#neglect and wasting away with limited food and water

[bucketofchum]

Oops I'm so sorry I just wanted to respond to the ask but then I wrote the whole ass section of the story

[wuxiaphoenix]

On Writing: Exercise Me

All right, 20 laps around the keyboard, stat!

...I kid. And yet, not so much. Writing is mentally very demanding work. It’s easy to slump, exhausted from beating your head against a mental wall, and not get your muscles and bones moving. This, is a mistake.

I say that being absolutely no fan of exercise, mind. I don’t like running, swimming pools eat holes in my feet, and any kind of climbing activates the Fear of Heights status debuff. I do like the stray walk, but ever-grumpier allergies have made that dicey. Pacing inside, though, is possible. I should do it more often. For multiple reasons.

First and foremost, we writers live so much in our heads we often neglect the fact that actually, we have a body and it needs certain maintenance. If you want to write for the long term, you need to look after things. Move those stiff joints. Lift those lead feet. Get your blood out of your brain and circulating in the rest of your body. Move; gently, but move. At least get your hands warm. If that’s not a lot of exercise, fine; do a little more later. Like writing a story 200 words at a time. Eventually you will get somewhere.

Second, spending precious spare time exercising is not wasted time. It’ll make the time you do spend writing more productive.

(Something I have to keep telling myself over and over and over again.)

The human body is an interesting if sometimes slipshod creation. Exercise produces mild muscle tears; your body makes HGH to grow muscle back stronger. But your body is, as I said, slipshod, and sometimes takes a very shotgun approach to... everything. The same hormone that fixes up muscle also affects the brain, keeping it in better condition as well. “Sound mind in sound body” has lasted as a saying for reasons.

Third, and related - sometimes if you’ve hit a wall writing it’s because you’ve run out the time limit on how long your brain can focus on one thing. Spend 15-20 minutes away from it moving and not thinking, you might reset enough to work again.

Fourth, it helps action scenes. I’ll never be Keanu Reeves, able to actually pull off John Wick-style moves. But I can get my blood pumping, my heart racing, my breath dragging in more air. All of this helps give real edge to, “my character is in danger!”

(If you have a stick or bokken you might be able to also work out some “character has to move this way” of the fight. Just... make sure you have a big clear space, first. And not one neighbors might wander into. Oops.)

Don’t neglect gentle shoulder stretches. You know what happens when you hunch over the keyboard too long!

Sleep, water, food, exercise. You need it all. Writers aren’t plants!

....Even if some of us are a bit bananas.

[nimupates]

Heal Teeth Naturally: Discover Effective Natural Remedies

Have you ever wondered if you could heal teeth naturally? Good news—it's entirely possible! With a blend of traditional wisdom and modern science, you can enhance your dental health without relying solely on invasive procedures or harsh chemicals. Let's dive into the secrets of natural oral care and find out how you can achieve a radiant smile the natural way. Understanding Natural Oral Health Oral health isn't just about having a bright smile; it's a window to your overall well-being. Neglecting dental care can lead to problems beyond cavities, including heart disease and diabetes. By focusing on natural methods, you can support your teeth and gums holistically. Why Choose Natural Methods? Ever thought about why natural remedies are gaining popularity? Here are a few reasons: - Safety: Natural ingredients are often gentler and less likely to cause adverse effects. - Sustainability: Using natural products supports environmental health. - Holistic Benefits: They address the root cause rather than just symptoms. Heal Teeth Naturally: Key Strategies 1. Diet: The Foundation of Dental Health Your diet plays a crucial role in dental health. Here’s how: - Calcium-Rich Foods: Dairy products, leafy greens, and almonds strengthen teeth. - Phosphorus: Found in meat, fish, and eggs, it helps calcium do its job. - Vitamin D: Enhances calcium absorption, so spend some time in the sun or consume fortified foods. - Antioxidants: Found in fruits and vegetables, they fight gum disease. 2. Oil Pulling: An Ancient Technique Oil pulling is an age-old practice that can work wonders for your oral health. Swishing a tablespoon of coconut or sesame oil in your mouth for 10-20 minutes can: - Reduce harmful bacteria - Decrease plaque and gingivitis - Whiten teeth naturally 3. Herbal Remedies Herbs can be potent allies in your quest for natural oral health. Consider these: - Neem: Its antibacterial properties help combat gum disease. - Clove Oil: Known for its analgesic properties, it can soothe toothaches. - Peppermint: Offers a refreshing way to fight bad breath. Natural Oral Hygiene Routine   Adopting a natural oral hygiene routine can be simple and effective. - Brush with Natural Toothpaste: Look for products free from fluoride and artificial additives. - Floss Daily: Opt for biodegradable floss to reduce plastic waste. - Rinse with Salt Water: It’s a natural disinfectant that can soothe inflamed gums. - Chew Sugar-Free Gum: Xylitol-based gum can reduce cavity-causing bacteria. Myths and Facts About Natural Dental Care Can natural remedies replace regular dental visits? While natural methods can significantly enhance your dental health, they should complement, not replace, regular dental check-ups. Is fluoride necessary? This is a contentious topic. Some believe fluoride is essential for preventing cavities, while others prefer to avoid it due to potential health risks. It’s best to make an informed decision based on your research and health needs. Preventive Measures for Long-Term Oral Health - Stay Hydrated: Water helps wash away food particles and bacteria. - Limit Sugar Intake: Sugar feeds harmful bacteria in your mouth. - Avoid Tobacco: Smoking and chewing tobacco can lead to severe dental issues. - Regular Dental Check-Ups: Even if you follow natural methods, professional cleanings and exams are crucial. Conclusion Healing teeth naturally is not only possible but also a rewarding journey towards overall health. By integrating these natural strategies into your routine, you can achieve a healthier mouth and a more confident smile. Remember, consistency is key, and combining these practices with regular dental visits will set you on the path to optimal oral health. Read the full article

[sidespart]

The Fall of King Romulus Chapter 7

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him…

Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

Feedback appreciated.

NOW ON AO3 :D

Prologue Chapter 1   Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

The grey man was dead.

The grey man looked like he had been dead for some time.

What little skin he had remaining hung loosely from the bone. The eye sockets were empty, the patches of remaining hair were stringy and dirty. The skull had caved in around the crossbow bolt, revealing an awful wriggling mass of maggots on the inside. The stench of rotting flesh, which Roman had only been able to smell up close before, now filed the room, making him gag.

Roman squeezed his eyes shut, wishing desperately for whatever glamour had made it so hard to see the details of the grey man’s face to return. He griped Mittens’ soft fur tightly with his good hand, earning him a disgruntled meow.

“What the fuck.” A voice muttered.

Unseen by Roman, a figure emerged from the doorway. One with skin bleached white under the lamp light and eyes that seemed to glow an unnatural shade of violet. Most of him was hidden under a dark cloak, save for the fearsome looking crossbow he held at his hip.

Had there been anyone left to see, Virgil would no doubt have made an intimidating sight. At least until he reached out one foot to poke at the grey man's body and recoiled with an undignified ‘eeeeeew!’ when the flesh gave way easily under the pressure.

Virgil had served more years then he cared to remember in the Finaley’ed army. He had seen many dead bodies. That did not make it any better to hear one squelch.

“Okay.” He called, “Okay, the coast is clear and I shot a dead guy.”

Roman heard a second pair of footsteps approaching before a new voice asked: “Did you retrieve the bolt?”

“The bolt that is covered in maggots? No. No I did not.”

“That’s a waste of resources.”

“That is not my main problem with the corpse in the basement Loga- no don’t touch it!”

“This looks like several months of decay- but there’s no surrounding detritus – do you think they moved it here? For what purpose?”

“I don’t care! Maybe it’s just…some, some unlucky bath house guy that got left down here. Who knows! Just help me find the damm cat.”

“Ah yes,” Roman could hear the disdain in Logan’s voice, “The magic cat.”

On the ground, obscured from their view by the network of pipes, Roman kept his eyes firmly shut. So long as his eyes were shut, he was listening to Logan and Virgil’s bickering and was seconds away from rescue.

But what if he opened his eyes and they weren’t there?

Julius had been found of testing his curses’ limits in this area. He would order Romulus to ‘see’ imaginary monsters in the shadows and then have him describe them. Or to recount conversations that never happened. Or to forget ones that had. None of this research had ever been particularly successful - he couldn’t be ordered to alter reality, even in the privacy of his own head – but Julius had never quite given up on it.

What if he had found a way to make it work?

Roman could hear his own heartbeat, the fast paced thump melding with the rush of water in the pipes that surrounded him, making his head throb and his whole body tremble.

What if it wasn’t Virgil and Logan there at all? What if it was Niki and Marcus back again, or Lucius himself, or no one at all?

What if it wasn’t even Julius doing it, just his own pain-addled mind playing tricks on him?

Romulus bit back a whimper, squeezing his arms tight around his middle.

This was too much for Mittens, who let out a yowl of protest and wriggled out of Roman’s grip.

“Oh!” He gasped, eyes flying open “Sorry!”

Mittens ignored his apology, scampering away through the open door and disappearing into the gloom of the corridor. There was a shout, a sudden rush of footsteps and a loud clang followed by a short curse as someone tripped on one of the pipes running along the floor.

And then two men were standing over him. Twin expression of relief morphing quickly into concern.

Virgil swallowed hard, the healers eyes flicking rapidly over each visible injury before meeting Roman’s own.

“Hey there Princy.” Virgil said softly.

***

The journey back through the corridors was a lot slower than their journey in. At least Logan had managed to retrieve one of the lanterns from the maintenance room so he was no longer relying on clinging to the back of Virgil’s cape to navigate.

When they had initially followed the….cat….to the bathhouse they’d thought their luck was beginning to change. It was coronation day, all businesses were closed; it should have been an easy matter to sneak in. When Virgil had scaled the opposing buildings for some roof top reconnaissance however he had come back grim faced – the upper floors were full of soldiers.

The design on their uniform matched the symbol Lucy had drawn the night before, and that Logan had identified in the library that morning. It belonged to the house of Orenlla in Notaleveale. It was not three ‘Vs’ as Lucy had thought, but a stylised version of the three largest peaks on the Sarindu mountain range, which marked the border between Notaleveale and the middle kingdoms. The man she had seen had apparently been wearing his clasp upside down.

Despite his success, Logan had left the library disappointed. Ornella was a noble house in Notaleveale but not one significant enough to warrant a permanent residence in the middle kingdom city of Steveange. It was surely possible to find out where the contingent were staying – the townsfolk seemingly obsessed with the movement of the visiting nobility- but the librarians he spoke to all gave different suggestions, if any at all. Checking every possible address was going to take days.

As desperate as Logan had been feeling, at least he didn’t return to the meeting point with a cat.

Patton had gone to see the crone – or ‘Mama Tay’, as she apparently insisted Patton call her - who had no new information as to where Roman had gone or why he had left, but who had offered to help find him anyway.

Using her cat.

(“I don’t like it.” Virgil said.

“Thank you Virgil.” Logan said, relived to find at least one of his companions hadn’t lost their minds.

“It’s blood magic”

“It’s a CAT!”)

Apparently, when Mittens had scratched Roman at the crone’s – Mama Tay’s – house, it had collected enough blood for a simple locator spell. And Patton, bless him, had agreed to swap a bushel of fresh food from the market for an hours use of the magical bard seeking cat.

Logan had despaired.

Logan wasn’t quite ready to eat his words (dogs could be trained to track blood scents couldn’t they? Why not a cat? There was a reasonable explanation somewhere, surely) but even he had to admit, Mittens had been a lot more successful than any of them.

After Virgil had returned from the rooftop shaking his head, Mittens had meowed piteously until they followed him to a side street, where thin slits set at ground level vented hot air from the bathhouse basement. The cat had slipped in easily, and after a few minutes debate, Logan and Virgil had wiggled their way in after.

They’d used a rope to reach the ground, finding themselves at the base of a set of stairs. There was a soft glow at the top, presumably the main floor of the house, enough to illuminate Mittens’ tail as he trotted off deeper into the basement.

It was only Virgil’s night vision that prevented them from breaking their necks on the next set of stairs, but eventually they had made their way to the a well-lit and uncomfortably warm maintenance room.

And to Roman.

An injured Roman. A glassy-eyed Roman who could barely stand and started shivering as soon as they left the heat of the room.

“He’s going into shock.” Virgil muttered, fixing his cape around Roman’s shoulders. He pulled it tight, wrapping the ends securely, but making Roman whimper in pain. Not knowing what to do, Logan just held the lantern higher. It illuminated the cut on Roman’s sallow face, and the bruises that surrounded it. Bruises which continued over his shoulders and no doubt down his back. Logan had seen the stick, lying next to the corpse, it’s end strained with blood from where the skin had split.

Stupidly, he wished he’d taken the time to break it into a hundred little pieces.

When they reached the first set of stairs, they paused to let Roman catch his breath. His breathing was shallow and he slumped heavily against Logan’s side.

Logan had once watched Roman hop on one foot for almost a mile rather than swallow his pride and admit he needed help. Logan exchanged a glance with Virgil, not bothering to keep the panic from his face.

Virgil let out a long exhale an reached over to squeeze Logan’s shoulder reassuringly, shifting himself to take some of the bard’s weight.

“He’s not going to be able to climb out the way we came in.” Virgil murmured.

“Obviously.” Logan nodded.

That was okay. They had a plan B.

As if on cue, a distant roar rang out above them, followed by quite a lot of screaming.

“Issat Patton?” Roman asked, staring into the darkness with unfocused eyes.

“Mmhmm”, Virgil leaned over and pushed some of Roman’s damp hair away from his face. “He was meant to come get us if we weren’t out in twenty minutes. I think he’s early.”

“There’s at les’ a dozen of ‘em.” Roman slurred “Niki said.”

“Patton can handle it.” Virgil said firmly, though his eyes flickered to the ceiling, betraying his nervousness. “Can you walk?”

Roman nodded, though he needed both their help to actually manage it. It was painfully slow going, with Roman unsuccessfully trying to hide a wince of pain with each step.

The first flight of stairs was relatively short, but by the time they had reached the top Roman’s shaking was so bad it was making Logan’s own teeth rattle. Still, they pressed on, almost dragging the bard between them to the base of the much larger set of stairs that would take them to street level.

Here the noises from the floor above were much louder – the clash of steel on steel reverberating down the stairs.

Logan stared at the next obstacle, uncertain. There were what amounted to five flights, with a small flat platform at each turning point. There was a banister running each side of the stairs, but it was missing in several places. What was there didn’t look like it would hold much weight.

Above them, there was an enormous crash followed by a bellow of almost inhuman rage.

“Frog mode?” Roman asked drowsily.

“Frog mode.” Virgil said grimly.

The berserkers of Krutova painted their faces with the green and blue mud from the rivers and swamps that saturated their forest home. Legend said they could lie in wait for hours, hidden under the water, using hollow reeds to breath before leaping out on unsuspecting enemies with a monstrous frenzied rage, dragging their opponents to a watery grave – assuming they didn’t, quite literally, rip them apart first.

Logan had never seen Patton paint his face. And the big man did not like to talk about his time at war. But Logan had seen him fight off more than a dozen men in a bar brawl without breaking a sweat. He’d once seen him wrestle a wild boar just for fun.

Still. The men upstairs were trained guardsmen, not drunks. And they were armed. And it had only been a small boar.

Virgil was clearly having similar thoughts, his fingers twitching against his side, his eyes constantly flickering up and then back towards Logan and Roman. .

“Go.” Logan said, “We’ll follow you.”

Virgil hesitated, but Roman nodded, straightening up as much as he could “We’ll be righ’ behin’ you. Go help dad.”

Virgil dithered a moment more and then let out all his breath in a rush, reaching for the crossbow strapped to his back.

“Okay just. Go slow. We’ll come get you when the coast is clear.” he waited until they both nodded before turning and all but leaping up the stairs. Roman held his pose until he was out of sight and then collapsed once more against Logan’s side.

The scholar adjusted his grp on the lantern, and hooked his other arm over Roman’s back. With a grunt of effort, the bard managed to sling his left arm over Logan’s shoulder, leaving his uninjured hand free to grip the rickety banister. Logan squeezed, holding him tightly. Roman groaned as he pressed against the bruises and welts that coated his back but Logan held firm.

“One step at a time.” the younger man said softly. “Okay?”

Panting, Roman nodded, giving Logan a sickly lopsided grin.

The staircase spiralled five times before reaching the top floor. They made it round twice before trouble found them.

“You.” The man growled.

The man standing between them and freedom was generically handsome, with large eyes and a strong jaw. He had a passing resemblance to Roman; with the same dark reddish brown hair and tanned skin. He wore a doublet of pink and navy, with the three peaked mountains embroidered in gold thread.

“Luc’-“ Roman gasped out, “don’t-“

“Shut up!” the Marquis de Orenlla snapped. He held a wicked looking dagger in one hand, eyes ablaze. “Is there no end to your duplicity? You foul traitor, I should have you hanged!“

Also like Roman, he seemed to favour being loud over being coherent.

With a grunt, Roman removed his injured arm from Logan’s shoulder and clung to the banister.

“Go!” he shouted to Logan.

Logan spared him an exasperated glance and threw the lantern at the Marquis head.

He went down with a screech, rolling back and forth on the small platform to put the flames dancing on his embroidery. The dagger skirted away and over the edge of the platform.

“You go.” Logan snapped at Roman, pulling out his sword and stepping between the two men.

Technically it was Roman’s sword, the one he had left behind in the inn. But Logan has been taking their training sessions seriously and it felt comfortable in his hands. He pointed the blade a the Marquis throat, effectively pinning him to the ground.

“Wow!” Roman laughed and lent to the side to grin at the flabbergasted noble “I trained him.” he said smugly.

“Hurry up!” Logan hissed and to his great relief, Roman did so, inching his way behind Logan and starting up the next flight of stairs.

“Stop.” The Marquis croaked out.

Roman stopped.

Logan turned towards him, frustrated “Roman, I’ve got this – just keep-“

Later, Logan would blame the stress of the situation for just why he chose to turn away from his prisoner at that precise moment.

Before he had chance to process what was happening, he was falling. Pain rippling through his ankle from a well placed kick from the Marquis. He dropped the heavy sword almost immediately, only for it to be snatched up by the larger man.

Logan felt himself being dragged through the air, and all at once he was pinned against the Marquis chest, sword now held at his own neck.

He saw Roman start back down the stairs towards them and felt the Marquis’ hot breath against his ear as he shouted: “Stop!”

Roman stopped. One foot frozen in the air, he lost his balance almost immediately and toppled to the side, reaching out instinctively to grab the banister with his injured hand, letting out a howl of pain.

The Marquis shuffled backwards, dragging Logan with him, dangerously close to the edge of the platform.

“I’m serious, Romulus.” the Marquis growled. “Not one more step. Or your friend here is going to be even shorter.”

“I'm average height.” Logan muttered sullenly.

The Marquis snorted in his ear. “Where? In the Dwarf kingdom?”

“Lucius!” Roman whimpered, he was hunched over, cradling his bad arm to his chest. “Please – he’s just a kid!”

“I am only three years younger than you!” Logan cried indignantly.

“Oh right.” Roman muttered. “My bad.” And then Roman straightened up. He hadn’t been cradling his arm at all – he’d been working something out of his tunic.

Roman’s dagger, a dull pointless object in desperate need of replacement, came hurtling towards them.

The Marquis let out a shout and instinctively raised the sword to bat the dagger away. Logan took the opportunity to wrench out of his grip, blindly kicking out behind him as he did so.

His foot made satisfying contact with the Marquis’ knee, sending him toppling off the platform, a resounding series of crashes and shouts echoing through the chamber as he bounced down the stairs.

Logan hurried towards Roman as fast as he could, not bothering to turn around and see how far the Marquis had fallen.

“Can you move?” he asked breathlessly.

“I don’t think so.” Roman admitted from his prone position at the base of the steps. Logan bit back a wail of frustration. Roman truly looked done in, his eyes battling to stay open, and there was no way Logan was going to be able to carry him up the-

“Logan? Roman?”

Logan hadn’t been to a city temple since he left his apprenticeship. He had no particular interest in the Gods or their silly squabbles. But the sight of Patton - working his way towards them with his clothing torn and face splattered with blood that wasn’t his own – well. Logan was fairly certain he could pass for an angel.

“You’re safe now.” Logan whispered, although he had no proof of the long term truth of that statement, “go to sleep Roman.”

Roman did as he was told.

Part 8

[mortimer-writes-sometimes]

A Warm Feeling, Chapter Three

Chapter Three: Grillby Has Bad Days, Too

Read this on Archive of Our Own and Wattpad!

Summary: What's this? A role reversal? Grillby has been busy and struggling to run his bar single-handedly, and it pushes him past his limit. Luckily, Sans is there for him. Warnings for this chapter: Passing out, neglecting one's health Word Count: 3188

Sans laid back on his mattress with a groan. Two weeks. It had been two whole weeks since the reset, and Frisk was still in the Ruins. He was starting to wonder if they were doing it on purpose, just to mess with him. Every day, Sans went out to his post and watched, waiting for that giant door at the end of the road to open. It occurred to him that he was actually doing his job for once. His sentry reports had never been more detailed, and Papyrus was pretty proud of him for it. He didn’t even give Sans a hard time about sleeping in anymore.

When Sans opened his eyes again, the clock on his phone said it was just a little bit past five. Usually Sans would go back to sleep, waiting until about seven before going to Grillby’s and spending the rest of the evening there. The dinner rush picked up around five, and Sans didn’t usually like crowds, but then again he would take social anxiety over all-my-loved-ones-are-going-to-die-again anxiety any day. Sitting alone with his thoughts was only going to make him spiral again. So, with that, he stuffed the jacket under his mattress and got up, putting on his slippers and heading out into the snow. Somehow, looking at the restaurant down the street, he barely felt the cold at all.

Grillby rushed to keep up with orders as the dinner rush reached its peak. It had been a very, very busy day. He really couldn’t complain- business was business- but it had just been unusually hard on the bartender that day. Sans would probably say I’m ‘burned out’, Grillby thought to himself, smiling ever so slightly at the thought. If there was one thing he would be able to look forward to that evening, it would be seeing his favorite customer. Seeing Sans was always the high point of Grillby’s day. The skeleton was kind and funny, and he always seemed to know exactly how to put Grillby at ease. The bartender shook himself from his thoughts at the sound of the door opening again, bracing himself for another wave of orders and demands. Surprise and relief washed over him when he saw a familiar blue jacket in the doorway, looking around for a seat. The bar itself was unfortunately full, but Sans managed to find a table in the corner that was empty, sitting down and glancing over the drink menu as if he didn’t already have it memorized.

Grillby wanted nothing more than to walk over and say hello. Maybe he would sit with Sans, ignoring the rest of his customers as he vented about the awful day he’d had. However, that was nothing more than wishful thinking. One of the customers at the bar got his attention, asking for another order of fries and a drink. Of course, Grillby was quick to deliver, running to the kitchen to start the food before coming back out to mix drinks.

Now Grillby was aware that there were establishments in the capital that didn’t care how much their patrons drank so long as they could pay for it, but Grillby was more responsible than that. When a particularly intoxicated seahorse monster at the bar demanded another highly alcoholic cocktail, Grillby offered him a virgin drink instead, arching an eyebrow as he cut him off for the evening. “I’d offer you a glass of water, but I don’t go near the stuff. I think you’ve had enough for the evening.”

The monster scoffed, irritated. “What kind of B-S is that? I know how much I can handle, I’m nowhere near wasted. Just gimme another drink and mind your own damn business.”

Grillby shook his head. “I said, you’ve had enough,” he said firmly. “If you would like to order a non-alcoholic drink instead I would be happy to prepare it for you.”

The monster stood with his hands on the bar, yelling, “Do you have any idea who I am?!”

And here they went again. Grillby got this sort of thing all the time when they were busy. “Sir, please, there’s no reason to shout…” God, he had a headache. Couldn’t his customers give him one easy night? There were two other monsters trying to get his attention to order drinks, apparently either unaware or uncaring that Grillby was in the middle of something. “I’m afraid I have other customers to attend to-”

The seahorse monster cut him off. “I am a loyal customer and I have never caused you any trouble before, and this is how you treat me?? Not cool, dude. You’re gonna lose my business if you keep up with this attitude. What happened to the customer is always right? You know I’ve never said anything before, but your service is so damn slow, and your food sucks. I can barely even drink these shitty excuses for drinks, I’m only here because I want to support local businesses, but with your attitude-”

Ding! You’re blue now!

The seahorse monster suddenly found himself being lifted off with his stool with a yelp, unceremoniously dropped to the floor. Sans took his place at the bar, a casual grin on his face. “Hey Grillbz, looks like it’s busy. This guy causing you trouble?”

Grillby could have cried in relief. “No,” he remarked casually, “He was just leaving.” He made eye contact with the monster, irritated. “And I believe we had just reached an agreement that he will not be coming back.” With that, he gave Sans a thankful look before rushing to take care of the customers that had been waiting on him.

The bartender was pretty sure he wouldn’t have made it through the evening with his sanity intact if Sans weren’t there. Every time an irate customer started to get an attitude with Grillby, Sans would interrupt, either drawing Grillby away from the situation or diffusing the situation with a joke and a smile. The rush had started dying down by six-thirty, and the bartender finally had a moment to just… breathe.

Sans looked up from his phone when a burger and a bottle of ketchup were set in front of him, the food fresh off the grill and the bottle filled to the top. Grillby adjusted his glasses, leaning against the bar with a sigh. “Sorry it took so long to get out to you,” he mumbled. “Busy night.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Sans responded with a chuckle. “There was a line out the door when I got here.”

“Really?” Grillby looked out the window, relieved to see that was no longer the case. “I hadn’t even noticed. I really need to hire some waiting staff. I’ve put out a help wanted ad a few times, but no one qualified has ever responded…” He took off his glasses and rubbed his forehead, trying to will away the headache he’d had ever since the dinner rush.

Sans tilted his head, a little worried. “Hey, well, now you can relax for the evening, right?”

Grillby groaned. “As much as I would like that, I still have customers, Sans.”

Sans looked around, then shrugged. “They’re all regulars, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you closed an hour or two early. I mean, if I’m being honest… You… don’t look so good. It’s been kinda a rough week. You should take care of yourself before you get too burned out, heh.”

Grillby found himself chuckling despite himself. “I knew you would make that joke,” he mumbled. He looked around the bar for a moment. It was true, that he only had regulars in this late, and they were all fairly good and understanding patrons. Even if they weren’t all the most understanding monsters, his headache just… would not go away. “For the record, if I concede and close up early, I would like it to be known that I’m doing this for your benefit. You worry too much.”

“Heh, sure, Grillbz. I’ll help you round everyone up and get them out of here,” Sans offered, getting up out of his chair. He couldn’t help glancing at Grillby every now and then, an uneasiness settling in his chest as he watched the bartender periodically take off his glasses and rub his eyes.

Sans decided not to mention that for the first time, his burger had been undercooked.

Grillby sat down at one of his booths and sighed, putting his head down on the table. He’d finished cleaning up, and Sans had been kind enough to put up the barstools and chairs for him. He felt more than heard his friend sit next to him, the hand that came up to rub his back a welcome presence of comfort. Sans fidgeted with his hoodie zipper with his free hand, even more worried than before. He’d never seen Grillby like this, but… it couldn’t have been the first time, could it? Since the evening Grillby had carried Sans home, the two had been a little bit closer. It was possible that the bartender had just started feeling comfortable being more vulnerable with him, but Sans still felt like he should have noticed this sort of thing before. Why didn’t it occur to him that Grillby had his own bad days? Grillbz was always looking out for him, taking care of him, and giving him a safe space. When had Sans last returned the favor? Some friend he was…

“I know what you’re thinking, Sans,” Grillby said quietly. “Yes, I have bad days, but days as severe as this are rare. I’ve never asked for help or mentioned it before. There’s no way you could have done anything about it.”

Sans huffed, relaxing a little bit and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “How come you can read me like a book like that? You’re not even looking at me.”

“You were thinking loudly,” Grillby responded sarcastically. “Honestly, you spend nearly every evening at my bar. You’d think that I’d know you pretty well.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Sans conceded. The two fell into a comfortable silence, Sans continuing to rub Grillby’s back while the bartender took a moment to let himself wind down. He pushed down a bit between Grillby’s shoulder blades, eliciting a soft groan from the monster.

“Ow…” Grillby hadn’t realized just how sore he was until Sans did that. He had all kinds of knots in his shoulders. His back and his feet ached. He was going to feel awful when he got up the next morning.

As the dull ache spread through him, Sans pressed down again, digging in his palm a bit and starting to work out one of the worst knots. “Damn, Grillbz,” he mumbled under his breath. “When was the last time you stretched. Here, turn around.” He guided Grillby into sitting so that his back was facing Sans. The skeleton reached up, starting at the bartender’s neck as he began massaging out the tension there and loosening up the sore muscles. He was surprisingly good at it, drawing another out a soft sigh from the fire monster.

“Sans,” Grillby breathed out, “You don’t have to.”

Sans chuckled a bit. “I want to. Would it make you feel better if I charged you for it? Just take it off my tab.”

Grillby rolled his eyes, caving. “Fine… thank you.”

The worried unease slowly left Sans at that, replaced by a fond warmth. “Hey, don’t mention it. Let me take care of you for once.”

Later that evening, as Sans and Grillby parted ways, Sans found himself having some… interesting thoughts about the bartender as he watched him walk away. He would be lying if he said that he hadn’t been a bit flustered by some of the soft sighs and groans that had slipped past Grillby’s lips as Sans gave him the massage. He didn’t expect Grillby to be so vocal.

The thought made the skeleton’s throat go dry and he shook himself, turning and walking back towards home. He hadn’t missed the way Grillby was blushing when he sat back up, quietly thanking Sans and mumbling that he felt much better. Come to think of it, Sans had seen Grillby’s blush a lot more often lately. Some sort of line had been well and truly stepped over when Grillby took Sans home, spending the night with him to make sure he wasn’t alone with his nightmares. Not much had really changed between the two of them, but every so often they shared a tender, vulnerable moment that reached a little bit deeper than other interactions. It was undeniable that they’d gotten closer, but…

Closer how?

Sans reached the front door, but decided to take a short cut to his room. He didn’t really feel like facing Papyrus’s questions as to why he was home earlier than usual right then. He’d managed to stop worrying his brother so much recently. He’d actually been getting a decent amount of rest the past few days. His nightmares had been a lot milder, still waking him up but not hanging around long enough to keep him from dozing back off pretty quickly.

He refused to acknowledge that it had anything to do with the black jacket that wasn’t his he’d been sleeping in every night. Surely it had nothing to do with the weight of the fabric and the comforting, familiar smell of smoke.

Sans wasn’t sure what woke him up early. Maybe Papyrus singing in the shower? Usually he slept through that noise but… eh, whatever. The skeleton sat up and stretched, Grillby’s jacket shifting around his shoulders. He pulled it off and gently inspected it for a moment, remembering the night before. Maybe… Maybe since he was up early anyway, he could go ahead and check on him. The bar opened pretty early for breakfast, but walking past with Papyrus each morning, it never looked particularly busy. The skeleton shrugged off the jacket and stuffed it under his mattress, semi-reluctantly exchanging it for his regular blue one. He made sure to leave a note for Papyrus on his door letting him know that he left early before heading out to check in with his friend.

The first thing Sans noticed was that there weren’t any lights on inside the bar. Usually he could see the glow of the windows and the light they casted out on the snow from a distance, but the restaurant was totally dark. Sans pulled out his phone and checked the time again. Seven thirty-eight. Grillby’s should’ve definitely been open.

The second thing he noticed was the sign in the window. It was one of those plastic signs that said ‘OPEN’ on one side and ‘CLOSED’ on the other, hanging from a suction-cup hook. It was flipped to ‘OPEN’. Sans distinctly remembered Grillby flipping it to ‘CLOSED’ the night before, but the place certainly didn’t look open. Had Grillby come in, then changed his mind and taken the morning off? And just forgotten to change the sign back?

Sans was starting to get a bad feeling. After a moment, he slowly walked up to the door and turned the doorknob.

Unlocked.

Grillby never forgot to lock the door.

That was all the evidence Sans needed to conclude something was definitely wrong. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “Grillbz? Hey, you in?” Was the power out or something…? He looked around, eyes drawn to the open kitchen door. There was a flickering light coming from inside the kitchen that hadn’t been visible through the front window. A flickering light…

Dread seeped into Sans’s soul as he found himself jogging towards the kitchen. “Grillby?!” He called out worriedly. “Hey, what’s going…” Sans stopped short, eyes wide as he located his best friend.

Grillby was laying on the floor in the middle of the kitchen, a batch of burger buns scattered across the floor around a pan sitting on the ground nearby. It didn’t take long for Sans to figure out what had happened, rushing over to his friend and kneeling next to him. “Grillby! Hey, come on, wake up. Shit, Grillbz, wake up!” What did he do?! He couldn’t exactly pour water on his face! He shook the bartender slightly, on the edge of panic. He fought back tears of relief when Grillby’s eyes fluttered open.

Grillby shifted and winced, a hand coming up to his head. “Ngh… Sans…?”

“Y-yeah,” Sans managed to stammer. “Hey, don’t move around too much. What hurts?”

Grillby took longer to answer than Sans would like. “Head, back, knees,” the bartender finally mumbled, closing his eyes again. “What… What happened?”

“You fucking passed out is what happened,” Sans choked out through a tense, humorless laugh. “I thought you had Fallen Down or something. You scared the shit out of me.”

Grillby opened his eyes again, looking up at Sans. He reached out with a shaky hand to cup the skeleton’s cheek, steam sizzling into the air as he wiped away a single stray tear. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled quietly.

“No,” Sans said quickly. “Don’t you fucking dare apologize. Don’t you dare apologize for getting hurt or- or sick or whatever caused this. It isn’t your fault.” He took a deep breath, trying to calm down. Grillby was going to be alright, he knew that much. He’d make sure of it. “Can you sit up slowly for me?”

With Sans’s help, Grillby gradually got up to a sitting position, then after a few moments of sitting, slowly eased his way into standing. He swayed on his feet when he was upright, so Sans carefully helped him out to a booth in the dining room, making him lay down again as he went to lock the door and flip the sign back over. No way was Grillby working in that condition. “Grillbz, when was the last time you ate?”

“Um…” Grillby frowned, thinking about it. After a long moment of silence, Sans shook his head.

“Okay, the fact that you have to think about it that long is bad enough,” Sans said tensely. “It… It wasn’t that day when we ate lunch together, was it? Grillbz, that was five days ago. I know it’s been busy but holy shit, G!” He took another deep breath. Now wasn’t the time to be lecturing about self-care (especially since Sans was the last person to be talking to about it). “Alright, we need to get you something to eat. Papyrus should be out at his post by now, so I’m gonna bring you over to my house to rest. You’re taking a day off.”

If anything, Sans was made more concerned by the fact that Grillby didn’t protest. He helped his friend back up, debating on whether or not to take a shortcut before deciding that might be too much for the bartender to handle.

Grillby did his best to maintain his balance, groaning as his head throbbed from the motion. “I… f-feel like shit…”

Sans relaxed a bit, chuckling tensely. At least Grillby was aware enough to sound like himself again. “Yeah, I’m sure. Don’t worry, Grillbz, I’ll take care of ya.”

Thanks for reading this chapter! If you want, you can also read this on Archive of Our Own and Wattpad. If you like my writing, consider reblogging so that more people can see it, and leave a comment to tell me what your favorite part was! I'm aiming to have the next chapter out next week, so keep an eye out for it. Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list for A Warm Feeling!

[iffeelscouldkill]

TSCOSI Week Day 1: Violet / Nature

A/N: I THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO BE A WHOLE DAY LATE FOR THIS AND THEN IT TURNED OUT THAT THE WEEK STARTS ON THE 25TH! Made it with 35 minutes to spare in my timezone dfsgghshshjs

(Watch me now be late for every single other day because I spent all my time on this one fic and have nothing else written for the other days xD)

Anyway, this is Day 1, prompt: Violet/Nature! It’s set kind of ambiguously around season 2, i.e. they’re on the Iris II, but there’s no other specific references to events of season 2, so this is spoiler-free!

Enjoy!

Violet sneaked as quietly as she could through the corridors of the ship, doing her best to conceal the bundle under her arm. The seller at the market stall had been nice enough to wrap it up in extra paper for her to disguise its shape, though he’d cautioned that she should be sure to unwrap it as soon as she had the opportunity.

She just needed to avoid bumping into anyone on her way to her room who might ask what she-

“Did you get what you needed?”

“Gah!” Violet jumped and whirled around, then relaxed when she saw who it was. “Uh, sorry, Captain, I thought you were – yes, I did, thank you.”

Sana eyed the bundle under her arm with interest. “Am I allowed to know what you doubled back for?”

“It’s uh…” Violet hesitated. It wasn’t Sana she was trying to keep it a secret from – if anything, Sana was the ideal person to confide in, but she felt suddenly embarrassed, wondering if she’d misjudged her spur-of-the-moment decision. “It’s something for Thursday.”

“Oh!” Sana’s face lit up. “Violet, that’s great. I’ve bought some ingredients to make one of her favourite dishes for dinner, but she’ll definitely love your… mystery gift. And if you need any help getting her in place for the surprise, just let me know!”

Violet smiled at her. “I will, Captain. Thank you. And thanks for… telling me, as well.”

“Of course!” Sana replied, beaming and dimpling at her.

Back in the safety of her room, Violet was finally able to unwrap her purchase. Her room had a kind of desk that folded down from the wall, and Violet unfolded it so that she could set the little terracotta pot with its seedling occupant on its surface. Then she studied it.

To say that Violet was not naturally green-fingered would be an understatement; if anything, she had a flair for killing off plant life, and her friends and roommates had learned very quickly not to trust her with anything green and growing. People had a tendency to gift her with pot plants (the joys of having a flower name), and Violet had taken to lying through her teeth when asked about how they were faring. She’d once had a cactus that had survived for a record six months before dying of what was either neglect or possibly a lack of sunlight.

So the fact that Violet needed to take care of this plant until she could give it to Arkady on her birthday in a week’s time wasn’t ideal. Sana had been the one who’d told her about Arkady’s approaching birthday, explaining that it had taken her years of friendship to even pry the date out of Arkady. “She says that she hates people making a fuss,” Sana explained. “But I think it’s because she could never… do much for it, growing up. I’ve tried to make up for that where I can.” She’d given Violet a significant look at that point.

Violet also didn’t think it was a coincidence that Sana had told her this right before they were due to land and resupply near a harbour town with an extensive marketplace.

Violet had only caught sight of the little stall with its rows of pots and tiny green shoots as they were leaving the market. She’d waved the others on ahead, and then covertly made her way over to the stall to inspect the range of plants and their prices.

It was a shame that they hadn't had any fully-grown varieties, but the stallholder had assured her that it would be much more rewarding to grow and take care of from a seedling. “You don't have the bother of germinating it, but you get to watch it grow," he said. “Just make sure you water it regularly, and keep it in a semi well-lit spot.”

Violet hadn’t liked to ask what that would look like on a spaceship. She hadn’t been prepared to rehearse too much of a cover story for buying a plant. But it was only for a week, right? She could take care of one little plant for a week, and then it would be in Arkady’s expert hands.

Right.

---

Three days later, Violet was definitely panicking a little bit.

She still hadn't figured out how to get a plant the equivalent of natural daylight on a spaceship, and the seedling is definitely starting to look a little droopier than before. She watered it the other day - even though it maybe didn't really need watering - so it's definitely not drying out. Of course, there could be any number of other things wrong with it, and Violet wouldn't know, because she had only ever owned plants involuntarily and did not know how to take care of them.

Okay, Vi, don't overthink this, she instructed herself. You're a biologist - you understand living things in principle. They need shelter, they need water and nutrition. And when you're in an environment where you can't get all your nutrients naturally - say, space - you have to find artificial substitutes. After all, it wasn't like humans could get sunlight in space either, but over decades of space travel, they'd found ways to adapt. Vitamin D supplements were a staple on long-haul ships, as were Vitamin D-rich foods, as there was a limit to how much your body would absorb from pure supplements. As a state-of-the-art vessel, the Iris (one, not two) had also been equipped with sun lamps that the crew could sit under for short periods to stimulate their skin's Vitamin D production. But Violet hadn't found anything of the sort on the Iris II. Except-

Violet sat up abruptly on her bed. The Iris II’s medbay was pretty state-of-the-art compared with the Rumor (okay, her medicine cabinet in undergrad had been state-of-the-art compared to the Rumor’s medbay, but still) and she still hadn’t finished exploring all its various fittings, but she distinctly remembered that the lamp over the examination table had an ultraviolet setting.

What was more, Violet didn’t think that she’d have any trouble keeping Arkady away from the medbay for the rest of the week (since she only ever went in there under duress).

Delighted with her revelation, Violet opened the door to her room, intending to go straight to the medbay and test out the lamp – and found Arkady standing on the other side, fist raised to knock.

“Arkady!” Violet exclaimed, quickly re-angling herself so that she was blocking the view of the table with its plant occupant (and thanking every single one of her stars that she hadn’t picked up the seedling to bring with her to the medbay). “Hi!”

“Uh, hi,” said Arkady, smiling a little quizzically. “I was just coming to ask- well, it’s more like the Captain told me to come and ask-”

“Is your leg hurting again?” Violet asked, quickly catching on.

“Not- excessively,” Arkady hedged. “But uh, more than yesterday?”

“I should definitely check it over,” said Violet firmly. “And I can give you more of that Zaletenol to help with the pain for the rest of the afternoon.”

So much for easily being able to keep Arkady out of the medbay – though, at least Arkady had picked now to ask for a checkup and not after Violet had installed the plant somewhere visible. Her leg had been bothering her a lot less recently, or maybe it was just that Arkady had stopped mentioning it. Violet tried to keep a close eye on Arkady as she moved around the ship, watching for any minute signs of pain or discomfort. Unfortunately, Arkady was very good at masking injuries.

“Thanks,” Arkady said, falling into step alongside Violet as they walked towards the medbay. “Also – hi.”

“Hi yourself,” Violet said, smiling at her. Arkady’s cheeks went a little pink.

“Are you sure you didn’t just come by because you missed me?” Violet asked, because she could never resist leaning into the flirting. RJ, whenever they were within earshot of it, called their flirtation “distracting”, but Violet was more than okay with that.

Sure enough, Arkady’s blush darkened. “I… did, actually,” she said. “I was going to come by anyway after my shift ended to see if you wanted to make something in the kitchen together. Jeeter’s promised to leave it alone for the evening.”

Violet, who had been expecting a quip in return, was temporarily lost for words at Arkady’s shy honesty – not to mention the implication that she’d gone to lengths to secure the kitchen so that they could spend some time together. “I – yeah, I’d love that,” she said, knowing she was definitely blushing as well.

Arkady stopped walking, and Violet stopped too, a little puzzled. “What?”

“We’re…” Arkady gestured at the door opposite them. “We’re at the medbay, Liu.”

“-Oh!” Violet couldn’t help snorting with laughter at her own inattentiveness as she hit the door release button. Now who was the one being distracted?

Arkady’s wound was still healing, but showed some signs of swelling that suggested she hadn’t been staying off it like Violet had told her to. “You know what I’m going to say,” Violet told her as she rolled off the biodegradable plastic gloves that she’d been wearing as she gently probed the edges of Arkady’s leg wound, and dropped them into the waste basket.

Arkady rolled her eyes and leaned back on her elbows. “Keep my weight off my leg; I know, I know. It’s just- hard.”

“I get it,” Violet said sympathetically as she dug out a gel pack and squeezed it to activate the cooling crystals. It expanded and inflated slightly as it began to work, which was always equal parts unnerving and satisfying to watch. She handed the pack to Arkady, who laid it against her leg, wincing slightly as it came into contact with her skin. “Sitting around isn’t your style. But the alternative-”

“-Is worse,” Arkady finished for her. “Yeah. I believe you, I guess I just… thought I’d be able to use it again by now.”

“You can use it,” Violet told her. “But go gently. And no running. Not even small amounts.”

Arkady grimaced guiltily, and Violet hid a smile, her hunch proven correct. “I’m going to relay these instructions to the Captain as well, so that she knows what to keep an eye out for,” she said. Arkady huffed indignantly.

“I don’t need monitoring.”

“I didn’t say you did,” Violet said mildly. “But she needs to know how your recovery is progressing so that she can account for it when she gives you jobs to do.” The fact that she didn’t expect Arkady to give Sana this information of her own accord went unsaid. “You need to hold that on your leg for ten minutes,” she added.

As Arkady sat there with the cooling pack held against her thigh, Violet fiddled with the settings on the overhead lamp – making a soft noise of triumph when the lamp switched to an ultraviolet setting.

“Uh-” Arkady said as the two of them were suddenly bathed in an odd black-violet glow, the white floral designs on Violet’s green top shining with unnatural brightness. “Is that the ‘tanning bed’ setting?”

Violet laughed and switched the lamp back to its regular mode. “Sorry, I was just testing – a lot of these more state-of-the-art long-haul ships are equipped with ultraviolet lamps, to counteract Vitamin D deficiency. It can also be a useful treatment for skin conditions like eczema and psoriasis.”

“Huh,” said Arkady, sounding interested. “So, the supplements we take-”

“Don’t account for all of what you need, though if we make landing often enough on planets with a nearby star, you can generally stave off a more serious Vitamin D deficiency,” Violet finished for her.

“Generally?”

“It helps to have one of these on board, just in case,” said Violet. Then, hoping she sounded convincingly casual enough, she added,

“You must have rigged up something similar on the Rumor, right? For the plants in the greenhouse, at least. They’d need some kind of imitation of sunlight in order to grow properly.”

To Violet’s relief, Arkady immediately nodded. “Don’t ask me about the engineering ins and outs of it, but Sana was able to incorporate a couple of ultraviolet bulbs into the greenhouse’s lighting system. Pure ultraviolet light is generally not a good idea, at least long-term – the plants need a balance of ultraviolet and white light to grow properly. So we had a mixture of both.”

Violet nodded in understanding, hoping it didn’t show that she was mentally filing away that detail. “That makes sense,” she said. “I guess I never thought too hard about the practicalities of growing plants in the middle of space.”

“It’s not as hard as it sounds,” Arkady said, and Violet almost laughed. “You just have to have a few key things. Light, water, drainage, enough nutrients in the soil… Well, okay, some types of plants are more picky, but the ones we grew on the Rumor were pretty hard to kill.”

Violet snorted a little, figuring it was safe enough to offer up this one detail. “In my experience, no plant is too hard for me to kill. I’m… not particularly good at taking care of them.”

Arkady laughed, and Violet eyed her, a little bit offended. “Sorry, it’s just – you’re a biologist. But you can’t keep a houseplant alive?”

Violet smiled ruefully. “Sad but true. I guess I’d better stick to taking care of people.”

“You, uh…” Arkady looked down at the cooling pack on her leg, gently pressing down on its edges. “You’re pretty good at that one. I mean, not pretty good- well, you are, but- very. You’re very good at it.” The cooling pack was really getting flattened now. Violet smiled, and reached out to gently touch Arkady’s hand and still it.

“Thanks,” she said simply, but tried to show in her expression everything she was feeling. “Shall we go make dinner? You can take the cooling pack off now.”

---

There was still something wrong with the plant.

After managing to persuade Arkady to divulge the secrets of plant care in outer space, Violet had snuck her gift into the medbay for a few hours each day under the guise of ‘inventorying the supplies’, and sat it under the ultraviolet lamp. The rest of the time, the plant lived in her room under a regular white light.

The system had seemed to work at first - the plant visibly perked up, and Violet was now thoroughly familiar with the range of equipment and supplies in the new medbay, which was a big bonus. But now that Violet was studying the plant under the ultraviolet light again, the evening before she was due to give the plant to Arkady, she could tell something was wrong. The plant’s leaves – which had become bigger and more numerous in the short time she’d been taking care of it – were drooping more than they had been, and some of them looked yellow. Frustrated, Violet mentally ran through what Arkady had mentioned you needed to grow plants. Water; she’d watered it twice. The man at the stall had said to water the plant “regularly”, but how often was that? The soil didn’t seem dried out, at least. She’d been giving it light, and as for nutrients in the soil, well, Violet had no idea how to check for that. But it wasn't like she could do anything about the soil if it was no good; they didn't exactly have fertiliser stocked on the ship. Squinting at the plant more closely, Violet was more convinced that something was off. There were these little... bumps on the stem and the underside of the plant's leaves. Bumps that were...

...moving. Violet reared back, clapping a hand over her mouth. Insects. Her – Arkady's – plant had an insect infestation. What was she going to do?? Mentally, she cursed the stallholder for selling her a bug-infested plant. But she realised that was uncharitable. Insects were a part of nature; you couldn't avoid that. He probably hadn't known about the bugs, and it wasn't as if she'd been checking for them anyway. But she couldn't give the plant to Arkady now. What kind of a present would that be? “Happy birthday; here's a sickly, bug-infested plant. Good luck!” She hated the idea of just throwing it out, though – of having to admit failure (again) after she'd tried so hard do things right this time. And she wouldn't have a present for Arkady's birthday. Obviously plant owners dealt with insects all the time, but Violet couldn't ask Arkady about what to do without arousing suspicion and ruining the surprise. Still, which was worse - giving the game away, or letting things get worse because she had no idea how to treat an insect infestation? That was when Violet had an idea. Banking on the fact that no-one was likely to enter the medbay without her there, Violet left Arkady's plant under the UV lamp and closed the door behind her. Looking up and down the corridor, she picked a direction and speed-walked, blowing past a confused RJ, who said, “Uh-” and almost bumping into Brian. “Hey, dude, everything all right?” “Have you seen the Captain?” Violet asked him. “Think she's up in the cockpit,” he replied. “Great, thank you,” said Violet, relieved. If Sana was up in the cockpit, that meant she was with Krejjh, which was... better than her being with Arkady. Not by a lot, because Krejjh was not renowned for their subtlety, but Violet would take what she could get. Coming to a halt in front of the cockpit door, Violet had just realised that she had yet to memorise the entry code for the new ship when the door opened. “Violet!” said Sana in surprise. “Are you okay, is something wrong?” “Not exactly,” Violet admitted as Krejjh, seated at the controls, craned their head around in interest. “I uh, needed your help with something.”

Sana’s expression immediately turned interested. “Okay. Do you wanna talk in here, or...” “Uh, just somewhere-” Violet didn’t want to hurt Krejjh’s feelings by saying ‘somewhere private’, but privacy would be ideal. “-else? It’s about...” Sana’s eyes widened in comprehension. “Oh! Don’t worry, Arkady’s busy with something in the engine room at the moment.” Krejjh fully twisted their body around. “Are you avoiding First Mate Patel?” they demanded with glee. Violet cringed slightly, wishing the Captain could have been a bit more discreet. “Not... permanently, just at the moment.” “We’ll fill you in later, Krejjh,” Sana promised. “Shall we talk in the kitchen, Violet?” Violet nodded, and the two of them made their way through the still jarringly shiny and unfamiliar corridors of the Iris II until they reached the kitchen. Once inside, Sana said, “So, what can I help you with?” “Uh, so this is going to sound like a weird question,” Violet hedged. “But... when you guys were growing food and plants on Cresswin, what did you use for pesticides?” Sana blinked twice and then frowned a little. “Gotta say, I wasn’t really involved in any of the growing – I’m not very good with plants,” she admitted, and Violet almost burst out laughing at the irony. “That’s more Arkady’s domain. But I do happen to know what Campbell uses on his tomato plants, and I think he mixes...” She turned to the cupboards and began pulling out bottles: vegetable oil, baking soda, dish soap. “Depending on how much you need, you want to use twice as much oil as baking soda, and just a little bit of the dish soap,” Sana explained. “And then you want to dilute it with a couple of quarts of water. You can put it in...” She produced an empty spray bottle from yet another cupboard. “This! I was going to make a cleaning spray, but your need is greater.” “Oh God, thank you so much,” Violet said, picking up the bottles. “Did Campbell really tell you all the quantities?” She tried to think when this might have come up over moonshine. Sana smiled, one of her dimples showing. “I helped him make it once. He was having a bit of a crisis.” Violet laughed. “So, a plant, huh?” Sana asked her, her expression knowing. Violet’s shoulders sagged slightly. “I’m not very good with them either,” she said. Sana smiled at her. “Luckily for both of us, Arkady is. And she will love it,” she said, and headed for the door. “Bugs and all.” Violet put one hand over her face and groaned, but she was laughing. She unscrewed the top of the spray bottle and got to work.

---

De-contaminating the plant was harder work than Violet had bargained for. Violet supposed that most people treating their plants with bug spray weren’t so concerned with appearances, but she really wanted it to look good for Arkady. (And dead bugs were not a good gift). So after spritzing the plant carefully but thoroughly with her homemade spray and then leaving it for a couple of hours to take effect, she used a cotton swab to dust the tiny stalks and leaves and carefully remove any traces of the bugs and the spray.

By the time she was done, it was well after midnight. Violet stretched her arms over her head and breathed a sigh of relief. The plant looked okay. Not in peak health, but okay, and maybe by the morning it would have perked up fully.

Even after midnight, there was always someone awake on the ship, but that someone was usually Krejjh, Sana or Park in the cockpit, which was why Violet deemed it safe to carry the plant with her from the medbay back to her room.

She realised that had been a mistake when, after taking just a few steps away from the medbay, she rounded the corner and came face-to-face with Arkady.

“Liu!” said Arkady, her expression lighting up in a way that Violet was slowly coming to realise might actually be just for her. It quickly gave way to confusion as Arkady spotted the plant. “Oh hey, that’s – cool, where did you…? I didn’t realise you had a plant.”

Violet briefly tried to think of a way to explain away the plant, before realising it would just create more confusion and giving in to the inevitable. At least it was after midnight.

“Um, I’ve been keeping it secret because it’s… for you,” she said, proffering the plant. “I was actually planning to present it in a much nicer way, maybe with a ribbon around it? Which is my fault for carrying it openly around the ship, but I thought you’d be asleep, and you’re not and now you’ve seen me, so uh… Happy birthday!”

A dumbfounded silence greeted her words. Violet waited, breath coming quicker as she nervously started to second-guess herself. Oh god, she hates it! The leaves look really yellow under this light, I didn’t realise – or did Captain Tripathi get the date wrong? Maybe it’s not her birthday after all? “I-if you don’t like it, though, I can just-”

“No!” Arkady said, her arms shooting out to take the plant quickly. “I mean yes! It’s great! I was just trying to think when you – when did you buy this? We haven’t made any stops for a week.”

Violet nodded, feeling giddy with relief. “I bought it at a market on Rodinia,” she said. “I’ve been hiding it in the medbay pretty much since then.”

“The ultraviolet light,” Arkady said with dawning realisation. “But you – hate taking care of plants. Right? Or did you just say that to throw me off?”

“No, that was true,” Violet said ruefully. “It’s a miracle this one is still alive.”

Arkady stared down at the plant with a complicated expression, but fortunately Violet was familiar enough with Arkady’s ‘I’m-coming-to-terms-with-someone-doing-a-nice-thing-for-me’ expression not to panic this time. “It’s a bonsai tree,” she said gently, to fill the silence as Arkady processed. “Well, one of several varieties – I know bonsai is actually about how you take care of the tree, and not the variety. This one’s a Japanese maple. Captain Tripathi said you liked trees, and I thought… you can keep this one in your room and grow it yourself.”

“You got me a tree,” Arkady said softly, and Violet could detect a tiny tremor in her voice. “My own… tree.”

“I hope it wasn’t too much, I-”

“No,” Arkady interrupted her quickly. “No, Liu, it’s… perfect. Really.”

Violet knew she was blushing, and smiling so widely it was almost painful, but she couldn’t care too much about either of those things – even though they were still standing in the middle of the corridor. “Happy birthday,” she said again. “I’m really glad you like it.”

Arkady looked up at her, holding the plant pot close to her chest, almost cradling it. “How did you know it was my birthday, anyway?”

“The Captain told me,” Violet admitted. “I hope that’s okay. She said you don’t really like… fuss around your birthday, and we don’t have to do anything else for it or even mention it at all if you don’t want to, but – I think she wanted you to have something nice. And so did I.”

Arkady’s face did something complicated again, her mouth twisting into a half-smile. “She’s too perceptive for her own good,” she grumbled. “She’s cooking dinner for me, isn’t she?”

“She is,” Violet confirmed.

Arkady sighed, but it was the sigh of someone who was secretly pleased and trying to hide it. “Just so long as there’s no singing.” She lifted the plant slightly. “I’m gonna go put this in my room. Want to… come with? You can tell me all about how to take care of it.”

Violet snorted, bumping her shoulder lightly with Arkady’s as they walked towards Arkady’s room. “I can tell you about all the ways I nearly killed it before your birthday.”

“That works, too.”

[seashellsoldier]

“A Libertarian Walks Into a Bear” by Matthew Hongoltz-Hetling

This is undoubtedly the most entertaining book I’ve read in years. Not that libertarianism isn’t hilarious on its own ridiculous footing, but every attempt at some microcosmic utopia fails miserably. Free Town probably earns second prize in crackpot ideas though, just behind Jonestown. “Get yer gov’ment out of my taxes!” “Get yer gov’ment out of my Medicare!” “Get yer gov’ment out of my unemployment insurance . . . those COVID relief checks . . . my potable water . . . the electrical grid . . . fire departments and hospitals and community centers . . . school systems and healthcare and libraries . . . game wardens . . . and bridges . . . and roads . . . and dams . . . and get yer g’damned gov’ment out of my guns, Guns, GUNS!!!!” (To libertarians, it seems, everything can be resolved with guns.)

“The creation of America’s first Free Town was so ambitious in scope that it seemed doomed from the start, and indeed, almost every such population-level social experiment in history has failed spectacularly. Most efforts at planned communities involve artificially populating an uninhabited place, like a stretch of desert or an island—as in 1972, when a Nevada millionaire and his libertarian friends declared independent ownership of an island off the coast of New Zealand (a claim that was promptly quashed by the New Zealand military).

The building of utopias is limited by the rarity of visionaries with deep pockets. Building a new community from scratch requires millions or billions of dollars to create an infrastructure and overcome the challenges preventing people from living there in the first place. Henry Ford, whose assembly line kick-started the automobile revolution, learned this the hard way when his planned Amazonian utopia, Fordlandia, succumbed in the 1930s to the threats of rainforest blight, cultural clashes, and an unhelpful Brazilian government.

The four libertarians who came to New Hampshire had thinner wallets than Ford and other would-be utopians, but they had a new angle they believed would help them move the Free Town Project out of the realm of marijuana-hazed reveries and into reality.

Instead of building from scratch, they would harness the power and infrastructure of an existing town—just as a rabies parasite can co-opt the brain of a much larger organism and force it to work against its own interests, the libertarians planned to apply just a bit of pressure in such a way that an entire town could be steered toward liberty” (p. 48).

New Hampshire really is a microcosm of Caucasian America’s problems, fueled by Ayn Rand’s Galt’s Gulch rose-filtered parable, and the Free Town Project a fringe of that, with Free Town having a fringe of their fringe, and a fringe of that fringe’s fringe on downward into those who wet-dream of 1790s’ live-off-the-land pioneering colonialism.  

“For Grafton’s Free Towners, Rand’s vision of a market-driven society was what kept them privatizing and deregulating everything they could. For seven long years, they joined thrift-minded allies in issuing vociferous challenges to every rule and tax dollar is sight; one by one, expenditures were flayed from the municipal budget, bits of services peeled away like so much flesh”</i> (p. 125). The results are predictably ruinous. Infrastructure fell apart; crime went up; disputes, blame, and tribalism poured from social media feeds into the streets; and all the while, the bears foraged throughout. <i>“What seemed clear was this: in a town that refused to allow the government to protect it from bears, vigilantism seemed the only option. Just as libertarians wanted, it was every man, woman, and bear for themselves” (p. 234).

BBQ BEER FREEDOM

From Ruby Ridge to the Capital Hill insurrection, ignorant flag-waving yokels have screamed for their moronic “freedom” from the chains of civic responsibility, the duties of citizenship, and simple Christian moral accountability. “Freedom. Freedom! To the obedience-averse libertarians, the clarion call was—ironically—irresistible, a liberation-tinted tractor beam that drew them deep into Grafton’s wilds.

Those who moved to Grafton under the banner of the Free Town Project between 2004 and 2009 were free radicals, unbounded to existing living situations, because they had either too much money or not enough” (p. 78). It’s better to watch your neighbor’s house burn down than fund a local fire department.

Now of course if governments big and small managed their budgets better, libertarian-bashing would be an easier argument, Charles Koch, Roger Stone, Jeff Bezos, Donald Trump and their ilk be damned. It’s almost impossible to count how many hundreds of billions—maybe even trillions—of dollars get wasted every year, from healthcare to the military, grift and graft, bridges to nowhere, etc., food and electricity and potable water, subsidies for monolithic industries year after year and decade after decade, and tax breaks/shelters/loopholes for the filthy rich and their corporations, while our physical and human infrastructure continues to suffer and degrade year after year and decade after decade. Our plutocratic priorities are backwards (unless you’re a plutocrat), and finding an unbiased assessment of waste in the US, for me, is challenging. Ugh, I digress.

This really is a funny book; I laughed out loud often at the author’s wit and sarcasm. Hongoltz-Hetling’s literary voice harkens back to the glory days of A Prairie Home Companion, and this cast of characters fits perfectly into the good-natured buffoonery of such backwoods stage-play. These aren’t your Nazi-saluting gym rats cosplaying Call of Duty soldiers with their American flag capes and InfoWars codpieces. These are “rugged men” (and some women) who languish (not unlike Ted Kaczynski) in the woodland fortresses of their own Fantasyland, armed to the hilt and proud of it, and they have apparently been infecting the entire state with their wingnuttery. If New Hampshire tries to “secede from the Union”, I say let ‘em. “From my cold, dead hand!”

(shrug) “OK.”

The bears, of course, have a serious role too, and Hongoltz-Hetling gives them pleasant prominence.   Patrick Blanchfield reviewed this book for The New Republic as well, highlighting the problems of New Hampshire overall (https://newrepublic.com/article/159662/libertarian-walks-into-bear-book-review-free-town-project): “The bear problem, in other words, is much bigger than individual libertarian cranks refusing to secure their garbage. It is a problem born of years of neglect and mismanagement by legislators, and, arguably, indifference from New Hampshire taxpayers in general, who have proved reluctant to step up and allocate resources to Fish and Game, even as the agency’s traditional source of funding—income from hunting licenses—has dwindled. Exceptions like Doughnut Lady aside, no one wants bears in </i>their<i> backyard, but apparently no one wants to invest sustainably in institutions doing the unglamorous work to keep them out either. Whether such indifference and complacency gets laundered into rhetoric of fiscal prudence, half-baked environmentalism, or individual responsibility, the end result is the same: The bears abide—and multiply.”

Another imploding social experiment, but it will surely not be the last. “I have no doubt that Grafton will make the news again, in some wild, unpredictable way. The soil there may be rocky, but it’s fertile ground for dreams, and humans will always be drawn to places where they can slip off the radar of communal oversight and nurture their own private worlds” (p. 316). This nation as a whole needs serious course-correction, and such Petri dishes like the Free Town Project show symptoms of a sick society desperately grasping for alternatives. The fabric is frayed, fraying further, possibly deteriorating for certain circles, and I wonder if it can ever be sewn into the beautiful tapestry it could possibly be.

[thewritewolf]

Eating Habits Chapter 8: Sick Day

Marinette is bed ridden and who better to take care of her than Adrien?

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 (Final)

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

Marinette was miserable.

There were orders to fill and events to organize and clubs to lead. Above it all was the looming deadline at the end of the semester, a date that was uncomfortably close as November was about to roll around. She couldn’t afford wasted days, not now. Not when everything was coming to a head all at once.

And yet, here she was. Bed ridden with a cold, of all things. Two days into it and feeling no better than she had after collapsing into her bed yesterday. Tikki swore up and down that the power of creation infused in the Ladybug miraculous would make her heal faster, but apparently her body was already pushed to its limits with everything she had been doing.

She whimpered into the stuffy, warm gloom of her room (or maybe that was just her that was warm) as her headache flared up again thanks to a sneezing fit. Being sick sucked.

Her door opened, pulling back the comforting layer of darkness and she groaned. After adjusting to the sudden light, she blinked up at the patiently smiling face of her boyfriend. A smile that proved to be infectious, especially with the delicious smell coming up from the steaming bowl he was carrying.

“Hey, bedbug. Feeling any better?” He pulled up a seat as she sat up. Once she had resituated herself, he passed her the bowl. Her nose was still stuffed up, so she couldn’t quite place the scent, but she knew she loved it already.

“No, not really,” she said, wincing internally at how distorted and weak her own voice sounded. She stirred at the food in front of her, unsure if she was hungry or not.

“Not feeling potato soup? I could make something else, but you really should eat. It’ll help you get better faster.”

“No, no it’s fine. My stomach is just being weird is all.”

“Eat what you can, even if it’s just a spoonful. There’s more if you want it, but if not I can store it away for when your stomach is more cooperative.” Adrien watched as she took a few tentative bites. It was as good as she was expecting it to be, making it easier to force down some of the food. “You don’t usually get sick like this. What’s different this time?”

“The difference is that she is pushing herself so thin even the power of creation is having trouble keeping her hale and fit. After all that stress from the midterm tests it was inevitable.”

Marinette tilted her head up at Tikki curled up on the headboard and pouted at the kwami. Huffing in irritation, Marinette looked away and grumbled, “Tattletale…”

“We’ll talk about that later, my lady,” Adrien said with a stern look at her. “Try to relax for now. I’ll crash here until you feel better.”

“You really don’t have to-”

“I kinda do, since you are in no shape to take care of yourself right now. And even if you were, I’d still want to help keep an eye on you. We’re a team, after all.”

A small, warm smile found its way onto her face. She was so glad to have him in her life, especially as her boyfriend. Sometimes she had no idea where she would be without him.

“Okay, lovebug. I’m gonna let you get your rest now.” Adrien placed a kiss on the pads of his pointer finger and middle finger and then quickly pressed them to her cheek. She giggled at his proxy kisses, which he devised after she forbade him from kissing her while she was sick.

As the door closed, Marinette was still miserable. But Adrien made her feel a little less miserable.

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

Adrien gathered the dirty dishes out of the living room and took them into the kitchen, all the while humming a song. Which song it was, he wasn’t entirely sure. More than likely, it was one of the ones that he had practiced on the piano so frequently as a teenager that had just got imprinted in his brain forever. Even after he’d stopped playing, though that was more because of a lack of piano than a lack of desire.

The cheerful melody didn’t do much to fight back the building worry in the back of his head. How much was she really neglecting? Did she clean up only when she was expecting him over? Was this part of the reason she got sick? With all the glasses and bowls and plates he’d scavenged out of her various ‘workplaces’ (i.e. anywhere she had spent laboring over a design), he was surprised she hadn’t been reduced to eating off of paper towels.

He left them to soak while he prowled the tiny apartment for any other surprises.

It had come as a shock to everyone else when it was discovered that Adrien enjoyed doing household chores. Granted, he didn’t start doing them himself until after he moved in with the Dupain-Chengs. Something about the repetition and the satisfaction of seeing things improve by his own hands… it was definitely something that he had needed after everything that had happened. Maybe it was the sense of normalcy that he got from doing things for himself after a lifetime of everyone else taking that decision away from him.

Regardless, his quick scouring brought up a messy heap of dirty clothes and a similarly disorganized pile of clean clothes. He threw a load of what he hoped was the dirty clothes into the washer and got started on folding the presumably clean pile. Well, as clean as clothes that had been left on the floor for kwamis only knows how long could be.

A quick vacuuming and Adrien returned to the dishes. After making appreciable headway, there was a knock on the door. He narrowed his eyes and hoped that it wasn’t her landlord. That man was sleazy and taxed even Adrien’s patience. He dried off his hands and went to the door, opening it a crack.

Alya grinned at him from the other side. “Hey, blondie! I got some stuff for our girl. Care to let me in?”

Adrien’s scowl melted into a grin. “Sure thing! What’ve you got for us?”

“Groceries, medicine, some tea from Sabine,” she said as she dropped two paper bags onto the counter. “That sort of thing.” Her eyes roved the room. “I see someone’s made themselves useful. Good to know you’ll make a great trophy husband for our little fashion powerhouse.” Alya winked and Adrien felt his cheeks heat up at the thought of marrying Marinette.

“She deserves the extra help, you know?” He started unpacking the bags and putting them away. “She’s in her room if you want to say hi.” Alya swallowed heavily as she looked toward the bedroom door, dread in her eyes. “I know she’d appreciate it.”

“Low blow, Agreste,” Alya said. She groaned. “If I get sick then it’s on you.”

Adrien chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Why aren’t you worried, anyway?” Plagg asked as Alya went to chat with Marinette. “Just in case your animes have given you the wrong ideas, let me remind you: The power of love doesn’t actually stop you from getting sick.”

“Yeah, I know,” Adrien said while rolling his eyes. “But I’m pretty stress free, I have a work out regime and I eat healthily. Marinette, despite my best efforts, has none of those things. I’m not too worried about me.”

A few minutes passed with just the clinking of the dishes and his hummed song filling the air. Before long, Alya came back out and leaned against the sink where Adrien was washing dishes. After grilling him for a little while how bad Marinette’s sickness was, and what he was doing to help, the conversation shifted to him.

“So how’s it been going, blondie? Figure out what you want to do yet?”

Adrien shrugged. “For now, I’m happy working at the bakery and watching out for Marinette.” He smiled. “Both of those things keep me pretty busy.”

“I can imagine,” Alya said with a smirk. “Plenty of doors are open for you, whatever you end up deciding. What about up here?” She tapped the side of his head. “Anything to report?”

“...Some days are better than others. Some days are worse. I can’t really complain.”

“It’s okay to not be okay, you know.”

Adrien looked at Alya and saw the worry in her eyes. “I know.”

“Have you considered getting professional help? Nino swears by it.”

“Speaking of, it sounds like he put you up to this.”

“Nah, but we both came up with it, so it must be a good idea, huh?”

“I guess…”

They stood in silence for a few moments before Alya moved away from the sink. He was surprised to feel her pat him on the shoulder.

“You’re a good guy, Adrien. I’m glad Marinette has you. Just remember that you have her too, okay?” At his nod, she removed her hand. “Good luck, big cat.”

The door closed behind her and Adrien stared into the soapy waters that his hands were submerged in. A soft smile was reflected back up at him.

-----------

“I’m worried about her, Adrien,” Tikki said as she floated above him.

He looked around the room one last time, making sure that he had packed everything that he had brought over. After he grabs his toothbrush from the bathroom, he should be ready to head back to his apartment.

“I am too. Which is why I’m going to double down and make sure that she is getting the proper care she deserves.” He zipped up his duffle bag and set it on his bed of the last four days, the living room couch. “I don’t want to do this all again when her finals roll around.”

“It’s not just the finals I’m worried about.” Tikki landed on his palm and sagged. “This is just the first semester! There will be more to come and it’s only going to get more serious from here!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right there, making sure she’s taking care of herself. Even if I have to do it myself.”

“That’s the thing - you can’t be there for her all the time. It takes a while for you to come over here or to her university, not to mention the extra hours you’re taking at the bakery. And no,” she added when Adrien was about to interject, “that doesn’t mean I want you to quit your job just to be her caretaker.”

But Adrien thought maybe there was a way for him to be there for her all the time. Or at least, pretty close to it. The gears began turning in his mind for a new plan.

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

Adrien never thought he’d love to see his apartment building, but here he was, sighing contently as he set his duffle bag on his living room table. There would be plenty of time to unpack it later.

As much as he hated seeing her sick, he was glad he had been able to help her. Hopefully she wouldn’t be mad about him cleaning up, but knowing her, she wouldn’t mind. Unless he happened to have moved her art things without realizing it, in which case she might very well tear him to pieces. He chuckled to himself and went down to the mailroom. Maybe he’d gotten something worthwhile in the past four days.

Walking back upstairs with the mail in hand, he began shuffling through them. Offers from banks (who wanted his money), universities (who wanted the boost his fame would bring), and a few modeling firms (who wanted his talent all to themselves). Adrien rolled his eyes. Just a bunch of strangers giving him attention for all the wrong reasons. The same song and dance he’d dealt with for almost his entire life. Not really worth getting bent out of shape over.

His back stiffened when he saw the first letter from his father. With a shudder he sorted it to the bottom of the pile. He wasn’t about to let his day get ruined by him. Not again. Slightly shaken, he kept shuffling.

His heart skipped a beat when the second letter was revealed. Belatedly, he realized he’d made it to his apartment door and gratefully shifted his entire attention toward opening it and walking inside. Gritting his teeth, he sent that one to the bottom as well.

Which revealed the third and final letter.

Adrien’s breath was coming in ragged now and his heart was pounding. With fumbling hands, he fished out all three and forcefully shoved them in a quickly filling basket with all the others.

“Hey, kid anything good-” Plagg cut himself off and froze halfway from rising from his den in the kitchen cabinets. His eyes were concerned as he asked, “What the hell happened to you?” Adrien opened his mouth but couldn’t find the right words. He glanced at the letter basket and Plagg narrowed his eyes. “I see.”

“I think… I could use a drink. Maybe take it easy for the rest of the day. Watch some television?”

Plagg watched him pour a glass of white wine and take a seat on the couch. While Adrien was searching through the channels to find something to take his mind off things, Plagg curled up against his neck and purred.

The sensation was enough to calm the frantic pace of his heart.

[alexamartin1992]

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Using Vinegar To Clean Cat Spray

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Vinegar To Remove Cat Spray Odor

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[infinite-inferno]

Even a Hero Needs Some Help Every Once in a While

Fandom: Jacksepticeye

Genre: Angst/ I guess hurt/comfort

Characters: Jackieboy Man, Henrik von Schneeplestein, Chase Brody, Anti (mentioned), Marvin the Magnificent (mentioned), Stacy (mentioned), Jack (mentioned)

Content warning: neglect of physical and mental health, depression, vague mentions of medical stuff, suicide mention, I guess you could read it as a mention of abuse, alcoholism, it gets positive and happy at the end though I swear

Jackieboy Man had a duty to fulfill and couldn’t afford to take a day off, not for his physical health, nor for his mental health, despite how frequently he needed one for either reason. But, he had to be on patrol every day, no matter what anyone said, because if he wasn’t then criminals would be able to get away with whatever they wanted, and he couldn’t live with himself if something happened because he wasn’t there. 

Today was another day where he really could’ve used a mental health day, but there was no way in hell he was doing that. So, he neglected his mental health and in doing so, his physical health also suffered; days like these he either ate way too much or didn’t eat at all, slept for either 12 hours or 2 hours (typically the latter, as he had to be with his brothers during the day or else they would get concerned, and that definitely couldn’t happen), he bottled up his emotions until his was absolutely alone (which rarely happened) and if by some miracle there was nobody else in the house or around anywhere he cried until he ran out of tears or was no longer alone, whichever came first (or he just felt so numb he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything, let alone cry and release his emotions). And today in particular he looked like absolute shit, as he had been having a bad day for going on 2 weeks now, and everything just kept building up and he was starting to wonder what his breaking point was and when he would reach it. 

His great solution for all his issues? Intense training all day, not stopping for any breaks, chastising himself over every tiny mistake that wasn’t even noticeable, and just working himself beyond his limits, but the pain, cuts and bruises were too much for him to continue on, so Jackie had to stop and do some quick first aid before he could go back to training. Schneeplestein found him rummaging through his medical supplies, attempting to take care of the injuries he gave himself. 

“Jackie… vhat are you doing?”

He whipped around, face pale and Henrik wasn’t sure if it was due to his medical condition or due to the shock of being found out. “... nothing…?”

“Bullshit, zat does not look like nozing. Spill, or else I am calling Anti.”

Jackie sighed and sat down on the table they used for any time Henrik had to treat injuries (which were typically Jackie’s). “I’ve just… had a couple bad days I guess. I’ve been training all morning to try and get myself out of this funk I’m in and get back to normal,” he then mumbled so quietly that Henrik strained his ears to hear it, “whatever that even means.” He returned to his normal volume to say “you don’t need to worry about me Henrik, I just hurt myself a bit while training but it’s nothing serious.”

The doctor bit his lip, not buying a word of it. “Vould you consider zis uh funk, as you called it, similar to Chase’s bad days?” Henrik eyed him warily, observing his reactions. His medical training tipped him off that Jackie was hiding something, as well as his own two eyes. 

Jackie’s reaction was immediate. “What?! No! Chase’s bad days are due to his depression, and I’m not depressed.” 

“Zen vhy are you being so defensive right now?”

“Because… because…” Jackie’s eyes filled with panic as he couldn’t come up with a reason. But he couldn’t be depressed, right? Nothing like what happened to Chase happened to him, he didn’t have any reason to be depressed so that couldn’t be it. Something just threw him off his groove, that’s all. 

“Because,” Henrik supplied, “you don’t vant to admit to yourself zat you have any veaknesses. Ja?”

Jackie, aware he was being read like a book, decided to just give up, putting his head in his hands and blinking back tears. He composed himself before huffing. “Fine. Maybe. But I’ll just get over it, and be right as rain soon enough. Please, don’t worry about me.” 

Henrik took a breath, keeping his skepticism to himself. “Ok. Vhat injuries do you have? Do you need mein help in treating anyzing?”

Jackie went quiet, nodding slightly, taking off his hoodie to reveal a once form fitting shirt that now hung loosely on his too-skinny frame. He lifted part of the shirt up to reveal a plethora of large lacerations that had been sloppily bandaged by Jackie, and Henrik was trying not to dwell on how thin he was and how he could see too many of his bones. “Yeah this happened last night, but I didn’t want to wake you or anything… I don’t think I cracked my ribs because that would hurt a lot more but there’s definitely a lot of cuts there… I did my best but I might need stitches doc…” Jackie looked down, embarrassed. The doctor didn’t say anything, and just got right to work. 

“Bite down on zis, I know you’ve done it before, but zis vill hurt.” He gave him a belt that was hanging up specifically for times like these. Jackie did as he was told, and sat through all the stitches he was given. It hurt like hell, but that’s what he got for not being careful enough. 

When Henrik finished, he took a deep breath, watching Jackie put his shirt and hoodie back on, deciding to go for it now. “Hey, Jackie…” he started softly “vhen did you last eat something?” 

The hero had to think about it for a decent amount of time, which was already a bad sign. “Well, I’ve been having some gum but not swallowing it, if that counts-”

“Nein.”

“Why does it even matter?”

“Goddammit answer ze damned question!”

“Okay, okay, jeez. Uh, I’m not sure…”

“Vas it today?”

“No.”

“Yesterday?”

“No…”

“Vithin ze last veek?”

“What day is it?”

“Ze 10th.”

“Then I don’t think so…” At that, Henrik abruptly grabbed the weary hero’s arm and dragged him into the kitchen, passing a confused Marvin on their way in. 

“Sit.” Henrik ordered in a tone that did not leave any room for debate once they got there and to the table. Jackie did as he was told as Henrik began making food for him - a piece of toast and some soup, the same thing that people who were sick typically had. At the realization, Jackie mumbled something about him not being sick, and if Henrik heard he chose to ignore it. “Vhen did you drink vater last?”

Jackie gave the type of laugh where he aggressively exhaled through his nose, not a full laugh but something, before responding with “fuck if I know. But I’ve had a shit ton of coffee and gatorade though?”

“Neither are vater, und you cannot substitute gatorade for vater, no matter vhat you zink.” He poured a large glass of water and placed it in front of Jackie, demanding that he drink it. Again, his tone was no nonsense and Jackie knew if he even tried to argue he wouldn’t win, so he reluctantly complied. As soon as he finished the glass Henrik immediately went to refill it, so he would keep drinking more and more water. When the food was ready, it was placed in front of him, and the smell was both enticing and nauseating. But he couldn’t dismiss it, as Henrik was staring at him, making sure he ate it. He started with the soup, starting by just taking the broth. “You know you need to eat more zan just ze broth ja?” 

Jackie rolled his eyes and took a bite from the soup. “Happy?”

“I vill be once you finish ze food.” 

He sighed as he slowly continued eating, the time between his bites getting longer as he went on, and he hated that he was wasting all this time. I have better things to do than to sit here and eat he thought. Or well, he thought it stayed in his head. 

“Nein. You need to eat mein friend.” 

“But Hen, I need to keep training!”

“You vill not leave zis house until you can prove to me you can take care of yourself. Und for ze next couple of days you vill not be training either. Vhen vas ze last time you slept a full 6-8 hours?”

“Ummm… I dunno, it’s probably been at least a month if not longer. Usually if I can get to sleep it’s only for a couple of hours… oh wait no I had a nice long like 11 or so hour rest like a week and a half or so ago. But before that it must’ve been…” he couldn’t finish, because he had absolutely no idea. 

Henrik looked at the amount of food in front of him, and decided that he ate enough (he would’ve preferred if he ate the whole thing but he could tell the bites were on the verge of being forced, and that would not be helpful. “Screw ze rest of ze food, you are going to sleep now. If you are hungry vhen you vake up, you can have somezing more. But for now, you sleep, ja?” 

Jackie nodded, glad that he didn’t have to try and eat anything more. Granted, this meant he needed to sleep, and he wasn’t sure how easy that was going to be, but it still wasn’t eating. He stored away the soup and just tossed the few bites of toast he had left before putting the dishes in the sink to be washed later by one of them. He then made his way to his room, flopping on the bed and resisting the urge to take out his phone and spend hours just scrolling, because then he would never get to sleep. Instead, his mind kept him busy, berating him for letting Schneep see him like that. The next thing he knew, he checked his phone and a bit over an hour had gone by already. He sighed, deciding that since Henrik was the one who wanted him to sleep, he could help him to actually fall asleep. 

“Hey Hen?”

“Vhat are you doing out of bed?”

“I’m having… I’m having trouble falling asleep. Do you have any like… melatonin or something? Any kind of medication I can take because this is not working out.”

Henrik’s face softened, and he went to where he kept the medicine and unlocked it (Chase is the primary reason it was always locked) and sifted through a number of bottles before landing on the right one - the Trazedone bottle (he could’ve given him something else, but it also acted as an antidepressant, and he had a feeling Jackie could use one). “Before you take zis, und be honest, have you had any suicidal zoughts or actions? I von’t tell ze ozers if you’d like, but as a doctor I need to know.” 

“No, I mean I don’t take care of myself as well as I should, obviously, and I might get myself into dangerous situations when on patrol, but like I haven’t really thought about like, dying - not a lot at least. I mean if I did, it was once or twice or something, and I snapped right out of it because that’s not me. That’s not my normal.” 

Henrik nodded and opened the bottle, handing him 2 pills. “You may vant to eat a small somezing vith zis, und I am not just saying zat so you vill eat. You can have a candy bar for all I care, but it vould help to reduce any negative effects it could have.” Jackie nodded, and got out a small Hershey chocolate bar, eating that and then taking the pills. He thanked Henrik and went to his room, where he finally began to have a decent sleep. 

Jackie woke up and freaked out when he saw that it was 1am because he should be on patrol right now what is he doing sleeping?! He sighed and rolled onto his back when he remembered Schneep put him on bed rest for a while, and rolled his eyes. He stood up and went to get his suit, figuring that it wouldn’t hurt to go out for a little while, but he found that where his suit should be, there was a note instead in a familiar messy scrawl. 

‘I told you, you’re on bedrest. That means no patrolling for you. You may think that me taking your suit is a bit extreme, but you are just so predictable, and I want to make sure you stay safe, because I care about you. Now, I know you will not go back to sleep most likely, and it is wishful thinking that you would go and eat something or drink any water, but please try one of the three things. It won’t kill you, I swear, and I should know - I’m a doctor.

- Henrik’

Jackie smiled at the sentiment, but crumpled up the paper and threw it at the wall. “He fucking took my suit? Does he not trust me at all?” He rolled his eyes. “Ok, to be fair you were literally about to do that exact thing, so he has a right to not trust me.” He sighed and flopped back onto the bed. He supposed he could try and fall asleep again, but he found it very unlikely. Eventually however, he fell back asleep for a couple hours. 

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

He woke up again with light shining through the window, and checking his phone it was a reasonable hour to be awake. Jackie stood up and walked out of his room. He first saw Chase when he walked out, and impulsively said “Chase? Hey uh, can I talk to you about something?” Chase looked confused for a moment but nodded. 

“Do you want to go into one of our rooms or stay out here? I dunno how serious this talk is but based on your face it seems kinda serious…” 

Jackie nodded. “Can we go to your room?” 

“Sure.” They walked to Chase’s room, and when they got there, Chase closed the door and sat on the bed, patting the spot next to him for Jackie to sit down, which he did. “So, what’s on your mind?”

“How do you deal with your um… your…” Jackie bit his lip, not wanting to say the word. 

Chase raised an eyebrow, “my depression?” 

“Y-yeah…” 

Chase had a good idea to not ask why Jackie wanted to know this, but given his fidgety behavior and how he is way less confident than he usually is, he had a good idea of why he was asking. “I gotta say dude, it’s the one of the toughest battles I fight, the only worse thing being the battle against my addiction. But doc gave me some medicine to try and lessen it, and I like to journal my feelings. I know there’s a bunch of phone apps for it, I stick to traditional pen and paper. And it’s basically a diary, but don’t tell anyone I called it that, but I just write about the emotions I felt and if anything happened that could possibly be related to it. You wanna see it?” 

Jackie just shrugged. “I mean, if it’s too personal, I don’t wanna intrude on your super personal details or anything…” 

“Nah, I got nothin’ to hide really. Here, lemme get it.” He reached onto the table by his bed, pulling out a spiral notebook. He flipped to more recent pages and showed one to him. “See, I start by writing the date and any adjectives that come to mind that describe my mood. There’s some days where I have a lot of them and a lot are contradictory to each other, and there’s some days where I only have a couple. This one, oh yeah this is from when I got to see my kids!” He smiled fondly at the day, reading back over it. “Yeah, that carried me for most of the day I remember, that’s why it’s the only thing really in here for the day. Now, the next day was- yup that wasn’t a good day. Stacy called me just to yell at me for how I spoiled the kids,” he read it, sighing, “then ya know, called me a bad father and what not, usual Stacy shit, and I got so close to breaking my sobriety but… actually it was you that stopped me… not by doing anything about alcohol but you just said hi to me when I was on my way to try and find some and after that I… I couldn’t’ve done it so I pretended I just wanted a snack heh… memories huh,” he laughed weakly. 

“You asked how I deal? Well on the days when the meds aren’t enough I usually try my best, if I can, to talk to one of you guys. You all help to distract me from the shitty things that go through my mind. Because you know as well as I do that there’s always something going on in this house that even existing in the living room is enough to have a decent distraction for the most part. On the days though where I can’t even get out of bed… I still try and distract myself by doing random shit on my phone, sometimes I just try and vent out all my issues and thoughts by writing them down in my notes app because my phone is so much closer and easier to write on than an actual piece of paper. Plus I can also delete it when I’m done so all the negative thoughts can just disappear into the cloud. But there isn’t one set recipe for self care or anything like that. I know some people like to do relaxing shit like meditation or whatever but I just can’t do that, my mind needs to stay active or else I’ll get lost in my own thoughts. It took me a while to figure out what works, and hell I’m still figuring it out. There’s no rush though, and it’s okay if you can’t figure everything out right away.” Chase smiled and closed the notebook, placing it right back on the table. “Is there anything else you wanted to know?”

Jackie shook his head. “No, I think you covered it all. Thanks.”

“Any time. And if you ever want to talk about anything, I’ll gladly lend an ear. I know how hard it is to open up, but once you do it feels amazing. And if you don’t want to talk to any of us, when I went to therapy right after my attempt it really helped cuz I didn’t want to talk about any of that with you guys because I was just so embarrassed. I don’t think I’d be where I am today if Jack didn’t drag me to therapy.” 

Jackie hugged him, then left the room, heading back to his own. He would have something to eat later, he had some things to figure out about himself first.

[letsperaltiago]

you are the sun in my universe, considered the best when we've felt the worst |Jake x Amy|

So this took me 5000 months to write and it ain’t even proof read or that good. Sorry:))) bUT ENJOY

Here’s Peraltiago plus babies at the beach because summer also lol the title is basically longer than the fic 

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 To Jake and Amy vacation used to be equal time off and away from the daily stress, seeking a temporary hideaway in a foreign city or even country. They’d align their vacation days in order to leave behind the 9-9, perps, evidence, late nights and paperwork for a week or two. This was somewhat still true. They’d still abandon the 9-9 and work life in Brooklyn but their newly founded family of four wasn’t to be left behind. It definitely wasn’t, Jake thought as he carried his and Amy’s 4-year old and also first born daughter on one arm through, what felt like, the deep sand of some beach in the famous state of California. His other arm was pulled down by carrying a quite huge hard plastic cooler filled with provision for the little family’s day at the beach. Because of his job which required exactly this, Jake thought he was in decent if not good shape. That was until he’d come face to face with a new kind of physical requirement: the parent-stamina. A stamina that would still occasionally beat his ass even after 4 years of trying to crack its code. A small cry from behind him immediately and on instinct caught his full attention.

“You doing okay, Ames?” He snorted, out of breath, with a heaving chest, slightly worried about his wife who was carrying a beach bag with towels and other necessities along with their 2-month old daughter.

“Yeah, but lets not waste any more time looking for a ‘perfect spot’,” she breathed obviously exhausted from the complicated mini-hike featuring small children. “Holly (Yes, Jake did indeed convince his wife to name their daughter after a Die Hard-character) is getting fussy. She’s probably hungry.”

Knowing that a hungry 2-month old daughter of his was no joke, Jake quickly waddled through the sand to an open spot amongst many other people marking it as theirs by planting their first born’s bare feet in the sand. “There, Marcy. Could you please help mommy by grabbing the beach bag, so she can give feed Holly? Show me how strong you are!”

The 4-year old’s high pony-tail swayed in the beach breeze as she with effort ran a few feet back to grab her mother’s bag from her shoulder. “You sure it’s not too heavy, baby?” Amy couldn’t help but worry as she carefully let the bag slide off her shoulder and into her daughter’s tiny arms all whilst balancing the infant on her other arm. “It’s okay. I’m strong, you know? Like you and daddy.” With a muted thud the beach bag hit the ground obviously too heavy. Yet before either Amy or Jake could help out their oldest was struggling yet managing to drag the bag through the sand. The parents’ eyes met under the warmth of the sun, shining with amusement yet also pride as they silently admired their oldest daughter’s admirable willingness to always find a solution.

“Here… Daddy,” the little one breathed out heavily as soon as she was within an arm’s length from her dad.

Within milliseconds Jake reacted to his daughter implicit call out for help and grabbed the bag from her, leaving behind the parasol he’d previously been fiddling with in order for his wife and youngest to rest in its shade.

“Thank you, baby,” he swiftly placed the bag as to mark their territory for the day before pulling out the colourful beach towels which none of them had seen since last summer. New York, work and the colder seasons didn’t exactly call for beach towels or anything beachy at all. After folding out a few towels and soft plaids, the little family quickly settled down ready for a day in the sun and water.

“Lets go in the water, mommy!” Marcy gleefully screeched, jumping on the spot in excitement meanwhile Jake struggled to blow air into the arm floaties on her tiny arms.  

“First of all mommy can’t come right now. She’s giving Holly her lunch. Secondly,  you can’t go anywhere at all before these are fully blown, so stay still, please.” Jake Peralta was an overall very patient dad, but he did have his limits. Especially when it came to the safety of his children… and getting into the water as fast as possible! Gosh, he’d missed the beach!

“Shhh, Holly. Give me a second.” Besides him Amy was resting, sitting beneath the red sunshade, discreetly pulling up the oversized NYPD-shirt she’d borrowed for the occasion before shrugging off right side of her bathing suit. Merging with the crashing waves and screaming seagulls was the sound of Holly’s hungry wails, calling out for attention and more importantly food.

An almost silence crashed onto the shore and Jake didn’t have to turn his head to know that his youngest had finally latched onto her mother’s breast which meant the world was once again at peace. Yet, after having fixed Marcy’s second arm floatie he did throw a glance over his shoulder for the sole reason of taking in the beautiful sight of his wife cradling their baby in her arms whilst looking down on her with at ease, loving eyes. Both Jake and Amy knew from experience that being a newborn’s parent was hard work. Yet there were no hesitations or doubts when Amy one November evening, after putting Marcy to bed, had put aside her crossword to tell him the big news: they were going to be parents for the second time. Now, on a warm August day at the beach, she was here and whilst it had its ups and downs, the little family seemed more complete than ever.

“All good, Ames?” he momentarily kept his eyes on his wife as his supersonic parent-ears paid attention to Marcy and her giggles as she ran the last few feet down to the water’s edge.

Amy looked up from her infatuated dazing at her youngest daughter to send Jake a reassuring smile and nod. “Yeah. Except for the fact that you just let our oldest off without sunscreen.”

“Damn it,” Jake mumbled before throwing a glance in Marcy’s direction where she was currently squatting, still on the water’s edge, in order to touch the cool water. She knew better than to run into the water without her parents presence.

“But besides that you’re really nailing this beach-dad act,” Amy chuckled lovingly before running a free hand through her husbands wind-swept curls immediately earning herself a smile in return. After a few beats of silence it was bound to break and Jake knew the exact the words that would follow. “That said no way we’re letting her off without sunscreen, so you should probably go get her.” Her voice was firm with its order yet there was a slightly cocked eyebrow and guilty smile that let Jake know that she tried to be suggestive rather than bossy though Jake was the last person on earth to care. Her A-type personality was first and foremost endearing and respectable to him. Then, secondly, slightly intimidating and sexy.

“On it,” he pushed himself off the towel before jogging down to the water’s edge, where he playfully attacked his distracted daughter from behind before lifting and swinging him around in his arms. “I’m the sunscreen monster!” He roared along in what would be the horrible impression of a monster voice, as he carried her over his shoulder back towards their base. “I’m going to bring you back to my dungeon and keep you locked up until you’ve got your sunscreen applied!”

Gleeful and loud giggles were carried back with the breeze to the mother who couldn’t help but chuckle with sparkling eyes and wonder how she’d gotten this lucky.

“Noooo. It’s sticky and gross!” Marcy whined from where she was lying on his shoulder whilst also trying to fight her way out of his grip - hopelessly, that is.

“It’s upon order from mommy-sunscreen monster, princess,” Jake chuckled slightly out of breath from walking in the deep sand as he grabbed the little girl and sat her down on her towel. “… A-and daddy-sunscreen monster too, of course,” Jake corrected himself upon earning a disapproving glare from his wife that let him know she wasn’t about to let him get away with the blaming.

Quickly with no time to spare before Marcy (generally a prankster and with talents when it comes to getting away with quite literally anything) could escape, Jake grabbed the bottle of sunscreen and started applying it to the little human. Usual he found a lot of pride and entertainment in the fact, yet sometimes and in times like these, Jake hated that fact that his oldest was much more like him than like her mother.

“Ughhh, daddy. Noooo.”

“The sooner you lie still the sooner you’ll be free,” Jake sighed as he continued the task as he chose to straddle his daughter’s legs in order to keep her somewhat still - making sure to not crush her with his weight, of course. Impatience was a trait that grew on Jake along with his time as a parent. He would rarely get really upset or yell but Marcy, just like himself, had a tendency to test people’s willingness to put up with anything. “Marcia Santiago-Peralta, you’re going to be the death of me.”

Another breathy giggle escaped his daughter’s lip as she felt herself suddenly lack the power to fight anymore and suddenly lied still. Jake smiled as he finished off her upper body before moving off her legs to quickly apply the last bit of sunscreen in the palms of his hands to her tiny legs. “There you go! You’re a free woman now.”

Having barely turned back around from putting away the sunscreen, Marcy is up and clinging onto her still nursing mother’s shoulder. “I’m all ready now, mommy! Come into the water with me! You can just bring Holly along!”

Knowing that her oldest daughter could definitely feel the slight switch in the family dynamic ever since Holly was born, Amy didn’t blame Marcy for seeking attention. More than ever before, Amy at times felt like she was neglecting her oldest now that 90 percent of her energy was poured into taking care of a still very dependent and hopeless Holly. This was even considering the fact that Jake was an amazing dad who did everything within his power to help whichever way possible. A knowing, reassuring smile from across Marcy’s shoulder did help her feel slightly better, when she had to give the girl a sad smile and break the sad news. “I can’t right now, Marcipan. I’m so sorry.” She reached out and stroked the obviously disappointed daughter’s pouty cheeks. “Holly needs to go to sleep.”

Not liking the response, but more or less understanding, Marcy turned on her heels and took heavy steps towards the water. All running, bouncing and joy suddenly seemed to be somewhat sucked out of the little body which caused the mother to feel even more guilty. Automatically a guilty twist formed in her gut only to be followed by her upper teeth digging into her bottom lip.

“I feel bad…” A quiet confession slipped off her lips. Out of the corner of her eye she could see her husband’s head snap in her direction, immediately revealing his concerned yet as always endearing eyes.

“Babe…” He sighed whilst scooting in closer on the wide beach towel. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Yes, Marcy might be a little disappointed right now but trust me; she knows that Holly needs a lot care and deep down she’s not holding it against any of us. We explained that to her before Holly was even born.”

“I know…” Her frustrated sigh was pressed against the child in her arms' forehead as she was placing a kiss to it before looking back up at her husband. “And I love them both so much it hurts, but having two small children is so hard, Jake. I want to give both of them my full attention, but there’s only so much I can do! And I miss work so much… ” Tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill.

This automatically drew Jake even closer, an arm around her back and a tender, long peck to her already sweaty temple. “I know and honestly, Ames?” He pulled back directing his gaze into hers, radiate the need to comfort his wife. He knew that the last few months had both been the biggest joy in their lives. Having not only one but two amazing daughters was truly something Jake had never imagined yet now couldn’t imagine being without. On the other hand, life had never been more chaotic. While they were a good team, dividing tasks between them, there was only so much Jake could do with Holly. He couldn’t physically feed her even if he wanted to… And even if it had nothing to do with breastfeeding, Holly seemed to be a total mommy’s girl who’d sometimes straight up scream-cry and refuse to be held by anyone else - even her father. Hence Jake taking care of Marcy a lot of the time. “… You’re doing an amazing job. I know I usually get up with Marcy in the morning and take her to daycare, but even then and on the days that I don’t? You’re such a super-mom. You have two children beneath the age of 5 in your care, and while you might be exhausted by the time I’m off work, you still nail it and I wish I could do the same for you…”

The few tears that had spilled on her cheeks had dried into her cheeks, allowing her smile to replace them. “You would go crazy, Jake… So long at home with them?” They both had to chuckle at that, before Jake’s expression was suddenly tinted with sincerity again.

“Honestly? I don’t think so. Sometimes I actually wish I had more time with them.” Now it was Amy’s turn to rest her head on her husband’s shoulder, letting him know that she was there to listen. “I barely see Holly during the day because I leave and come home when she’s asleep. I always hate dropping off Marcy at daycare, because honestly? I just want to hang out with her and do fun stuff. She’s such a smart, cool kid and I feel like I’m neglecting that because of work. Kinda like my dad…”

Red flag. Amy knew that once Jake started comparing himself to his dad, then whatever he was saying was causing him the strongest sense of insecurity. It was truly something that was eating him up inside. “Don’t you dare think that, Jake Peralta.” If her arms hadn’t been cradling their sleeping 2-month old, Amy would’ve reached out and cradled his heartbreakingly insecure face to let him know he was more than okay. “Look at me.”

From where his eyes had been staring at the static sand for way too long now, switching between that and keeping an eye on their daughter who was now enjoying herself as well as her beach toys by the water’s edge and staring numbingly at the sand, Jake listened to Amy and turned his head to meet her sincere, almost pleading, eyes. “You are not like your dad.” She couldn’t hold him in her arms or hands, but at least he was close enough for her to plant her forehead comfortingly against his. “The only reason why I haven’t gone absolutely mad is because I have the best co-parent to take some of the weight off of my shoulders. The fact that I don’t have to ask you to do things, because you know it’s a natural part of the job as parent and it comes to your instantly makes it so much easier for me. Even the little things… Like helping Marcy put on a DVD, grocery shopping on your way home from work or getting up in the middle of the night, when Holly cries to see if it something you can solve so I can sleep just a bit longer. All of those little things amongst many other are the reason why we actually enjoy our kids and each other. Without the balance it would be hell and I love you so much for that. Thank you.” She finished off her point by pecking the tip of her nose before pulling back to see a smile plastered across his face. Mission accomplished, she thought to herself.

“While it makes me feel kind of sad that you have to thank me, since apparently co-parenting and equality still isn’t a matter of course in today’s society…” He leaned down to peck the top of his daughter’s head before redirecting his lips to his wife’s for a peck as riot to straightening back up to look sincerely into her eyes. “Thank you. I never expected a thank you, but it’s nice to now that me doing my best is helpful, because I love you and our little family so much, Ames. More than anything. And if I knew that I wasn’t giving myself 200%? I would hate myself.”

“I love you so much too. And I hope I never come across as taking anything for granted - even when Holly is throwing up all over me, Marcy is screaming for something and the pasta is burning.”

They both had to laugh at the horrible yet recognisable situation. “I’m a white, cis male. Please, be my guest and take me for granted. I could use the humbleness.”

“Jake,” Amy had to roll her eyes.

“Too political?”

“For a day at the beach with our family after a heart-to-heart talk? Yes.”

“Sorry. Emotions make me uncomfortable?” He smiled sheepishly.

“I know, dork. But you’re doing fairly well,” she had to recognise with a teasing smile. “Now go have fun with our oldest, and I’ll join you as soon as Holly is done napping.”

After a last smile and peck to his wife’s warm, soft lips, Jake shot up from his spot on the beach towel. As by instinct and also the fact that his mentality shrunk to the one of a playing 10-year old, he jogged in the direction of his oldest daughter whilst letting out a roar and immediately earning a scream from her. Amy laughed upon watching him grab her, throw her over his shoulder and running into the waves as she screamed playfully. Soon enough they both dropped and were swallowed by the blue water, earning a giggle from Marcy who had the playfulness of her father.

Amy could not, even if she wanted to, help but smile and giggle along from a distance, because nothing was more wholesome than knowing that she’d picked the perfect father for her perfect children. Especially now that said perfect father was throwing said perfect daughter into the air and letting her drop into the water with a joyous scream.

[thisisnotreallife]

Additive Identity

A job is not an identity, but it can start to feel like one if you aren’t careful about it.

In May, I quit my job teaching full-time at Washington State University and directing the Writing Center there. I didn’t so much as quit, I guess, as I did just never sign my annual renewal contract, deciding instead with Patrick to launch myself, himself, our cat, and all of our stuff across the country to Nashville, Tennessee without a job lined up—but with a sense of relief from escaping the nuclear waste zone of Richland, Washington and the mess of higher education, even if only momentarily.

Because we live in capitalism, I need a job, though, and so I decide I cannot be above throwing my name in the hat when a couple of tenure-track jobs come available at Nashville area community colleges. In the weeks and months since I applied, I haven’t been offered full-time work, but both colleges have reached out to offer adjuncting positions.  

Five hundred fifty dollars per credit for semester-long courses. No benefits or guarantees.

Three quarters of the nation’s college educator population is contingent labor. Part-time adjunct instructors are most often paid per credit, at rates that are disproportionately low compared to the compensation of full-time faculty. A full course load may be four courses each term, but an adjunct teaching three courses might make one-quarter the salary of a full-time faculty member. While tuition rises, more and more of the teaching duties are shopped out to contract workers who want desperately to teach, but who receive low pay and no benefits, and who often drive from one college to the next in a city to stitch together a $35,000 income. Many find out the next semester’s course load the day before or the day of the beginning of term, and if enrollment is low, there may not even be courses available. Post-graduate school, I spent four years adjunct teaching alongside full-time administrative support work, often grading student papers online during my lunch breaks and sending off covert applications for full-time teaching positions from company computers, hoping for a break.

To both adjuncting offers I receive when I arrive in Nashville, I impolitely decline. To the college that flew me out before our move for a finalist interview and campus visit and then neglected to follow up or respond to my inquiries, I send unsolicited student evaluations from the last several years.

You have made a mistake, I think I’m aiming to say—but now I’m not sure if I was saying it to the hiring committee or to myself.

In high school, I knew I wanted to be an English teacher, but it wasn’t until college that I decided I’d prefer post-secondary education to K-12. I liked the idea of not having to be in one spot for a seven-hour day. I liked the idea of having an office where most of your work got done, not a classroom full of desperately developing children for an entire day.

When I finally land a full-time teaching job, it is in a town of 16,000 people in a corner of Oregon that shows up as one of the darkest areas on a light pollution map of the contiguous United States. Friends from my graduate school cohort express surprise and disbelief not only that full-time teaching jobs exist, but that I managed to find one. I begin teaching. I serve on committees. I am asked to take on responsibilities by administrators who make double, triple, quadruple what I make. I sit in my office with my students as they talk, laugh, cry, tell me about their mental health concerns, drug abuse, gender identity issues. I stop writing. I stop baking bread. I write comments on student papers. Grade.

At the end of each semester, I breathe until I am ready to begin again.

The first place in Nashville to offer me a job is around the corner from our house, at a local favorite called Mike’s Ice Cream. I am told I will be making ice cream and eventually baking for the coffee shop connected to the ice cream factory. A half hour before my interview there, I am called by the Department Chair of the local community college where I was invited for the campus visit earlier that spring. She offers me an adjuncting opportunity, to “get my foot in the door” in the higher ed world of Tennessee. I am taken off guard and engage in pleasant conversation with her before promising to follow up via email, which I do—though not in the way either of us had expected.

At Mike’s Ice Cream, I am not making ice cream so much as I am doing manual labor: I follow recipe instructions to pour specific amounts of factory-made ingredients overhead into a machine from which I extract ice cream into boxes that I have made myself; I push 400-lb. racks of ice cream into freezers where it is possible to get stuck and die within 17 minutes; I stop counting OSHA violations by the end of my first shift.

I can’t keep up with the health code violations, either—fruit flies from the mildewy, open drain below the wash-rinse-sanitize sinks and from the laundry basket of rags used to mop up watered down ice cream mix swirl around my head while I extract, and one lands on the spatula I use to coax the frozen ice cream into the corners of the boxes. I watch a co-worker—another new hire, like me—toss an Oreo that fell on the floor over a container of cookies, in which it lands. He picks it out with his bare hands and scoops the Oreos he thinks it touched out with a measuring cup. Another co-worker, the soon-to-be college senior who is training us, refuses to wear a hairnet under her baseball cap and pivots from using her phone to food prep without washing her hands.

I last forty hours in total and make 325 gallons of ice cream that are distributed throughout the city of Nashville with my initials on them. I do not taste any of the flavors while I am there.

On my last day, I sustain a mild concussion when I slip on water in the kitchen and smack my face into a baker’s rack. I want to leave right away, when the lump on my cheekbone swells and turns a dark purple below the Band-Aid I have to put on over my broken skin. My head buzzes, but I finish out the shift and receive the following week’s schedule from my manager via email that evening.

I reply to tell him about the concussion, and that I cannot work until midnight on Monday night and then again at half past eight the next morning. He tells me he put a mat down where I slipped and that he’ll find someone to cover my Monday night shift, but when Tuesday morning comes around, I wake up at 6:00 and find that I’ve left my work shoes on the porch overnight during a hard rain.

When I send the email telling management at Mike’s that I won’t be coming back, I think of the student from several years ago who told me he didn’t have a draft of his essay because his dog ate it. I’m so sorry, but my shoes were wet.

We all have our limits.  

When we first moved to Nashville this May, I stacked the books from my office at WSU in the shed outside, on top of two filing cabinets full of assignment handouts and readings and writing samples. There is no room in our smaller house for them, and I expect I won’t need them in the fall, anyway. Our lease states that we use the shed at our own risk, mostly because it is not secure storage but also because it is apparently filled with spiders, who make themselves evident almost immediately, spinning webs between our rakes and tools and outdoor gear. It is a horrible, on-the-nose metaphor, but it is happening in real-time: the relics of my former, short-lived career gathering cobwebs in a dusty shed.

This September marks the first time since the year before kindergarten that I am unaffiliated with a school in some way, shape, or form. There is no back-to-school. There is no pre-term prep of syllabi and course materials. There is, of course, but I am not a part of it. I feel alienated from the routine set for me since my birth thirty-three years ago: a new year around the sun, a new year in school. But there are different ways to learn, I know, and different things to teach to the world, too.

“You are not your job,” my horoscope says. If my job is nothing, that means I am not nothing. If my job is not teaching, that means I am not not a teacher, too.  

[ryankarloramos-blog]

Barangay Poblacion - A historical but a hazardous “national treasure”

Hazard: Gas stations beside residencesWe all know that gasoline fuels fires and cause possible explosions. With these right next to residences, people, including us are very vulnerable to these situations. These gas station should have been built a bit farther away from residences and a shoe supply warehouse.Biñan is one of the most historical places in the Philippines, specifically in my local barangay, barangay Poblacion. Not just the town center of Binan can be found in Barangay Poblacion, but also some old Spanish houses including the house of the parents of Jose Rizal, the Alberto house. In addition to that, this is also the barangay where J. Rizal had his first formal schooling.

Map of Biñan (Taken from: Google Maps)

Wrecked Alberto house due to a typhoon  (Taken from: Wikipedia, unknown photographer; photo taken in October 22, 2012)

Restored Alberto House (present day)

The street sign leading to the school of Rizal

School of Rizal, restored

According to Philippine Statistics Authority, Biñan has a population of 333,028 as of September 30, 2019. As the heart of the city, I think that these problems should be addressed as soon as possible, not just for aesthetic purposes but most especially, for safety.

Interview with Kap. Lloyd Castelltort

My interview with Kap. Lloyd was on December 21, 2019. He pointed out that the most disaster to be anticipated always is the flooding, because our area is situated next to a river, and it is prone to what will be mentioned later. The former design of the river was not that good. Because the wall near the dam has a “hole”. And the countermeasure done was the riverwalk, which will also be mentioned later. As of today, with the riverwalk completed, the reason why there are still flooding is because the depth of the river is not that good, and the trash that backflows from the canals. A proposal was made for this. Manholes that would automatically close to prevent these backflows, but takes in water from the outside. Also the excavation/dredging of the river was already started, and a Chinese contact of theirs donated a barge to help dredge the river. He said that a few years back, the barangay next to us would immediately flood up with just a little rain, but improvements have been observed since the start of the dredging.

The barangay would know that if there is an incoming calamity, they would know it from the social media. But their primary source is from the office of the mayor also known as their command center or C3. They are the ones to monitor and respond to typhoons or earthquakes. The command center disseminates the information across the 24 barangays in Biñan and give orders to the barangay officials and tell them what to do. The city also has its own radio station, Radyo Biñan, also from the command center. They provide updates that concerns the city. The command center, as told by Kap. Lloyd, have radars so the barangays depend on them for information and orders. Roughly two years ago, there was a massive fire in our barangay, almost reached us. The command center was the one who sent  firetrucks and firefighters to fend off the fire. They also have rescue vehicles whenever there are typhoons, earthquakes, etc.

Ever since, the main problem of our barangay was flooding, because as mentioned earlier, we are situated next to the river. Therefore, the houses literally right next to the river are the most affected/vulnerable ones. The evacuation center is plaza’s covered court. The medical kits, disaster tools, and radios to contact CSWD and the command center is located in the office of the covered court. The command center and other barangays send teams to help organize the people in the evacuation center, if ever the case arises. They help give medical attention, food, and other services like the transportation using the rescue vehicles.

The disasters would not really affect the lifestyle and jobs of the people, because as said by Kap. Lloyd, most of the people are working and selling in the public market, wherein the typhoon and flood would not greatly affect them. The only problem is that their houses, when destroyed by typhoons, are the only ones affected and not their jobs and lifestyles.

The preparations being done by the barangay are public address, wherein there are sirens in main streets and a counselor would alert and advise people to ready up their things for incoming floods and other calamities.

Community Walk

In the walk, we travelled the main street of the barangay leading to the town center. We encountered several hazards.

The main street

These identifiable hazards around barangay Poblacion include the following:

Bombardment of tricycles in the main street/town center

Two gas stations beside residences

Low depth of the sub-basin/river

Waste disposal problems

1. Hazard: Bombardment of tricycles and vegetables and fruit dealers in the main street/town center

The ever-growing number of tricycles in Biñan are causing not just traffic, but also undisciplined and unruly streets that can potentially lead impatient drivers into road rages. Also, what if there was an emergency and an ambulance needs to swiftly get through due to an emergency? These tricycles would be an obstruction to traffic and might even be the cause of the death of patient. In the picture shown below, during nighttime is the worst. Plastic bags and carts of vegetables are just scattered  on the ground, and even worse, there are vehicles parked at the round-about wherein it should really be easily passable. They are even parked right in front of the no parking sign.

Possible solution: In an article from Politiko South Luzon (2019), former city mayor of Biñan, now the congresswoman of the lone district of Biñan, Hon. Marlyn “Len” B. Alonte, purchased last August 2019, forty new e-trikes to help reduce the air pollution in the town. The recipients of these newly purchased e-tikes are the Biñan police and the Biñan City Culture, History, Arts and Tourism Office. They should also limit the numbers of tricycles in a single toda because it is simply getting out of hand. Also, reinforce the streets with police or local government units that should apprehend these violators.

Hon. Marlyn Alonte and vice mayor Gel alonte with a representative alongside the newly purchased e-trike (taken from: South Luzon Politics)

2. Hazard: Gas stations beside residences

We all know that gasoline fuels fires and cause possible explosions. With these right next to residences, people, including us are very vulnerable to these situations. These gas station should have been built a bit farther away from residences and a shoe supply warehouse.

Possible solution: Kap. Lloyd mentioned that these gas stations, as well as other gas stations, have emergency shut-off valve whenever there are incidents that involve fires and other malfunctions. He also said that these incidents would not just arise from nothing , but from intended acts like arson in these gas stations. It is not always alright to just rely on these emergency shut-off valves, but we should also be prepared whenever there comes a time that unwanted events would occur. These automatic shut-off valves will be automatically activated when the sensors within the gas stations sensed/detected an increase in thermal activity or smoke.

3. Hazard: Low depth of the river depth/excavation

The Biñan sub-basin/river extends from the southern part of Metro Manila all the way to Tagaytay, Cavite. The depth of the part where Brgy. Poblacion is covered by this river is not that deep. This was one of the culprits that made the city flooded during typhoons and low pressure areas. Some improper waste disposal also contributes to the flooding of the town.

Taken from: Hydrologic Atlas of the 24 Sub-basins of Laguna de Bay 2012 by the Laguna Lake Development Agency (LLDA)

Taken from: Hydrologic Atlas of the 24 Sub-basins of Laguna de Bay 2012 by the Laguna Lake Development Agency (LLDA)

Taken from: Hydrologic Atlas of the 24 Sub-basins of Laguna de Bay 2012 by the Laguna Lake Development Agency (LLDA)

Possible solution: The former design of the Biñan river was flawed wherein the end-part of the wall that prevents the water from the dam to enter the river was not “complete”. Therefore, whenever they release water from that dam, it would flow to the Biñan river causing floods. Kap. Lloyd mentioned that it the deepening of this river from end-to-end (exclusive in Biñan river). There are two purposes of this riverwalk, one is for flood control, and the other is for recreational activities of the people.

Proper waste disposal must be strictly implemented not just in our city, but also in the whole country as well as the rest of the world. Because this is one of the easiest ways to reduce disasters due to flooding, but it is somehow being neglected by other people. Therefore, most people suffer from the irresponsible acts of the many.

Biñan riverwalk and depth of the river, present day (Taken from: Politiko South Luzon)

I hope that these mentioned hazards will be addressed as soon as possible to protect its people and to preserve the national treasures and legacies left behind by our ancestors. Being equipped with proper knowledge on disaster risk reduction and disciplining ourselves to simply obeying traffic rules to waste disposal will have great impact on our country.

Photo with Kap. Lloy Castelltort

Photos without references were taken by the author of this article

References:

https://psa.gov.ph/classification/psgc/?q=psgc/barangays/043403000

https://southluzon.politics.com.ph/2019/08/04/len-alonte-gets-e-trikes-from-doe-for-binan/

Google maps

https://southluzon.politics.com.ph/2018/12/28/hi-tech-2-km-walkway-across-binan-river-opens-to-public/

[nightvision-of-thesoul]

stolen hearts

this story is a long one, the longest i’ve ever written before, so it’s coming in smaller doses so it’s not overwhelming!! it started for my love and desire to write out the first scene with michael in it at the outpost, and sort of built on it from there. @nihilnovesubsole is my biggest supporter and i would never have started w/o her!!! i hope you all enjoy and want to read more- i wanted to set up the foundation before i moved into the smut but it’s coming >:) lemme know what you think!! (also, though she does take the action of mallory’s character in this part i did not take the reader in that direction after this i just liked that interaction!!)

@ritualmichael

PART 1

things are about to change at the outpost. 

The warm, orange glow of the candles cascaded a false sense of security and sincerity over the extended dining hall, shadows and light playing around the room with one another. The smell of stew wafted through the stiflingly underground air. Though boiled snake would not always be considered an appetizing smell, hot food of any kind or quantity was a blessing compared to the small, flavorless cubes of protein we were normally subjected to. The cart’s handle rumbled underneath my hands as it passed over the tiny imperfections in the stone floor and I brought the meal in for the members of the elite, a group of whom I woefully could not consider myself.

           From the opposite side of the room, I could hear the nasally, high pitched voice of Coco, replying to Ms. Mead about the gourmet luxury of the evening.

           “You know, I have a strict rule about eating things with no legs, or, too many legs for that matter,” she stated in her usual disdainful manner, upturning her lips and trying to get a better look into the massive bowl in the cart that held inch long sections of the snakes that were bobbing up and down eerily in the broth.

           “Eat it or don’t. No one’s gonna force it down ya.” Mead’s eyes were glued in an icy stare to Coco’s face as she answered the complaint, neglecting to hide what everyone else felt but was too tactful to manifest: complete disdain for Ms. Vanderbilt. I wasn’t the biggest fan of her either, but before the nuclear fallout I was her personal assistant. As arbitrary as it seems now, she was one of the nation’s biggest stars, with an ego to match: the apocalypse did little to change that mindset.  

           The other grays and I began ladling the soup into the lavish bowls, and despite the apparent protestations to eating something that slithered as such, the majority of the elites took the meal with gratitude. Coco’s nose was still risen towards the sky as I slid a full bowl in between her place settings, but she cautiously began poking around at smaller sections of the reptile as if to find the most appetizing segment before chowing down. There was little conversation as the servings were handed out, apart from a remark from Evie, who began sharing an anecdote about some kind of decadent snake soup she’d had in some place or another with someone of heightened societal position. Her desire to cling to her status of the past usually made her a point of ridicule, but the tale garnered a few chuckles nonetheless. As Dinah had pointed out, the soup was food, and we are all starving, too hungered to care about making any snide remarks directed at the ancient grandmother of Mr. Gallant.

           My mouth watered as I returned the cart to its initial spot at the head of the table, looking down at what remained in the container and knowing my meal would not begin until hours after the purples had been satiated and moved on to the cocktail lounge to indulge themselves further. While it made sense, the only real reason for me even being granted into the fallout shelter being my affiliation with someone who could pay their way in, it still seemed unfair that I was the only member of our arriving quartet to be granted the short end of the stick, the position of servitude for all rather than just Coco. Instead, I was forced to watch her and everyone else live a lavish lifestyle that left me at the bottom of the food chain, picking up scraps and equating to little more in their eyes than the irradiated vermin that remained outside these walls. Every crack of Venable’s cane that reverberated throughout the Outpost was like a stab in the gut, never ceasing to remind me that every task I attended to slowly and carefully chipped away at my former dignity. My thoughts on classist injustices and the enticing smell of soup were cut short as a seldom heard voice chimed in to the minimal conversation, posing a question everyone seemed to have forgotten to be curious about.

           “So, who’s in your office?” The voice belonged to Emily, one half of the pair of kids my age who had been brought to the shelter due to their “superior genetic makeup.” It was her room in which the multitude of snakes were found for this very meal, writhing around in her closet like they were caught in some kind of grotesque waltz. While no one questioned their presence, it was assumed they came from outside the fortress, though no mutations had been found, nor had there been any radiation detected in them at all. Only hours before, the alarms had been raised, and while Venable and Mead had tended to the security breach, no explanations were made. While it could’ve been snakes, just like the pigeon that set off the alarm earlier in the week, we all knew it wasn’t: the breach had been made by someone, and someone Venable clearly wasn’t ready to reveal.

           “I beg your pardon?” Her deep voice came out strong and unwavering, inviting no real answer to that question, but getting one anyways.

           “The alarms went off before, and someone came inside.” Emily’s voice was more pressing this time, and was followed up by her other half, Timothy.

           “Who else is here?”

           “All your questions will be answered in due course.” Venable’s gaze bored into Timothy and Emily, prompting an unspoken agreement to not urge the conversation along any further. Following the stern and pregnant pause, she finally turned her attention again to the whole of the room and gave a single command: “Eat.”

           With the sound of her cane following the order, the regular chatter began to resume, though wary and calculated looks were now being passed from elite to elite, and with good reason. Who was it that came through those barricaded doors, and why was Venable so unwilling to share? With each new member that had joined us, they had wasted little time introducing the rest of us to the people we would be sharing our limited and claustrophobic space with. Why was this different?

           Still standing in position by the head of the table, I had little time to formulate any more questions for myself as several loud wails suddenly arose from around the room. Several of the elites leapt from their chairs, sending the bowls of soup flying in disarray onto the floor. My first instinct was to feel contempt for their lack of gratitude, until I saw the reason behind their outburst: the snakes were once again whole, alive, and slithering through the broth, the candlelight glinting off their wet scales as they blithely passed through the trampling feet above them.

*****

           “They were chopped up and boiled, how the fuck did they come back to life?” Coco’s voice could be heard again down the long corridor leading to the sitting area, rivaling the loud crackling in the fireplace. The snakes were the rampant subject of the evening still, even though Mead and the Fist had already taken the born-again creatures and disposed of them outside. No one had even approached the fact that the only hot meal in over a year had been a sham, everyone was simply too spooked to care. The circumstances surrounding the mysterious intruder had already heightened the general air of suspense and confusion, and the evening’s phenomenon did little to quell those feelings in everyone; even Venable was on edge.

           “Beats me, I’m still wondering where the hell they came from,” Gallant replied, swirling around his glass of water as though it was a much-desired glass of wine after a long day at work. His eyes were fixed on the fire, his gaze reflecting the concern he felt. Unusual, considering his regular gift for levity in most situations. Typically, by now he’d find a way to make a joke about getting railed by a Hemsworth brother to lighten the mood.

           “Maybe that is where they came from.” The words cut through the heat of the room like an icy blade, sending an inadvertent chill down my spine. They came from a man to my left, where I stood next to the doorway awaiting any requests with the other grays. I could see his silhouette outlined in my peripherals, but felt compelled by something, not to turn my head in the mysterious speaker’s direction.

           The silence following the remark was palpable, broken only by the click of the stranger’s boots as they brought him around the edge of the room. Venable had taken her usual speaking position in front of the fire, standing with an exaggerated air of importance, a tight smile painted onto her face and her dark brown eyes locked onto the man as he approached her. His hair was long, just a touch past his shoulders, and a warm golden color that complemented the light of the embers. There was a slight curl at the ends that swayed back and forth along his back as he sauntered forward, up into place next to Venable, who had begun smiling at him like she was in on a little secret. He lingered for a moment beside her, his profile outlined by the flames behind him. It was some kind of stalemate playing out, his lips turned up in an expectant smile, his eyes slowly and carefully looking our administrator up and down. Slowly, Venable’s smile faded to a look of muted embarrassment and she could no longer meet his gaze. She walked slowly, regaining her poise as she stood next to Ms. Mead, allowing this mysterious gentleman to take her place. He finally oriented himself at the front of the room, allowing us all to see his face fully for the first time.

           His eyes were an icy, cold blue, slightly slanted down at the corners. They framed his face just right, set just slightly above his slender nose. It was hard not to focus on his lips as he began to speak, full as they were, ever curved in that sardonic smirk that made it clear he knew he was in charge, much to Venable’s obvious chagrin.

           “My name is Langdon, and I represent the Cooperative.” The words spilled from his mouth like honey, a bitter honey that coated your ears but sent another chill through your spine, much like the first time he spoke.

           “I won’t sugarcoat the situation. Humanity is on the brink of failure. My arrival here was crucial to the survival of civilized life on Earth. The three other compounds In Syracuse, New York, Beckley, West Virginia, and San Angelo, Texas have been overrun and destroyed. We've had no contact from the six international outposts, but we are assuming that they, too, have been eliminated.” All eyes were glued to his visage, his undeniable air of superiority. Gallant was paying particularly close attention, and I couldn’t blame him. There was something about him that drew you in, and handsome confidence that didn’t allow you to look away.

           “What happened to the people inside?” Andre broke the silence with his question, voicing what no one wanted to acknowledge in light of this new information. With a sharp turn of his head in the young man’s direction, Langdon uttered his sort reply.

           “Massacred.” His voice barely above a whisper, and the slight smile never left his face. “The same fate that will befall almost all of you.” His pause before the word ‘almost’ left a space open for interpretation, one that was not lost on us. Before I even knew what I was saying, I blurted out, “Almost all?” Even from across the room, I could feel his attention shift to me immediately, drilling me with his eyes. I quickly found something interesting to examine on my shoes, hoping for nothing more than to rid myself of the heat of shame that followed that stare. He didn’t answer the question, but seamlessly flowed into the next parts of his speech. Though he was no longer looking, I could still feel the smoldering gaze that felt like it was still burning a hole in me.

           “In the knowledge that this very moment might occur, we built a failsafe: The Sanctuary. The Sanctuary is unique. It has certain security measures that will prevent overrun.”

           The next person to join in the discussion was Ms. Mead, who politely interjected.

           “Excuse me sir, what measures? I mean, why weren’t we given them?” Still with that ceaseless smile, his attention turned to the older woman. Again, his response was curt.

           “That’s classified.” With a pause to ensure no more interruptions, and a slow scan around the room, he began once more. “All that matters is that The Sanctuary will survive, so the people populating it will survive, so humanity will… survive.” His voice melted on the last word, hanging on to it like a vice grip.

           “Who are the people who are populating it?” Kyle inquired from his seat next to Emily. It was clear from the way he clutched her hands that he hoped they might be the lucky pair to hop straight to repopulation. This was not lost on Langdon, though it was clear his patience was thinning.

           “Also classified. However, I have been sent to determine whether any of you are worthy or fit to join us.” With this, the tension that had built throughout his monologue palpably eased. The erect postures around the room and the positions on the edges of seats eased back to recline in the realization that any one of us could possibly escape this cramped hell hole. A ripple of muted conversation passed alone each member, even among the grays.

           “Do you think that includes us?” The one boy next to me asked. I couldn’t come up with an answer, just the wonder in the back of my mind: would it be possible? Were the things Langdon was looking for something that could be found in someone considered lesser than those dressed in purple?

Again, my thoughts were cut short as he began once more. His voice carried loudly enough to silence the sea of murmurs immediately.

           “The Cooperative has developed a particular and rigorous questioning technique we like to call "Cooperating." I will then use the information gained to determine if you belong.” He waved his hands out to each side as though the explanation was obvious. Apparently to a certain few, it still wasn’t.

           “What is this, The Hunger Games? This is bullshit. I paid my way in here, and that is the only cooperating I plan on doing.” The whining coming from Coco struck a particular nerve this time, clearly not just with me. Gallant rolled his eyes and Langdon was again caught short of patience.

           “You don’t have to sit for questioning. You can instead just stay here, and die.” There was no smile this time. Not leaving her any time for embarrassment, Gallant finally spoke up for the first time since his remarks about the snakes.

           “I volunteer to go first.” He looked around the room as if to challenge someone to suggest themselves first, though no one offered.

           With an almost imperceptible sigh, he replied. “And so you shall.” Langdon bowed his head slightly in the bleach blonde’s direction, feigning courtesy. “The process should only take me a couple of days, so you won't be kept in suspense forever. For those of you who don't make the cut, all is not lost. If the worst should happen and feral cannibals come knocking, down one of these.” He extracted a small vial of white pills from the folds of his draped jacket and held them high enough for all to see.

“One minute later, you fall asleep and never wake up.” Silence fell again, and he let us soak in all the options that had just been set before us.

“I look forward to meeting each and every one of you.” With a slight rattle, he thrust the bottle of pills back into his pocket and gave another quick glance around the room. Though it was clear no more protestations would be accepted, he left no time for further discussion anyhow, briskly striding around the opposite side of the room from which he came in towards the exiting corridor. As he passed, I caught his eyes once more. It was reminiscent of the sensation one gets when they find themselves atop a mountain in a lightning storm: the hair on the back of your neck and arms begin to prickle with a life of their own, and it’s as though you can feel the current of the electricity replace some of the blood in your veins. Those cold baby blues sent the shock down my body from head to toe, even in just the space of an instant. The air that rushed past me as he made his way out the door smelled sweet at first, yet quickly left a sour taste in my mouth, much like the aroma of a wilting flower. Such strange sensations to follow an equally strange man, but the combination of them all made my toes curl. Who, or what, was he?

[hello-thefatlosshabit-blr]

 THE STORY OF TWO WOLVES

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There is a famous a Cherokee legendabout the battle between two wolves. An old Cherokee is teaching his grandson about life. “A fight is going on inside me,” he said to the boy. “It is a terrible fight, and it is between two wolves. One is evil – he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.” He continued, “The other is good – he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you – and inside every other person, too.” The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf will win?” The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.”[i]

No one is without sin. We are all capable of doing great and terrible things. Inside each of us is a battle between these two wolves. What separates the virtuous person from the evil person is their decisions; thoughts married to actions.Nothing is inconsequential. Every action is taking us in one direction or another. People often wish they were more disciplined so they could take more disciplined action, but life doesn’t work that way. We must make more disciplined decisions to become more disciplined. Courage comes from overcoming fear, not wishing you were braver or wishing the fear was less intense.

We don’t have to start big, in fact, it’s recommended we start by taking small steps. The important thing is to start. Virtue requires deliberate effort. Start small, and build-up the virtue gradually. If you are scared of heights and want to overcome your fear, you might start by jumping into the water from a high of 10 feet before gradually building the courage to jump from a 10-meter platform.

Discipline is at the root of all good virtues. Discipline requires strength of character. You could boil down the story of two wolves to the struggle between strength and weakness. At the root of all vile actions is a weakness of character. Life is a battle of inches. We are either gaining or losing territory each day, each hour, each minute. Everything matters. We are either feeding virtue, or we are feeding vice. We are either becoming more disciplined or less disciplined. Every decision, every action, is either feeding the strong wolf or the weak one. The one we feed the most will form our character.

It has been my observation that people that will lie about seemingly small, inconsequential matters will lie about other matters. It should come as no surprise when a man, who cheats on his wife, also embezzles money from his company. You might think these things are unrelated, but they aren’t. They all come down to the man’s character. Everything is connected.

Some employers want to know a job candidate’s credit score. Why do you think that is? Why should they want to know that information? How could that information possibly affect the candidate’s ability to perform their duties and responsibilities? The hiring company wants to know if the person is responsible. A person that doesn’t exercise responsibility for their personal finances is unlikely to exercise responsibility at work. I made a peculiar observation as a young man. I noticed that the guys that didn’t wear seatbelts were also the ones that said they didn’t always have safe sex. The reasons in both instances were the same. It isn’t comfortable. It doesn’t feel good. They chose feeling good over being safe and responsible.

When we think something we do is an isolated event, we are lying to ourselves. It matters. Everything matters. Everything is feeding one wolf or the other. One is becoming stronger with each decision. We can change the trajectory of our life by constantly asking ourselves before making each decision, which wolf am I going to be feeding; the strong wolf or the weak wolf? It’s an easy question to answer. If we are doing what feels good vs. what our instincts are telling us to do, we are feeding the weak wolf.

I challenge you to make the little decisions that will nourish your strong wolf. These actions are often easy to do, but of course what is easy to do, is even easier to neglect. Neglect is an infection that we need to inoculate ourselves from by feeding our strong wolf. These small wins will lead to bigger wins. Habitually overcoming weakness will become a positive addiction.

Get excited about crushing these weak feelings. Get excited about feeding your strong wolf and developing your discipline. Discipline is like a muscle. It becomes stronger through repetition and effort. Anticipate the feeling of triumph overcoming weakness will provide. Every early morning workout will make you feel like a winner. Every pound lost, will make you feel like a winner. It will make you feel more in control of your emotions, more in control of your body, more in control of your LIFE!

When we feed the weak wolf, we are losing control of our life.Discipline helps us take back control. We will not win every battle, but if we don’t fight we’ll lose every battle, and we will fall into depression. Action is the cure for depression. Depression is caused by a feeling of powerlessness over our life. Taking ownership of your problems and the solutions to those problems is very empowering. It leads to the positive actions that help us escape depression. It’s a simple formula, but it is difficult for people that have developed the habit of feeding their weak wolf by giving into their feelings of hopelessness.

Progress makes us happy because we feel in control of our lives. As Tony Robin often says, “Progress equals happiness.Progress is the game.” Progress affirms our belief in ourselves and our ability to take control of our results. It reaffirms our belief that we are in control of our life. When we become more disciplined, we no longer feel like a victim of circumstances out of our control. We shouldn’t wish for better circumstances, we should wish we were better.

Waiting for better circumstances or opportunities to just show up and ring the doorbell is naive at best. Hope isn’t a method. Instead of wishing for fewer problems, wish you had more solutions. Instead of wishing for a more favorable economy, wish you had more skills. Instead of wishing for a more favorable wind, wish you had a better sail. Bruce Lee said, “Do not pray for an easy life, pray for the strength to endure a difficult one.” Life challenges everyone. You can rip January from the calendar, but winter will come just the same. Instead of wishing winter away, prepare for winter.

Complaining about life’s realities and wishing they were different is a waste of time and makes you life’s victim. Life doesn’t happen to you, it happens for you. Instead of wasting your time and energy wishing your life was better, spend your time becoming more than you are. Focus on becoming stronger, smarter, more skilled, friendlier, BETTER.

We all fail and come up short, but the surest way to win is to always try one more time. Every single day, we start again. Every day you’ll have multiple opportunities to feed either the strong wolf or the weak one. Whichever one you most consistently feed is going to shape your character and determine your life’s direction. I challenge you will great love and respect to, FEED THE STRONG WOLF! Get excited about forging a new body; one molded by the cauldron of your iron will and sculpted with the chisel of self-discipline.

Change your habits, change your life!

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Are you ready to reboot and reset your relationship with food and exercise? Most programs focus on the mechanics of weight loss but fail to adequately address the psychology of change required. Most people know more than enough about nutrition and exercise to lose weight, but fail to take action. This book takes a new approach to getting leaner, fitter, and stronger.

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  The book contains:

7 Change Strategies for Adopting a Healthy Lifestyle

A Flexible Diet Program that Doesn’t Put Any Foods Off-limit, including Alcohol

20-Week Workout Log with Progress Assessments (Downloadable PDF)

3 Strategies for Resetting your Body Weight Setpointto Keep the Weight Off

A Nutrition and Training Program Based on Science, not Bro Science.

The Fat Loss Habit: Creating Routines that Make Willpower and Fat Loss Automatic takes a new approach to getting leaner, fitter, and stronger. The program uses high-impact change strategies that make the process of adopting a healthy lifestyle easier. The nutrition and workout program, like the change techniques, have all been proven effective, and are all backed by research and scientific studies.

Our BOOK The Fat Loss Habit is NOW AVAILABLE ON AMAZON!!! We would greatly appreciate a brief REVIEW. Your feedback is our best marketing tool, and it will help us to make a better product. Your review will help other people who want to make a positive change by helping them to find our book.

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[i] The First People, Native American Legends Two Wolves, http://www.firstpeople.us/FP-Html-Legends/TwoWolves-Cherokee.html.

The battle rages within us all. Which wolf are you feeding?  THE STORY OF TWO WOLVES If you enjoy this article, please LIKE, SHARE, and follow us on…

[deeganmarine]

Boating Sustainably: A Tremendous Shift to Clean and Green Boating

Boating, both as a form of recreational activity and for commercial purposes, plays its own unique role in contributing potentially harmful effects to our marine ecosystems. There’s no denying that boats have a substantial impact on water quality and aquatic life.

The good news is that there is a course of action we can take to help prevent and decrease the impacts that our water vessels have on our waterways. As eco-friendly, green boaters, it’s our responsibility to implement and apply sustainable boating best practices each and every time we find ourselves on, in, or near the waters we love.

Prevent Oil Leaks Coming Out of Your Engine

Did you know that a single gallon of fuel can contaminate 750,000 gallons of water? That’s why oil spill incidents happening in the ocean can be disheartening and alarming at the same time. Fuel can cause a serious negative effect on water quality and marine life. Help prevent this occurrence by doing regular maintenance of your boat engine. Whether you have quality-made Mercury or Honda motorboat engine, don’t get too overly confident by neglecting to take care of the engine. 

Keep your engine well-tuned to prevent fuel and oil leaks. If you suspect that your engine is faulty and causing the fuel to drip out of it, do a quick fix by securing an oil absorbent pad or pillow in your bilge and under your engine where drips may occur. Check the pads often, do not let them clog the bilge pump, and dispose of them as hazardous waste at a marina or local hazardous waste collection centre. Make sure to have your engine get fixed right away. 

Use Nontoxic, Eco-friendly Boat Cleaning Products

Cleaning products usually have harsh chemicals that are harmful and toxic to marine species and their environment. Make sure to use products that are appropriate for boats while at the same time don’t contain ingredients that are toxic such as phosphates, chlorine, ammonia, artificial fragrances, or petroleum products. 

Make sure to regularly wash your boat with fresh water after taking it out on the ocean to prevent dirt and grime buildup which helps reduce the use of cleaning products. Make sure to do the cleaning on land, preferably in a parking lot, boatyard, or driveway, where the residue can be properly disposed of. 

If possible, save maintenance projects for the boatyard. Debris and rubble can fall into the water and those materials can be toxic especially if marine critters try to eat them, mistaking them for food. When performing work on the water minimize your impact by containing waste. Use tarps and vacuum sanders to collect all waste for proper disposal.

Be Conscious of All Aquatic Habitats

Marine animals are susceptible to the impacts of boat powerful boat propellers, wakes, and waste that’s been thrown overboard. Seagrass beds are important aquatic habitats that serve as food sources, refuges, and nursing grounds for a lot of marine life. Seagrasses also absorb excess carbon dioxide from the atmosphere. They filter pollutants and absorb excess nutrients in the water, while also helping to lessen the effects of sea level rise by stabilizing sediments on the seafloor. If seabeds are affected due to pollution, marine animals also suffer because they will lose their habitat and sources of food. You can help out these critters by avoiding boating in seagrass beds and sandbars as much as possible. Don’t anchor or moor your boat on seagrass areas. Using propellers can chop aquatic vegetation which can lower oxygen levels in the water, lead to excessive erosion, and limit the movement of animals living in these habitats.

If you run into a seagrass bed or sandbar, stop immediately and trim up your engine. Use a pole or paddle to move your boat from the seagrass bed or sandbar and, if the waters are shallow enough, walk your boat out of the area. 

If you’re not so sure about the depth, slow down and idle. If you are leaving a muddy trail behind your boat, you are probably cutting seagrass. To prevent this from happening, follow navigational charts, channel markers, and posted signage to avoid sensitive areas. Don’t forget to harass any wildlife creatures, no matter how cute and cuddly they look.

Practice Proper Waste Management Always 

Keeping waterways free of trash and waste is important not for environmental protection, but also for public enjoyment, and your state’s tourism economy. Nowadays, the government is stricter in implementing laws that prohibit anyone, from throwing rubbish in all bodies of water. Dispose of items with toxic substances such as paints, batteries, cleaning products, oil, and oil filters at a hazardous waste collection facility or event.

If you have a toilet in your boat, never discharge sewage within 3 miles of shore. Make use of harbour pump-out stations and shore-side facilities. If you don’t have an installed toilet, use a port-a-potty and empty it at a harbour dump station or bathroom. Keep your trash on board. Having a trash can is one of the most important boat accessories where you can keep your trash in it. Never throw cigarette butts, fishing lines, or any other garbage into the ocean.

With small sacrifices, initiative, and mindfulness, we can literally save the planet from deteriorating and help it heal to keep it beautiful and a great place to live for all living creatures on the planet.