one by one and Toaster, the last one remaining, accepts the End that inevitably waited for her. All those precious lives lost in a fruitless act of devotion is so Desolation.

Blanky is indeed childish to me and thinks of themselves as a child, but at some level they have to be peers with the other appliances. I have so many thoughts about the parallels between Blanky and Kirby and how they are foils for one another having always been treated like a child or adult, stuck in those states due to their function in the household. Kirby calling Blanky's crying "disgusting" is honestly so upsetting to watch sometimes because he's so averse to weakness he can't stand to see it in others, but it's also a perfect way to show the difference between them too cause Kirby likes things clean. It's like he sees Blanky's open vulnerability as a contaminant that will infect him, and Blanky really needs the kind of support Toaster provides upon the revelation of what such cold distance will do. They feel powerless in their own ways.

[yonderlad]

I cleaned a corner of our kitchen today.

I know that doesn't sound like much, and a few years ago, when I worked in kitchens full time, I would have scoffed at that. "Oh you cleaned a corner of your home kitchen? I've just washed up after we cooked and served for 300 people."

But I've not been quite the same person over the last few years. I can, like most people I think, probably say I've not been the same person since before Covid. Or even earlier, January 2020, when I had my first public meltdown that would become many a week. Maybe that's when I stopped my growth and healing and started to decline again.

This last year, especially, has been hard. The stability of living in a place where they couldn't kick you out, was always balanced by the fear of not being able to pay rent. Or that it would be rice for dinner for a few days until the paycheque came in.

And then my body failed me. I try not to use language where I blame my body for doing it's best - try to think of a body "failing" me only if and when I die - but this really did feel like a betrayal. A body that used to carry me 10,000 steps before dawn, that could walk 12 miles a day for fun, was suddenly barely able to carry me out of bed. Couldn't tie my shoes for me, or shower.

Couldn't cook dinner. Couldn't clean.

I am...very lucky. In this life, I have a wonderful, most adoring fiancé who, when I say "how do you put up with me?" says "I'm not putting up with anything, I love you." Who has tirelessly worked the 45 hours of physical labour, versus my 16 hour desk job, and then still, without complaint and with endless kindness, come home to feed me, dress me, and wash me. I would not have made it through without them, before we even touch on the love we have for each other, and the happiness we bring.

We got my medication sorted in September, and it would be foolish to ignore the effect it has had on me. I am less fatigued, no longer taking naps daily after work, no longer routinely sleeping fourteen hours. I feel brighter, my nails are no longer peeling, my arms no longer getting pins and needles after moments.

But it hasn't fixed everything. And it's starting to look like it never will.

The pain prevails, joints flaring up at any given moment into pain, or stiffness. I cannot shake the numbness that sinks into my thigh if I stand for too long, leaving no sensation except pressure.

I'm still tired. I still catch up on sleep on my days off.

But today, for the first time in months, I made food. I cooked. Once my greatest hobby and my job, since lost to me, this evening I regained a little of my dignity and myself back. My partner still chopped the vegetables, the slap-chop we bought to make their - our- lives easier making quick work of onion, carrot, peppers. But I sautéd and seasoned and stirred. I checked the tomato puree was still good in the old way I used to that always made people laugh. I added a splash of balsamic - not in the recipe, but at home in nearly every tomato based dish - and deglazed a pan in improvised glory.

And then I cleaned down after myself. Put the toaster away, wiped the counter tops until they gleamed, put the frying pan in the sink.

And I can only see it as progress. And that can only bring me joy.

[dr-annie]

✨Incorrect quotes✨

STRIKER :

Striker: When do I get my own gun?

Annie: I wouldn’t trust you with my kid’s lightsaber.

Striker: I was arrested for being too cool.

Annie: The charges were dropped due to a lack of supporting evidence.

Striker, in a beach shirt: So sue me, it's October and I'd like to be on Island Time for a day!

Annie: I have Spotify open right now on my computer, do you want me to blast you? Do you want me to put you on blast? Cuz I've got your history right here on the sidebar,

Annie: Take it Back by Jimmy Buffet, Nautical Wheelers by Jimmy Buffet, Jolly Mon Sing by Jimmy Buffet, Steamer by Jimmy Buffet, trEAT HER LIKE A LADY BY JIMMY BUFFET, MAÑANA BY JIMMY BUFFET, WHEN SALOME PLAYS THE DRUMS BY JAMES BUFFET, HAVANA DAYDREAMIN BY JIMMY BUFFET- What the FUCK happened to you?!

Striker, laughing: I HAD A CASE OF THE MONDAYS

Annie: ARE YOU HAUNTED?! ARE YOU FUCKING POSSESSED?!

Annie: YOU USED TO BE MY FRIEND

Striker, cry-laughing: ᴵ ᴴᴬᴰ ᴬ ᶜᴬˢᴱ ᴼᶠ ᵀᴴᴱ ᴹᴼᴺᴰᴬʸˢ

Annie: Fight me!

Striker: *gets on one knee and pulls out a ring*

Striker: Fight me for the rest of our lives..

Striker: Smart is attractive. Educate me on something I don't know!

Annie: The mouth of a jellyfish is also an anus.

Striker: Stop.

Striker: *angrily presses Annie against a wall* WHERE'S THE MONEY?!

Annie: ...

Annie: Are we about to kiss-

Striker: Babe, you're so funny!

Annie: We have 1492 days until your tragic premature death. You will break my trust three times before that happens, but I forgive you.

Striker: Awwww, that's sweet of you!

Striker: We wouldn’t last two minutes without Annie.

Striker:

Striker: Don’t tell them I said that.

Annie: I know how this must look but I can assure you we have a perfectly logical explanation.

Striker: Yeah! We’re cowards!

Annie: Why are you late?

Striker: A technical error occurred, causing an unexpectedly long bout of unconsciousness.

Annie: Overslept?

Striker: Overslept.

VELVETTE (red-velvette-cakes) :

Annie: So you like cats?

Velvette: Yeah.

Annie: *tries to impress them by slowly pushing a glass off the table*

Velvette: Okay, I’m going to get the wedding cake.

Annie: Perfect, while you do that I’ll check on the ring bear.

Velvette: ...

Velvette: You mean ring bearER, right?

Annie: ...

Velvette: Look me in the eyes and tell me you are not going to bring a dangerous wild animal to our wedding.

Velvette: Is something burning?

Annie, leaning seductively on the counter: Just my desire for you.

Velvette: Annie, the toaster is literally on fire.

Annie: *Holding up a pack of pencils* These are kinda cute.

Velvette: Annie, that’s gay.

Annie: We’ve been dating for 2 years—

Velvette: We have a problem.

Annie: No, YOU have a problem. I have an idiot who keeps making them.

Annie: We should be partners.

Velvette: You mean like, partners in crime?

Annie: Yeah... that’s precisely what I meant.

Annie: Please say words of encouragement to me so I don’t murder someone right now.

Velvette: There are no books in prison.

Annie: *sighs* Thank you.

Velvette: You have your weirdly sincere humility.

Annie: I prefer the term "self-loathing", actually.

Annie: How do you want your coffee?

Velvette: Black, like my soul.

Annie:

Annie: Velvette, your soul is a latte.

Velvette walking into the kitchen and seeing all their limes peeled: Annie, I love you but, what the h-e-double FUCK.

Annie, sipping coffee happily: I love you too :)

Velvette: This date is boring!

Annie: This isn't a date. I said I was going to the store.

Velvette: Then why did you invite me?

Annie: I didnt, I specifically said "don't come with me," then you said, "fuck you Annie I'll do whatever I want!

Annie: Well, Velvette and I finally did it!

The rest of the squad: *gasps, shocked expressions, etc.*

Annie: That's right... We kissed!

Velvette: How much did you spend on this date?

Annie: $1400. But all of it's on credit cards, so it's like $5 a month for the next 2,000 years.

Velvette: I feel like doing something stupid.

Annie: I’m stupid, do me.

Velvette: Annie, I…

Velvette: I love you!

Annie: Not my problem.

Annie, texting Velvette: Velvette there’s a moth on the outside of the bathroom door can you get rid of it?

Annie: Pls hurry because I’m going to cry

Annie: Velvette

Annie: Velvette

Velvette: Velvette is dead. You’re next. Love, Moth.

Velvette (ask-velvette-offical) :

Velvette: look Annie, I'm not slut shaming you but...

Velvette: Actually yeah, I'm TOTALLY slut shaming you.

Velvette : AWWWW ODETTE'S SO NICE! SHE'S WAY BETTER THAN ANNIE

Annie : well fuck you too!

Annie, turning to Velvette: Stop calling yourself hot, the only thing you can turn on is the microwave.

Velvette: Remember, if you die in the simulation—

Annie: Yeah, yeah, I know, if you die in the simulation you die in real life.

Velvette: What? No! You need to reset the simulation with the terminal! What is WRONG with you?!

Annie: You look like a corpse that was just pulled out of the river.

Velvette: Wrong. I look like a cool rock star who just OD'd in their own pool. Big difference.

Annie: There. How do I look?

Velvette: Like a cheap French harlot.

Annie: French?!

Annie : I'M DUTCH MOTHERFUCKER!

Annie: We’ve found the person who stole your identity and was impersonating you.

Velvette: Where were they?

Annie: Eating cheetos and crying in their car.

Velvette, impessed: Damn, they really went for it.

Baxter :

Annie: Sleep is the body’s best safety mechanism.

Baxter: How so?

Annie: It keeps you from screwing up for 8 hours.

Annie, confused and exasperated: Baxter, how do you plan on telling a bear to go vegan?

Baxter: Politely.

Baxter: *raises eyebrows*

Annie: Put those back down!

*Annie and Baxter are texting*

Annie: Who are you? Someone changed the names in my phone.

Baxter: What did they change my name to?

Annie: Chosen One.

Baxter: Don’t change it back.

Annie: BUT WHO ARE YOU?!?!

Baxter: I’m the chosen one.

Baxter: You look really stressed.

Annie: Haha, it’s the stress.

Baxter : Annie are you okay?

Baxter: Hey Annie, can you give me the opposite of these words?

Baxter: Always, Coming, From, Take, Me, Down.

Annie: Never, Going, To, Give, You-

Annie: The fucking satisfaction.

*While planning to break in somewhere*

Baxter: Hey, let's do "Get Help!"

Annie: What?

Baxter: "Get Help."

Annie: No.

Baxter: C'mon, you love it!

Annie: I hate it.

Baxter: It's great! It works every time!

Annie: It's humiliating.

Baxter: Do you have a better plan?

Annie: No.

Baxter: We're doing it!

Annie: We are not doing "Get Help!"

*A Minute Later*

Baxter, carrying Annie: Get help! Please! They're dying! Help Them! *throws Annie at guards, knocking them out*

Baxter: Ahh, classic!

Annie: *gets up* I still hate it. It's humiliating.

Baxter, laughing: Not for me, it's not.

Baxter: *About to do something incredibly stupid*

Annie: I know I can't stop you, but I won't let you go by yourself.

Baxter: So, what's for dinner?

Annie, staring at the food they burnt: Regret.

(@ask-velvette-official @red-velvette-cakes @baxter-science-fish @the-cowboy-of-wrath)

[yaminerua]

idk what I was trying to do with this one tbh but it was a battle to get through it;;; I've also clearly been writing these with the worst posture imaginable because my back is killing me rip;;

Anyway we're pretty much halfway through the prompts now so let's hope I can keep this going for the rest of them!

As always, prompts are by @a-literal-toaster-wtf

Day 15's prompt was Garden, which made me think both of Kryten and of Rimmer's father.

Words: 4335

****

Rimmer’s father had been a gardener.

Even now the revelation felt strange to accept. He had spent so much of his life – his whole entire life, actually – trying to live up to the expectations of a man who could never be pleased and he’d never known why it had been so impossible, why it had felt so much like an unending uphill struggle. Now it made perfectly depressing sense.

He had been born into a losing battle, dealt a hand of dud cards and expected to try to make it work somehow without even knowing just how uneven the playing field he was being thrust into was. He’d never had a hope in hell of making his father proud. From the moment he was born the odds were stacked against him, his father’s bias for his biological sons an insurmountable obstacle he could never hope to overcome. It wouldn’t have even mattered if he had somehow outperformed his brothers in every conceivable way. It would simply never be enough, because Rimmer was not a Rimmer at all. And he’d never even known about it.

That realisation had been a bitter pill to swallow, the realisation that he had genuinely wasted his whole life seeking the approval of someone who would never see him as anything other than a failure – not just in his own right as the academic runt he had been throughout his school days, but also as an all too unpleasant reminder of the breakdown of a marriage that had been on a steady decline for years.

He could have been anyone’s son. His mother had unabashedly propositioned just about every male member of staff who had ever worked at or even breathed in the general vicinity of the Rimmer family home and many had taken her up on her offers. Any one of them could have fathered him. He could have had the genetic make-up of men with decorated military backgrounds, talented businessmen or successful spacefaring types but instead the universe had decided to go with the gardener, a man who stank of compost and spent most of his days babbling nonsense to himself while he watered the plants.

In retrospect, maybe he should have figured it out sooner. The curly hair certainly should have been a dead giveaway. None of his brothers had been plagued with unruly curls that needed to be forced into submission, and their father’s hair – when he had still had any – had been equally as tame. Ditzy old Dungo, however – or Dennis, as he had actually been named – had had a wild mop of curly brown hair that had always seemed as though it had a mind of its own, the way it had often appeared to be bursting forth from beneath his little tweed flat cap.

It had been a lot to take in. He hadn’t been meant to hear any of it until after he had achieved his goal of becoming an officer but he had listened to it anyway, when hope had seemed lost and he might never have had another chance to hear what his father would have said to him.

There was something horribly sour about learning that even if he had ever actually made it as an officer, the man whose approval he had worked so hard to do it for still wouldn’t have said he was proud of him.

He hadn’t really had time to process it in that moment. There had been more pressing matters at hand with the simulant ship lurking nearby waiting to destroy them. He couldn’t afford to slip into an identity crisis, or mourn the time he’d wasted on someone who wasn’t worth the effort. There would have been plenty of time for that later if they ever got out of that mess. In the meantime he had had to simply swallow down the shock, find some way to hurriedly rationalise it all and then try to come up with a plan.

Somehow, miraculously, he had managed it. The jolt of discovering his father hadn’t been his father at all had been oddly freeing, the weight of a lifetime of failed expectations and crushing disappointment slipping off him like water off a camel’s back for the first time ever in his life. For once, for that brief temporary little moment, he had been able to think clearly, unburdened by all the usual complicated hang-ups that had always previously clouded his resolve and made him doubt himself, and he had got them out of there.

In the aftermath, however, he had been forced to realise that truly accepting this revelation would be a much more long drawn out process.

Yes, he didn’t have to care what the man he had thought of as his father thought about him anymore, that was true, and it did come as a welcome relief after so long wondering what he had done wrong to realise that he hadn’t done anything. It had been his mother’s doing and he had been treated unreasonably unfairly for the simple crime of not being the fruit of his father’s loins. He didn’t have to respect a single thing the git had ever said to him ever again, didn’t have to be held back by him anymore. But that was far more easily said than done.

All his life he had worked to become something he wasn’t cut out to be, had tried to shape himself to fit a mould he wasn’t made for and now that he knew it was pointless to keep trying, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He didn’t know who he was meant to be anymore.

How do you just throw away everything you thought you had to be all at once? What’s left of yourself when everything you’ve become was built around trying to meet those expectations? Who will you become afterwards?

Rimmer sighed heavily and shook his head, no closer now to coming up with an answer to any of those questions than he had been when the revelation had been fresh and new. In many ways he had almost avoided having to think about any of it, decided paradoxically that maybe it was simply easier to continue as he had been instead of suddenly trying to turn around and change anything, to swim against a current he had been going along with for as long as he could remember. He had spent his whole life trying to achieve something that might have always been impossible for him but since he had spent so long pushing for it, it somehow felt more like a waste to give up on it now.

What else was there for him to do anyway?

Striding swiftly through corridor after corridor, stewing as he so often did these days in his own miserable, complicated thoughts, he found himself coming suddenly to an abrupt stop outside the doors to a section of the ship he had rarely had cause to visit before.

He had always thought it would just be a dead, filthy place, littered with the dried out remains of what might once have been plants, or a rotting, putrid fungal nightmare. Perhaps, it could have even become an untameable jungle wilderness attempting to burst free from its confines and take over the rest of the ship after so long left unattended. Either way he hadn’t wanted to go anywhere near it pretty much at all in the years since he had been resurrected as a hologram. He simply hadn’t wanted to deal with whatever colossal clean-up job it might have required so he had decided to pretend that that whole area just didn’t exist at all.

He had been surprised, then, to find some time later that Kryten had taken it upon himself to restore the Botanical Gardens to their former lush, verdant glory and had largely succeeded in his endeavours.

It had taken him a while, of course. Most of the plant life that had once been there had long-since died from the lack of having anyone to tend to them anymore and as a result there had been plenty of mess to clean up in the form of mould and fungus and gummed up drainage systems and a lot of leftover organic matter but, naturally, the old bog bot had thrown himself into his cleaning duties with great enthusiasm and had eventually managed to make the place look decent and respectable again.

If that had been all he had intended to do with the place, Rimmer would have understood. Kryten was programmed to clean so having a humongous filthy mess to clean was surely a sanitation bot’s version of a wet dream but after he had completed the arduous task he had continued to disappear down to the Botanical Gardens on the regular anyway. Apparently, according to Lister, caring for a garden had been a long-held dream for Kryten, something he had fantasised about for years well before they had ever happened upon him waiting in the crashed Nova-5, and now that he had a generously sized garden all to himself he was making the absolute most of it.

Stepping in tentatively, Rimmer peered around looking for any signs of Kryten. He hoped fervently that for now the know-it-all git would be presently engaged elsewhere on the ship, perhaps deep in the middle of a corridor clean that would keep him busy for hours. Either way, he simply didn’t want to have to talk to him if he could help it.

Hearing no obvious signs of there being anyone else around, Rimmer let his shoulders slacken just a bit and wandered further into the humid warmth, astonished by just how green the place really was. He had to admit that Kryten had done a good job. It wasn’t entirely unlike the gardens he had seen back home, cultivated and maintained with great care and attention to detail.

On a volatile, hostile moon like Io, the only way to sustain life had been to create large domes within which the population would reside, supported by an artificially generated breathable atmosphere and a manually controlled climate system to keep the place comfortably temperate. In a way they had almost served like large botanical gardens of a sort themselves, every single plant grown there placed purposefully and intentionally. Nothing could grow on its own on Io without help to get it started.

A frown creased Rimmer’s features as he made his way through the different sections, looking over the variety of plants and greenery that somehow still managed to thrive so very far from the Earth their ancestors had originated on. He didn’t know how Kryten had managed it, how he had found what he’d needed to make it possible, but then he didn’t really know the first thing about gardening so maybe it had been easier than he could imagine.

As a child, he had largely kept away from interacting with the gardener who came to tend to the plants. His father – or the man he had thought was his father – had warned him not to talk to him, to keep away and not get any funny ideas, and Rimmer had obediently followed orders, tried not to stick so much as a toe out of line in the hopes that it would garner him even the slightest bit of acknowledgement for his good behaviour.

Sometimes, however, avoiding interaction had been somewhat impossible.

There had been plenty of times when he had run off into the garden to escape the antics of his older brothers, concealing himself amongst the bushes and shrubs only to find himself met with the person he had been told to keep his distance from.

Dungo – Dennis, no, Dad – had always been very gentle with him in a way that had felt strange and unfamiliar. There had always been a warmth about him, a kindness behind his hazel eyes that he had never felt from his own parents and it was only now, with the benefit of sorely needed context, that Rimmer wondered whether it had been because he had known what Rimmer himself had not.

Had Dennis known that Rimmer was his son? Had he been trying to reach out, only for Rimmer to continuously pull away? He supposed he would never know.

He reached out, absently, and gently took hold of the leaf of a nearby plant, rubbing its smooth, waxy surface distractedly between his fingers, his mind many miles and many years away.

He didn’t hear Kryten come in until it was too late to avoid him.

“Oh, Mister Rimmer, sir, I didn’t see you there.”

Startled, Rimmer’s hand jerked involuntarily back away from the plant before he could loosen his grip, the resultant motion plucking the unsuspecting leaf clean off its little stem, another small, unintentional casualty at the hands of Arnold J. Rimmer.

 “Kryten!” he cried, whipping his hands behind his back, crushing the fragile, delicate form of the severed leaf in his tightly gripped fist. “Where did you come from?”

Kryten blinked bemusedly at him for a moment before shaking his head and picking up a little watering can that had been left next to the flower plots. Tilting it slightly, he began to water the dainty little flowers closest to him, carefully regulating the flow so as not to completely saturate them.

“Oh, I’d just finished putting the latest batch of Mister Lister’s laundry on and thought I’d stop by to give my petunias a little top up,” he explained, moving now to water the next plants in line. For a brief, fleeting moment his eyes spotted the broken little stem on the plant nearest Rimmer and then he lowered his gaze again and pretended not to have noticed. “If I may, sir, I don’t recall seeing you down here before. Were you looking for me by any chance?”

“What? No, no,” Rimmer said quickly, shaking his head and turning to look down again at the plant he had just accidentally mutilated, an oddly sombre look taking up residence across his features. “I was just… looking.”

Kryten regarded him for a moment, unable to read his mood. “Oh, my apologies, sir. I didn’t realise you had an interest in botany.”

“I didn’t – I don’t!” Rimmer spluttered, defensive, before shaking it off and sighing, his shoulders lifting in some sort of non-committal half-shrug. “I mean, I’ve never given it any thought in particular. It’s just…” He trailed off, suddenly looking pensive and distant again.

“My father was a gardener,” he said eventually, wistfully, before frowning a little and adding: “My real father I mean.”

Understanding blossomed suddenly across Kryten’s face and he nodded sympathetically, recalling the moment they had all come to learn that same fascinating piece of information together. “Ah, yes. I did remember that. Did you know him, sir?”

“No, not at all! I hardly ever went near the man!” Rimmer snapped bitterly, something sour and unpleasant crumpling up his features, coiling like a snake in his gut. “My parents didn’t want me going near him. Or speaking to him. So I didn’t.”

Kryten didn’t say anything to that. He simply hummed in acknowledgement and busied himself with his plants, leaving Rimmer to stew in his own memories.

Rimmer watched him absently, feeling oddly detached, the experience bringing about a peculiar sense of deja-vu. He had watched his own father water the plants from a distance many times before, usually whenever he had been hiding from his brothers amongst the bushes and had had little else to pay attention to but sometimes he had simply been wandering looking for someone who would give him more than just a passing dismissive nod or a mischievously malevolent sneer. Dennis had usually been quick to spot him then and would always shoot him a friendly smile and an encouraging wave and try to coax him over to give him a shot at watering the plants and Rimmer had always wordlessly rejected the invitation, turning tail and running in the other direction and trodding all over the flowerbeds on his way out.

He wondered what would have happened if he’d ever taken him up on any of those offers, if he had actually taken the little watering can and given any of it a try. He wondered if his father – his real father – would have praised him afterwards. The sense of longing at what he might have missed out on made his chest feel unsettlingly hollow and achy.

He sighed.

“I don’t know anything about him,” he admitted quietly, to no-one in particular, holding the severed little leaf from earlier in his palm and crumpling it up bitterly. “I don’t know who he was, or what he liked. I never gave him the time of day.”

Kryten peered pityingly up at him over the colourful array of flowers that lay between them, a peculiar look on his face. He considered him for a good, long moment, his brow creased in thought as though he was mulling something over, and then he straightened up and disappeared without a word, walking briskly off to some other part of the garden leaving Rimmer to scowl after him, rolling his eyes and wondering what he’d ever hoped to get out of saying anything about his past to a glorified bog bot.

He was almost considering leaving when Kryten promptly returned, holding something mysterious in his right hand and a freshly filled watering can in his left.

“Hold out your hand, sir,” he said, a self-satisfied little smile on his face.

Rimmer blinked and his eyes narrowed suspiciously, eyeing Kryten’s closed fist. “What? Why?”

Kryten shook his head incredulously and simply extended his hand out, waiting for Rimmer to do the same. “Just do it, sir. There’s a good reason for it.”

Raising a dubious brow, Rimmer nonetheless complied, holding a hand tentatively out, palm up, under Kryten’s waiting fist.

As soon as he was in place, Kryten unfurled his fingers and tilted his wrist, dropping a generous handful of dry earthy-coloured little pellets into Rimmer’s hand and stepping back, beaming broadly at him.

Rimmer gazed in bewilderment at the tiny little things, his thumb rubbing curiously through them, turning them over in his palm a few times before glancing back up to fix Kryten with a bemused, questioning frown.

“What are these?” he asked flatly.

Kryten looked positively scandalised, the smile dying instantly on his face to be replaced with an expression of dismayed disbelief that he was trying his best to conceal.

“Why, they’re seeds of course, sir.”

“Seeds?” Rimmer echoed, his face crumpling slightly. “Kryten, what am I going to do with a handful of 3 million year old seeds?”

Kryten gestured to the rows of plants all around them, as though the answer was plainly clear to see. “Plant them, sir,” he said simply. “Make them grow.”

Rimmer didn’t say anything. He just stared apprehensively down at the little tiny seeds in his hands and felt increasingly as though he had made a grave mistake coming here today. “Why would I want to do any of that, Kryten?” Rimmer scoffed dismissively, thrusting his hand insistently back out towards Kryten again, jaw tight. “I’m not a gardener.”

Kryten’s gaze shifted around sheepishly but he did not make any attempt to take back the seeds. His mouth was drawn together in a tight, perturbed line, brow furrowed slightly in frustration at Rimmer’s refusal to read his intentions.

“I’m well aware of that, sir,” he said steadily, pointedly. “I just think that it’s worth giving a shot anyway.”

Rimmer clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, casting his gaze bitterly, almost enviously, over the colourful array of blooming flowers that surrounded him. “I won’t be any good at this, Kryten,” he said, continuing to hold out his hand to be relieved of the seeds. “It’s a waste of time.”

Kryten shook his head and stood his ground, his expression firm in the way that a parent or teacher’s might be in trying to get an important lesson across.

“Perhaps, sir, but if you don’t try you’ll never know.”

He reached forwards then and gently eased Rimmer’s open fist closed, pushing his hand away in a final refusal to accept the return of the seeds. With his other hand, he held out the watering can to be taken.

“Perhaps it’s not my place to say, sir, but if you really want to get to know your father and understand who he was, might I suggest you try to understand where he was coming from?” He indicated behind Rimmer, towards an area on the far end of the gardens. “There’s an empty plot up the back that I was going to use myself, but you can use it instead if you’d like, sir. Just take those little seeds up there, plant them in the soil and water them. See what grows.”

With that he thrust the watering can firmly into Rimmer’s other hand with a sense of pointed finality, gave him one encouraging pat on the arm and proceeded to promptly brush past him and busy himself once again with his own duties while Rimmer simply gaped, incredulous and furious, after him.

Turning his attention down to the items he had been handed, he debated simply dumping them right where he stood and storming off out of the room. Who was Kryten to boss him around and tell him what to do? He was just a service mechanoid with ideas above his station! He didn’t have to listen to him.

Still, as he looked at the tiny little seeds and turned them over repeatedly in his palm, he couldn’t deny that there was at the very least some very small, curious part of him that did want to give it a try, to reach back through time and space and try to make up for every previously squandered opportunity for connection.

Rimmer was doubtful it would do any actual good but he did as he was told and made his way up to the vacant little plot Kryten had mentioned, a bland little rectangle of earth just waiting expectantly to be put to use.

When he got there he stared down at it warily, apprehensively, as though it were an exam paper and this was a test and any wrong move would result in an immediate failure.

He didn’t know the first thing about gardening. He’d never read so much as a single book on the subject. He’d never cared to learn before, had never had cause to try, but somehow as he held the little seeds in his hand, he felt as though he was eight years old again, watching that strange curly-haired man he didn’t yet know was his father try to reach out to him, to make a connection that Rimmer now sorely, bitterly regretted rejecting.

He tightened his jaw and swallowed thickly past the peculiar lump that had materialised in his throat and reached out slowly, tentatively, to sprinkle the seeds across the waiting blanket of soil. He didn’t know if he was doing it right, if there was more to it than that and he wondered bitterly whether he had already failed at the first hurdle, already doomed these stupid little seeds to fail.

He wished he’d sat around and listened more, had actually let Dennis try to teach him a thing or two, ‘father’s’ orders be damned. He wished he could have given him a chance to connect with him, to have him tell him he’d done well and pat him proudly on the head. He wished that there was any chance at all that he still somehow could but of course there wasn’t. His father was long dead and he was more than 3 million years late for any kind of chance at connection. There was no way he was ever going to claw back what he’d missed out on.

Still, though, he supposed Kryten had been right, in some small little way. There was something to be said for trying to help something vulnerable and fragile thrive on a lonely ship drifting through the middle of deep space, something not unlike cultivating a garden in one of the isolated little pods back on Io. If nothing else, it made the place seem just a little bit less dead, less cold.

Lifting up the watering can Kryten had given him, he held it out over the soil and tilted it carefully, startling slightly when too much initially came out all at once but gradually he stabilised his wrist and slowed the flow down to something more controlled, closer to what he’d seen earlier.

He stood back a little when he was done, surveying his work, trying to suppress the gnawing feeling of inadequacy that tried to tell him he would be no good at this, that he didn’t have the knack for it. That was his other father talking, the one who had ingrained in him such a deep sense of doubt and poor sense of self-worth that it had plagued him all his life, the one who had forced unfair expectations on his shoulders without any chance of ever being able to gain approval, whether he had ever managed to meet them or not.

He might not have been cut out for the role of officer, or for a career in the space corps at all but even in spite of the hand he had been dealt he had ended up on board a space-faring vessel nonetheless. His real father probably would have been proud of him for that and maybe, if he could manage to get these tiny little seeds to sprout and grow, if he could inject a little more life into the cold, unforgiving emptiness of space, far away from Io, from Earth, from anywhere things like these had once been grown, then maybe he would have cause to feel, just a little bit, proud of himself too.

[theironwarsmith]

"The war was going poorly for us. These alien machines; the 'Harrowing' we called them but gods know what they called themselves, were slaughtering our fleets and burning our worlds. We put up a good fight, like we did against the Qin'Xarar Consortium but the Harrowing pushed us back further and further, not even Earth was spared.

I saw those pyres, the ancient cities of my homeworld ignited by those genocidal toasters. Billions dead. They terraformed Earth into one giant machine city. No birds, trees nor, hell, even grass was built over. One giant power generator of a city. Almost airless too.

We, the survivors that is, fled into the depths of space. Some fled to the remaining colonies, others to other alien empires. Organic aliens that is, most of us survivors distrust AI nowadays.

However, it wasn't long after the Fall of Earth that the machines sent a message to whatever passed for leadership. A white peace it said, they were halting their relentless advance. No explanation, just a message. Of course, it was happily accepted and we began to peace our lives back together, the few hundred thousand that we now were.

It seemed odd that they suddenly stopped but it wasn't long until we found out why. Somewhere across the galaxy, an extradimensional rift had formed and creatures, known as the Unbidden, seemingly made of energy had begun to pour through, intent on devouring us. So we did what we always do, readied our weapons, begun building more ships and prepared to put up another good fight. Our last we thought.

It was then we hear that even the machines were suffering loses to these beings. Known fleets of theirs that had utterly destroyed our greatest fleets were being scattered, with a huge battle being fought at a wormhole exit deep in their own territory. We didn't know whether to cheer or to cry. What chance did we have if they were losing? We hoped the bots would be destroyed, or they'd destroy each other.

We, the organics remaining in the galaxy, banded together and held the hyperspace routes, wormholes and even the gateways of damned near half the galaxy against the extra dimensional threat. Held them at bay. It didn't take long for us to work out that kinetic and explosive weapons worked better against them than the energy weapons we has become used to, so we began our slow counter attack.

However, the Harrowing had worked that out long before us. Our scouts, well sentinels really, spotted colossal ships of Harrowing design firing incredibly accurate kinetic rounds in battles far behind the frontline we had established and they were carving a path towards the rift with brutal efficiency. They systemically destroyed the Anchors that these beings used to tether themselves to our plane of existence, even fighting alongside a small fleet of those Qin'Xarar.

The Battle of the Rift was started by us organics, when our fleets managed to calculate and fight a route through the Unbidden's territory to it. We began trying to destroy the creatures and the rift, it was a tremendous struggle. We were losing ships every few minutes, disintegration is a horrible sight. Just when things were at their darkest, when hope was about to fail, the Harrowing fleets arrived.

In a few short years, they had quadrupled the number of ships they had when fighting us. Their Titans were a sight to behold, glittering noticeably in the void. They open fire, a storm of kinetic slugs and missiles shredding the Unbidden and damaging the rift. It broke them. The rift was sealed that day and the Harrowing disappeared without a word.

Of course, we didn't know those robots had taken half the galaxy in the wake of the Unbidden's demise."

Excerpt of interrogation of Terran survivor 1056837. Subject exterminated.

So I've been playing Stellaris, as a genocidal machine race. It is pretty fun.

[mangoofthesea]

Trying to explain my family relationship as someone without parents who isn't brilliantly fond of remaining relatives: no I call my uncle Uncle X to my grandmother but I can't call him uncle to his face because he's not really, like he's my grandmother's son and mom's brother (technically. Like theyre blood related but if my main view of you in the last 10 years was you and my mother screaming at each other or you making her sad because you never made an effort to see her beyond coming to our house and lying on the sofa with your laptop writing that book series you never seemed to try and publish or do actually anything with other than say that was why you were living in your parents house or girlfriends house or how you had a YEAR of living on your own before you gave it up and moved in with your next girlfriend - thats a whole other thing (but seriously, why)...im not gonna have the most warm and fuzzy feelings towards you) but I don't like him or care much about him so I can't call him uncle but gran will be sad if I start calling him just his name when we're all together so I don't say anything to get his attention I just say a question Loudly and hope he responds. And my gran keeps trying to help me make breakfast, but I don't need help putting toast in a toaster or milk on cereal so instead I've been here for the best part of 3 weeks since my last escape and I feel like I want to go climb into the trees and never return but I'm moving out tomorrow and fuck me I want to start walking already fuck fuck fuck I hate that I can't drive

[kaduz4o]

10 September 2022, Saturday

Alone at Home

I’m in my house now. Everybody goes to a Site. Well, it's Godmother's birthday. I lied. It's Godmother's graduation, actually. I'm in the kitchen, and it's dark now. I'm listening to really good R&B music. I've just had a fruit salad yogurt and four loaves of bread, which I baked in the toaster. The night is silent and the moon is full in the sky. I downloaded an app about the solar system, taking advantage of the subject. It is incredible to think about the immensity of the universe, and to know that we will never be able to explore everything or can we? I am very disappointed as my Office suite will expire in five days. In other words, I only have five more days to write and then I'll have to do "a Brazilian way" . I hope there's really a way to do it. I spent so much time without following the technological evolution, that I am still surprised, now, when I go back to using Microsoft devices that programs that were said to be basic in the computer's operating system are now paid, with licenses with minimum values (and this is a criticism) of one year.

I really want to fuck tonight. I'm horny, and it's been a few days. To be honest, it's been a while since I've had a really satisfying sexual relationship. I'm in a gigantic internal drama, and I'll explain.

It sounds like fiction, but believe me, it's all real and my sanity is intact, as James Sam’s would say.

in 2020 I entered a new level of consciousness, because of everything I had been living since then, and with the help of Cannabis, and all the philosophies and cultures that I had been studying for almost a decade, (speaking of which, it is wonder that I was still surprised that this happened - that I entered a new level of consciousness, I mean), the fact is that I entered that level, and that changed everything. The word transcendences better defines what happened to me.

I don't want to keep talking about it, because I'm sick of it, and people, being mediocre, don't understand. And for me to explain to a layman (someone who has no oriental philosophical basis) it is very difficult. in short, I have transcended my sexual level, this is a very important point in the physical world. And I, in my naivety, didn't realize it, sentient beings incarnate are all the time after food and sex. it's insane to sum up all our earthly life in this, but we all have a part that only thinks about that. pleasure.

Now that my eyes and senses are on women, it's all very funny and different. Amazing, how our mind absorbs energy, how other people's energy gets stuck (literally on us), even if we don't have physical contact with certain people. Just being close, the energy fields meeting by the proximity of the environment, the energy exchange so powerful of the look. All this alters our energy. I'm telling you this so I can comment that: I don't want to dirty my energy.

I will explain why.

There is something that I have affectionately called pure energy and dirty energy. when a man lies with another man he saps his energy. And that will be exposed for all to see. consciously or unconsciously, as we can "feel" each other's entire mental and inner field. When a male body has an abundance of male energy (and people expect a man to behave like a man and a woman to behave like a woman), he becomes more powerful within the Cosmos. The same goes for female bodies.

Now for the Drama part: I want to get laid, and there's an easy way, given my current financial situation. But that will sap my energy. And that's the last thing I want, because it takes work to clean, and clean energy is cultivated. so that from the moment I soil it, it is equivalent to killing my plant, pulling it out of firm soil, root and all, and having to cultivate it again, planting the seed again. That's what I feel. It was a good analogy. laughs. Can you understand now what I'm going through? To make matters worse, I am not working at the moment, and there is an insecurity in my head that whispers that it will be very difficult to find a suitable job for my interior level here in Minas Gerais. I sincerely hope that God will help. Another interesting thing is that if we keep ourselves straight in the sexual realm, we gain God's approval. And I don't want to miss it for the world. It is very good to be accepted by other incarnate spirits without resistance. The problem is that I've been hurt so much that I've created a defense mechanism to protect myself. I believe that this will harm me in creating new friendships in this initial period. Since I'm not used to Earth bodies being friendly to me. I'm used to rejection. with discrimination by others. with the looks and laughs of debauchery, coming free no matter how presentable, friendly, even honest I appear.

[shammah8]

🕊️🌺Wendy🌺🕊️:

2Remembering: Using the Name and the Blood To Bring Up Children y thoughts traveled back to 1967 when I was baptized in the Holy Spirit.M For it was soon after that life-changing event that I first heard about using the Blood of Jesus to overcome the devil. Extreme hunger for the Word of God consumed me. In one of the seminars I attended I heard the minister say, "I always say it like this. I say, 'In the Name of Jesus, I plead the Blood of Jesus.'" I remembered how those welcome words penetrated my heart as a young mother of four. And I remembered how we used them to bring up our children without tragedy.

Several incidents came to mind.

Chip, our youngest, could be described as "all boy" including almost everything that description usually brings to mind. Athletic. Fun loving.

And so on. I was particularly thankful for the right to use the Blood of Jesus when Chip as a teen driver left the house in his car.

Things would transpire something like this. Chip, usually in a hurry to get to practice or a game or somewhere, would dutifully stand while I put my right hand on top of his curly black hair and said, "In the Name of Jesus, I apply the Blood of Jesus over Chip."

Sometimes I walked out to the car and put my hand on it, and sometimes I just added these words in the kitchen with my hand on his head, "In the Name of Jesus I apply the Blood of Jesus over Chip's car, bumper to bumper, side to side, top to bottom, every working part. Chip 8will go and come home safe."

Once this people-loving teenager invited several members of his high school football team to the house to cook hamburgers. As they prepared to leave, I decided not to embarrass Chip. I would wait till they left and then make my confession of God's provision in Jesus' Blood.

Chip got into his car loaded with friends, then got out of it and came back into the kitchen and asked in a somewhat demanding tone, "What kind of a mother are you? Are you going to let me go without the Blood of Jesus on me?"

Later, when he was in college an interesting thing happened. Chip and three friends decided to rent a house their second year rather than to live in the dorm.

Early one morning my telephone rang. At first I didn't recognize the high-pitched distorted voices.

"Mom!" "Mrs. Brim!" They squeaked excitedly.

I figured out it was Chip and his basketball player friend, Conley.

They told me their scary story.

The doublewide mobile home they rented was far out in the country.

The first day when the boys arrived home from school in one car, they noticed strange things. The doors and windows were open. Hair dryers and toasters were on. The television and stereos were blasting. They thought it was someone playing a joke. But when they checked with the owner, no one else had a key. For several days thereafter when they came home the same things were happening. And then came the eventful night before they called me.

Chip was in his bedroom studying. Everyone else was in bed. He heard the front door slam hard. The whole mobile home shook. He got up to investigate. Then the door to Conley's room opened wide and slammed closed.Chip asked Matt, who slept on the living room couch, "Did you see that?"

"Yes. What was it?"

At that Conley's door opened and slammed again.

Then Chip and Matt saw a dark figure go out the front door which opened and slammed shut.

Matt and Chip ran to Chip's room where they both spent the rest of the night in his twin bed. They promised never to tell anyone what they saw.

Rising unusually early Conley said to Chip, "I've got to talk to you about last night."

(Conley and Chip grew up together. Conley's parents were Spirit-filled Christians, too. Chip told me when we discussed this for the book, however, that he and Conley were not living for God as they knew to at the time.) Robert evidently had heard it too, for he asked, "What was all that?"

Conley said, "Something came into my room and stood over my bed.

It was hooded and carried a scythe like the grim reaper. I think he came to tell me I'm going to die."

Matt cried out, "Oh, my God!"

With that the four boys took off running down the road toward a little store a mile away where they called me from the pay phone.

Such cases are low-level devils. They can only frighten. But this one had succeeded fairly well. For I am certain those macho athletic types would not have wanted the girls on campus to have observed their shaking and squeaking.

"It's just low-level devils," I assured them. I gave them Scriptures and told them how to cast out the devils.

Then I instructed them further. "Do you have any oil? Demons don't have to use windows and doors, but as a point of contact for your faith, 10and as a symbol of entry into your house, anoint all the doors and windows with this oil and say, 'In the Name of Jesus we apply the Blood of Jesus.

Demons, you cannot enter our house.'" The boys chipped in and bought oil at the store. Then they went back to the house—which they'd vowed on the way to the store they would never enter again—and carried out the instructions in detail.

They had no further trouble. And as a result of the evident power of God over the power of the devil, the boys started going to church.

Our older son, Terry, had a similar incident his senior year at Panhandle State University in far western Oklahoma. Terry and his friends were cowboys.

Terry had just rented a bedroom two days before from some other students to cut down on expenses. That night there had been a lot of alcohol, girls, and music. Terry who was not partying just went to bed.

About an hour later his room got very cold and dark. Slowly his twin bed with him in it rose about three feet off the floor.

These are his words as he described it to me for this book.

"I knew what it was. And I knew if I could say Jesus it would quit.

But I felt literally paralyzed. I could have said anything but Jesus. It was like that part of my brain that could say Jesus was gone. But I kept trying.

When I did get it out, the bed slowly came down."

Terry told a Christian professor he knew from the church he attended in Guymon. The teacher came in with him and they applied the Blood of Jesus over the mobile home. In the six months he had left to live there until graduation nothing like that happened again.

In teaching on the power in the Name of Jesus and the Blood of Jesus I have told this incident and asked how many have had a like experience.

It seems to be rather common.☕️Billye Brim

[sassenashsworld]

The Path of the Private : Silver Story

I'll explain something because I seem to have get a few more follower lately

A year and a half ago, I knew how to say yes, no, and toaster (yes, toaster… long story) I'm a Quebecker, I come from a family that has suffered a lot in the past, we were a little hm… conservative against the nasty English invader, so uh…

I'm going to avoid telling you how crazy I was the first time I met an english teacher (because English is mandatory in Quebec) but basically, I managed to completely avoid learning English throughout my school cursus. I had to have something good that my teachers appreciated, because I swear it there is no reason that I could pass degrees after degrees. I even remember having to do an oral presentation, and the teacher basically drafted it for me. His name was Mister Paradisis. Every Tuesday after school, he took me to try to teach me English. He taught me the accent (I get it poorly anyway), but my brain was determined not to remember the words

And all these years, especially in politics (ironically, I worked for the federal government), I was told: you need to learn English and. I. refused.

Then, after spending twenty years in the world of French writing, having published two novels in France and working with francophone authors and publishers, I suddenly decided that I wanted to write in English

I've been away from nationalist fighting for a long time, and now I want to study English

So I took out my three pocket dictionaries and began reading them as bedtime books in the evening, then listening to the Simpsons in English, etc… (for once without French subtitles)

But then, in February 2022, I wrote for the first time, really, in English for the first time in my life. Since then, I've done everything I can to improve, I've even gone on vacation in Ontario (no, it's a joke, I went to spend my vacation in Ontario because my brother lives there, not to improve my English, but Ontarians are the nicest people I've met in my life, complete society… off topic) 

And here I am, I updated my pined post and I highlighted the link of my fanfiction and since then, I am anxious

I worry because when I started writing, I had a shitty level! My level is now just over average, but I continue to work hard

I've frequently requested assistance, advice, and critique, but for some reason, people are mostly mute when it comes time to tell me: hey, it's shit, you don't just say that in the correct way

So, I've presented Silver to you, and I hope you enjoy the story enough to read it despite its flaws (which I will rectify once I achieve a decent level of grasp of your language)

On this, good continuity

[dino-boyo-agere]

Munchkin, Buddy/Bud, Kiddo, Silly Boy

Depends, I still do regress involuntary sometimes, it's mostly voluntary nowadays though. (I don't know what you mean by "how deep".)

Bath time (but I currently don't have a bathtub). Coloring, crafting and doing puzzles also help a lot.

Uhm... Snacks? I don't know. I'm pretty low needs, I think.

Loud noises, crowded places, bright lights etc.

Overalls with a cute shirt or onesie, led/ blinking shoes and a (way to) big zipper hoodie thrown over! (+ Maybe a cute nappy; I'm incontinent so I have to wear anyways, so why not a cute one?)

I am well capable of taking care of myself when little. But honestly, I think that's mainly because I have a hard time really letting go and accepting help. I do have a cg, but he lives far away so can't really be here & I'm scared to look locally.

Please don't yell and don't laugh at me. Even if you aren't making fun of me, I'll feel like you do and that'll make me very upset.

Anything I watched in my early childhood, so mainly (late) 90s & (early) 20s cartoons. (Rugrats, The Brave Little Toaster, Danny Phantom, Teenage Robot, In A Land Before Time, etc.)

Two plushies and a few fidget toys.

Kind of.. they get 'stronger' I guess. Nameley something I'd find mildly frustrating when big may cause a temper tantrum when I'm regressed.

I LOVE sippy cups and chewlery! I also sometimes use bottles and pacies. Furthermore, I absolutely adore onesies, footed PJ's, LED shoes and all those cute clothes. And personally, because I'm incontinent and have to wear nappies anyways, I enjoy to wear cute ones when I'm in littlespace. (I still agree, your regression is valid, no matter if you use any gear, unusual gear or no gear at all!)

Yes, all my closest friends, my closest family and my long distance cg (Papa)!

smol, tiny, regressed, (little-)spaced out, regressed, fuzzy headed.

Momma, Papa, Ma, Pa, Baba.. (pretty much everything except M*my or D*ddy, those terms make me really uncomfortable)

Dinosaurs!!!!

I tend to speak really quiet and timidly, at least that what Papa told me.

Depends, in some instances I was small for up to a week and other times fifteen minutes was all I needed.

Also heavily depends on my mental health/ state. Sometimes it's every night/ evening, I've also been unable to regress for over a year without really missing it a while back.

I tend to say between 3 to 6, oftentimes it's kinda hard to pinpoint a specific age. I've also regressed way older (to ca. 10 or 12) on some occasions.

.ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ×ﾟ｡･*.ﾟ☆ ↓ Info & DNI ↓ ☆ ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ×ﾟ｡･*.ﾟ.

sfw agere asks :)

Favourite nicknames/pet names?

How deep is your regression? Is it voluntary? Involuntary?

What helps you get into headspace?

What's something you absolutely need to have when you feel little?

What are things you need to avoid when you're little? (or things that pull you out of headspace?)

Best little outfits?

Do you like being taken care of? Are you independent or dependent?

What should someone know if they're going to be around little you?

Favourite show/movie to watch in headspace?

What is/are your comfort item(s)?

Do your likes and dislikes change depending on whether you're big or small?

What kind of gear do you prefer, if you like any? (Remember, having no gear is okay, and using things that don't match up with your headspace age is also okay!)

Does anyone irl know you're a regressor?

What are your preferred terms for your headspace/yourself when you're small? (e.g. small, little, tiny, regressed etc)

What cg names do you like calling someone/the ones who take care of you? (you can answer this even if you don't have a cg)

Any obsessions?

Do you use a different voice when you're in headspace?

How long do you need to be small for to feel better?

How often do you need to be small?

What's your headspace age/age range?