Realm of the InterNutter

Thoughts, stories and ideas.

I need to stop indulging

At least, indulging in treat feast food, which has resulted in my weight skyrocketing up by three kilos from the heavier side of 94. In just as many days, I have managed to undo three months' worth of exercise and treat rationing.

I have to limit myself, once more, or see in the new year as a butterball.

I'm going to get down to the vicinity of 80 kilos, next year, if it takes me most of that time to do so.

Meanwhile, I have plenty of exercise potential in the laundry room and the kitchen sink. I'm going to nibble the mountain down on a daily basis. And if I keep ahead of the washing up, there's a high chance that I can keep the kitchen clean for the rest of next year.

Everyone laugh now. You'll save time.

I have to tackle this with the same bloody-minded determination that I tackled writing my first book, and every book thereafter. Set a goal, keep a goal. Every day for perpetuity.

I know it works, because I have a considerable volume of titles under my belt, now. [Someone purchased all my paid titles in one go, a few days ago. Thank you, random benefactor!] All I have to do is extend that spoon management to (ugh) physical activity.

Yeah, I'm a laugh riot today.

Onwards, ever onwards, into the grinding wheel of work that is never to be finished...

Iris and Peter Get Married (Eventually) [pt 6]

Chapter Six.
(The dreadful sandwich reappears, An attempt at a decent meal, A close call, and A good tidying)

Early to bed and early to rise, it is said, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise. Once Admiral Reginaldfield Chesterpot Walter had achieved the 'wealth' part of that trio, he completely surrendered any efforts to accomplish the rest. He didn't rise until after ten and didn't leave his bedchamber much before noon.

Mrs Cambridge saw to his wants.

Which gave Iris plenty

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Challenge #01066-B334: Touch Feast

You mentioned Frisk being tactile - so they probably don't mind at all if the monsters take every opportunity to pick them up, carry them around, hug them or hold them (and one time pretend to suplex them) -- Gallifreya

The first thing people noticed about Frisk was their silence. The second thing they noticed, assuming they got past the silence, was that Frisk was rarely out of the arms of a monster.

It didn't matter which one. Whatever came along to

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Muggy hot :P

Today's air is a fine oxygen soup, infused with ateu de perspiratiôn, and the cries of all of those stuck without air conditioning.

As a Queenslander, I'm naturally equipped with the gills necessary to breathe the waterlogged atmosphere. Friendo is not faring so well in the moisture. She's more used to far dryer atmospheres. She's going back home, tomorrow. Into much clearer air.

She will be missed.

IF I had the money, there would be an extra little flat on our land.

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Iris and Peter Get Married (Eventually) [pt 5]

Chapter Five.
(From the frying pan to the fire, Mrs Cambridge to the rescue, The threat of diaries, and A miserable night’s sleep)

Her master caught her up as she was running for the sanctuary of the kitchen and the servant's quarters in the cellar. He lifted her off her feet, causing her to scream at the top of her lungs and fight with all the strength she had.

Elbows, knees, nails, feet, and even teeth came into play. All the

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Challenge #01065-B333: Santa Claws

The Santa Suit in King Fluffybuns' wardrobe. -- Gallifreya

The first rays of Christmas morning lit the snow with gold. This was a day of magic. A day of miracles. And the best miracle was that Frisk had a family now.

Mom Toriel and Dunkle Sans. And Uncle Papyrus. And Aunties Undyne and Alphys. And a whole host of others who would be sharing the feast at the Really Big table.

The grin on Frisk's head wouldn't go away. Their breathless giggles

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Post-Yule fallout

Boxing day. A day when the fridge is full of leftovers and the house is full of wrapping paper. Today is going to be pretty much an all-day snack and I know it.

Thanks to Pizza on Christmas Eve, and the feast yesterday, I'm back up over my 95-Kilo celebration border. So I will be attempting [underline attempting] to keep my sweet tooth in check.

It's not going well. Today's breakfast includes four jelly lollies and a snowball [that's a chocolate-covered marshmallow

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Iris and Peter Get Married (Eventually) [pt 4]

Chapter Four.
(Neutral territory, The Admiral’s survivors, The Admiral’s victims, and Dinner happens once a day)

Peter carried her all the way to the library. One of the demilitarised zones in the perpetual battle between himself and the old man. Laid her carefully on one of the couches there and, with a thought to her sense of decency, covered her stockinged legs with a throw his late mother had made.

Poor Ma. The doctors said she perished from hysterical melancholy.

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Iris and Peter Get Married (Eventually) [pt 3]

Chapter Three.
(Formal Dinner, The suffragette’s critique, Goods on display, and An insufferable situation)

Dinner was a very stiff affair. Starched collars and cuffs and near-strangling black ties. The Admiral Walter wore it like a second skin, while the young master wore it rather like a straight jacket.

Iris, and a good half-dozen other maids in similarly brief uniforms, stood decoratively around the room. All well within the young master's line of sight. She had managed to find his bedchamber, conspired

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Challenge #01064-B332: The Pros and Cons of Cute

That one ambassador that has at this point given up on avoiding being picked up and cuddled/held/used as a large teddy bear, and just gets on with paperwork (or listens/chats/relaxes/reads a book/takes a nap) while their fur/scales/feathers are groomed by whoever got them this time, so long as they don't have any appointments to get to. -- Gallifreya

[Re-using Ambassador Ha'ri from story #00761, available for purchase in the next Instants Anthology (coming soon)

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It's raining on Christmas Eve

And since I spent my formative years in the country and living on tank water, I have only one response to rain on Christmas Eve:

YES!

I hope it stays, today. I hope it stays tomorrow. I hope it stays for Boxing Day, when a majority of the post-festivity mess is getting cleaned up.

We need a nice, gentle, cooling rain in the very middle of summer. We need it like air. A nice, set-in rain would make this Christmas perfect.

Because

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Iris and Peter Get Married (Eventually) [pt 2]

Chapter Two.
(Miss Iris learns the ropes, That which needs fixing, The dreadful sandwich, and The cheeky copper head)

Iris scurried after Mrs Cambridge, skirts held fast in both hands.

"No doubt he's told you not t' do something 'til you're fixed somehow. You can forget about that with me."

"Said I shouldn't talk, m'm. Said me accent needed fixin'."

"Uhuh. Irish. There's those who lord it over any they see as lesser, and our master the Admiral has an entire list

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Challenge #01063-B331: The Ambassador... the Hat

A skeleton looks much less scary with a small child sitting on their shoulders/draped over their skull -- Gallifreya

The monsters had not waited for permission to build. A new city sprang up on and around Mount Ebott. Practically overnight. Replete with paved roads, plumbing, and all the amenities. They certainly did not wait to celebrate their freedom.

And they invited the humans to come join them.

Some came expecting to be scared. Officer Honicutt came to make certain that the

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Fun times ahead

Friendo is super effective at getting me motivated. The majority of an entire arm of the kitchen countertop has been sorted in the space of a few hours, when its daunting expanse of assorted scrattle had intimidated me to the extreme, previously.

I have the hoarder's edition of OCD - which means (a) I never throw anything out (b) I tend to leave things where they lie, and (c) doing anything to fix it requires at least one person to keep me

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