#dayplanners

[six-of-ravens]

think I'm going to schedule a Big Cleaning Day as well as an Errand Day once a month. maybe Cleaning Day will be the first weekend of the month and Errand Day will be the last?

Big Cleaning Day will be for things that don't need to be done very often like mopping, dusting, washing the bedding, cleaning the whole bathroom etc, plus seasonal things like cleaning the windows. AKA the stuff I either forget for too long or do way too often bc I can't remember when I did it last.

[quirkplus]

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[heqrts4chuuya]

Hypothetically if I were to start making comics of my bsdxmha au which involve skk leaving the Port Mafia together would anyone read them?

Like I'll be honest, updates would probs be inconsistent since I'm a high schooler with little to no motivation who can't function without having my entire day planned out step by step but I do wanna try.

I might give it a shot...

[fyeahstallonegunsandhouseplants]

It's funny to me when people think that older people don't know how to use the Internet

Yes, I still use a physical day planner and a physical alarm clock and a camera and I watch youtube on my TV.

But you know what it means when you were born before the World Wide Web? It means I've been here from the beginning. You know We got computers back in the 80s that were linked to a network? How long have YOU been here?

[weddingsbyneerajkamra]

"Looking for a dream wedding? Our experienced wedding planners in will create an unforgettable celebration tailored to your desires. Book now on- 9928544555!"

[paulmescalsnose]

[mitskicain]

navi | m.list

. ⁺ . ✦ the doghouse — ken sato x reader

© mitskicain all rights reserved. the modification, translation, and plagiarism of my work is strictly prohibited.

synopsis: date night; you talk about dealbreakers and what you want out of life, and each other.

content warning: cursing and profanity, suggestive, innuendos

word count: 1.4K

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003: play date

He arrives fifteen minutes early, with Indian, Chinese, Italian and Japanese takeout.

“I didn’t know what you liked,” he says, letting himself in and kicking his shoes off by the door, setting the bags on the counter. “So I got a little bit of everything.”

You stare at the food with a bewildered look in your eyes. This would last you the whole week. What the hell is this guy—made of money? Well, okay, granted his apartment and how he didn’t even ask you for the 400 bucks back suggests maybe, but christ, doesn’t he have other things he should be spending this on, like supercars or thousand dollar clothing?

Your train of thought is interrupted by him shoving you a greasy tub of butter chicken, alongside some garlic naan with a side of udon noodles. Interesting combo. You take your seat on the floor, setting the food on the shallow coffee table that’s littered with unopened mail and receipts.

“Do a lot of shopping?” He asks, mouth full of lasagna—he’s already chowing down on the food without as much as waiting for you to have taken your first bite. What a gentleman.

“No, well, not for me,” you reply, pushing around the food on your plate, “it’s for them.” You point towards your two dogs that are eyeing him keenly from behind the screen door, their eyes a flash of light in the dark. From a stranger's perspective, they must look absolutely vicious, but to you they were just Lassie and Strauber—from childhood, from the old days.

“Mm,” he hums, taking a sip of his Diet Coke. “Not much of a dog person, I’m afraid.”

You make a face.

“Date’s over, eugh,” you say, “dealbreaker.”

The both of you laugh, faces cracking up and all teeth—a flash of canines, again—something in your stomach churns.

“Seriously?” You ask, looking over at Ken who’s still hunched over, trying to stifle his laugh. “How could you say no to dogs?”

“I got chased by one as a kid, I guess it stuck.” he says, scooping up another mouthful of lasagna. He motions over to the two, “they bite?”

“Hard,” you grin, reminded of the time you asked him the same question. “When they bite, they don’t let go.”

He grimaces a bit, imagining the bloody, messy scene. You dip the naan in the curry, mopping up all its goodness. Ken devours his plate, and reaches for more—it’s a disgusting sight, like he’s been starved for days—but there’s something fulfilling about it too, like watching Strauber absolutely demolish a serving after you run an extra mile with her.

“You’re a mess,” you say, leaning forward and wiping a sauce streak away from the edge of his lip. You see the surprise on his face when your finger meets his skin, like he doesn’t expect it—didn’t know you were capable of being tender. Part of you didn’t expect it either.

Silence for a moment; the atmosphere still. The two of you realize you barely know anything about the other. You were just two strangers sharing a meal in your apartment.

“I read some of your stuff from the dayplanner,” he says, clearing his throat, hand on the back of his head. “It’s really good, I mean—you’re a writer?”

You give him an incredulous look, and laugh, shaking your head.

“No, not me, well—” you set the plate on the table and reach for your drink, some Indian rose milk he picked up that actually tasted really good, “not yet, at least. I’m hoping to make my big break soon.”

Silence, again—just for a second.

“You’ll make it,” he says, voice soft, looking over at him. His head is resting on the cushion of the couch, hair messy and cheeks slightly warm. Did he run on the way here? From restaurant to restaurant, trying to figure out what you would like before deciding: fuck it, and getting everything? You feel his fingers twitch slightly, inching towards yours. You turn away and wrap your arms around yourself.

“Don’t do that,” you struggled to pinpoint the feeling—the twisting, the churning—it made you feel sick, like you wanted to puke. The world seemed to spin. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you believe in me,” your voice falters. “It’s cruel, you know—giving false hope.”

He presses his lips into a thin line. He reaches for your hand again, this time you turn to look at him.

“I do mean it.” He says.

God.

You tear your gaze away from him—it’s too much, all of this. You can’t possibly comprehend it. His fingers tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. You reach for his hand and look up at him—his eyebrows furrowed, gray irises shimmering in the low light, mouth slightly open.

“Hey,” he breathes, voice just barely above a whisper.

“Hey,” you reply.

“Am I still just a one night stand?” He asks, and your stomach sinks. You frown a little.

“What does it matter?” You ask.

“Because I want to be more than just that,” he says, quick and easy. He sucks in a breath, as if preparing himself. “I want you.”

Your shoulders fall, and you lean forward into him, his lips finding the sensitive skin on your neck; nibbling and sucking. You squirm underneath his touch.

“Please,” he sighs in between kisses, his breath hot against your ear. “Please.”

His teeth sink into your flesh, followed quickly by his tongue rubbing soothing circles, then a kiss—like apologizing. He does this throughout the entirety of your neck, from underneath your jaw all the way along your collarbone. Your skin is slick with saliva and sweat, face red from the heat. Your hands find their way up his neck, when they grab a handful of his hair—you hear him moan.

God, the way he sounded.

“Please,” he says again, begging. Breathlessly. Desperately. “Please, I’ll be good.”

You whine, and push him away, trying to catch your breath. He falls back but catches himself by his arms, biceps flexed and straining underneath the black shirt he wore. It’s tight enough that you can make out the rouse of muscles underneath. His face is flushed, eyes half lidded, mouth open—breathing shallow. What a sight.

God.

He’s about to lean forward to reach for you again when he knocks over the half full cup of rose milk all over you, splattering all across your legs and the floor. His face twists into a look of panic, and he frantically grabs a fistful of tissues, trying to dab away at the mess before you change your mind or yell at him.

“Stop,” you say, and he freezes in his tracks, looking up at you. You tilt your head, gauging his reaction—the way he looks up at you with wide curious eyes, arms still frozen in position, so eager to please—like a dog.

“You said you’d be good, right?” You murmur, leaning back, “then clean this up.”

He tries to wipe at the mess but you stop him again, making a sharp ‘tsk’ sound with your tongue. He stops, perplexed gaze fixed on you, trying to figure out what you mean. You smile at the sight and raise a pointed foot, his hands instinctively reaching for the flesh of your calves.

“Lick,” you command, a glint in your eye. He stays still for a moment—breath hitched in his throat—before leaning down, eyes still fixed on you, and kisses the skin of your legs. His tongue is warm, gliding over you in slow strokes, sending shivers up and down your spine. You can feel the soft, velvety texture of him as he moves upwards, savoring every inch of you. The sensation is both soothing and electrifying. A mix of gentle pressure and lingering heat.

You lean forward, and push him back again, his back against the couch. He’s surprisingly lenient, not struggling when you climb onto his lap and straddle his hips. You trail your hands on his chest and you feel his heart, thundering against his ribcage. His hands feel up the milky skin of your thighs, resting on your waist.

“Please,” he says again, so close you can feel his breath on your lips. “Please, I want you.”

You grab his hands off your thigh and pin them by his side, a gasp escaping his lips. Your other hand grabs his face roughly, forcing him to look at you before you turn his head to press a wet trail of kisses up his jaw. He shivers and moans underneath your grasp.

“Mmm,” you hum into his skin, pulling away to whisper in his ear. “I love it when good boys beg.”

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author’s note: Lassie and Strauber watching you make out with him from out the backyard be like 👁️👄👁️ HAHAHAHAH i love men when they beg and yearn like 💥💥 need him crawling, sobbing on his knees 🫡🫡‼️‼️‼️ my favorite genre of men is when they’re a little bit pathetic HEHEHEH🤭🤭🤭🤭 BUT ALSO‼️‼️ I wanted to ask: do you guys have any specific dealbreakers when it comes to dating? Like for me I absolutely can’t stand when they’re rude to staff like waiters or salespeople 😭😭🙏 or when they’re messy eaters—what about you guys?? feel free to share them in the comments, and as always, thank you for supporting my work ‼️‼️‼️‼️ MUAH MAUHHH👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

taglist: @luneariaa @moonjellyfishie @sweetcheeksbby-deactivated20240 @shittingonyourgrave @shauu @witcwitchy @fcklxnaa @despacito-uwu16 @mqshido @miffysoo @ybbayk @hore4ken @mochminnie @femmefqtqle @miratastic @lovingyeet @mythicalmo @yourfellowmarzipan @softdumplingposts @shinebright2000

[you-have-made-a-fatal-error]

slowly turning my 2022/2023 dayplanner into a collage/art book, now including these DDI and SHA inspired pages. thanks to notprincehamlet for the idea of using supplies you already have on hand to make something based on an nd game, and to hotchkiss-and-tell whose clk collage also provided inspiration. definitely check out what they made bc they're much more polished than mine

@notprincehamlet @hotchkiss-and-tell

[exitbearpursuedbyactor]

Jesse Pinkman’s Dayplanner:

-wake up

-get the shit kicked out of me

-experience the horrors

-confront the consequences of working with Walter White

-disproportionate consequences for dealing with Walter White (get the shit kicked out of me)

-experience unspeakable trauma

-play Sonic the Hedgehog :)

[evilnicegirl]

i bought this dayplanner cuz it was on clearance under 4 dollars but it's got this picture on the cover of an angel killing ?tentacle medusa? with a bunch of swords. does that happen in the bible or somethinng

[six-of-ravens]

this is a terrible start to No Unnecessary Spending Month(s) but. I think today at lunch i need to go to the bookstore and see if I can pick up a dayplanner

[notchainedtotrauma]

matted hair my grandmothers pulled out in their sleep trees that held their backs well mixed watercolor tea and whale intestine * white paper i waxed and blackened with every crayon in the box popsicle sticks i collected the slow way the blue of candied teeth and fraying frizzy yarn * flannel clarinet reed hypercolor spiral plugged-in phone * dayplanner covers stacked soles of platform shoes newspaper ink flatiron cord * the jeans i wore until they fell apart the floors of dorm room nights the printer acrylic of t-shirt transfers the ropes that lift the windows * glued spines of books reclaimed church fan handles blood cheese * photocopied poems cheryll’s picture frame markers staining fingers yard grass * letters of invitation well-maintained forest trails likes luggage tags * boarding passes tea stirrers honey the word yes * blanket sweatpants houseplant stems spice mix mask loops * most of the fabric is paper most of the wood is actually wood most of the paint is edible most of the string is still here

material elements of some years of the artist’s life or fabric, wood, paint, and strings (reprise) by Alexis Pauline Gumbs

[sacrificethemtothesquid]

The very first thing I did this morning was spill coffee all over my workspace. 

Con: Everything is soaked in vanilla latte, including my brainstorming notes for the novel, my dayplanner, our water bill, and the carpet

Pro: Everything smells amazing

[holiday2008]

Like ok fine I’ll keep my suspect list in my dayplanner now I’ve tabbed my logs in the book removing my list from my lab won’t make me forget

[darchildre]

Victor is fucking everyone in Castle Frankenstein, and still has time for mad science and various corpse part field trips. Truly, the man is a fantastic multitasker. He must have the most complicated dayplanner.

(Okay, he's probably not fucking Paul currently but I don't think he's noticed yet that Paul is trying to break up with him? So I assume Paul is still in the dayplanner.)