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wndaswife · 1 year

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i'll be your mirror

「 elizabeth olsen & gn!reader 」

tags: fluff, humour, mildly suggestive behaviour, lots of teasing (because we all know teasing is lizzie's love language), reader is a rambling fool on cloud nine

word count: 2363

summary: Though she had come home overwhelmed by the weight of her busy day, you ease your girlfriend into indulging her birthday. Fortunately for you, she is rather patient with those she loves.

a/n: my love letter to lizzie <33 happiest of birthdays to the most darling angel !!

Candlelight illuminated the house save a single lamp turned on in the dining room where a plate of chocolate-covered fruit was set on a plate at the centre of the table.

Despite the minimalistic display of confections, the actual process of making them had been a mess. By the end of it, you were wiping hardened chocolate from the walls and cabinets.

Your girlfriend was always the better cook.

But today, on her birthday, you vowed to surprise her.

You wore the cashmere sweater she bought you on Christmas and a black maxi skirt that flowed down to the floor.

For the last few months, Lizzie had been working on Sorry For Your Loss, a series that was demanding in needing the full dedication of both her talents as an actress and as an executive producer. When she wasn’t being filmed, she was filming, and when she wasn’t doing either of that, she was working with the sound crew and discussing lighting and shots and funding and countless other things you didn’t understand.

The series was an important project for her as draining as it often was. She didn’t spend a single moment not putting her best efforts towards it, even as she came home completely exhausted from the responsibilities she carried on set atop of being occasionally emotionally drained from the role she had to take on.

Today felt something similar.

The sound of the front door unlocking carried towards the kitchen and you walked over to the front door, welcoming your girlfriend.

You watched as her gaze raised from the floor to the inside of the house, her eyes running over the dimly-lit hallways illuminated with gentle flickers of warm candlelight. Her expression, though initially weighed down by the earlier stressors of the day, softened at the sight of your efforts.

Green eyes filled with mirth and an appreciative smile tugged at her lips.

“Surprise,” you said, outstretching your arms and flourishing into an awkward pair of jazz hands.

Lizzie’s smile grew into a wide grin and she set her bag and keys down to hug you. She exhaled satisfiedly when you hugged her back, releasing the day’s pent-up tension. “You’re so sweet,” she muttered. “Thank you.”

“How was your day?” you asked her quietly, rubbing your palm against her lower back.

She groaned in response then said, “I need wine before I talk about anything even remotely related to my day.”

Kissing your neck and breathing in the scent of your hair, Lizzie complimented, “This sweater looks amazing on you.” She pulled away and kissed the bridge of your nose.

“You give really great gifts,” you said, beaming at her. “And… speaking of gifts…”

You took Lizzie’s hand with both of yours and led her towards the living room excitedly. She chuckled adoringly as she followed behind you, watching you walk forward into the mellow lighting of the living room.

The both of you rounded the couch where a bottle of chardonnay and two wine glasses sat on the coffee table along with a half-decent-looking charcuterie board.

“Looks nice, right?” you asked, putting both hands on your hips as you looked down at your creation proudly. “Almost looks professional, like you set it up.”

Lizzie wrapped an arm around your shoulders and placed her hand against the side of your head, pulling you against her. “Oh, baby,” she cooed and kissed your temple. “You’re cute when you think you could compare to my dinner spreads.”

Looking back over to the wine and its glasses, she eyed each carefully-placed cold cut and biscuit and slice of cheese on the wooden board. “But I gotta say,” she added, “this does cut it close.”

You giggled when she kissed the top of your head before you took her hand again and led her down to the couch. She settled down beside you, your knees brushing against each other.

With undivided attention, Lizzie watched your face as you opened the bottle, admiring your beauty.

When you looked back at her, she was already looking at you, a dimpled smile on her soft lips. She took the bottle from you and you lifted both of the glasses up for her to fill.

Your girlfriend leaned back into the arm of the couch, taking a sip of her glass of chardonnay. “Fuck, this is good,” she sighed and grinned at you. She reached forward and ran her hand up your thigh. “I missed you. Tell me how your day was.”

“Well, I bought a bunch of candles in the morning after you left,” you said.

Lizzie laughed and squeezed your knee. “Yeah?”

“And then I set them around the house, made dessert, this…” You gestured to the charcuterie board. “Then lit the candles and got ready.”

“That’s it?” she inquired with a tip of her head.

You recalled, “And I watched, like, three episodes of Fleabag.”

“Did you like it?” Lizzie asked, looking at you over the rim of her glass as she took another sip.

“Made me think of you.”

She grinned. “God, I really have you wrapped around my finger, huh?”

Teasing you was to Lizzie as the sun was to a flower. There was not very much that put her off from teasing you whenever she could, poking fun at her partner who she believed had the sweetest little blush.

“Oh, you have no idea,” you answered, feigning a contrite expression and shaking your head disappointedly. “One day I’ll break free.”

Lizzie giggled loudly and slapped your arm. “You’re an asshole sometimes,” she said, narrowing her eyes with a teasing grin on her face. “You know that, right?”

“Your asshole, though.”

“Don’t ever say that again.”

It took a moment for you to reflect on your previous words before finally understanding her joke, and when you did, you let out a loud laugh that was painfully late.

She watched you, her smile growing. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah,” you answered and laid your head on her shoulder where you buried your face into her neck. Your breathy laughs tickled her and she lifted both your glasses onto the coffee table. She pushed you off of her so your back met the cushions of the couch. She swung her leg over your hips and mounted you, lowering herself so your faces were mere inches away from each other.

You broke out into a fit of giggles.

“Something funny?” she asked, grinning down at you.

“Very funny,” you laughed.

She looked down at you, incredibly entertained and rather smitten with the way you giggled underneath her. “Tell me, then.”

“You’re funny.”

“I’m very funny,” Lizzie conceded and nodded. “I’m known for being quite funny.”

You nodded in sarcastic agreement. “Fame has gotten to your head, Elizabeth Chase.”

“Oh, don’t,” she groaned and hid her face against your cheek, making you chuckle so hard she could feel your laugh make your chest and shoulders flutter gently.

Eventually when your laughing ceased she sat up, pulling you up with her. She fit you between her thighs and you rested against her stomach. She looked down at you, playing with your hair.

“How did work go?” you uttered softly, wanting to be delicate about the topic. You crossed your arms against her stomach and rested your chin atop of your forearm, looking up at her.

She sighed, pushing her hair out of her face and looking up at the ceiling. “I don’t know,” she said. “Tiring.”

“Did you film today? Or was it mostly just editing?”

“No, we did both,” she answered. “Shot, reshot, edited the scenes we shot and reshot, talked about funding, talked about sound, went from department to department.” The fatigued expression you’d seen when Lizzie first stepped through the front door came over her in a slightly sombre overcast as she recalled her day.

You tucked your hand under the hem of her shirt, running your palm up the smooth plain of her stomach soothingly. You kissed her through her shirt. “I’m sorry,” you sympathised. “Don’t you ever feel like they’re overworking you or something? Do all executive producers do the same thing?”

“The other execs do the same, but they don’t have to work both in front of the camera and behind it,” she said. She played with your hair, the pads of her fingers rubbing against your scalp. “So naturally I have more on my plate.”

“Do they ever offer to take on more responsibilities to ease your load?”

Lizzie shook her head. “I wouldn’t let them do my work.”

“Why? It’s a team effort, anyways. It’s not like you’re doing any more or any less.”

“That’s not really true,” she disagreed. “Work is work. I either do it or I don’t, and it’s the load I have to carry.”

“But you’re a person too, Liz, not just someone who works.”

She smiled down at you and caressed your cheek with her hand. “I’m both.”

“You’re a person first,” you insisted.

Her smile widened and she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “Is that so?” she asked.

“It feels like you’re always pushing yourself for more work to the point where you sometimes get caught up in it,” you elaborated. “Like you forget you don’t have to pay for what you’ve earned.”

She suppressed a small dimpled grin at your words. “Tell me how I’ve earned what I have,” she urged, subtly imploring you for more compliments and taking pleasure in the way you gushed over her.

“I don’t know, I mean…” you trailed off, slightly embarrassed as you caught yourself rambling on about how you adored her. “You’re such a hard worker and… smart.”

“Really?” Elizabeth asked, smiling sweetly at you. She tucked your hair behind your ear. “How?”

“You went to NYU, worked hard for your enrollment there, essentially got a certification in real estate for a fun summer job, then worked on several amazing movies all while studying,” you firstly mentioned. “You’re the most confidently opinionated person I know while also being so educated and open-minded, which is a rather rare combination, and I could talk to you for hours about anything. Like, anything, seriously. And I’d enjoy it. No matter what, I walk away feeling like a cooler, smarter person after being with you.”

Lizzie laughed, sitting up and wrapping her arms around your shoulders. “You’re such a fucking dork,” she giggled. “So cute.” She kissed your cheek, lingering for a few moments before pulling away to look at you, her eyes soft with her admiration for you.

“You would’ve bullied me in high school.”

“You would’ve liked it,” she quipped, scrunching her nose up at you.

You kissed her and she cupped your cheek with her warm hand, stroking your cheekbone with her thumb.

“Thank you,” she uttered against your lips, her gaze darting up from them to meet your eyes. “You know how overwhelmed I can get. It gets hard to see things as they are. I’m lucky to have you, Y/N.”

“And I most definitely would’ve bullied you in high school,” she jested with a grin.

You kissed her cheek and wrapped your arms around her, burying your face between your arms and her neck. “No, you would’ve been nice. Like you are now.”

She laughed softly through her nose before kissing the top of your head. "I love you so, so much," she uttered against your hair.

"I love you too," you answered, hugging yourself close to her.

Then you exclaimed suddenly, making Lizzie jump, "Oh!" You darted out of her hold. “I almost forgot. Wait.”

You stood from the couch and your girlfriend watched as you walked back into the foyer. You returned with your hands behind your back and approached her in the most casual way possible.

She narrowed her eyes and turned in her spot to look at you.

Then you brought forward a birthday cone hat from behind your back, a pink pompom on top and rimmed with sparkly gold streamers wrapped around it with a large, ‘It’s my birthday!’ written around it in large text.

Lizzie turned it around and revealed more text on the other side that read, ‘I’m five!’

She looked up at you with raised eyebrows.

“I… I didn’t see that,” you said awkwardly. “Well, who cares?”

You stretched the hat’s elastic under Lizzie’s chin then secured the hat on top of her head. She stood up and walked towards the mirror beside the front door.

She tried to straighten it, a perfectionistic tendency, but you kept it slightly tipped to the side.

“You look cute.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled and averted her smile formed from the silly compliment.

She turned to you and wrapped her arms around your hips. “So, what’d you make for us?”

You walked backwards with her arms still wrapped around your body until you stepped into the dining room. You pointed at the plate of chocolate-covered fruit.

Green eyes flickered between the dessert plate to you. “That’s… That? That’s what you made?”

You looked over at the plate again, reevaluating it. It looked fine considering you made it. You nodded.

“Baby, we need to eat more than that. I’ll make you something.”

“No-o,” you whined. “It’s your birthday, you shouldn’t be doing anything.”

“Then how about I teach you how to make a frittata?”

You protested, “But that’s still work.”

“You know how much I like to boss you around.”

You bunched your lips to the side, contemplating.

Her hands travelled downwards and took two handfuls of your ass, pulling you against her. She grinned when you gasped. “You’re gonna deny me on my birthday?”

“I hardly deny you, like, ever.”

“My point exactly.”

She nuzzled her nose against your cheek. “Come on. Let me let you make us a frittata,” she giggled.

“Can we eat the fruit first?” you asked.

“For dessert, baby. And we can have your charcuterie board too,” she told you, keeping a hand on the curve of your ass as the two of you walked to the kitchen. “We don’t want to ruin your dinner, do we?”

“I’m not the five-year-old here.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes lightheartedly. “Don’t push it. I can still take this hat off.”

──────── ⋆⋅✧⋅⋆ ────────

#elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen imagine #elizabeth olsen x gender neutral reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen x you #marvel fanfiction

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obeymeluv · 8 months

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Blurbs for how Satan and Lucifer would react when you're depressed.

Couldn't really muster the energy for anyone else.

Depression sucks ass.

Lucifer:

When he cares for you, it is not as you expect. You’ve seen the way he treats his brothers—mostly tough love with hints of tenderness he’d rather die than admit he possesses—and figured he’d give you the same treatment. His own version of a pep-talk, somewhere between a monologue and an admonishment. Instead, he is wordlessness and soft touches, touches so light you could almost think you dreamed them as he gently sifts the tangle of covers for you.

He’ll press a kiss to your temple, your brow, anywhere he can reach as he drags a thumb across your lower lip to gauge how hydrated you are. The color of them will give a clue about your iron, too. Humans are easy to read with his enhanced senses and they often forget how much they tell on themselves without even trying.

He cups your cheek, palm moving on muscle memory as fingertips skirt over your pulse to make sure you’re still alive. Satisfied and a bit dismayed, he retreats to bring you broth, tea, or whatever he thinks you can stomach.

Being the Avatar of Pride, he knows best of all how easy it is to fold under the weight of everything. Refusing to fold leads to pressure, and pressure creates cracks. When he cracks, he falls in picturesque pieces that make him wish for being smashed flat instead. Being smashed flat is usually quick and painless; far more generous than the smoldering anguish he’s prone to.

Lucifer slips back into bed like a whisper, prompting you to eat as he presses things to your lips and cradles you in his wings. It is not weakness to rest, to lie so still you could fool death. That is a peace, a rebirth of self and he will fall in love with you all over again. With all versions of you, on all the days—good and bad.

Satan:

The textbook signs were there. He watched them nip at your heels for weeks, tag along and stretch your shadow until it seemed as long and morose as your soul. Human souls were naturally attractive to demons but yours had a special luster, a vibrant thrum, since he made a pact with you. That vibrant thrum ran stale, a smokiness creeping in like ominous fog. For all his spells, curses, and books, Satan didn’t know what to do.

His instinct was to counter your negativity with logic, with fact. He could build you up and wax poetic for hours and mean every word. That would fall on deaf ears right now, he could tell. At a loss for what to do, Satan starts putting Hellcats in your lap. Brings you the fluffiest pillows and nicest blankets.

That makes things better, right? He’s grasping at straws because he did what he knew would make him feel better and hopes there’s enough master-demon connection to influence you.

You’re bunched into one of his armchairs and all he can think to do is sit himself at your feet and steal one of your hands—massage it and try to find pressure points that release happier hormones. That’s how he’d describe it, anyways; passersby would suggest he was making biscuits. He kisses your hand reverently. There’s a hint of nervousness to it; he hopes it’s enough to bring your back. Or at least light your way in the dark times.

#obey me! x reader #obey me!#Satan x Reader #Lucifer x Reader #Obey me swd #omswd #obey me shall we date

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startanewdream · 1 year

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As the anon who asked you about Mcgonagall earlier, I’m gonna need you to write that version of SWM, please and thank you xxx

In spite of her very vocal defense of him minutes earlier, Professor McGonagall did not seem glad when she answered the door and found Harry there.

"Potter," she greeted curtly, looking down the hall, though it was empty.

"Professor." He bit his lips, suddenly unsure. There had been no hesitation when Harry turned back on his way to the North Tower, but now, looking upon Professor McGonagall's severe face, he wondered if he had made a mistake—he would talk to Sirius after classes—"Is Professor Umbridge still there?"

Her lips twitched for a moment. "No, Dolores has left. We agreed to postpone the remaining meetings for tomorrow."

"Hum. That's nice." He doubted anyone else's Career Advice would be so upsetting, though.

"Shouldn't you be in class now?"

Harry did, but he didn't answer her. Professor McGonagall had been most passionate in his defense, something that felt so warming and comforting this year—so far from Dumbledore's distance—and there was a memory replaying on his mind...

A smile on Professor McGonagall's thin lips. Your father would have been proud.

"I was wondering if I could ask for your advice, Professor."

"Our meeting is concluded, Potter, and in the current climate, it would not be wise—"

"Not career advice, Professor, actually about—about my father."

Professor McGonagall blinked. She glanced up and down the empty hallway once again, and Harry could see her weighting the risk—if Umbridge had lost her marbles when Professor McGonagall had defended Harry's career choices, how would she react upon finding out that Harry had asked about his family—he had a sudden vision of Professor McGonagall being dragged in front of the Minister while Umbridge laughed—

"Sorry, Professor," he said hastily, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have—"

"No," she said, seemingly agreeing with him; and then Professor McGonagall took a step to the side. "Come inside, I will make some tea."

Harry smile grateful, but Professor McGonagall was already walking back to her table. She lit the fireplace, and the moment that the door closed behind Harry, she twisted her wand; a bright cat sprouted to life, passing through the door.

"Just in case," she whispered to herself. When the kettle was inside the fireplace, she sat in front of Harry, hands clasped; this was not very encouraging. "Why do you need advice about your father, Potter?"

"Ah—I saw—I shouldn't—I was wondering how he was."

A tiny frown appeared between her eyes. "Perhaps this is something you should discuss with—" She glanced at the door, though it was still closed, her patronus out of sight, "—others who might have been closer to him."

"I—" He didn't think it was a good idea to discuss his plans for later. "You once told me that my father would have been proud of me because he was an excellent Quidditch player."

Her face relaxed a little. "Yes, he would."

Showing off with that stupid Snitch...

"Would he be proud because of other stuff as well?" He fidgeted with his hands, scratching the back of his hand where he had written so many times, I must not tell lies.

"Ha—Potter." Professor McGonagall seemed at a loss for words for a moment. "If everything you have faced, I am sure that any parent—"

"No, I mean—of course, if they had lived everything would have been different, but..." His lips trembled. "I saw—I saw my parents, and Sirius, Remus, even Wormtail, when they were my age, and—my mother hated him, and my father deserved it, and I don't know—I don't know what to make of this."

Apparently, neither Professor McGonagall. She stared at him, mute and evidently surprise, and when a whistle came from the tea kettle, she jumped instead of bringing it with magic. Professor McGonagall took a long moment to fill their cups, then to bring a pot of biscuits to the table. She grabbed a biscuit for herself before talking again.

"How did you see them?"

"Ah—a memory. I accidentally tumbled during my Occlumency lessons—"

"Severus." She fought a grimace unsuccessfully. "I doubt he would have any good memory to share of James and Lily."

"Were there?" Harry asked in a small voice, unable to stop himself.

Her face was stern now. "I don't know if I am the right person to discuss this with you, but I was their professor and Head of their houses for seven years, we were all members of the Order, so I watched them over the years. On the day I woke up to find You-Know-Who was gone, I cried instead of celebrating because I knew whose lives it had cost." She sipped her tea. "James and Lily were very dear to me. They knowingly gave their lives for you; do not doubt their love."

Harry drank his tea; it burned his throat.

"I don't need to know about the heroes who died, Professor," he whispered.

She looked at the fireplace. "You know James spent most of his time with his friends—even here. He served too many detentions, seldom alone. There was not a rule that he wanted to abide by." There was a tiny smile of appreciation on her lips; Harry couldn't understand. "Lily was not the same, but she served a few detentions as well. She couldn't refrain herself from a fight when she believed she was right." A long sigh. "I made them Head Boy and Head Girl."

"But if—"

"I do not know what memory Professor Snape shared with you, but I know it was not pleasant, not if Severus was involved—I was his professor also, and I saw how deep their mutual dislike was. But Severus was usually alone—your father never was."

"So he was—my father was—"

"Your father was flawed. And it's because of this that I grieved him so much. I saw him growing up. From a happy little boy who knew he belonged in Gryffindor to a teenage boy who thought himself at the top of the world to a young man who denied his privilege to fight for what was right." She twirled her tea. "And I suppose it was around them that he won your mother's heart."

Harry looked down.

"If James and Lily had few good moments, it was only because their time was short. But I can assure you, while they were together—I've never seen them happier. At peace."

The picture of his parents’ wedding day. His father was waving, beaming; his mother was alight with happiness, arm in arm with her husband—

"No more detentions?" Harry asked weakly.

And then, to his surprise, Professor McGonagall chuckled lightly. Harry glanced back at her; she was staring at the fire, with that glint of nostalgia back on her face. "Oh, there were detentions."

"Why—"

Light flooded the room when her patronus returned.

"You must go," Professor McGonagall said, standing up. "I would recommend you to talk more with... your godfather."

Harry paused on his way to the door. "You would?"

"He was James' best friend and usual partner in crime... and he grew up just as fine." She watched him for a moment. "Of course, you should only talk to him when it is safe."

Harry thought about Fred and George's plan for that afternoon—breaking into Umbridge's office... "Of course," he agreed hollowly.

"Good. Go on, Potter."

She gave him a brief smile as Harry closed the door. As he walked away, set to talk to Sirius later—following McGonagall's suggestiona after all—he wondered maybe if he wasn't as bound to get detentions as his parents had been once.

#this is not a missing moment but we can all pretend #Minerva McGonagall #Harry Potter #Jily if you squint #did I write this to go around my writer's block #of course :)#hope you enjoy anon

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shesprobablysmokingweed · 7 months

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RANT AHEAD TW//ED MENTION

It’s actually so annoying when you start counting your calories and realize just how many calories are in the food you used to enjoy. Like I used to always get subway and still eat my two other meals daily, but that was because I didn’t know that my sub alone was 900 calories. Like that’s actually fucking insane and it bothers me so much because it’s so unrealistic that all these foods are so dense in calories and ITS NOT EVEN THAT MUCH FOOD. Like wtf am I supposed to eat to stay in my deficit? If you look at a days worth of food for me without counting the calories from a normal persons perspective a cup of soup, a cucumber salad and a biscuit is not nearly enough food for one day but little do they know that it was actually 700 calories and if I were to double that and eat like a normal human being it would be 1400 calories which is not enough for me to lose weight.

THIS SHIT IS SO ANNOYING WHY CANT FOODS JUST BE LOWER IN CALORIES ITS SO CRAZY.

ALSO WHY THE FUCK DOES MAYO AND SUB SAUCE HAVE SO MANY CALORIES THEYRE THE BEST PART OF THE SUB BUT THEY ADD 380 CALORIES TO YOUR SUB LIKE WTAF THATS A RIP OFF.

Anyways…. that’s my rant for the day. I have no idea what to eat cause I’m so hungry rn but I can’t eat cause I have to wait till later since I know I’m gonna have to eat dinner at the fair with my parents. This whole weight loss thing is bullshit and I’m convinced it’s all a lie made to make girls like me go completely insane trying to achieve an unachievable look. I don’t mean to be negative but I’m really losing it yall. My weight went back up to 171 and I still am eating in a calorie deficit. Why am I starving myself and not seeing results, it hurts putting in so much effort and not getting anywhere. I’m tired, I’m hungry, I’m lonely, I’m in pain, and I just wanna be happy.

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iamamikcals · 4 months

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Hey babes ! Iamamikcals is talking 😘. It's 10pm in France so it is time for my day and weight loss updates 🩷.

This day was calm and peaceful. I went on a long walk in the afternoon with (G)-idle blasting in my ears and it was soooo refreshing (go listen to EYES ROLL guys that song literally birthed me, mother Soyeon never disappoints 😩🙏🏾🩷). My day was kinda ruined because of my overwhelming thoughts... I couldn't even eat dinner because I felt guilty about eating a snack even tho it was to shut my cravings and it was low cal... I was doing so great... but hey "skip dinner, wake up thinner" 😞. Hope I'll be able to eat without feeling guilty tomorrow for lunch because I'll eat outside (something low cal of course don't worry babes).

Saw this when I was doing my steps in. It is one of my favourite pâtisseries... France and its talent for delectable foods ugh they are gonna have my death 😒😞

Limit: 990

Breakfast: fruit salad (142cals), egg (70cals), rice cake (26cals), cheese (55cals)

Lunch : raviolis (101cals), cheese (50cals), spinach (18cals)

Dinner : nothing

Snacks: apple (49cals), chocolate biscuit (121cals)

Ate : 632cals

Workouts: walking 16 635 steps (-559cals), 4 Chloe Ting's workouts (≈-208cals)

Burned : 767cals

Total : -135cals

Day 4 : ✅✅✅

Workouts that I did:

Day 4 done. I REALLY REALLY hope that I'll manage to eat without feeling guilty tomorrow. I have to eat for day 5 and 6 because I'm going on a fast day 7. Kiss kiss y'all, see ya tomorrow for my weight update 😚😚😚.

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sleepipipi · 11 days

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What's your workout/diet routine been to help you lose weight?

Hmm I think the most important thing in terms of weight loss was probably diet tbh.

The first thing I did was make sure to count my calories. There's an app called Nutritionix that was really helpful for that. Making sure to stay around 2000 calories per day, and not going over too often. (But sometimes I cheated if I had a really long day🫣) And because of that I made sure to take multivitamins to make sure I was getting enough nutrients.

I eat a light breakfast, normally about 200 calories, and usually do a small lunch, or skip it entirely some days. Opting instead to eat a large early dinner, usually as soon as I get home from work.

I stopped eating fast food, no more than 2 times a week (great for saving money too). Instead, I cook most of my meals. That's where all the food pics come from😅. Lots of chicken & fish dishes, vegetables, rice & pasta too to spice things up. I cut back on snacking but if I do, it's usually simple things like fruits, veggies, or nuts. But sometimes cheeses or biscuits. I do not go out of my way to eat sweets since I would rapidly hit my calorie limit.

In terms of exercise, I do simple at-home calisthenics, stretches, and small weight-lifting, 3-4 times a week. 100 jumping jacks, 75 crunches, 40 lunges, 15 push-ups, planks, bicycles, wallsits, and more. I would try to repeat whatever I was able to do in the first "set" a total of 3 times. It's getting easier everyday😊

Finally, luck & genetics definitely played a large part. Also, visualizing success and not giving up is really important. It took a while for me to really start seeing results, but it gets better as it goes along.😇

#asks #long post #pls dont follow this as perfect advice #im not a doctor or nutritionist

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koreposion · 11 months

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The dim hum of fluorescent lights filled the work space. An office that doubled as a lab in order to keep everything in tact and sorted. Old solutions to new ones were filed away nearly in cabinets. Medicine bottles and salves were kept stored away in multiple methods. Hawk always worked diligently, if no one else could do it he could.

He had worked his whole life to get where he is now and wasn't stopping anytime soon. He was testing different reactions with new medication he was developing, just to make sure it was safe for consumption. It was important that it worked the way he wanted to while also not causing any further harm to the sickly.

Indigo's blood was a wonderful asset even if it was hard to work with at times. He had used to before as it was a useful ingredient, especially when it came to curing the effects of air born poisons. A common problem when Heros and Villians would do what they wanted for the sake of their goals. Leaving residential areas unhabitable even if the mundane couldn't live anywhere else.

The loss of life was not worth the struggle of those with power. If they put more care into their actions then many people wouldn't even be worse off. It only befits them when those who can afford treatment try to get it. Those who cannot simply die and whatever is left of their life crumbles.

Hawk grinded crystal blood into powder mixing it with other dry herbs and chemicals. Solid medicine would be better than liquid medicine, even if some weren't the best at taking it. He made sure that they could at least be paired with juice or tea, coffee wasn't something someone should be drinking if they were here. He used a tray to shape the power into pills, a careful process to make sure they didn't break.

He then went to freeze them while taking out another tray. If he was correct in his inventory of the medical cabinet some would need a refill soon. It was better to get it done now and make sure it was in there before they bottles ran out. When it came to taking medicine a schedule was important, seeing as the side effects manifested differently. It would be unwise to do anything that required focus while feeling lethargic.

He gently popped the pills out of their container. Counting them before making sure none of them had cracked. He then placed them into a bottle to take up to the front later.

He sat down for a moment to check the files of the most recent patients. He could only keep a certain number at a time and Indigo had a habit of... eliminating those unworthy of care. Even though they stay in the clinic disorderly behavior was not ideal, it did not help with recovery. He flipped through all of the files, removing the ones that have already left the clinic or that he's taken care of himself. A daily report was always given on them from Indigo, small details were always important.

He always took in mind that certain people didn't mind bitter pills but they preferred lighter ones. Tea drinkers had a habit of eating biscuits or cookies, so he gave Indigo certain recipes to help in that regard. Sweets were to be carefully managed and kept away from children especially. However the worked wonders for giving them out as rewards.

Certain gases made it harder to properly digest food, blood flow differently, and made body temperature change rapidly. Injuries were always easier to treat, however he always kept the pain medication in his office. Addiction was not good for recovery. In that regard he watched patients who had them closely to make sure they didn't try anything. He also gave them different files than the rest of the others so Indigo could put tabs on it.

The weight of the paperwork would be overbearing on anyone else but this is what he wanted to do. If he could not properly care for someone then there would be no point in all of his studies. His success was far more important than extra work that came his way.

After sorting through some of the files he made extra or new notes to place in the ones out front. The passage of time was always lost on him when he was alone. He took his notes and stood up, leaving the backroom to sort through the files in the front. It was already dark outside and the moon was high in the sky.

He looked at it for a moment before hearing a loud clattering noise from the kitchen. He became more alert, making sure his footsteps were quiet as he approached. As he looked into the kitchen he saw...two patients eating buttered crackers. He paused, surprised that they didn't decide to have something sweet.

"What are you two doing up." Hawk's cold voice filled in the silence that the two rule breakers were trying to maintain. They quickly screamed, hugging each other in fear before realizing it was just Hawk.

"Oh wait look it's the doctor." One of them said to the other that was still frightened. They had a scar on the side of their face, it was scarring which was better then it being a festering wound.

"We're still in trouble!" The other said, they had been missing an arm. Hawk had to cut it off after it was too damaged to function anymore. He was working on a prosthetic for this particular pair.

"Yes you are, you should be resting and not eating late at night. At least it's crackers and you both don't have digestive issues. However you will not get away without a punishment, I can't just let you do as you please. It's not safe." Hawk was stern as he spoke, not leaving room for them to get out of this.

"You both can work with Indigo tomorrow to help do all of their prep work." The punishment wasn't so harsh, but Indigo had a high energy way of taking care of things around the clinic.

They always followed instructions down to the finest letter and refused to stray from them. Their ridged approach and anger at the two misfits would be enough to set them straight. After all, Indigo personally makes everything from scratch and to find out that the crackers they had made are mostly gone...They have held grudges for less.

The two misfits' mood clearly dampened hearing the news. They looked as of they were about to complain before they both said, "Sorry, Doctor" and accepted defeat.

Even if Hawk had not found out about this, Indigo certainly would have. Both of the patients left and returned to their room with the others. Playfully shoving each other while claiming that their overall carelessness got them caught.

A sigh left Hawk as he had dealt with the problem, he would probably have to set up a rules board somewhere. It was better for a warning to be made before anyone takes their chances with misbehaving. Luckily he did need to switch around the files in the kitchen. He opened the cabinet where he kept all of their nutritional information, adding and removing notes. It was always important to check on these things daily.

He then headed into the common room where all of the patients slept. With icy blue eyes in the dark he watched over their bodies. He stood over each one to make sure that their heartbeat and breathing was normal. If someone woke up while he was doing so, he simply quietly hushed them.

He then sorted through the files in the room, doing the same as he did before. Then he made small notes, reminding Indigo to check their vials, suggesting different activities for those who are bedridden, and some healthy treats that could be added to the fridge.

As he stood up to leave, a child was staring right at him. Their eyes milky white as they just...looked up at him curiously. They didn't say much to Hawk but walked up to him and tugged on his sleeve. He blinked twice, confused by the action until he was led out into the garden.

Indigo had fell asleep above the dirt, laid there like a corpse. The child went up to Indigo and shook them. Hawk watched as he saw a response from the small patient. He remembered Indigo's note about one of the children suffering from mental trauma. They started crying as Indigo laid there, not understanding why they wouldn't wake up.

Hawk's eye twitched involuntarily, and he gently pulled the child away, "Indigo is okay, they are just sleeping."

"Everyone says that..." The child responded, hugging Hawk's leg, he had no idea how to deal with this.

Frozen in place he patted their back and explained what was happening in the only way he knew how, "Indigo sleeps in the dirt because they're like a plant. So when night comes they're not awake because the suns not up."

There was a moment, and he felt the patient rub snot and tears on his clothes. He didn't have the heart to be upset at them for this. After all it was normal for children to be emotional when they didn't understand...

"You should go to bed, if you wake up early then you might see Indigo face towards the sun." He spoke softly and patted the child's head, taking them back inside and giving them a small glass of hot milk and honey.

They drank it and he washed the glass, putting them to bed before heading back outside.

Indigo usually tried to leave before dark, or if they stayed they had something to keep them up. They must have been working on the garden when they fell asleep, it was hard to wake a dragon. At first it could be seen as a nap, but Indigo didn't need to breath. That must have been what frightened the child.

Hawk grabbed a nearby shovel and dug a shallow grave. He placed Indigo's body inside of it before covering it with dirt. His clothes and hands became dirty, it was a necessary mess. Indigo was extremely helpful, if they didn't rest well then they wouldn't preform their best. Their energy always made the stark white, sterile clince easier for people to live in.

He walked back inside, heading off to go take a shower and change his clothes.

Hopefully there would be another productive day tomorrow.

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

@wr-n I fuckin love Hawk and I think about him so much! I hope you like the details I added in about him!

#writings #Hawk #oc stuff

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rockbottomwithashovel · 1 year

Text

TW ed tips/triggers: The Size 0 Diet

OK so I'm an idiot and watching "Louise Redknapp; The Truth About Size Zero", to trigger myself... Anyway, it's a good way to either trigger yourself if you're stupid like me, or actually encourage you to recover because of the scary facts. Before we get into this, please take a moment to have some water, some fruit or a safe food, brace yourself, and think whether you really want to read this or not. These notes are mostly for me, but also include important information to try to dissuade people from getting worse, unless you're already fucked entirely like me. Anyway, stop, think, then decide. Massive trigger warning.

Here are my notes:

Louise, at the start, was a UK size 8, but people were calling her "curvy". This is wrong in so many ways (but it also was 2007)

UK size 8 (US 4) to UK size 4 (US 0)

Can harm all systems... no shit.

Risks include: Bad breath, Infections, Sleep disturbances, Hormones for fertility get suppressed (estrogen) (it's a big bone support thing, that can lead to osteoporosis), Muscles around heart can shrink, causing greater risk of heart attack. There's more, but this was just what was said.

According to the diet, your portions should be fist-sized

People are people. We need rolls when we sit

THE DIET: oats and omelettes for breakfast, berries, but not after 11am, fish and greens for lunch and dinner. No milk (even soy), no diary/yoghurt, no carbs, no sweets (real or fake like stevia), under 800 calories

to paraphrase her trainer, if it's a life plan, don't freak out over a single biscuit, but if you're on a timer, freak

THE WORKOUT: run 3 miles everyday, and do an hour of weights, and stay busy all day

According to the diet, go to bed early so you can't eat, and get up early to workout

A size zero is roughly a 25 inch waist

dry skin is an issue, drinking water doesn't really help

diets encourage eating disorders

you'll get really emotional

crash dieting/high restriction can mean the weight you're losing is 50% fat, but also 50% muscle, meaning if you suddenly eat normally or binge, you're not going to restore yourself to health, but gain a lot more fat back. You need to see a nutritionist and or go slowly to get back to health

you'll lose concentration and get colds

You get used to being hungry, so being full feels scary. Again, this is how this shit starts

loss of muscle is loss of metabolic rate.

OK so this is kinda dangerous information, so if you're feeling too triggered, I'm just going to go ahead and add a link

RECOVERY!!!

#tw ed #size 0 diet #rock rambles #please please get help if you can #tw numbers

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whatwewrotepodcast · 1 month

Text

The Baker

In the mountains above Zugang there was a tiny cottage, nestled amongst the craggy foothills, its rough stone walls blending in amongst the tumbled boulders. The thatched roof grew moss and strange mushrooms, unbothered by the cold climes, and a rickety post and rail fence encircled a small, rough pasture for a herd of sheep and a shaggy mule. Above the door hung a huge great axe, a truly mighty weapon. For all the years it had hung there the weather had made no mark on it, and no spot of rust dared sully its razor-sharp blade. In the cottage lived an old man. How old he truly was, no one could say – at least a hundred, some said, though he walked upright still as though even the weight of his years couldn’t subdue him. And yet even so he was human only, and everyone expected each passing year to be his last. But he lived alone, accepted no aid and refused to come down from the hills to the city where he would be safe from the ravages of the cold mountain storms and the beasts that came hunting down the slopes in winter.

Once a month, when the moon was waning, and the cold winds blew off the mountain sides, he saddled his old mule with large wicker panniers and made his way down the steep, rough paths to the town. Both he and his mule were sure footed as mountain goats on those rocky, narrow trails, never so much as turning their heads towards the endless falls into jagged ravines below. And as dawn broke over the mountains’ sharp unruly crowns, there they would find him in the market square, painstakingly unpacking the panniers onto the little table set aside for him. The city would wake to find him there, as the markets came to life around him, and people came to marvel at his wares.

For the hermit was famed throughout Zugang for his baking, and as the moon grew slim children started to clamour to their parents, begging to be allowed to visit his stall. And always he produced the most incredible array of baked goods, the pastries light and crisp, the muffins soft and fluffy. Danishes with rich, fruity filling and custard centres, biscuits with the perfect amount of crunch and a savoury centre. Custard tarts with pastry so fine it melted in the mouth, cakes dense and gooey and bread with the most perfect ratio of crusty outside to soft and light inside. The people of Zugang marvelled at the perfection of his goods, and he traded them for flour, and sugar and jars of pickled fruit – the ingredients for next month’s baking. And as he sold his cakes and tarts and beautiful pasties, he told stories – stories that kept the children rapt and breathless, the adults leaning closer to listen in despite themselves, rapt and distracted from their shopping. Stories of far off places and great adventures, of amazing and terrible monsters and beautiful forests and tumultuous oceans. Of mountain peaks and deep, dark caves, of treasure and loss and victory. And in the evenings sleepy children asked their parents as they were tucked into bed

Mama did the baker really fight a dragon do you think? Do you think he really knew a giant?

And smiling parents would pull the blankets up to their chins and smile and kiss their brows

Of course not, darling, they’re only stories, and he’s just an old man. Now go to sleep.

But a child’s curiosity is stronger than their propriety, and one afternoon in late winter, as the weak and watery sun sank from the sky and the shadows crept out from the mountains’ feet, as the baker packed his bags of flour and sugar and jugs of butter carefully into the mule’s panniers, a girl lingered by the stall. A dwarf girl caught somewhere between the bright vivacity of childhood and the awkward shyness of adolescence, she hovered, her thumbnail clenched between her teeth as she summoned her courage. He caught a glimpse of her from the corner of his eye, turned towards her with a small and friendly smile, held fast in a web of wrinkles.

“Well hello there. I’m sorry, all the pastries are gone,” he said, looking across the square, where the last of the market folk were packing up, hurrying home before the night’s chill crept in, searching instinctively for friends or family who might have sent her. The girl shook her head, her eyes wide at being addressed so. The baker tilted his head, then slowly bent his aching knees to crouch down on the hard cold stones, to be on her level. He was tall despite his years, and his eyes as clear and bright as a summer morn. She blinked owlishly for a moment, then extracted her thumb from her mouth.

“Who are you?” she blurted, then her cheeks flushed rosy red at her own words. For a moment, the baker looked startled, and then he smiled and lent a little closer.

“It’s a secret,” he replied in a low whisper. The girl’s eyes widened, and she leant towards him further, the mystery only deepened by her probing.

“Are all your stories true? Did they really happen? Was it you in them all? Why do you live alone up there?” the questions tumbled out fast and furious, tripping over each other, head over heels. A flicker of something dark crossed the baker’s features, a glimmer of a cold and bleak loneliness, a shadow of memory usually hidden behind simple smiles and guileless tales of wonder and adventure, the dark parts filed away, the sharp edges worn soft by time. Memories taken out and handled so often they had lost their bite.

“All stories are true,” he said as the moment passed, and the girl stared at him as if his every word were vital air and she couldn’t get enough. The baker looked across the square again, into the deepening shadows, and a door once locked deep within his soul creaked open, pried asunder by a child’s innocent question. Behind the door were all the stories he didn’t tell. The ones too dark and cold and scary, the ones that hurt too much. The ones with edges still as sharp as the axe that hung above the cottage door. He looked back at her, “These stories are mine. They really happened, once upon a time, when I was a young man, when my friends and I travelled the land, seeking adventure and glory and to make the world a better place. We fought monsters and evil people. But one of us . . . one . . .” his voice faltered for a moment, and the grief was too raw to articulate, even after all these years. “One day we met a monster we couldn’t defeat, and She . . . well.” A smile as brittle as winter’s first frost. The baker placed his hand on the girl’s shoulder. She was too young to understand. To appreciate the pain of seeing someone who held your soul in their hands lose their own. To know that death was not the worst fate that could greet a person. For a moment his secrets hung in the balance, years of holding this truth close to his chest. Perhaps this little dwarf girl reminded him of someone, someone long ago. Someone he would always share his secrets with. “Would you like the secret?”

The girl, eyes so wide, her mind racing to all the things she could tell her friends, the impossible edge she’d gained through being brave enough to ask, the superiority she had in her extra knowledge, nodded eagerly, hungry for more.

“You mustn’t tell anyone, do you understand? It is the biggest secret I have,” the baker said. “The secret is this. My name is Araedi Harsong, Breaker of Chains,” he paused as the weight of those words fell around his neck like stones. An identity long left behind. “Now run along, and keep that secret always.” A squeeze of the shoulder and he was on his feet, stepping to his mule and turning towards the path back into the hills, never once looking back.

And the girl stood and gaped at the weight of the secret she had been granted, the context for the stories she had listened to since she was a small child. The stories of the great son of the Harsong family, who had freed slaves and fought for equality, who had brought freedom to the oppressed, a fearsome warrior with a kind heart, renowned for his bravery and goodness. The man who had stood against the most powerful families in the land without fear. The man who, one day, at the height of his fame, had simply vanished, never to be seen again.

Perhaps one day, when the girl was older, she would understand what had happened. Perhaps once day she would recognise the flicker of pain she had seen that day. Piece together the puzzle, the oft-discussed mystery of where the great Araedi Harsong had gone, why he had one day walked away from everything he had achieved. Perhaps.

But for now, she was young, and filled with the bubbling excitement of a weighty secret, and she turned and ran home, and didn’t look back into the fading dusk, where the shape of a tall man slowly vanished into the darkness, head bowed into the night.

#writeblr #writing #writers of tumblr #am writing #writer #write #writer problems #writers #creative writing #fantasy

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