Starting a Bullet Journal: Advice from a Beginner

Step one: Review the official bullet journal video to familiarize yourself with the basic set up and function of a bullet journal.

Step two: Using a throw away notebook (old spiral notebook, old journal, scrap of paper) write out what you want to include in your bullet journal. I would recommend dedicating a page to what pages you want to include and a page dedicated to monthly, weekly, daily tasks, habits, projects, and even include the upcoming tasks, events, and due dates you may have. You can further organize this second page by indicating if these items are tasks or important tasks and also indicate how often these items come up. This page will also help you to decide what pages you want to include in your bullet journal.

Step three: Browse. Check out the official website, scroll through the tags on Tumblr, Youtube, Pinterest, and anywhere else you frequent that may have a bullet journaling community. Get more ideas for pages you want to include and start gathering inspiration for how you would like to design and organize your pages.

Step four: Start your bullet journal. Use your lists to guide which pages you include and your gathered inspiration to make it look how you would like it to look. Do not worry about it being perfect. It is only your first bullet journal and you will still be experimenting to figure out what set ups, styles, and designs work best for you. It just needs to keep you organized and help you discover what does work for you.

Step four (a): If you have the resources to buy fancy supplies, go for it. Check out my bujo ref tag for recommendations on journaling tools. If you do not have the resources for fancy supplies, do not let that hold you back from trying out bullet journaling. It is back to school season (in the US at least) and planners, blank journals, and spiral notebooks are good prices right now. You can also check discount stores such as dollar stores. If you want a fresh start, get what you can. If you cannot afford that either, then use whatever you have on hand. Using an old spiral notebook from last school year and ripping out the used pages means that you will be less concerned with how perfect each page is anyways and will help you focus on what works for you. When you are able to get fancier supplies, you will have the basics down and feel free to experiment with decorating.

Step five: I recommend creating a space and/or tagging system that will allow you to organize all of your inspiration so it is easy to scroll through each category while working on your bullet journal. Break it down to general inspiration, specific page inspiration (index page, key page, habit page, monthly review page, weekly spread page(s), etc), fonts, headers, doodles, and anything else you can think of.

That’s about it. Have fun!

scrap-patch  asked:

I just happened to pop on to your page and my first reaction was "When did Deacon get a tumblr? And when did I add him?!" XD Tuesday shall henceforth be known as Deacon Day in honor of this sexy beast.

Haha, Deacon just overtook my tumblr. He won’t leave.

Day 3: Caretaking Focus--Junkrat and Roadhog

feverfetish back with more Jamie torture, this time with more Mako bodyguarding.

If he could sleep, Roadhog would probably sleep with one eye open.

His fingers twitch on his Scrap Gun, his other hand creeping back toward where Junkrat stirs and grunts on the other end of the mattress, grimy cheeks still injected with a harsh and unbefitting flush. The blond’s breaths are heavy enough to be heard over Roadhog’s asthmatic huffing, and every raspy intake rattles, grates. It’s unpleasant, uncomfortable to listen to. Even in sleep, the Junker must be in agony; lungs contracting, begging for reprieve.

The body guard rests one massive hand against Junkrat’s forehead, both to calm his shifting and to monitor his condition. He bought a thermometer for the first time earlier, and it’d read 103.8 F. His metric conversion was rusty, but it didn’t sound good, and a quick internet search confirmed that. Now, some hours later, the young man is still burning up.

A sigh tears through Roadhog. He casts a quick glance toward his gun, and then looks back to little Jamison whose chest heaves with every small breath that slips out past his chapped lips.

He straightens up, glues his dutiful gaze to the door of the motel after a quick scan of the room. They’ve settled in a lot more than one usually would on the run, but there’s little choice with his employer down for the count and unable to even protest Mako administering uncharacteristic care.

He doesn’t have much experience caring for sick people, but Mako doesn’t need experience to know that Junkrat is damn ill. More ill than Mako has probably ever been in his life.

They can’t leave, but it’s dangerous to stay. So Roadhog can’t sleep, and won’t sleep. It’s his job to keep the stupid young Junker alive and in decent health until he can get his cut, and if that means losing a night of sleep to monitor his temperature and watch the motel door… well, it’s probably worth it.

Since we have a couple of imagines with the farmer having a panic attack, maybe we could have one where the farmer helps their spouse with their panic attacks?

Abigail: It was during the annual egg hunt that Abigail tended to shine, putting her monster hunting fantasies to practice as the imagined the eggs as little slimes.

“Go!” Called out Lewis, signaling the beginning of the hunt to the farmer, their wife, and the other children that had gathered to participate.

They each ran off in their own respective directions, playfully teasing about who would get the most eggs as they began the search.

Suddenly, Abigail froze in her tracks as she rounded the corner to the saloon, finding in front of her a wild dog, it’s head obscured by the trashcan it was digging through for scraps. Suddenly, she was trapped in ice and she couldn’t move a muscle. She could only hear her heart pounding in her chest and her breathing as it rapidly decayed into a raspy gasp.

Moments later, the farmer briskly walked down the pathway to the left of the graveyard, and they stopped in their tracks when they saw a hint of purple hair and a purple boot poking out from the side of the saloon. Curiously, they approached and stopped short when they found Abigail leaned against the side of the outer wall, clutching her vest tightly.

“Abigail?” They asked gently, tenderly placing a hand on her shoulder. She jumped and looked up at them with wide eyes and the farmer understood.

They gently scooped Abigail up in their strong arms and ducked into the saloon to be alone and hold their wife. “It’s okay,” they whispered soothingly to her until her shaking stopped. They tilted her face up to theirs and gently laid a kiss on her forehead. “You’re alright. Why don’t we leave early this year and go play Prairie King?”

“But,” Abigail sniffed, “What about winning the egg hunt? I just ruined our chances.” The farmer gave her a gentle squeeze.

“Don’t worry about it, there’s always next year. Now come on, I have a piece of Fire Quartz with your name on it.”

Alex: The farmer opened the door to the cabin they shared with Alex, they could instantly feel something was off. There was something like dread hanging in the air.

“Alex?” They called out as they searched for their husband. “Oh, Alex,” they sighed when they spotted him in the kitchen, leaning over the stove. “I just had the worst feeling that something bad had happ-” they were cut short when Alex crumbled to the floor.

“Alex?” The farmer knelt down and took their husband into their arms. He was in a cold sweat and, as he shook, grasping onto the farmer for comfort, it became apparent what was happening.

The farmer scooped him up and carried him outside, setting him down on a rocking chair that had been set on the porch of the cabin. They disappeared into the cabin again then returned with a glass of cold water, giving it to Alex and taking a few steps back to give him room.

When his breathing had stabilized, the farmer asked quietly, “Feel better?”

Alex finally opened his eyes and looked at them. “Much better. Thank you so much.”

Elliott: “Please,” Elliott sounded desperately overwhelmed, “No more questions for now.” He held his hands up defensively as he took a step back, finding his back pressed to a bookshelf. Today was a very joyous day, his book had finally been published and he was having his first panel about it. He hadn’t expected such a large, demanding crowd.

“Please step back.” The farmer commanded firmly, squeezing themselves between their husband and the crowd.

“I need to get out of here!” Elliott whispered to the farmer, gripping the back of their clothes. The farmer could feel how his fingers shook and how tight his grip was.

“Step back.” The farmer commanded again, pressing the crowd back. Elliott turned and pressed his forehead to one of the books on the shelf. He desperately needed to keep it together in front of all these people.

The farmer turned back to see their husband beginning to wilt and took him by the hand, pulling him through the little gap they had made until they were safely outside. They helped him mount their horse and they rode together, Elliott clinging to the farmer gravely, until the cabin came into sight.

The farmer gently nudged Elliott off the horse and helped him inside where they brewed some of his favorite tea and set a gently crackling fire in the fireplace. They then took one of Elliott’s favorite poetry books off the bookshelf they shared and read to him until his troubles seemed miles away.

Penny: “Try to calm down,” the farmer tried to soothe their newly wed wife.

“No, you don’t understand!” Penny was frantic, her fingers tangled in her hair as she was pacing along the rug that was laid out on the floor of the farmer’s cabin. “She can’t take care of herself without me! She’ll drink herself to death at the saloon, or she’ll give herself food poisoning trying to cook for herself–” Penny’s words were beginning to run on together and resemble gibberish more than words. She had known marrying the farmer would mean moving in with them, but she hadn’t considered it would mean leaving her mother alone.

The farmer approached Penny and took her firmly by the shoulders, looking in her eyes. “Penny. It’s okay. You need to breathe,” they reminded her, their hands trailing from her shoulders then down her arms, taking her hands in theirs. “Your mother is a grown woman.” The farmer’s tone began to be more gentle and soothing as they went on, but they never stopped using at least a bit of a firm tone. “She’s going to be okay, but you won’t if you don’t stop worrying.” They glanced down at the rug. “Or if you don’t stop trying to rub a hole in my rug.”

Penny sighed and nodded. She knew she was being irrational. “Thank you.” She smiled and kissed the farmer’s cheek, giving their hands a little squeeze.

Sam: Helping his father with therapy had taken it’s toll on Sam. The normally easygoing, laidback man had been strung out and wound way too tight for several days now. Things had gotten bad enough that he now needed his own therapy, which he had now decided to bring his love along to.

The farmer sat in a long, overly plush chair with their husband as he prattled on about how his father had almost died so many times, and how lost he and his younger brother would be without him.

“I keep imagining burying him,” Sam said, clutching his shirt over his chest. “I even dream about it sometimes.” His jaw clenched and his whole body went rigid. The trembling began in his fingers and hands then carried up his arms and to his shoulders like the cold seeps into you on a chilly winter day.

“Sam?” The farmer asked gently after the silence seemed too long for him to only be gathering his thoughts. That’s when Sam’s breathing began to escalate. At first it seemed like he felt the room was a bit stuffy, but it snowballed quickly into him clawing at the collar of his shirt as he gasped rapidly.

The farmer quickly wrapped their arms around Sam and laid his head on their shoulder, squeezing and nudging him in an effort to bring him back. A few tears began rolling down Sam’s cheeks before the shaking and heavy breathing stopped almost as abruptly as it began. He raised his head weakly and looked between the therapist and the farmer.

“I’m sorry,” he laughed halfheartedly, trying to forget that the episode had occurred, “Where was I?”

Sebastian: Sebastian had been laying in bed all day today, thinking about his career and how nobody but his adoring farmer seemed to take it seriously even in the slightest bit. He heard the door to the cabin clatter open and he felt fear spike up through his heart. He couldn’t let the farmer see their rock, their husband like this.

“Sebastian?” He heard the farmer call and he could feel his breathing began to race so he clapped his hand over his mouth, forcing the air in and out of his nose.

The farmer could hear some weird sounds coming from their bed, so they approached it and drew back the covers only to be surprised by what they found. Sebastian was curled in the fetal position between the sheets, and he jolted when the blankets were removed.

He suddenly crumbled into a gasping, shaking mess and his farmer knew what to do right away. They climbed in bed with him and pulled him into their embrace, folding the blankets bock over them and whispering to him about how much they cared for them and anything they could think of to distract him until he he regained composure.

“Come on,” the farmer stroked his hair, “let’s go catch some frogs then play videogames. Okay?”

r3troplay3r213  asked:

Banzai, Reaper,RoadHog,Winston,Lucio,and Symetria for the 6 Charecter thingy

  • Push off a cliff: Banzai (assuming the hyena)
  • Kiss: Symmetra
  • Marry: Reaper
  • Set on Fire: Roadhog, because it probably wouldn’t really effect him much, or he’d just wind up shooting me in the face with scrap parts.
  • Wrap a Blanket around: Winston
  • Be Roommates with: Lucio

anonymous asked:

what happened? did the writers scrap Manon's perviously devastated and angry attitude towards Alain?

I wouldn’t say angry, but yeah, I would have expected… cautiousness/waryness, like we got in Act III when she had admitted that (she had followed him because) she had been worried for him.

But we never saw them interact after Act IV, and then, in XY&Z023, the episode that suddenly revealed that Alan had other ‘mon (despite the nakama/exclusive-speech about how he had to battle with Lizardon in Act IV) and where Alan suddenly gained the Extraordinary Motivation To Do The League (in order to challenge Satoshi whom he could challenge anytime anywhere anyway, and against whom he doesn’t get mega-energy because oops, mega ring not reacting), Alan was sent this video:

what the hell.

Just. how. why.

So in best case scenario, you can hope that it was a video made by Lys, or that Manon was asked by Lys to do a ~motivational video~ for Alan and that she only accepted because Lys had been good towards her (seriously, the video is absolute propaganda anyway?!); in worst case scenario (which is more likely here, given that the absence of hints that it was fake), it was just to tell viewers that seeeeee, Manon is fine so now Alan is just free to do the league, Alan doesn’t have Issues and Manon can be taken for granted.

anonymous asked:

When the detective woke up, the first thing he realized was that there was someone else in his bed. The second, that he was naked. And the third, that he couldn't remember last night at all.

What happened last night? …where are my clothes? No signs of any around, not even a scrap of his boxers. He was nude but with covers draping over his lanky form. He wasn’t one to normally fall asleep, so this was completely unexpected. Last but not least… 

Who’s in the bed with me…?

30 Day Dragon Age OC Challenge

Day 8: Fighting 2 – Morality

What do they think about fighting/violence as a solution to problems? What was the first time they killed someone? What fight do they have nightmares about?

Lux was incredibly hot-headed and tended greatly towards violence at the time he became Emma’s ward.  Although, what he considered “fighting” was, at best, more akin to “scrapping”, and never actually amounted to much other than getting him into more trouble.  In fact, if it weren’t for Emma, it would’ve gotten him killed.  Needless to say, after witnessing her precise, brutal efficiency in combat, growing up a bit, and learning to be particularly deadly himself,  his attitude towards violence has changed.    

Lux is good at fighting.  He thinks on his toes, and keeps himself, his arrows, and his vials exactly where they need to be when they need to be there.  His ranged fighting meshes perfectly with Emma’s up-close-and-personal, get in, cut them all down, and get out style, and it all makes for a great deal of self-satisfaction once the battle is over.  However, if given a choice, Lux would be more likely to avoid a fight than throw himself headlong into one.  He doesn’t like killing people, and he doesn’t like that Emma does like killing people, but he understands that in most situations where they end up in a fight, killing the enemy becomes necessary to stay alive.

The journey from Minrathous to Starkhaven was rife with attacks from slave hunters, hoping to capture both of them and drag Lux back to slavery and Emma to a headsman for a hefty bounty.  For the most part, Emma was able to fend them off on her own, but the one time she couldn’t became the first time Lux actually killed someone.  He used a bow they’d taken off a hunter in a previous attack, despite not having any training in its use, to put an arrow in the back of a man moving to flank her, and the second it hit was the most cathartic second of his entire sixteen years at the time.  

He remained proud of that first kill for a long time, but he always remembered the look on the man’s face as he died.  He’d seen dead and dying men before, other slaves, and it always ate at him that the man he killed had the same look of pained abject terror on his face when he died as the elves he saw die in Minrathous.  He doesn’t exactly have nightmares about it, but that realization soured his pride in killing and violence as he matured.  In fact, there isn’t a particular fight that gives him nightmares, but the faces of the people he’s killed, if he sees them, stay with him, even if only in the back of his mind, to make sure he never learns to enjoy it again.