#maybe a reread of something that's easy

[vvelegrin]

kind of thinking... my main project i've worked on for a long time now has been a 'practice novel' with characters and etc that have been knocking around in here for a very long time. practice novel in that i am giving myself no expectations outside of finishing the damned thing, no obligation to do anything with it, just a proof of concept and a chance to practice the process.

unfortunately, i am terminally worldbuilding-brained. but what that has more practically come out to is that i get stuck in rabbit holes and get overwhelmed by the sheer amount that there is. endless complexity. it's fun! hours are spent on things that will probably not show up anywhere but i like the ideas, and then i don't get any writing done ever lmao.

but i've ended up getting sucked into several fanfiction projects recently and, while i do have to streamline my general workflow (which involves too much of being an overwhelmed freak about everything, but i digress), the compulsion to engage in worldbuilding and the subsequent crippling and ultimately-unproductive obsession is completely eliminated and i can actually write?

I don't know what this Means exactly, apart from the fact that i obviously need to adjust my approach to my original stuff. one piece, but not the whole thing, is that i think i need to do smaller projects. my tentative rule for myself is to make a checklist of worldbuilding concepts that i'd like to flesh out meaningfully, and instead of endless research and notes, i have to write a small piece that incorporates it. or whatever.

anyway that's how i ended up in the throes of a pathologic/ai: the somnium files crossover. what's fun about that is that i'm not the first person to do that crossover!

[holygroundgone]

dungeon meshi (only ever calling it that) is such a fantastic fucking all rounder, it really feels perfect, in fact it almost feels a little too perfect, it's so good and delicious and frankly uncontroversial and palatable despite the high threshold of tasteful but immense horniness, i truly feel like ryoko kui alchemized pure gold

[hyperfixation-tangentopia]

I think part of why I love doing edits so much is I forget about them. I forget about the process, I forget about the thoughts of what I might've done instead or whatever, I can just forget all that. The process is isolated to the process and the result the result, while still having the positive feelings of the progress fun, if that makes sense.

With drawing and writing, looking at it again isn't to enjoy it, it's to edit or catch mistakes or just because I liked it so how can I do it again. The process is entertwined with the result.

Also, I can't edit my edits after I post them. For the sake of laptop space, I delete them and just keep the Mp4 files. There's nothing to change, so I can't stress about it. It's nice. I think editing helps my writing and helps me feel better about it in the long run, but I was able to absorb my own work without worrying about making it better in the past and that's why I enjoyed it more.

And drawing is a middle ground, except my perfectionist comes through mostly in the process, so I worry less about sharing it honestly.

Anyway. Just some midnight ramblings.

[holygrailcycle]

LONG TIME NO SEE. Dunno if anyone's watching, but recent developments have sparked my brain in a way that I wanted to write down and share, so here I am!!! Buckle up because this goes on a bit.

With the reveal of Our Rage Issues and the conversations that were going on in the comments in this post, I wanted to talk a bit about what we know - what we remember - of our situation. What we have, right now, are these:

The recollection we gained while dealing with Setanta (see above).

The recollection we gained while talking with Draco.

Chapter 2.5, after we drank the Tezcal Pulque with Quetz and Rider.

And of course, our lived experiences during the first Tumblr Holy Grail War.

So, here's the summary:

Once upon a time, we were all individual people. Wizards. Masters. We fought alongside our own Servants in the Lunar Holy Grail War. Then we lost and died. The End.

Except not. Something scooped us, a mass of dead and defeated souls, up, shoved us together, and sent us into the Solar Cell. We summoned Servants, and at some point fell into Rage and dragged them along with us. Lancer managed to get free and nearly killed us, but somehow we wound up sealed instead. The End.

Except not. Somehow we got out, with zero recollection of what had happened before our 'test run' (that was actually trillions of runs). And now we're here, stuck trying to make sense of everything and anything with not an insubstantial amount of people wanting to kill or otherwise neutralize our collective asses.

So to that point, my own theory talk under the cut:

My initial theory was that maybe something during our investigation corrupted us. After all, we were lucid - if confused - in our conversations during 2.5, and Lancer and Archer didn't seem to find that odd, not to mention their own lucidity. But even discounting Lancer's commentary about 'our nature', the fact that we had an Avenger with us in the first place, and an Avenger that looks like the Black Grail on top of it, pokes holes in that theory.

So instead: maybe we were created solely to destroy the Solar Cell. To serve as a Trojan horse to slip in and go off at the most optimal time. It's hard to look at the materials - the fallen souls of the Moon Cell - and think there were good, pure intentions at work. But even if what Lancer was told about us was true, it doesn't mean the speaker's intentions were good or pure.

There's still a nightmare lurking in the core, after all - a nightmare that tore Fragment Avenger apart and shoved them inside for their own ends. And it'd be easy to take advantage of the chaos we were creating for their own ends. To hide themself, and their own plans, by pointing the finger elsewhere.

After all, why waste a perfectly good scapegoat?

[peapod20001]

LMAO QUICK. WIPE YOUR TEARS BEFORE SOMEONE SEEEESSS YOUUU

[bluewaterhigh2005]

i haven’t read anything in weeks i cannot believe my little speedrun reread of the mmcu (melina marchetta cinematic universe) sent me so hard into a flop reading era. like i’m staring at storm of swords right now and even knowing i’m on a jaime chapter isn’t enough to get me going. the power of thomas finch mackee is immense

[blinkbones]

Minor Detail -- Adania Shibli

Rambling warning. This reading got so mixed in with my current state of mind and feelings + the difficulty of speaking about something related to a heated current issue, it's a whole mess. And probably not a well-worded one. Also I'm ignorant. I hope I don't compound anyone's pain today, and if I do, I am endlessly sorry. Also anyone being dehumanizing in my notes is catching a block.

This book I bought on a whim, against my own rules. My new job has been taking its toll on me and, I don't know, I sort of felt compelled to... do... something...?

It's an awful thing to say, but I've been compartmentalizing a lot. I've been limiting the time that I take to engage with news, because it kept sending me down doom spirals.

But... I still care, yknow. And I guess that's why I picked up a book with such a discomforting blurb even in my aching state -- and how comforting can you get in your writing as a Palestinian author, in the context of the last... century... anyway?

Ok, less about me and more about this book. It's a short, and well-crafted novel, in two parts. In the first half, the reader is put in direct contact with the cold point of view of an Israeli soldier in the few days that lead up to the rape and murder of a young Arab woman. In the second part, decades later, a Palestinian woman seeks to reconstruct the full truth of those events. You don't need me to tell you that this can be a triggering read -- but if you can handle it, it's a good one.

The writing is deceivingly simple in appearance. You will not be stumped by the sentence structures -- but the overall structure of the story itself is complex, interlacing within itself.

There are obvious mirrors to anyone who paid attention in literature classes. The dog's barking echoes like an ominous bell across the two parts. The two main characters (unnamed) both descend into a sort of feverish paranoia.

There are two scenes that I keep going back to in my mind, one from each part.

In part 1, the soldier gets stung by an insect, and his state deteriorates. As he gets more unwell, he becomes more and more meticulous and controlling regarding his environment, obviously unwilling to risk a second incident, all the while growing more and more ill. One night, or day, as he avoids the burning sun, he gets up and smashes every single insect he can find; big spiders, small spiders, even a moth. The text doesn't tell you, but you can guess -- this won't help him at all; he's already sick ; and a moth? What harm could the moth ever inflict upon him? What it reveals is his obsession for control, born out of the fear of one unpleasant but seemingly non-lethal bite, inflicted by a creature who got trapped under his shirt when he slept for the first time in a house that belonged to someone else, that we as readers imagine to be dead or trying to find refuge far away from their old home. You read it and you can't help but think about children, a week ago, yesterday, today, probably right now. Moths as well. Humans treated like insects and all lumped into a bag of "killables".

In part 2, the woman goes to work. She calls it "her new job" but you soon get the sense that she may have been at it for a while. She struggles with the limits of things, where to put them and where they end and if she's the one in charge of drawing the limit or of following its implications. This, in the context of a country whose borders are regularly pushed inward like a booby trap designed to crush its victims, is such a simple sentence, but a terrifying one. Anyway, that's not even the scene. She goes to work. On her way there, she gets stopped by soldiers telling her that the way is blocked, as they are leading an operation to deal with some young people ("terrorists" was the word, I think) holed up in a nearby building. She finds another way to access the building, where she opens the windows so the glass won't break. Soon after, there is an explosion, and the glass doesn't break. She focuses on the dust, which she abhors, because it comes in a cloud and covers her work station and the papers she's working on. It's rough and dry and hard to deal with. Her priority in that moment is to get the dust off of her papers, so that she can keep working. This resonated deeply with me. Even though my situation is, no doubt, much less depressing and much less dangerous than hers, how often have I ignored a horror I can't deal with to focus on the stupid minute details of something I do have some form of impact on? In the text, the narrator worries that this may be difficult to understand, focusing on the dust, when a literal bomb blew up nearby, but I really don't think it is. With the state of things, how they've been and how they've been going, worldwide, locally, continentally, nationally, whatever you want, and how powerless it makes a lot of us feel, I think it's inevitable to focus on what you can actually affect. And she's right, it is so silly, in a way. But maybe it is just a survival strategy as well, and it doesn't mean that one cannot care, or try to have a bigger impact, or be more involved in attempts to change things ; indeed, the woman eventually draws from every resource at her disposal to try something -- maybe "anything", I'm not sure. I mean, I've been giving my opinion and feelings here, but it'd be presumptuous to say that I really understand the author's intent.

On that note, I was hungry for more after I was done reading, so I watched a few interviews. How ironic that Adania Shibli herself got arrested when she visited the same museum her character visits, because they had "never seen a Palestinian woman with a computer". This simple sentence weighs on my mind as well, again not entirely sure why. How ironic, as well, that her award ceremony was postponed in the wake of October 7th. As if her getting her prize was going to deafen Israeli voices (I'm referring to the justification given by the book fair in question). As if this really was a simple mathematical problem, in which pain can only be recognized under one flag at a time. As if recent history showed dominance of Palestine over Israel. As if human pain wasn't universal.

I don't claim to know everything, but the level of bullshit kind of makes me feel insane sometimes. Anyway, please don't try to debate me -- this is only a book review, and I am only a random fuck with basic principles of "I don't like it when people are hurt" and no free time to argue why that's my principle.

[crows-of-buckets]

Yk. I should really bite the bullet at post at least one of my pfwotr fics. I have one that I can post. I should do it (I probably won't)

[niennanir]

Listen to your elders

So last week I posted abut the importance of downloading your fic. And then three days later AO3 went down for 24 hours. No one was more weirded out by this than I was. But while y’all were acting like the library at Alexandria was on fire I was reading my download fic and editing chapter eight of Buck, Rogers, and the 21st Century. And also thinking about what I could do to be helpful when the crisis was actually over.

So first off, I’m going to repeat that if you’re going to bookmark a fic, you really need to also download the fic and back it up in a safe place. I just do it automatically now and it’s a good habit to get into.

But let’s talk about some other scenarios. Last October I lost power for over a week after hurricane Ian. Apart from not having internet or A/C I did find plenty to do, I collect books so I had plenty to read, but maybe, unlike me, your favorite comfort reads aren’t sitting on a bookshelf. So let’s do something about that, shall we?

In olden times many long years ago around 1995 we printed off a lot of fic. It was mostly SOP to print a fic you planned to reread and stick it in a three ring binder. And that’s totally valid today too, but you can also make a very nice paperback with a minimum amount of skill and materials.

Let’s start with the download; Go to Ao3 and select your fic, we’ll be working with one of mine. This method works best with one shots, long fic tends to need a more complicated approach. Get yourself an HTML download

Open up the HTML download and select all then copy paste into any word processor. Set the page to landscape and two columns, then change the font to something you find easy to read, this is your book, no judgement. This is all you have to do for layout but I like to play a little bit. I move all the meta, summary, notes to the end and pick out a fun font for the title: 

No time like the present to do a quick proofread. Congratulations, you’ve just created your first typeset. On to the fun part.

Now you’re going to need some materials:  8.5x11in paper ruler one sheet of 12x12 medium card stock (60-80lb) scissors pencil pen or fine tip marker sheet of wax paper white glue two binder clips 2 heavy books or 1 brick butter knife

You’ll also need a printer, if you’re in the US there is almost a 100% chance your local library has a printer you can use if you don’t have your own. None of these materials are expensive and you can literally use cheap copy paper and Elmers glue.

Print your text block, one page per side. Fold the first page in half so that the blank side is inside and the printed side out:

use the butter knife to crease the edge. Repeat on all the sheets. When you’ve finished, stack them up with the raw edge on the left and the folded edge on the right. I used standard copy paper, because you’re only printing on one side there’s no bleed to worry about. Take the text block and line everything up. Use the binder clips to hold the raw edge in place.

Wrap the text block in the wax paper so that the raw edge and binder clips are facing out. I’m going to use my home built book press but you don’t need one, a brick or a couple of books or anything else heavy will work fine.

Once the text block is anchored down, take off he binder clips and get out the glue.

You can use a brush but you don’t need one, smear some glue on that raw edge.

Go make a margarita, watch The Mandalorian, call your mother. Don’t come back for at least an hour

In an hour smear some more glue on there and shift your brick forward so that the whole book is covered. This keeps the paper from warping. While glue part 2 is drying we’ll do the cover. Get out your 12x12 cardstock

Mark the cardstock off at 8.5 inches and cut it. Measure in 5.5 inches from the left and put in a score line with the butter knife (the back edge not the sharp edge)

Carefully fold the score line, this is your front cover. You have some options for the cover title, you can use a cutting machine like a cricut if you have one, you can print out a title on the computer and use carbon paper to transfer the text to the cardstock. I was in a mood so I just freehanded that beoch. Pencil first then in pen.

Take your text block out from under your brick. Line it up against the score mark and mark the second score on the other side of the spine

Fold the score and glue the textblock into the cover at the spine. Once the glue dries up mark the back cover with the pencil and then trim the back cover to fit with your scissors.

Voila:

I’m going to put this baby on the shelf next to the Silmarillion.

The whole process, not counting drying time, took less than an hour.

If you want to make a book of a longer fic, I recommend Renegade Publishing, they have a ton of resources for fan-binders. 

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 A Picture of a Cat.

Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

Summary: After months of emailing back and forth, you finally meet the person you've been chatting with every day. Then you realize that Spencer is not just a girl's name.

Words: 2,7k.

Warnings & Tags: forensic!reader. with spencer of the early seasons very much in love in mind. the reader has a cat and has little faith in men (literally me, sorry). SO MUCH chaos and maybe lack of communication but happy ending. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: This is pretty chaotic and not particularly serious😭 It might be best not to try to make sense of it. They're just two idiots in love, really.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

To say that Spencer was dying of nervousness was not enough to describe his true feelings.

From the moment he woke up this morning without any mail from you in his inbox, he began to feel that his day was going wrong and that it was becoming an endless nightmare. He had lost count of all the times he had checked his mail at work, hoping to see even a one-line message from you to calm his anxiety.

As someone who had received your good morning every day without fail for the last four months that you had been talking to each other daily, he was completely taken aback and couldn't quite put his finger on why. Perhaps he had said something to offend you, or maybe you were just not feeling the spark anymore. But astonishingly, none of your numerous emails that he had taken the time to reread on the jet indicated any cause for concern.

Everything had been so positive with you recently, and he was grateful to have someone to talk to, even if it was through a computer, every time he finished a challenging case and his mind just wanted to focus on something else. He found great comfort in reading about your day and your thoughts every morning, as if it were his newspaper. Even the pictures you always sent him of your cat sleeping in cute poses, eating, or doing anything else made him smile and gave him the idea of adopting a pet, even when he had never thought about the possibility of it before. You always helped him realize some desires he hadn't previously considered.

But suddenly he didn't have any of it. Nothing at all.

Reid's gaze fell once upon the computer on his desk, and his face was illuminated by its light as he reopened his email page for what might have been the thousandth time that day. His fingers tapped over and over on his knee in an attempt to calm his nerves as the page loaded at a slow pace. He took the opportunity to look at the time on the clock hanging on the wall in front of him. It was ten o'clock at night, and yet, once again, there was no trace of you among his messages.

His heart stopped for a second when he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, and he had to close the page he had opened on his computer at full speed before he could even realize who it was.

“Hey, take it easy, kid.” Derek said gently, removing his hand from his shoulder and stepping back a step. His eyes fell on the computer screen, and he was intrigued. “What were you watching?” He asked, with a playful smile.

“N-nothing.” Spencer's voice trembled beyond his control, and he quickly rose from his chair, trying to shield the computer with his body.

You had been his best-kept secret for quite some time, and he was content with that. He enjoyed the idea of maintaining a certain level of privacy in that aspect of his life, as something just between you two. It was more special and romantic that way.

“Nothing? Is that what they call those things now?” Derek inquired, his tone teasing but not unkind. The boy blushed a little, unsure why. “I must admit I'm surprised.”

Reid had to think for a few seconds to figure out what his colleague was talking about, but even before he could understand, Morgan had started speaking again.

“Anyway, turn that off.” He said, pointing to the computer and settling his bag over his shoulder, ready to go. “Someone's waiting for you in the boardroom.”

Almost automatically, Spencer frowned and watched him, waiting for him to provide more information or at least laugh if he was making a joke. However, that didn't occur. Derek didn't laugh at him or anything of that nature.

“Go, Reid. It might be best not to keep the girl waiting.” He gave his friend a gentle pat on the shoulder and a reassuring smile before heading off on the way to the elevator.

A girl? Waiting for him? How?

Spencer took a moment to collect his thoughts, attempting to grasp the meaning behind Derek's words and the circumstances surrounding the supposed visitor. With a measured pace, he stepped away from his desk and proceeded down the hallway, heading for the boardroom with a contemplative demeanor.

As he opened the door and cautiously stepped inside, he was met with the most glorious sight of his life, the one he had waited so long for, the one that now quickened his pulse and seemed to bring him back to life after feeling dead all day.

You.

Standing at the table, looking intently at the various maps and data scattered around the round table in the center of the room. So deep in thought that you were not even aware of his presence. As pretty as in the pictures of you that he had seen.

He couldn't help but let out a little "oh my" at the sight of you. His heart was pounding so hard he thought he could hear it from across the room, or maybe his ears were just ringing from the blood rushing to his head. Reid stood still, looking at you, amazed. He could see how the light touched your hair and how you bit your lip as you concentrated on organizing the papers and a folder in your hand. It was real. It had to be real.

“Hi.” His voice suddenly startled you, making you realize that you were no longer alone and that the door was now open.

You look up from the documents you are examining and see him by chance. It takes you a moment to realize that he works there, and only by the FBI badge in his pants pocket.

“Hi.” You responded after giving him a very obvious visual scan.

Your voice.

It was the first time he'd heard you speak, and it was just as he'd imagined it would be.

“I’m-” You extended your hand in a cordial manner to introduce yourself, but he interrupted.

“I know who you are.” He spoke quickly, smiling at you. “I...I...you are...” Reid cursed himself for stuttering the sentence as his tongue suddenly felt too heavy in his mouth.

“Okay…I'm waiting for someone.” You said it politely, but your tone showed your anxiety.

Oh, you didn't know it was him.

Spencer let out a laugh to relieve the growing tension, but it came out sounding like a cough. He wanted to hit himself. Why was he acting like a child? He was an agent, for God's sake. His job was to talk to complete strangers every day and do entire profiles without getting nervous. He found it hard to understand how that was changing so much now. He took a deep breath and forced himself to speak more clearly.

“Yes, I know.” He replied, sounding a bit nervous. His voice was a little shaky, as if he was straining to get the words out.

“Do you know if this person is coming?” You were standing there with your arms crossed, trying to see if anyone else was coming after him.

At that moment, a look of confusion came over his face. It had not even crossed your mind that it might be him. And although it was to be expected and totally understandable since you had never seen a picture of him, Spencer still felt a twinge of pain and insecurity inside. Perhaps you expected him to look different, or at least not look like a kid playing federal agent.

Maybe it would have been helpful if he had sent you a picture of himself when you sent yours. That way, you might have had a better idea of what to expect. But you were very understanding of his insecurities and lack of comfort with the photos at the time. So he thought everything would be fine anyway…he was so wrong.

He cleared his throat and took a deep breath before speaking up. “Actually, it's me.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to hide how nervous he was, with little success.

As soon as he said it, you looked surprised, your mouth slightly open, and then you laughed.

“That's pretty funny.” You said it with a slightly uncomfortable smile. When you realized he wasn't laughing, you added, “Good joke.”

Seeing your reaction, Spencer felt the urge to shrink back and disappear, as if that action could erase the last few seconds of your memory and also erase the feeling he suddenly had of having screwed up in an unfamiliar way. He felt his chest tighten as you asked him again if the person you were waiting for was coming. Was it so hard to believe that he was the person you were talking to? The one who earned your trust and affection?

“I spent several hours on a plane, so please let me know if your colleague is coming.” You spoke again, your tone conveying a hint of disappointment and fatigue. “If I'm a nuisance and Spencer doesn't want to see me, I'd appreciate knowing that.”

Hearing you say his first name gave him an unexpected shiver. It sounded so pleasant and intimate. He took another deep breath and forced herself to speak clearly.

“Wait, he does want to see you.” He paused for a moment, realizing he sounded a bit ridiculous. “I mean, I do. I'm Spencer.”

You're momentarily taken aback, unsure if the guy in front of you is joking. His nervous expression suggests otherwise, and you even entertain the possibility that he might be crazy.

Oh my goodness, you were all alone on a practically empty floor of the FBI offices with an insane agent.

“Just let me know if she's coming or not, please.” You said, taking a few steps back to be at a safe distance from him.

His mouth was so dry he could only manage a soft, hoarse whisper. “She? Did you think I was a girl?”

“You?” You furrowed your brow, feeling more confused and uneasy.

At last, he had a suggestion and reached into his pocket to retrieve his badge, holding it out to you in a gesture that seemed to convey innocence.

“I’m Spencer Reid.” He said, his voice betraying a hint of awkwardness as he was caught off guard by the peculiar turn of events.

You looked at the badge, confused, and slowly looked up, looking into his eyes closely for the first time. You studied his face intently, not really believing it.

“Are you Spencer? My Spencer?” You asked.

When you said ���my,” he felt a flutter in his chest. His brain was trying to tell him not to get too invested in the moment, but the vulnerable part of him was moved by the way you said it, like he was all yours. There was a special air of affection there that he liked.

“Yes.” He replied, almost in a whisper. “I am.”

You had to take a moment to process the information, eyes glued to his as you tried to make sense of it. Little by little, you come to understand. This was the person you had been talking to every day for months—the person with whom you had shared your fears, stories, and dreams. Yet you hadn't even asked him for a picture or a call—anything that would have made you realize that he wasn't a woman. It seems almost unreal to you to have fallen into such a confusion.

“I sent pictures of my cat to a man?!” Was the first thing you thought, and it managed to come out of your mouth clearly, in an indignant tone. “I said you were my soulmate!”

Now you were the one who sounded insane.

He stood there for a few moments, looking at you and seeing the different emotions on your face. When he finally spoke, his voice had a hint of insecurity in it.

“Yes…but your cat is cute, and you take good pictures.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking a bit nervous. “Did you know that the evocative power of images is widely studied? They can help us verbalize and even rescue forgotten memories and stories from our collective memory and-” He silences himself. “Sorry.”

When he fell silent, your brain couldn't do the same, and thousands of hard-to-filter words began to appear. You had a strange feeling in your chest, a mixture of familiarity with the way his ramblings sounded to you, just like the emails you loved so much, and confusion about the whole situation.

“This is so strange.” You said to yourself, pacing around the room a couple of times. “I was so stupid-”

He observed you with great interest, trying to discern the thoughts and feelings that were likely swirling in your mind. He could empathize with your confusion, as he was also uncertain about the circumstances. He couldn't blame you for feeling bewildered. You had embarked on your journey with the expectation of meeting a girl named Spencer, but instead, you encountered him. You had envisioned a lovely girl, and you found him—a simple individual, a nerd who had been told on numerous occasions that nerds lacked charm.

“No. You're not.” He said, attempting to manage his desire to bridge the gap and offer solace. “It was a misunderstanding. I should have provided you with more information.”

“How would you even start a conversation by saying you were a man?” You let out a laugh to yourself. “I would have stopped talking to you instantly.”

The sentence hit him right in the heart.

The two of you had the opportunity to communicate by mail when your boss asked you to send reports on several of the autopsies with similarities you had done to the BAU. It was then that a picture of your cat was sent in the middle of the files. Spencer was the one who received it and made an attempt at a joke after your long apology. And then another, and another, until you ended up talking for four months until now.

But if you had known from the beginning that he wasn't a woman, you wouldn't have bothered to get to know him at all.

“I...I don't know what to tell you..” He admitted, sounding a little more vulnerable. “But why did you think I was a woman?”

After a moment's thought, you said. “Your name made me think of a girl I knew in college. And you...you were so nice and sweet in your emails that I found it hard to believe that a man could be like that through a screen.”

When you shared how you perceived him through his emails, it seemed that a certain vulnerability came to light. The situation had turned the tables, and now he was the one standing there trying to process the information.

“I thought I finally had a friend. You know what my job is like...and yours is just as all-consuming.” You spoke again, having to sit for a moment in one of the chairs in the place, trying to calm down. “It would've been great to have someone who understood me as a friend.”

He felt a pang in his heart at your words and was instantly reminded of the times you'd confided in him about how isolated you felt in your lab, surrounded by dead people and computers.

“You can still do that.” He replied without thinking. “I’m still the same person as before, just different packaging.”

For you, it was much more than that. First of all, you trusted him in the beginning because you thought he was a girl; that's why he understood you so much and you had that special connection.

Hell, you'd even told him how bad your period was, and he'd understood so well. He'd given you tips and facts that you didn't know that were beyond your expectations of what the average man knew.

“I mean, I'm still someone you can talk to.” He continued, his hands moving nervously in his pockets. “Unless you...unless you don't feel that way anymore.”

When you finally spoke, your voice sounded almost whispery and gentle. He couldn’t help but lift his gaze from the floor to you, feeling how his body relaxed just a bit with the soft sound of your voice.

“No, no. I still want to talk to you…if you’re my Spencer.”

“I am, all yours.” He replied with a smile.

[lambilegs]

I adore your best friend's older sister! Sevika headcanons, literally been rereading since last night 😫

I had a thought, a little crumb, a little ✨food for thought ✨, but what about Best friend's older sister! Sevika getting jealous. Maybe they aren't together yet and she spots reader getting a lil too cozy with another friend. Or maybe they are together and Sevika is not liking the way reader's coworker is gettin a lil too comfy 👀😤

I've truly thought about this too often lol, sorry for the rambles ♡

best friend's older sister!sevika getting jealous <3

note to anon: BAE DON'T APOLOGIZE THIS IDEA IS SOOOO <33 and omg thank you so so much!! I'm so happy you like it hehe. so, I decided to expand upon the first idea you gave because it's so so good, though I LOVE both. like, thank you so much for sending these thoughts AHHH <33

so, I totally agree with you that best friend's older sister!sevika would definitely be possessive. it's only worsened pre-confession because you're not hers yet, so she doesn't feel like she has much of a right to do anything about it. at least if you guys were together, she could wrap her arm around your waist or kiss your head, something silent to signify to others that you're hers.

but, as much as you two have teased and been pushing and pulling these past few months, that's all it's been. push, pull, push, pull. no confession, no asking out, no dates. and, listen, sevika doesn't mind the long game necessarily -- she knew from the get go that if she was gonna be pursuing you, it'd have to be serious. she wasn't about to get into some vague, unidentified shit with her sister's best friend. not only would her sister kill her for that, but it's not even what she's interested in in the first place. it's easy to talk to you, to trust you. it's easy to want something longterm with you. but, longterm means she needs to put in the work of trusting you. and for her, that takes a while. so, she doesn't mind the long game.

what she does mind, though, is that taking things slow means that in this whole getting-to-know-you phase, she doesn't know exactly where your head is at. if you want something serious, if you're ready for a relationship. she knows she should be asking you these questions, but as much as she hates to admit it, it makes her uncomfortable to think of being so honest about these feelings of hers. and what being honest could potentially lead to, like a pierce into your guys' relationship, whatever the hell it is.

but, goddammit, is it fucking hard to not grab you, drag you to her room and show you exactly how she feels when you're on the living room couch, canoodling up to one of the girls in yours and her sister's friend group. she knows how it is for you guys. no boundaries, endless amounts of teasing, flirting, nasty jokes. but, that doesn't make it any easier to see you nuzzling your head into one of their shoulders, the two of you swapping and laughing hysterically over suggestive comments about leaving the room to do some "private activities."

sevika grits her teeth from where she can hear the conversation, gripping the handle to the fridge hard. she sucks in a sharp breath, shakes her head, and grabs her bottle of water from the side shelf. shutting it close quietly, she makes her way to her bedroom, sock-clad feet heavy against the wood.

when she walks past your group, practically cuddled in the living room, she nods quietly at the group of you guys, feeling her shoulders tense up when you and her make eye contact. your head darts off your friend's shoulder, and she nearly snickers. you really aren't subtle when it comes to paying her attention. and today, she doesn't feel like returning it, her stomach clenched in anger over the unabashed flirting she just overheard.

she's in the middle of tinkering at her desk, tweaking some annoying shit that keeps making a scraping noise every few hours, when a knock comes to her room.

"yeah?" she mutters, trying not to throw the screwdriver right at the wall.

when you poke your head in, she glances at your momentarily before continuing her work. she hates how her stomach flips at your arrival, how she suddenly feels clumsy with the tools under your gaze.

"what?"

you start from where you lean on her doorframe. "I just, um, wanted to check if we're good?"

"just peachy," she huffs out, dragging her wrist past her brow, which is sticky with sweat. "why?"

"well, um..." you trail off, shifting on your feet. "you usually smile or say hi now, and right now, you didn't."

she feels a flash of irrational annoyance. she doesn't like the fact that you can read her so easily, as though you have her constantly under a microscope. she doesn't wanna have to deal with her jealousy, her feelings, but you cornering and confronting her like this doesn't make that easy.

"I'm fine."

she blinks hard at the gears when her bedroom door softly clicks shut.

"no, you're not. sevika, come on, what's wrong?" you trot over to her desk, standing right next to her, shoving your presence into her space. "tell me."

she sighs, her body stiff with embarrassment and irritation at your stubbornness. god, things would be so much easier if you weren't so damn feisty, always snapping back at her. but, at the same time, though she'd never tell you, she can't help but like your persistence.

"do you have to be so damn flirty with all your friends?" she bites, immediately regretting the words as soon as they shoot out. so much for subtlety.

your head jerks back. "that's why you're upset? sevika, I've always flirted with them, you know that. I'm sure you've seen your fair share of it for years now."

"yeah, well, now, it's different." she keeps her eyes locked onto the desk, and when she realizes just how thinly veiled the implication of her words are, she rushes to add, "now, I think it's risky shit. you know, someone could get the wrong idea."

you scoff. "it's been like this for years. no one will get the wrong idea."

she rolls her eyes, grumbling incoherent words. she knows you're right. she's made her own fair share of jokes like that with her buddies, even the ones she wouldn't be caught dead with in any lifetime. and you're right, your little gang has always been like this. but, none of that helps to dampen the burning irritation that grows in her stomach when she sees you being so touchy with someone who isn't her. with someone who may think they have a chance with you, no matter how slim. she doesn't want you to have options, she wants to be the only one you see in that way.

"and I don't want you to get the wrong idea, either."

she freezes at the words, her hand stilling.

you inch in closer and your warm palm rests on her shoulder. she feels something stir inside her at the touch, wishing you'd slide the rest of your hand down her arm. you guys have touched briefly, sure, but it's usually fleeting, teasing. this, though? this is tender, and -- it's intimate. you're trying to reassure her, she can tell. she knows it's a nice thing to do, but a part of her cringes at the fact that her feelings were so badly concealed that you even needed to comfort her at all. she should be better than this.

"I don't see anyone in my group like that, okay?" you pause, and the silence between you two thickens. right before it becomes suffocating to the point of sevika forcing herself to respond, you add, your voice quiet and shaky, "trust me, it's not my friends whose attention I want like that. just one other person... who's close by."

her nostrils flare, her breaths feeling tighter than before. are you saying what she thinks you are?

"okay," she manages to get out.

"okay." your hand slips from her shoulder, and she feels the cold of your absence as you turn to leave. without thinking, her hand flies up, catching yours.

your head whips to her in surprise, eyes wide and curious.

she thumbs at your pulse point, some of her confidence regaining through feeling how it spikes. but, still, there's an undercurrent of discomfort, so she tries to steady her voice before saying, "you know, I have a pretty good shoulder too."

you laugh, ducking your head down. sevika tries not to pull you in closer, coax you to look at her when she talks. "yes, I'm sure you do," you respond, a sarcastic lilt to your voice.

"well, obviously. you're always checking me out when I work out."

you splutter, eyebrows scrunched indignantly. "well, that's because you insist on working out in front of us always! for all I know, maybe you're the one who's into someone in our group."

your voice is mocking, but sevika hears the tremors of it towards the end. are you nervous that she maybe is into someone else but you? or are you hopeful it's you?

you gave her a bit of assurance, so she might as well return the favour.

"maybe there is someone I'm trying to impress. someone who'd maybe notice that more if they weren't always shoving their face in other people's chests."

she can see how your eyes bulge at the semi-confession, your palm slick with sweat in her hand. your mouth flaps open for a few seconds, before shakily saying, "well, you did offer yourself up as a substitute."

her cheeks ache with how hard she's trying not to grin too widely. "don't get too excited."

you wring your hand from her grip, smiling coyly as you reach for her doorknob. "I'll try to contain myself."

[verstappenverse]

this is my official request for “the price of the podium” part 2 😙

The Price of the Podium - Part 2

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Overwhelmed by regret after months of heartbreak, Max shows up at your family gathering uninvited, determined to win back your heart.

3k words / Part 1 / Masterlist

The weeks after the breakup stretched into months, each day feeling like an endless parade of reminders of what he had lost. Max's life, which once felt vibrant and alive, was now painted in muted greys.

On the track, he could still find moments of clarity, moments where the roar of the engine drowned out the voice in his head whispering that he’d let the best part of his life slip away. But off the track, it was a different story.

His apartment, once a filled with laughter and warmth, felt cold and empty. The silence was deafening, the absence of your presence hanging heavy in every room. He found himself noticing the smallest traces of you, remnants of the life you had built together. A sweater, forgotten in the back of the closet, still faintly carried your scent. A book lay abandoned on the coffee table, your favourite bookmark wedged halfway through its pages. Polaroids were scattered on the dresser, the frozen memories of your smile as you leaned into his side, his arm draped protectively around you, each photo a felt like cruel reminders of what he had lost. Every glimpse sent a fresh wave of regret crashing over him, a dagger twisting deeper into his chest, but he still couldn’t bring himself to move them.

He found himself replaying old voicemails just to hear your voice. He scrolled through old messages, rereading your words, torturing himself with memories of the love he’d thrown away. Max couldn’t escape the truth he’d pushed you away, and now he was left to face the reality of life without you.

He avoided your social media, too afraid of seeing something that would break what was left of you and him. But curiosity, or maybe desperation, got the better of him one sleepless night. Scrolling through your profile he found no updates about your life, he didn’t know if that was worse than seeing you move on, seeing nothing but old photos of you smiling, happy, carefree.

He replayed every argument, every missed call, every broken promise, he thought about how you’d always been his biggest supporter, standing by him even when his schedule consumed every part of his life. You deserved better, and he hated himself for realising it too late.

But it wasn’t just Max who was struggling. You had been holding yourself together with frayed strings, pretending to move forward while the heartbreak clung to you like a shadow. At first, you’d tried to busy yourself, spending time with friends, taking on extra projects at work, and redecorating your new apartment.

It hadn’t been easy. The months following the breakup had been a blur of half-healed wounds and quiet realisations. And while the ache had dulled over time, there were still moments when it hit you like a sucker punch, a race replayed on TV, his name in an article, or the way the late-night quiet reminded you of all the times he’d whispered to you in the dark.

Lying in bed without him beside you felt like an impossible adjustment. You’d reached for your phone more times than you could count, almost calling him before stopping yourself.

The grief wasn’t just emotional; it was physical. Your chest ached when you thought about him. You missed the sound of his laugh, the way he’d steal glances at you during quiet moments, the way his presence made you feel like the centre of his world—even if his actions as of late hadn’t always matched that sentiment.

As the weeks dragged on your family and friends noticed the change in you. They tried to cheer you up, inviting you to dinners and outings, but you could see the worry in their eyes.

On the other side of the world Max had been spiralling. His friends, his team, and even his father had commented on the change in him. He wasn’t as sharp, as focused. The usual fire in his eyes had dimmed.

Max waved off concerns, muttering something about being tired, but inside he was screaming. How could he explain that the person who made him feel alive was gone because of his own selfish choices?

One evening as he sat alone in his apartment, the untouched meal in front of him growing cold, his phone buzzed unexpectedly, breaking his trance. It was one of your mutual friends, someone who’d finally had enough of watching you both suffer in silence.

“She won’t tell you, but her family’s all gathering at her parents’ place this weekend,” they said bluntly. “If you care about her Max you’ll show up. This is your chance, don’t let her think you’ve given up. Show her you’re willing to fight for her, because she deserves that much.”

The call ended before Max could respond, but his heart was already racing. This was his chance, it might be his only chance, to fix what he’d broken. He had no plan, no idea how to approach you, but he knew he couldn’t sit back any longer.

For the next week, Max poured every ounce of his energy into figuring out what to say to show you he was serious. He wanted to prove to you, and your family, that he wasn’t the same man who had let you down.

The day had arrived, and Max stood nervously outside your family’s house. His hands were clammy as he gripped the bouquet of flowers, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn’t know if you’d even talk to him, but he had to try. The door opened, and there you were, shocked and hesitant, yet still so beautiful it almost hurt to look at you. For a moment all he could do was take you in, overwhelmed by the sight of the person he’d missed more than anything. His gaze softened as he took in every detail, struck by how you could still leave him completely speechless.

-----

The sound of laughter spilled from the cozy dining room as you placed another dish on the table. Your family’s chatter buzzed in the background, a comforting hum you’d missed over the past few months. Being here, surrounded by the warmth of home and the people who loved you unconditionally was a slight balm to the ache that had settled in your chest since Max had walked out of your life—or perhaps, since you had let him go.

Tonight was supposed to be a distraction, you’d managed to shove the thought of Max to the back of your mind, or so you thought.

When the doorbell rang, the noise in the room quieted. You frowned, glancing toward the door. You weren’t expecting anyone else. Maybe a neighbour?

“I’ll get it!” you called, brushing your hands on a napkin before heading to the door.

But as you opened it, the sight on the other side stole the air from your lungs.

Max stood there, looking like he’d been through hell. His hair was a mess, his face etched with exhaustion, and his usual confident posture had been replaced by a vulnerability that made your chest tighten. He was holding a thoughtfully arranged, beautiful bouquet full of all your favourite flowers.

Your heart pounded, torn between slamming the door in his face and pulling him into your arms.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your tone equal parts disbelief and shock.

“I needed to see you,” he said, his voice raw.

“Now?” you asked, your tone sharper than you intended. “Here?”

He winced but didn’t back down. “I know this is the last place I should show up uninvited, but I couldn’t wait anymore.”

The quiet resolve in his voice made it harder to maintain your anger. Still, you kept your stance firm. “Max, this isn’t the time.”

“I know,” he said softly. “But I’ve been losing sleep for months, and if I didn’t come now I don’t know if I’d get the courage again to say what I need to say.”

You glanced over your shoulder, aware of the curious eyes peeking from the dining room. Your family had gone suspiciously silent. With a sigh you stepped outside, closing the door behind you.

“Okay,” you said, your arms still crossed. “Say it.”

Max shifted, his hands gripping the flowers tightly. “I messed up,” he began. “I let my schedule, my ego—everything—get in the way of what really mattered. I thought I could balance it all, but I was wrong. I hurt you, and I hate myself for it.”

His words hung in the chilly evening air. You opened your mouth to respond, but he carried on.

“Please there’s more,” he said, his voice with a slight tremble. “I’ve spent every day since we broke up thinking about what I could’ve done differently. About what I lost. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, and I was too blind to see it until it was too late.”

You inhaled sharply, his words hitting you harder than you expected. But the wounds of the past were still fresh. “Max,” you said slowly, “you can’t just show up months later with flowers and expect everything to be okay.”

“I know,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to the ground. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I don’t deserve you. Not after what I put you through. But I couldn’t let another day go by without trying. Without telling you how much I love you.”

Your heart clenched, stirring emotions you’d tried so hard to suppress. Love had never been the issue; it was the broken promises, the absence.

“I don’t know if I can trust you again,” you whispered.

He took a hesitant step closer. “I’ll do whatever it takes to earn it. If it means stepping back from my schedule, I’ll do it. If it means meeting your family tonight and facing their judgment, I’ll do that too. I just… I can’t let you go without fighting for us.”

His words were sincere, his desperation palpable. You stared at him, torn between the anger that had kept you going and the love that still lingered in your chest.

The door creaked open behind you, and your mother’s head peeked out. “Everything okay out here?” she asked, her gaze flicking between you and Max.

You hesitated, glancing back at him. His eyes were fixed on you, his vulnerability laid bare. Against your better judgment, you sighed and turned to your mother. “Yeah. Just… give us a few minutes.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she nodded and disappeared back inside, leaving you alone with him once more.

Max let out a shaky breath. “I know this doesn’t fix everything, but can I at least meet them? Your family?”

The audacity of his request made you blink. “You think meeting them will fix this?”

“No,” he said quickly. “But it’s a start. And they’re important to you. If I’m going to prove I can be better, I have to start by showing up.”

You searched his face, looking for cracks in his resolve. But all you saw was a man who was willing to do whatever it took to make things right. Against every ounce of caution, you found yourself nodding.

“Fine,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “But don’t expect them to go easy on you.”

A small, hopeful smile tugged at his lips. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The night was a whirlwind of introductions, slightly awkward small talk, and more than one pointed question from your family. They weren’t hostile, but the underlying skepticism was palpable.

Max handled it all with a quiet determination that surprised you. He answered their questions honestly, even when they bordered on uncomfortable. He didn’t shy away when your uncle jokingly asked if he planned to 'run away again,' and he stayed composed when your father subtly inquired about his intentions moving forward.

It was strange seeing him like this, so vulnerable, so stripped of the bravado you were used to. He wasn’t the polished, confident man who dominated Formula 1. Here, in this setting, he was just Max. A man desperate to make things right.

And it wasn’t lost on you how your family softened toward him as the night went on. Your younger cousins hung on his every word as he recounted stories from the track. Your mother, ever the skeptic, eventually offered him a second helping of dessert, a small gesture, but one that spoke volumes. Even your father seemed less rigid by the end of the night.

Through it all Max glanced at you whenever he could, his blue eyes silently asking if he was doing enough. And you weren’t sure what the answer was. Part of you wanted to stay guarded, to protect your heart from more hurt. But another part, the part that still loved him deeply was warming to the sincerity in his actions.

When the night finally wound down your family slowly filtered out, leaving you alone with Max in the quiet of the kitchen. You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him as he ran a hand through his hair, visibly nervous.

“Thank you,” he said softly, his voice breaking the silence. “For letting me in tonight.”

“I don’t know what this means Max, I’m still hurt. It’s not like everything can just go back to the way it was.”

He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “I know…I know I hurt you. I’ve spent every day since the breakup thinking about how I let you down, every mistake I made, but I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you let me.”

His voice cracked, and he exhaled shakily, the weight of his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. “I know I probably don’t deserve another chance, but I need you to know that I’m here. I’ll keep showing up, proving to you that I can be the man you deserve. Because I love you. I never stopped loving you, and I never will.”

You looked away, his words cutting through the walls you’d tried to build around your heart. “Max. It takes more than words. It takes effort.”

“I know I have to earn your trust back, and I will, whatever it takes,” he said voice resolute. "I don’t need you to forgive me right now,” he said quickly, taking another step closer. “I just need a chance to show you that I can change, to show you that I’ll never take you for granted again.”

His vulnerability was disarming. This wasn’t the Max who dodged hard conversations or avoided accountability. This was a man who was laying everything bare, risking rejection because he knew he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t try.

Tears pricked your eyes, and you bit your lip to keep them from falling. “Max, I don’t even know where to start with this. It’s... a lot,” you said, your voice carrying the weight of all the pain you had kept inside for so long. “I wanted to be patient with you, to understand, to give you the space you needed, but... I pushed you away, too.” The admission stung, more than you expected. “I let my own fears and doubts control me. I was afraid that if I kept giving you chances, I’d just be left alone again. And instead of facing it, instead of talking to you, I shut down.”

Max’s gaze softened, his brow furrowing with understanding. “You weren’t wrong to be afraid. I gave you plenty of reasons to doubt me. But I swear, I’ll prove to you that I’m here, that I'll aways be here for you.”

You searched his face for any sign of insincerity, but all you saw was the man you’d fallen in love with.

Without thinking you reached out, your hand brushing against his. It was a tentative gesture, but it felt monumental. Max’s breath paused, his fingers curling around yours like he was afraid to let go.

The dam broke then, tears spilling down your cheeks as you let out a shaky exhale. “I missed you,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I missed you too,” he said, his own eyes glistening. “More than I can ever put into words.”

Before you could second-guess yourself, you stepped into his arms, wrapping your arms around his waist as he pulled you close. He had feared for so long that this moment would never come, that he had lost you forever. But now, here you were in his arms, letting him in.

His hand slid gently up your back, holding you as if he were afraid you might disappear. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered into your hair. “For everything. I won’t ever let you doubt how much you mean to me again.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him through your tears, and your voice trembled but was steady with certainty. “Max…I love you too, I don’t think I could ever stop loving you even if I tried.”

His breath caught in his throat, his eyes searching yours as if trying to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. His heart raced, and a lump formed in his throat. You loved him. After everything you still loved him.

Your hands slid up to the back of his neck, pulling him closer as if anchoring him to you, grounding yourself in the reality of his presence. "We’ll figure this out together," you murmured, your voice thick with emotion. "One step at a time.”

And in that moment, the weight of the past seemed to dissipate, just for a while, and the only thing that mattered was the warmth of his arms around you, the sound of his heart beating in time with yours. You didn’t know what the future held, but in that moment wrapped in Max’s arms you both felt something you hadn’t in a long time, hope.

[kittyhazelnut]

started writing out a frostwidow fic idea to post here and now it's 1800 words on wattpad (of a plot summary in a "book" full of fic ideas like it's not a real fic yet) and the more I write of it the more fucked-up it looks and like I feel like if I wrote it for realsies it might not look so fucked up but writing it out like this makes it looks pretty fucked up and now I feel like I can't post the summary idea on wattpad which sucks because I love when people comment on them but also a lot of people on wattpad are, like, 12, and idk maybe I'm just projecting because I read a frostiron fic that's kinda similar before that was really fucked up with like torture and non-con elements (and I never did finish the fic bc I got too squeamish at that) but I feel like this isn't meant for 12-year-olds? even though objectively nothing's really happened? at which point it's like why am I even writing this out anymore if I'm not gonna post it? like I've written fics for myself before that I've never posted but this isn't even a fic it's just a fucked-up concept and ugh idk I think I'm gonna finish writing out what I can think of and maybe I'll come back and read it one day a year or two from now and I'll be glad I did

[messyoungie]

SELF CARE DAY FOR LOW ENERGY DAYS

it’s important to have different routines ready to match your mood and energy level. which is why I believe preparing for self care days for when you’re just not feeling your best is essential and a great way to look out for yourself. here’s my guide to self care days for low energy.

✧ 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓

despite your low energy, it’s important you still get your daily movement. however, exercise doesn’t always have to be intense.

try doing one of these

— 2 minutes of touching/trying to touch your toes

— 5-7 minutes of full body stretching

— 10 minutes of yoga

or maybe just stretch your neck, roll your shoulders, and take a few deep breaths. whatever you’re ready to do :)

links to short low energy workouts:

5 minute morning yoga

11 minute stress relief yoga

10 minute lazy girl workout

8 minute good morning pilates

✧𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃

do something for your mind. journal, get your thoughts out, meditate, read five pages of an inspiring book. do something that you will love and that your mind will thank you for. whether it’s sitting in silence for a few minutes or playing a game that’ll challenge your brain.

journaling prompts <3

++ what’s been draining your energy recently?

++ what’s been giving you positive energy recently?

++ what’s your focus been on lately?

++ what are three things you’re happy are in your life?

++ how is my environment impacting my energy?

if your energy is low I really recommend writing about it. what’s making you tired? reflect on it and go easy on yourself.

✧𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐎 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

the last thing you want to do is give your mind the responsibility of remembering your tasks. i don’t care how little you have on your schedule, write a to do list. on a low energy day, it’s important we’re easy on ourselves. getting everything out of our head and onto a piece of paper will not only make tasks seem more manageable but will also make our minds feel a bit lighter.

write everything. I mean it. even the small and seemingly insignificant tasks. even the parts of your routine that you do everyday anyways, write it all down.

✧𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒

even though we’re a little bit down, that doesn’t mean we can cheat on the promises and boundaries we made with ourselves.

a low energy day doesn’t mean you can jump right back into your old habits. you’ll only feel worse if you do. it can be comforting to spend the whole day in bed, liking relatable TikToks and having a 7 hour screen time. but that’s not real rest. do something that’ll nourish you while also making you feel relaxed and comfortable. whether that’s watching an episode of your comfort show, rereading a chapter of your favorite book, or listening to your all time favorite songs while you just relax.

low energy is not a reason to practice unhealthy bad habits.

✧𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐘

how do we enjoy a low energy self care day besides the usual rest and relaxation? by doing some activities!!

things you can do on a low energy self care day:

++paint

++do your own nails

++movie marathon of your fave genre

++install and try out different cute & cozy games on your device

++bubble bath

++make a Pinterest board or Moodboard that will inspire you to be the best version of yourself

thank you for reading, take care!! ♡

— messyoungie

[just-a-sewer-goblin]

Butcher!Simon x gn!reader Part 2 < Part 1 | COD Masterlist | Part 3 >

Butcher!Simon who is bored. It's a regular day and he just doesn't enjoy interacting with customers. It's just not his thing. The only exception is you but you always come in on tuesday and friday and today is neither. He sighs and grunts when another customer pays and leaves.

Imagine the way he suddenly perks up when he sees you approach the shop. The shop is empty except for him and so he gets the joy of watching you approach, your big ugly mutt on a leash, pacing besides you, never even tugging on the leash, focused on you.

The corner of his mouth twitches upwards when you stop before the shop and chew your lip indecisively rereading the sign that forbids dogs from entering (he loved and hates when you do that, nasty habit, but he wants to be the one to bite your lip instead).

You meet his eyes, that are already trained on you, intensely, and in an effort to not make you more uncomfortable he waves.

Shit did that look too excited? Maybe he can reassure you if he nods at you so you bring the dog in with you?

He nods his head at you. Hopefully you get what he's trying to tell you and don't think he's completely lost his mind now.

And oh, his thoughts come to a screeching halt, when you open the door and enter the shop, your dog at your hip.

Goddamit, Simon nearly groans in frustration. He wanted to prepare dog treats, but he didn't expect you today. How is he supposed to charm you if your brute of a dog doesn't like him?

But he doesn't have time to think more about that because you're at the counter and smile at him. He notices how much more at ease and confident you seem with your calf of a dog with you.

Maybe your dog is your equivalent of his mask.

And suddenly he's nervous. He never cared about the impression he makes on other but man, does he want to get along with your dog. He tries to hide his nerves when he says: "Didn't expect you today." His voice is gruff.

You don't seem as intimidated today, patting the head of your dog and saying with a smile that's audible in your voice (god, what he'd do to be the cause of that smile): "Yeah today is an exception. It's the anniversary of when I got my big baby."

Simon grabs the counter to keep from reaching for you and just snatching you up in his arms. Fuck. What he'd do for you to look at him like that, to call him your big baby. Maybe in his next life he gets to be reborn as your pet.

He nods at you, eyes intensely trained on your happy expression. "May I give him a treat, as an anniversary gift?"

Will you think that's ridiculous? Tell him to fuck off because it aint his business and he's being a creep anyway with the way he can't. Fucking. Take. His. Eyes. Off. You.

Instead you beam up at him and Simon feels something in his chest clench painfully at that. "Yes, of course."

He reaches for a piece of meat and steps out behind the counter. Pretending that he doesn't see the way your eyes widen when he steps closer and you grow more aware of just how broad and big he is. Pretending that he doesn't notice the way your hands clench around the leash tighter.

"He's friendly, just let him take it from you and don't pet him. He doesn't like that.", you say putting a reassuring hand on the back of your mutt.

Simon extends his hand with the meat and tried to read the tag at his collar.

"Easy, boy. Just a treat for you, for taking care of your owner so well."

He's so focused on trying to impress the dog (why is this so nerve wrecking) that he misses the way you bite your lip at the sound of his voice. He's insanely proud that he managed to not say "my love" instead. Doesn't want to scare you off after all.

Your dog takes a step forward, sniffs his fingers for a tense minute and then gently takes the meat from his hand, chewing it loudly making a pleased rumbling sound.

Simon feels like he won the lottery.

"Good boy.", your voice rings out and now it's not only Simons chest that clenches but something deep in his stomach as well, something delicious and needy.

His eyes meet yours and he feels like he's doused in cold water when he sees you looking at the dog.

You were talking to the dog. Of course.

[midnitetech]

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