#i’m trying to get better at it but i always forget

[gospelica]

There isn’t a shred of doubt in your mind: Sukuna knows how to emulate an ego death with the way he fucks. 

You’re used to the rough ploys, the sick dirty talk and mind-numbing orgasms that leave you half-blind. You know how good it gets, how addicted he is to ruining you. You know his end goal is always your mindlessness, each fuck an attempt to strip you of even your own name. 

What you didn’t know is how good he can make overstimulation hurt.

It was a spur of the moment thing, a bet between you gone awry when you insisted he couldn’t beat his record of pulling five orgasms from you in one night. He said he could double it, you laughed in his face— now he’s laughing in yours. 

It’s a low laugh that comes from his stomach as he bottoms out inside of you yet again. You may just be hypersensitive, but you swear you can feel the vibrations of his laugh in your pussy, it makes you whine, a sweet song he’s all-too used to. 

Number nine is approaching— you feel it in the shaking heat of your stomach and the rolling nausea that rolls over you, you’re so cumdrunk you feel sick. Sukuna’s pace stays relentless, drilling into you with a fervour that seems almost inhumane— he’s driven by the sight of you unravelling beneath him. Sweat soaks the sheets beneath you, tears stain your cheeks, Sukuna groans. 

“Come on, whore, obey my orders. Come for me.”

Your mind is so blurred you can’t tell when your orgasm starts and when it ends, a blinding moment of pleasure is all the indication of time you have. Sukuna grins, predatory like a shark set on the smell of blood. You cry, choked sobs stuck in your throat dislodge with each thrust onto Sukuna’s cock. He stretches you open, moulds you into the perfect fit for him— as if holy hands carved you from a model of his being. 

“Please,” the moment you’re sane enough to speak again, or at least try to, you’re begging for an ounce of the king’s mercy. “Pleasepleaseplease, fuck… I cant take it anymore.”

Sukuna slows, rolls his hips into yours slow enough to give you a second to breathe. He may be a sadist, but he’s lenient when it comes to you. You take the moment to look at his body. Torso toned, tattooed, and scarred in beautiful ways you could stare at until your last breath. The flex of his muscles as he moves, stretching you out, is a drug within itself. God, he’s ruined you from the inside out. 

A sudden snap of his hips into yours and you nearly scream. He’s still rock hard, and you’ve lost count of the times he’s fucked his cum into you— you take it as a testament of his need. When Sukuna thrusts into you again, his balls hitting your ass with the weight he puts into fucking you as deep as he can, you reach out and push a sweaty palm against his chest. 

“Stop,” you grit your teeth. “You’re going to kill me, I’m so fucking sensitive.”

Another slow roll of his hips, Sukuna tests the waters. He leans in, his chest against yours in a mix of laboured breaths and sticking sweat, and laughs. 

“Say the safe word.”

His dick pulses inside of you, his release near. You could tap out, let go of the all-encompassing pleasure you feel and nurse your sore thighs with a warm bath. But part of you knows you’ll grieve the fit of his cock inside you the second he pulls out and kisses you better. Ten orgasms at the hand of a man who’s done a lot worse than fuck someone into a coma— he’s not the man to push, he asks again. 

“Safe word.”

“Fuck you.”

“What I fuckin’ thought.”

A flip switches and, although you hadn’t known it possible, Sukuna moves faster than ever before. His hands pawing at your tits, cock slipping in and out of you in a frenzied pace that grounds you as much as it wrecks you. Deep strokes of his cock inside you are enough to bring hot new tears to surface, pooling in your eyes as you forget how to breathe, think, do anything other than feel his presence inside of you.

It’s everything about him, his size and weight and the smell of blood and death that sticks to his skin and permeates the air around you. It’s the dedication, his fingers circling your clit in dedicated service to your pleasure, the searing heat of his cock near-breeding you stupid. It’s the way his breath quickens, and you can see his muscles tense and, despite your mind being halfway to heaven, you know he’s on the brink of cumming. 

It’s the release you share, when he folds over on top of you, crushing you under his weight as he finishes. His hips thrusting as deep as he can get inside of you, sounds of sweet ecstasy leaving his mouth and staining your skin with goosebumps as you fall over the edge one last time. 

Number ten, blinding— you see stars and galaxies. You could be convinced you were floating if not for the weight of Sukuna on top of you. Your body spasms and jerks in response to his ministrations, a masochistic ache for more settling in your stomach as you choke on your breath. 

There’s a moment of silence as Sukuna buries his head in the crook of your neck, just a second to catch his breath. He could fall asleep right here inside of you if it weren’t for the pressing matter of aftercare, you could too. You’re so stuck on the mindless string of orgasms you’ve just had that when Sukuna pulls out of you, you nearly cry with sensitivity. 

You can't form the right words, lost in a place less real than this. He leans down, presses a kiss to your lips softer than anything you’d imagine possible from the King of Curses, and then ducks his head down further to kiss the pussy he just fucked numb. 

A cock of his head, chest still heaving with exertion. 

“Cmon,” a hand extended to you, “bath. Y’need it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Maybe later.”

[faithshouseofchaos]

Is it possible, if you’re comfortable with it, to request a reader with a service dog where some fans kinda mean about her needing it and her boyfriend stands up for her and offers some much needed comfort? For Max or whoever you feel like doing it for?

Bailey the dog||Max verstappen x fem!autistic!reader

Summary — after some negative comments about Max’s girlfriend and her service dog max puts his foot and put an end to it.

Word count-1027

Being with Max Verstappen was a dream, but it came with its challenges. The Formula One world champion lived his life under a microscope, and by extension, so did you. Dating him had brought you joy beyond measure, but it also opened you up to the scrutiny of millions of fans, most of whom didn’t know you beyond the curated snapshots of your life they saw online.

You tried not to let it bother you—most of the time, you could shrug off the judgmental comments and cruel assumptions. But sometimes, the weight of it all became too much.

Bailey, your golden retriever and service dog, had been with you for years. She was more than just a dog; she was your lifeline. Whether it was helping you manage your anxiety or providing physical assistance on tough days, Bailey was always by your side. Max had accepted her instantly, treating her like family from the very beginning.

But not everyone was so kind.The latest storm of negativity had started after you attended a recent Formula 1 event with Max. The cameras had captured you and Bailey by his side as you walked through the paddock together, and while most fans were supportive, a loud minority had taken it upon themselves to criticize you.

“She’s so desperate for attention. Why bring that dog everywhere?”

“She looks fine to me. What does she even need a service dog for?”

“Max could do so much better. She’s embarrassing him.”

The comments spiraled from there, turning into an avalanche of baseless accusations and unwarranted cruelty. You’d tried to avoid reading them, but curiosity—or maybe a self-destructive streak—got the better of you. By the time you closed your phone, the words felt like they were etched into your skin, impossible to forget.

You spent the rest of the day on the couch, Bailey’s head resting on your lap as if she could sense your distress. You stroked her soft fur absentmindedly, the repetitive motion soothing your frayed nerves.

When Max came home from the gym, he immediately noticed something was wrong.

“Hey, liefje,” he greeted, dropping his gym bag by the door. His usual smile faltered when he saw the look on your face. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you lied, forcing a weak smile. “Just tired.”

Max’s brows furrowed, and he crossed the room in a few quick strides. Sitting down beside you, he gently tilted your chin up so you had no choice but to look at him.

“Don’t do that,” he said softly. “Don’t pretend. Talk to me.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you hesitated. You didn’t want to burden him with your insecurities, but Max’s concerned gaze broke down your walls.

“It’s the fans,” you admitted finally, your voice trembling. “They’re saying horrible things about me. About Bailey. They think I’m using her for attention or that I don’t really need her. And they’re saying I’m embarrassing you.”

Max’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he listened. “Who’s saying that?”

“Just… people online,” you said, shrugging weakly. “It’s stupid. I shouldn’t let it get to me, but…”

“It’s not stupid,” Max said firmly. He pulled you into his arms, holding you close as you broke down against his chest. His hand stroked your hair, his voice a low, soothing murmur. “It’s not stupid at all. People don’t understand, and instead of trying to, they judge. It’s cruel, and it’s wrong. But you are not embarrassing me. Not ever.”

His words were a balm to your wounded heart, but the pain lingered. “I just wish they’d stop,” you whispered.

“They will,” Max said, his tone carrying a determination that made you pull back to look at him.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m going to say something,” he replied, grabbing his phone.

“Max, you don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do,” he interrupted, his blue eyes blazing with conviction. “I’m not going to sit by and let people talk about you like that. You’re my girlfriend. You’re the strongest person I know, and Bailey is amazing. They need to know that.”

Before you could protest, Max opened Instagram and began typing. You watched as his fingers flew across the screen, his expression resolute.

A few minutes later, he showed you the post.

The photo was one of you and Bailey at the paddock, smiling at each other while Max stood beside you, his arm draped protectively around your shoulders. The caption read:

“This is Y/n and her service dog, Bailey. Bailey isn’t just a dog; she’s a trained professional who helps my girlfriend manage things you don’t see. If you think you have the right to judge her for needing Bailey, think again. Kindness is free. Maybe try using it. And to the majority of you who support us—thank you. Your love doesn’t go unnoticed.”

He hit “Post” before you could say anything, setting his phone aside and pulling you back into his arms.

“Max, you didn’t have to do that,” you said, your voice thick with emotion.

“Yes, I did,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Because I love you. And no one has the right to make you feel like you’re anything less than incredible.”

The post went viral within hours. Fans flooded the comments with messages of support, sharing their own experiences with service dogs and calling out the cruelty of the original comments. Some even apologized, admitting they hadn’t understood before.

As you scrolled through the responses later that evening, tears filled your eyes again—this time from gratitude.

“You didn’t just stand up for me,” you said, looking at Max. “You stood up for everyone who’s ever needed someone like Bailey. Thank you.”

Max smiled, pulling you closer. “You deserve the world, liefje. And I’ll do everything I can to give it to you.”

Bailey barked softly, wagging her tail as if to agree. Max chuckled, ruffling her fur. “Looks like Bailey’s on my side.”

“She always is,” you said with a laugh, feeling lighter than you had in days.

With Max’s arms around you and Bailey by your side, you felt stronger than ever. No amount of negativity could take that away

[adoreangelia]

Forget About It ─. ꪆৎ

pairing: reader x rafe cameron

warning: suggestive, making out, little bit of angst, fluff (toward the end).

summary: rafe and y/n’s argument get heated and rafe shuts her up with a kiss, turning it into a steamy make out session.

a/n: just some practice with my writing. trying to figure out how I want to write these two losers together.

you and rafe had been living with each other for a while. at first everything was perfect, ya’know ? “the dream” i guess you’d call it.

over time you started to notice small habits rafe had. it didn’t bother you too much— telling him to do this or that and he’d apologize and do as asked.

eventually the small comments you’d make started going through one ear and out the other.

for one the man never picked up behind his self — always leaving his dirty clothes on the floor. sometimes he’d spill something on some sort of surface and not wipe it up.

eventually this led up to an argument between you two— it was only a matter of time before you got fed up.

“I just don’t understand why you can just do what i’m asking, i mean seriously what the fuck is so hard about it?” you shout motioning toward a shit load of clothes piled on the wooden floor of your apartment bedroom.

his eyes dart over to the pile of clothes— and slightly roll at your dramatics.

“well i just wanna know why it’s that serious of a problem for this to be a argument baby.” he speaks his tone of voice almost nonchalant.

“what the fuck— lord please take the wheel.” you mumble to yourself trying to not get more worked up then you already are.

“no, it’s the fact that’s i’ve been asking you this whole week to pick up these clothes.” you scoff at the man’s emotionless response, throwing your hands up in distress. “know what i don’t even care, im leaving and when i come back this shit better be picked up.” turning on your heels heading for the door.

rafe dates a deep breath and speeds matching your steps grabbing your wrist to holding you back from reaching the bedroom door.

it was all a blur— and in the process you ended up being pushed against your bedroom door you and rafes tongues tangled in one another. your bodies flushed against each other.

rafe pulls away kissing along your jaw line before he starts to move down leaving open wet kisses along your upper body.

“fuck rafe” you let out a breathy moan, as your hands tangle in his dirty blonde hair.

your lips locking into one another one of his hands hold the side of your face while the other hikes up under your shirt— gently squeezing at your breast.

your legs squeeze together try to get somewhat friction on your growing heat.

rafe smiles against your lips to himself knowing he’s the one that’s got you feeling like this.

kissing you a few more times he pulls away a string of saliva connecting you two.

his chest rises up and down out of breath from the kissing.

“cm’on doll let me take care of you.” he whispers his warm breath blowing against my skin.

for a moment you forgot what you even pissed off about in the first place until your eyes travel over to the pile behind your boyfriend.

“uh no— get off me.” you grunt your tone of voice changing within seconds.

“when you clean that shit up, i’ll think about it.” a smug smile plastered on your lips knowing he’d do anything to get in between your legs.

“are you— are you serious right now?” he stutters lost for words at the sudden switch up.

giving him a stern look he sighs pulling off of you.

“alright fine..” he mumbles under his breath, “could you atleast help me?”

you nod your head and give a playful eye roll. “i mean, i guess, come on.”

he turns around and walking over to the pile of clothes, you can’t help but notice how good his ass looks in the blue jeans he’s wearing— giving it a smack.

“y/n stop what did i tell you ‘bout that!” he whines turning back to you with a pout.

a/n: guys did i eat 😕

[dilf-din]

I Don’t Wanna Get Used to Not Having You Around

Frank Castle X f!reader for @xxdrixx

A gift for you my sweet friend!! Please enjoy a little fake dating Frank fic I cooked up!! Title is from In the Heights by Knox Hamilton

WC: 4100

Warnings: none, fake dating, slight sugar daddy vibes if you squint, no beta if you see a typo no you didn’t

Frank slipped into his usual haunt, black hood up and boot speckled with rain. Incessant drizzles like this one meant a thinner crowd than usual. Of course, he did a quick scan of the room from the wide window before he entered. A group of college aged guys gathered around the pool table, three middle aged men at the far end of the bar watching the giants play, and a girl at the opposite end hunched over a drink he couldn’t make out. Once he deduced there were no threats, he entered quietly, stamping his feet on the crooked mat to rid himself of any larger raindrops and pushing it straight with the toe of his boot before taking a seat on one of the barstools with frayed seams and stuffing spilling out.

Two stars on yelp meant cheap drinks and sparse evenings. Perfect for someone like him.

He flagged down the bartender for a beer and shrugged his hood down. A bruise on his cheek was fading to a sickly green, but he was otherwise free of wounds which was a rarity.

Frank fished a book from his inner jacket pocket and noticed the girl two seats down from him more clearly now. Watery eyes, a pile of disintegrating tissues in her pockets that she had been using to dry the stream of tears. Chipped nail polish that had clearly been picked at and a phone that she incessantly checked for a message that didn’t seem to be coming.

For some reason, he was overcome with pity for this stranger.

He cleared his throat, “If the drink’s that bad, I can buy ya another one.”

You tensed slightly at his voice and looked to see who he was talking to before realizing it was you.

“Oh,” you laughed, a small one but a real one. “No, this is the only thing that’s helping.”

Frank nodded and cracked his book open, unable to parse if he should further the conversation.

He closed his book just as quickly as he had opened it, “Shitty guy?”

“The shittiest,” you instantly responded, turning slightly on the stool to face him.

The bartender set Frank’s beer down and he gave a quiet, “Thank you,” accompanied by a nod.

“My ex is engaged, to a girl I hate,” you drew out the H sound incredulously. “We went to the same college and she was always weirdly competitive with me, going for the same opportunities, stealing my ideas and trying to outdo me. We even applied for the same job at the end, and she got it instead of me. And he fed me some bullshit about us being incompatible. I feel like I got traded in for the better model,” your voice wavered. You picked up your drink and drained the second half in one gulp.

“That’s,” Frank paused, “Profoundly shitty.”

“They invited me to their engagement party,” you scoffed, pushing your phone away from you.

“Yikes,” Frank scratched the back of his head.

“And I’m still at the same shitty job living in the same shitty apartment. No date. Nothing nice to wear, no way to pretend like I’m a fraction as okay as them,” you signaled to the bartender for a refill.

“You might want it straight from the bottle,” Frank whispered, making a slight gesture towards their kitchen and wordlessly grimacing.

“Gross,” you wrinkled your nose, “Thanks for the tip.”

“When’s the party?”

“Tomorrow,” you groaned and laid your head on the cool tile of the bar before quickly retracting from the sticky residue you were met with.

“How did I never notice how bad this place is?” you laughed.

“It’s easy to ignore when you’re trying to forget everything else.”

“Who are you trying to forget?” you asked softly, resting your chin against your hands and really taking him in for the first time.

A strong jaw and nose, broad shoulders, neat hair and square posture. You would’ve guessed ex-military even before you eyed the dog tags around his neck with what looked to be a wedding ring.

“I’m sorry. That was out of line”, you apologized quickly.

He shrugged it off, “Nah, you’re just making conversation with the jackass who hit you up at the bar. I’m the one who didn’t mind my business.”

“Well I don’t think you’re a jackass.”

“You’d be in the minority then,” he scoffed a laugh and took a swig of his beer.

A short silence hung in the air between you. The clack of pool balls, loud complaints from the men watching football, the roar of the heater in the corner. Your head swam a little under the low lights as you stared at the man beside you. Feeling bold, you slid over to another stool until only one sat between you.

“I’m Frank,” he smiled.

Fuck. He was tanked.

While the two of you made further conversation, Frank took in everything about you. The shine of your eyes, the lilt of your laugh, the way your hair fell across your face and how badly he wanted to brush it behind your ear so it no longer obscured his view of you.

For hours the two of you chatted and drank. At some point, Frank scooted to the stool next to yours until your shoulders were flush against each other.

He leaned in to whisper to you, observations and wisecracks about the other bar patrons. You could feel the stubble on his cheek against your earlobe and his breath falling on your cheek, clouding your senses and making you forget that you had chosen that bar to be alone and cry tonight.

“I have a stupid idea,” he said, angling his body towards yours and you missed the contact of his shoulder.

“I love stupid ideas,” you grinned.

“Let me take you to that party tomorrow. I’ll pretend to be your boyfriend. We can show them what they’re missing.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you laughed, then paused to contemplate.

Frank knew this was a bad idea. That if you said yes, he’d be in too deep. He was already under your spell and you weren’t even trying to be anything but an unguarded, unfiltered version of yourself.

“You don’t have to do that. Keeping me company tonight means I’m already in your debt. I don’t like when the score is that uneven.”

“On the contrary, you kept a lonely guy like me company tonight, so I actually owe you.”

You laughed and looked down, really starting to consider his offer.

“You would do that?”

“If there’s anything I love, it’s giving people hell. Having a beautiful girl on my arm is just a bonus.”

“Yeah. Okay,” you nodded.

The two of you exchanged contact info, when and where he should pick you up, and parted ways, but not before he insisted on walking you home. You could tell he wasn’t a creep, and that his insistence came from a place of concern and protection. You looked at the ring hanging from his neck, and allowed him to accompany you. Something told you he was carrying some regret about not being able to protect someone once. Plus he had already punched your address into the contact in his phone, so it’s not like seeing it in person put you at any greater risk. If anything, you did feel safe walking next to him. You noticed the way his eyes scanned every alley and intersection. Though you weren’t holding hands, you felt the urge to cling to him as he guided you through the rainy night.

“This is me,” you announced at the foot of a staircase leading to a well lit brick building. “I’m that one right there,” you pointed to the corner window on the third floor.

“I’ll uh, see you tomorrow,” he shifted on his heels and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.

“Good night, Frank,” you smiled, casting one last look over your shoulder at the mysterious man before unlocking the door to let yourself in.

Frank lingered on the sidewalk, counting the seconds until he saw the light in your window flip on. He disappeared before you could check the pavement to see him still standing there.

———

You woke the morning to splitting headache and two texts from Frank.

“Good morning. Drink some water before you do anything.”

“Heard you mention you didn’t have anything to wear. Get yourself something nice.”

Attached to the second message was an apple payment for $300.

You responded immediately.

“Frank this is ridiculous. I can’t take this money from you.”

Three dots as he immediately started typing his response.

“Consider it a thank you. Been a long time since I had a night as nice as last night.”

“Well thank you back.”

“See you at 7”

You dropped your phone to your chest and stared at the ceiling. What have you gotten yourself into.

A gurgling growl from your stomach coaxed you out of bed to assemble any kind of breakfast to sop up this hangover, accompanied by a tall glass of water, doctor’s orders.

After breakfast, you showered to get the smell of last night out of your hair. When you gathered your laundry to toss in the washing machine, you caught of whiff of Frank’s cologne on your hoodie, and fished it out. For some reason, you wanted to save that little memory, and laid it across the foot of your bed while you dressed to get ready for your shopping excursion.

It was windy this week, and your eyes stung as you stepped into the brisk air. You drew your scarf a little higher up and trekked into town. There was a department store not too far from where you lived, so you decided to try there and hope for the best.

The store was almost empty, save for a few ladies holding up sweaters to their bodies to check the length of the sleeves before placing them back on the rack.

Nothing stood out to you until you found a black velvet mini dress. It had a high neck and long sleeves, and the fabric slightly sparkled in the right light. On the way to the dressing room, you spotted a pair of knee high boots cut from the same fabric. There was one pair left in your size that you grabbed to try on as well.

It fit like a glove. The expanse of your thigh that peeked out between the boots and the bottom of the dress made you look elongated and sexy.

“Not too bad,” you murmured, doing a spin to admire your figure from every angle. With a few accessories and your hair pulled back into a bun, this would do quite nicely.

On your way to the register, you stopped to pick a pair of dangly gold earrings.

There was still a good bit of daylight left before Frank was supposed to pick you up, and you found yourself feeling antsy.

“Found a dress. Want to see?”

“I’ll wait till tonight. Bet you look beautiful.”

Another wave of butterflies.

“Are you doing anything?”

“Negative.”

“Early dinner?”

“Sure thing. I’ll be there at 5.”

Though it was still early afternoon, at least you shaved a few hours off until you could see him again. You found yourself strangely looking forward to the whole evening.

Popping in your headphones, you decided to clean your apartment. You danced from room to room mopping the floors and dusting the corners. You switched your laundry to the dryer and decided to toss in your sheets while you had the momentum.

At the end of your cleaning stint, it was nearing 3:30, and you decided you could start getting ready.

You brushed your teeth, applied simple makeup, and plucked a few stray hairs while an audiobook droned on in the background. Pulling on the dress once again, you were in love with the way it hugged your body, feeling a confidence you had been missing. A small jewelry box sat on your cluttered vanity holding not much besides a few pieces your mother had given you.

Carefully, you fished out the tennis bracelet and matching necklace that would perfectly complement the earrings you had picked up today. The last thing to do was pull your hair into a loose bun at the base of your neck. You pulled a few strands out to frame your face, and heard the buzzer to your apartment.

“You’re early,” you teased.

“Need me to walk around the block and come back?”

Without answering, you buzzed him in.

Suddenly, the butterflies were back. You did a once over in the mirror and sprayed on your perfume right when you heard a gentle knock at your door.

Without looking through the peephole, you unlatched the door to let Frank inside.

He smiled and presented a bouquet of flowers to you.

“Well hello,” you tried to conceal the heat that was rising to your face.

“My ma told me to always bring a lady flowers,” he shrugged as if it wasn’t an incredibly sweet gesture for two near strangers.

“And mine taught me to send thank you notes, so expect one this week,” you smiled turning to get them in a vase before the two of you left for the evening.

Angel, your small white cat mewled pitifully at Frank who bent down to scratch behind her ears.

You filled a vase with water and set the bouquet into it, carefully rearranging a few stems. It was a beautiful palette of whites and oranges.

“Do you still need a minute?”

“I just need my boots and coat,” you replied, rounding the corner out of the kitchen and skidding by him in mismatched ankle socks that he found incredibly endearing.

You sat on the edge of the overstuffed ottoman by the chair at the door and pulled the boots up your long legs, zipping them and brushing a bit of lint off of them. Frank looked away, turning to pretend to admire your wall art instead.

“What do you think?” You asked nervously fidgeting with the hem.

“I think you look like a million bucks,” he said quietly. He held his hand out for you to grab and do a little spin.

“Try three hundred,” you winked and he cracked a nervous laugh. Moving his hand up to run it over his chin and try to conceal his smitten smile.

“I think you look good enough to make that doofus see he’s missing out.”

“You clean up nice yourself,” you pulled your long black coat out of the closet and Frank wordlessly held it open for you to slip your arms into.

Frank was also in all black, sporting a button down and tie with jeans with some chelsea boots that looked new, or like something he only pulled out for special occasions. On top of it all he had a leather jacket that fit him like a glove.

“We’re so in sync we matched. We already have that couple telepathy,” you joked, grabbing your bag and dropping your phone in next to your keys. “Bye, Angel,” you cooed to your cat, leaning down to offer your nose that she gently pressed her own into.

Christ that was cute.

“I got us a table at a place close to the party,” he explained on the way down to his truck.

“You’re quite the planner,” you said sounding impressed.

“Something like that that,” he mumbled, closing your door behind you and making his way to the driver’s seat.

Though old, he kept his truck in perfect condition. There was an air freshener shaped like a tree hanging from the mirror, the windshield was spotless, and the floor mats even looked recently vacuumed. The radio played classic rock low through the speakers as you made light conversation on the way to the restaurant. You kept reminding yourself this wasn’t a real date. This was all just part of the act. You might not even see him after tonight, so why were you so nervous?

Frank turned on the charm over dinner, bantering with the waitstaff and ordering expensive wine for you to share. You started to wonder where he got this seemingly never ending supply of money and why he was spending it on you of all people. He was polite, paid cash, left generous tips. The thought of him being in the mob crossed your mind.

Frank checked the watch on his wrist, “It’s almost showtime. You need another minute?”

You finished off the glass of wine in front of you and exhaled, “Let’s just get this over with.”

Frank helped you into your jacket once more and offered you a firm hand to hold as you stepped over the threshold of the restaurant. His manners also never seemed to be in short supply. You bet to everyone else, you looked like a normal couple on a normal night out, not two strangers on a mission to scorn your ex. It was fun to pretend that this was for real.

You were quiet on the drive to the party, absentmindedly picking at what remained of your nail polish and wishing you had thought to repaint your nails.

Frank could sense your nerves.

“Just say the word and we can go.”

You looked over to meet his intense gaze.

“I can tell this is tearin’ ya up. So if you want to forget this whole thing, we can leave now. I’m sorry I even suggested it.”

“No, no I think this will be good for me. I need to face them. Thank you though,” you smiled sincerely.

Frank parked a few blocks down. He pulled the key from the ignition and exhaled.

“Ready when you are.”

“Let’s get it over with,” you sighed, reaching down for your purse.

Frank rushed out to open your door before you could even think about touching it.

“My lady,” he smiled charmingly as he offered you an arm down.

“Frankie, you’re too good to me,” you leaned against his arm, and he felt his throat tighten at your closeness.

“Their names are Beck and Dawn,” you whispered as you made your way to their stairs.

“Which is which?” He asked in earnest.

You tried to conceal a snicker as you let yourself in.

The halls were crowded with a number of faces you didn’t recognize and a few you did. Old classmates and colleagues, friends of Beck’s.

Less than a minute in and you already felt like you were suffocating.

You fished a card out of your purse and dropped it on a table that seemed to be collecting gifts and well wishes.

“Let’s get this over with,” you turned your head up to whisper to him.

Frank helped you out of your jacket and laid it next to his on a chair, then rested his hand on the small of your back. You tried to not think about the warmth of his skin and the width of his palm as you headed into the kitchen, exchanging a few polite greetings.

“They’re over there, but I want them to come to us,” you leaned up to whisper again.

Frank turned into you and nuzzled his nose against yours in a way that made you dizzy.

“She’s looking at us,” he whispered against your earlobe. His breath was hot on your neck, and for a second you thought about turning around and shoving your tongue down his throat to really sell it.

Frank’s hands lighted on your hips and he leaned in to whisper again, “You look sexy as hell. Don doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

“Dawn is the girl,” you hissed through a giggle.

“I told you I can’t tell the difference,” he laughed genuinely and both of your faces were lit up as Dawn and Beck made their way to you.

“Hey you!” Beck drew you into an awkward side hug.

“We didn’t think you would show,” Dawn said with a hint of true shock in her voice.

“Oh we were already in the neighborhood so we figured we might as well,” you shrugged. “This is Frank,” you smiled with a hand pressed to his side as the other was wrapped around his back.

Frank gave Beck a firm handshake, firmer than he should have but he couldn’t resist. When Beck drew his hand back and shook it out he asked, “Are you military, Frank?”

“Retired marine.”

“Oh hey, semper fi.”

Frank stared at him blankly. He could tell from everything about this goon that he had never served anything but overpriced coffee.

“Funny how life works out, huh?” Dawn forced a smile as she caressed Beck’s lacking bicep. Frank tried and failed to not feel incredibly superior to both of them.

“Yeah I’d say we both found people who deserve us,” you volleyed back.

Frank’s grip on your waist tightened in a possessive way that flooded you with heat as he and Beck seemed to be in a silent stare down.

Feeling bold you decided to say one more thing, “I hope you drive each other crazy. You truly deserve it.”

Beck started to say something, but you took long strides to the exit, leaving him behind once and for all. Frank shrugged and raised his eyebrows as if he had nothing else to add, following you back to the car.

Tomorrow they would open a card addressed to them congratulating Dawn on once again stealing something that belonged to you.

In your rush to leave, you left your jacket and were met with an unpleasant gust of wind.

Frank followed behind you a moment later, holding your jacket open to step into once again.

“My savior,” you murmured. Your heart was still pounding as nearly a decade of feeling looked over and plotted against settled in your throat. Hot tears spilled down your cheeks before you had a chance to convince them not to.

“Hey, hey. None of that,” Frank said softly, swiping the tears away with rough knuckles.

You stood on the stoop trying to compose yourself, and buried your face in Frank’s chest. He wrapped his arms around you without hesitation and settled his feet to become a wall against the biting wind.

“Not that I mind holding ya, but do you wanna go somewhere else away from these assholes?”

“Yes please,” you sniffed, following him back to his truck.

Once you had settled into the cab, Frank turned the heat on and adjusted the vents so you could warm your fingers beneath them.

“I’m sorry,” you started.

Frank scoffed as he prepared to chastise you.

“Not for crying, for bringing you here. I have too much baggage with both of them. It wasn’t fair to rope a stranger into all this.”

You met his gaze with a fresh wave of tears crowding your eyes.

“Couple things, sweetheart. One, you didn’t drag me anywhere. I’m not the kind of guy who does things I don’t want to do. And second, you don’t have to apologize. We’ve all got baggage. Some of us carry it with us everywhere,” he cleared his throat. “And third, I know it’s been a weird coupla days, but I’d love to not be strangers when this is all said and done.”

You searched his face and only saw things you had always longed for: patience, sincerity, adoration.

“I can tell you feel broken right now, but it won’t always feel that way. Forget those jokers. They don’t know what they’re missing. I think I walked out with the prize tonight.”

Frank licked his lips nervously and cast his eyes downward. It wasn’t like him to be so bold, but he had learned long ago that hesitating means you lose out on the best stuff life could give you.

You scooted closer to him, leaving a small space like you had in the bar. Frank scooted closer to you and closed the gap. His hands on your neck were rough and warm as he pulled you into a kiss.

He kissed like a man who had known both love and loss, passion and regret. It was tender, holy, all consuming.

“Fuck, I’ve been wanting to do that since yesterday,” he laughed against your mouth, stealing another quick kiss.

“I promise I’ll never make you wait 24 hours again,” you laughed back.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he drew his hands back and started pressing buttons on his watch.

“What are you doing?”

“Settin’ a timer,” he smiled, not meeting your eyes as he moved the small dials with his large fingers.

[airybcby]

hi! may i request shidou ryusei with the 🍓 and🍭 <33

ofc!

a shidou ryusei strawberry lollipop :)

જ⁀♡⊹｡° what am i to do ?

♡ a/n — for my more than a married couple event :)

♡ content — shidou ryusei x gn! reader, gn! reader, reader has strong feelings for shidou, set in high school, unrequited love :)

♡ synopsis — shidou ryusei was like a hurricane of chaos, and you weren't sure your feelings would survive the hit.

You should’ve known something was up when Shidou Ryusei's name appeared next to yours on the list of marriage simulation partners.

The universe had a cruel sense of humor, pairing you with the one person you’d spent the past few years trying not to fall for.

But it was Shidou—a human hurricane, all sharp smiles and chaotic energy. You’d been swept up in his orbit long before this simulation ever began, even though you knew better.

For someone like him, love wasn’t a slow burn. It was an explosion. And you were terrified of being caught in the aftermath.

The first day in the shared apartment was like stepping into a storm.

“Yo, partner,” Shidou drawled, leaning casually against the doorframe with a cocky grin. “You ready to play house, or what?”

You rolled your eyes, dragging your suitcase inside. “It’s only for a week, Shidou. Try not to get too comfortable.”

“Oh, I’m plenty comfortable already,” he shot back, tossing his duffel bag onto the couch. “The real question is—are you ready for this?”

He gestured vaguely between the two of you, a wicked glint in his eye.

You didn’t dignify that with a response.

Living with Shidou was...an experience.

He had no concept of personal space, always lounging too close or draping an arm around your shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Relax,” he’d say whenever you stiffened under his touch. “You act like I bite or something.”

You knew better than to entertain him with a response.

But it wasn’t just the teasing.

It was the quiet moments, too—the rare glimpses of vulnerability that he never let anyone else see.

Like when he’d stay up late after dinner, staring at the city lights through the window, lost in thought. Or when he’d talk about his dream of being the best striker in the world, his voice softer than usual.

Those moments were what made it so hard to keep your feelings in check.

One evening, the two of you were tasked with planning a mock anniversary dinner for the simulation.

Shidou, naturally, insisted on making it “interesting.”

“C’mon,” he said, dragging you into the kitchen. “Let’s cook something fancy. How hard can it be?”

As it turned out, it was very hard.

An hour later, the kitchen was a disaster zone, and Shidou was laughing so hard he could barely stand.

“Okay, okay,” he said between gasps. “So maybe cooking isn’t my thing.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, too, despite the mess.

In moments like this, it was easy to forget that this wasn’t real—that none of this meant anything to him.

As the weeks went on, you found yourself getting more and more tangled in Shidou’s web.

Every playful remark, every fleeting touch—it all felt like something more than it was.

And you hated yourself for it.

Because no matter how much you wanted to believe otherwise, you knew that Shidou wasn’t capable of the kind of love you were looking for.

The breaking point came during one of the program’s mandatory relationship check-ins.

The counselor asked the two of you to describe what you’d learned about each other during the simulation.

You hesitated, unsure of what to say.

But Shidou, as always, didn’t hold back.

“I’ve learned that you’re way too serious,” he said with a grin. “But that’s okay. Someone’s gotta keep me in check, right?”

The room erupted in laughter, and you forced a smile, playing along.

But deep down, his words felt like a slap in the face.

Because while you were falling for him, he was just playing a role.

On the final night of the simulation, the two of you sat on the couch, flipping through the stack of photos from your tasks.

“Not bad,” Shidou said, holding up a picture of the two of you from the anniversary dinner. “We almost look like a real couple.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly, your chest tightening.

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “Hey. What’s with the long face? You’re not actually gonna miss me, are you?”

You forced a laugh, brushing it off. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But the truth was, you didn’t know how to let him go.

As you packed up the next morning, Shidou leaned casually against the doorway, watching you.

“Y’know,” he said, his voice unusually soft, “you’re not half bad at this whole ‘marriage’ thing.”

You looked up at him, your heart aching. “Thanks, I guess.”

For a moment, it felt like he was going to say something else—something important.

But then he smirked, breaking the tension. “Don’t miss me too much, okay? I’ll see you around.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Weeks later, you saw him on TV, scoring the winning goal for his team.

He grinned into the camera, all sharp edges and uncontainable energy, and you couldn’t help but smile, too.

Because even though he’d never been yours, a part of you would always belong to him.

And maybe—just maybe—that was enough.

he is the SILLIEST BILLY!!

i hope you liked it!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[nerdishpursuits]

What really amuses me (or annoys, depending) is that we always manage to look for more than meets the eye, assuming the show has more depth to it, when in truth it’s lacking in so many ways.

We seem to forget what we’re dealing with here. And what that is? Is a novela, pure and simple. A Spanish one, true. But a novela just the same. And while in the beginning, for the most part, quality prevailed? It’s more and more obvious the show is becoming plagued by the inconsistencies of its genre.

We’ll never have a sensitive topic such as SA treated with the care and empathy it deserves (if anything, it encourages the message that victims are better off if they keep silent; the SA itself and the inherent misogyny? they were just background noise for the now 20+ episodes narrative of a woman suffering the consequences of looking for justice that was legally denied)

We’ll never see Fina’s recovery as it should have been treated.

We’ll never see Marta’s own trauma addressed.

I severely doubt we’ll see them healing together in a way that feels rewarding, empathetic and well thought out. We’ll get hints that they spent the night together, that they talked about their feelings and addressed the problems they’re facing. Hints and more hints. Surface level depictions that don’t really bother going beneath the surface. One of those high-speed trains that seldom stop at any station for more than a few minutes, the scenery a blur at the edge of one’s vision. Expecting more? Well, it might be asking for too much. We either enjoy what we can and as much as we can, or we desist. Plain and simple.

As for more of today’s events?

1. Just like Marta is a grown up, capable of making her own decisions? So is Tasio. For Carmen to lay all the blame at Marta’s feet is ridiculous. As is the show persisting in comparing her to Jesús, who is a de facto muderer and whose violent actions don’t have repercussions + let’s add Don Pedro to the list, whose revenge ended with the murder of the one responsible for his son’s death - I doubt there’ll be consequences as, after all, he’s a man and allowed to get away with it. For Marta though? Pandora’s box and all its blessings. May I just say succumbing to rage and helplessness one time, does not a violent person make, nor does it undo the moral tapestry of Marta’s character (for all the show loves to punish her for it).

But I’m digressing. Tasio is not a saint and to pretend otherwise is laughable (Carmen herself suspected he orchestrated the entire thing to curry favour with his father? I mean. Her trust in him is somewhere below sea level, no need to pretend otherwise. More so, she seems to forget it was Damián who paid for Tasio’s out-of-jail-card: claiming Marta’s family wouldn’t help him is borderline absurd). Marta didn’t force him to do anything, he chose to help her of his own free will. And at the end of the day? Marta never shies away from doing the hard thing: taking accountability. And she does it every single damn time, no matter how hard it is. (let’s see if Tasio ever gets there, fully). And I now find myself needing a scene where Fina defends Marta with Carmen.

2. They found the most contrived way of using Marta’s journal against her - if it is her journal, that is; for all we know it’s Marta’s calculus notebook (Santiago invading their safe space and just so happening to find it laying there? It’s not only supremely absurd but a sacrilege as well, yet another violation of their intimacy). Rather funnily, this show might be trying to preach violence is not the answer yet here we are, ascending to the next level altogether (I personally don’t see any other way to be rid of Santiago - his demise needs to be imminent and it needs to happen). Not to mention how outlandish it is that a nobody is able to get into Fina’s cell, waltz into Marta’s office or walk onto their property like so? This level of absurd is top-tier for sure.

3. The one consistent thing? Marta’s love for Fina and Fina’s love for Marta. That hasn’t changed and it won’t (it’s very much obvious Marta is nothing but irritated with Pelayo and for good reason: that man is like fungus, chemical treatment needed)

Oh well. Since the inane seems to be the way? Let’s join the circus: Santiago is moved to tears upon reading Marta’s journal and gives them his blessing, for Pelayo and Santiago it’s love at first ‘stache and they buy the property next to Marta’s so they can be felices los quatro, Jesús launches a business promoting hair-growth (dar en el calvo) and Eladio writes a book in prison (from SIcario to NOcario).

On the bright side? Flirty and Horny Fina is back tomorrow? Or so it would seem. She’s been dearly missed 😌 Furthermore? For everything that’s not being said, shown or addressed? It’s still a feat Mafin remains the healthiest relationship on the show. No doubt about it!!!

[inkshine]

Thanks for the tag! Sorry for taking forever to respond, life can get pretty hectic around the start of the new year for me.

I'm doing Ursa from Shadow's Hidden Blade for this one!

1.) What location is always considered a home to you?

Anywhere my friends are. Being a circus performer means constantly moving, so you learn to see your fellow performers as more of a home than any physical location (for better or worse…).

2.) Do you prefer travelling with company or alone?

I’m used to traveling with company, I don’t think I’ve ever traveled a long distance alone. I think I would have to try traveling independently more before I made any real judgments about which I preferred. 

3.) How many landmarks in your world have you visited? Were they fun? Horrifying? A place to remember?

I’ve seen a lot of landmarks, that tends to happen when your circus is constantly stopping in prosperous or touristy destinations. Some landmarks were just kind of…there, they were just buildings or statues that didn’t particularly stand out to me. Others were more intriguing or historically significant, and who could forget needing to travel through a forest whose environment was corrupted by the tears and sobs of a god? That was particularly memorable, and more than a little horrifying!

✨🌺 Writing Share and Questionnaire Tag 🌺✨

Hello, everyone! Thank you so much for tagging me! If you’ve done so recently, know that I appreciate you and was probably not alerted (sorry if I missed any!) HOWEVER, I did catch a questionnaire tag here from @willtheweaver ! Thank you for the tag! 💛✨

I’ve written some progress from ITROG, and I’d figure I’ll share a little more of Tyrell’s personality through these questions. Stick around for a story snippet at the end 💫

My questions:

1. What would it take for you to forgive someone who wronged you?

Tyrell: (snorts in a sneer) Hel if I know. Usually if someone crosses me, they’re not comin’ back into my good graces anytime soon.

2. You are given the chance to resurrect someone you loved for 24 hours. Would you do it?

Tyrell: Já, of course I would! Who wouldn’t? Odin’s blessing, I’d keep móðir alive a lot longer if I had the chance.

3. What is the one job you don’t want?

Tyrell: Probably being second in command to a man like Bartok….ugh, nei. Someone with a stick shoved that far up their own ass would be tastin’ tree bark on their tonsils. Nei, þǫkk.

And speaking of Bartok, here is a bonus writing share from ITROG! ✨

On the route to the food storage, Bartok snickered over his shoulder: “What’s wrong with yer sonr? Did he have another faint?”

“That’s none of your business.” Stefan answered curtly.

The warrior whistled through his teeth. “Ah, it’s a shame….you aren’t thinking of enlisting him in the Ursyne Trials, are ya’?”

“Haven’t decided yet.”

“Ya’ can’t be serious, Chief.” Bartok scoffed. “Imagine: Tyrell climbs up Feldin’s Peak, and halfway his heart gives out….”

“…..” Stefan ground his teeth in silent seething.

“…..Or when he has to duck under the icy wake. If the cold isn’t enough to shock his system to shutdown, the faint’ll due him to drown 30 deep until his skin’s the color of a Frost Jötunn—”

“—Enough, Bartok! Must you be so descriptive about my SON?!” The viking chief lashed out. “And keep those Hel-forsaken demons off of your lips before I sew them shut with runic thread.”

A nervous laugh crested Bartok’s voice “My apologies, chief. I don’t mean to rattle you. Only meant to warn….” He shrugged in nonchalance. “…..I’d be rightfully worried, though. These trials are no joke.”

“I know. They’re to train warriors—the strongest to lead the Bear Clan…..” Stefan nodded in conviction. “…..of which my son shows heart.”

@gioiaalbanoart and @wyked-ao3 , you’re gonna need the shovel for THIS one 😂

Thank you everyone! If you’ve previously tagged me, make sure to poke me twice—Tumblr notifications can be hit or miss sometimes, and I love seeing what everyone’s working on! ✨

Speaking of tagging, let me tag the following (no pressure, join if you wish ✨): @wyked-ao3 , @gioiaalbanoart , @jev-urisk , @tragedycoded , @autism-purgatory , @finickyfelix , @theink-stainedfolk , @drchenquill , @deanwax , @the-inkwell-variable , @mysticstarlightduck , @illarian-rambling , @leahnardo-da-veggie , @ominous-feychild , @mrbexwrites , @sharkblizzardblogs , @agirlandherquill , @rhikasa , @houseplantblank , @justabigoldnerd , @justanotherchangeling , @pippinoftheshire , @noxxytocin , @alinacapellabooks , @seastarblue , @talesofsorrowandofruin , @theaistired , @paeliae-occasionally , @aurumni-writes , @smellyrottentrees , @lavender-gloom , @cowboybrunch , @aziz-reads , @dyrewrites , @kaylinalexanderbooks , @theeccentricraven , @birdycage , @nczaversnick , @honeybewrites , @somethingclevermahogony , @topazadine , +open for whoever else wishes to join! ✨

Your questions for your OCs (in cut/paste format) 👀✨

1.) What location is always considered a home to you? 2.) Do you enjoy traveling with company, or alone? 3.) How many landmarks in your world have you visited? Were they fun? Horrifying? A place to remember?

Thank you all again! I’m excited to pick up ITROG and (hopefully) answer more questions and games about the story! Have a great week everyone, and Happy New Year! 🎊✨

[edge-oftheworld]

when I was in high school there was a tendency whenever there was an attractive boy to simply fan over him. in a way that talked over everything he might say for himself and created a narrative that completely ignored, the fact in some cases, that he was really struggling—or if he was struggling, to pin all the blame on the girl he’s dating and completely ignore the thousands of other factors (no it can’t be mental illness or unaccommodated disability or systemic abuse or exploitation and if he is in an abusive relationship we won’t ever consider the factors that put him at risk for that)

and I’m not saying this fandom is like that. I get the need for privacy around some things and how in public conversations sometimes it’s a lot more respectful to stick to the positives (everyone who does that, I admire you) or even the struggles that are talked about publicly, show respect by not reading too far into them. there’s a time and place for that. but sometimes I feel like our only options are shitty and ableist gossip or totally ignoring the systemic and structural issues we know exist in something like the music industry until someone dies and then we’re looking for someone to blame. friends, there is a point where the respectful thing is to listen to what someone says and come together to make things better. and you can learn how to have that conversation respectfully. please do

[fallencelsetial]

Well. They wanted to talk about….nothing…..they’ve made it clear that they want nothing to do with all of my messy bits. And they are not willing to help……it’s a 3rd option that I never considered.

Just a “we don’t care.” No anger. No hatred. Just apathy.

I don’t know how I feel about this.

I’m relieved there was no emotional explosion.

But there’s also no conclusion.

I’m not going to get the help I need ever. It’s just still gonna be me and myself. Just me and myself trying to live as best we can.

[pluvionpc]

added an image description in the alt text! sorry that took so long

The Kiss by Francesco Hayez, 1859

[original + sketch under the cut]

i thought this piece was extremely fitting for these two (particularly a lot of its little details and the distinct shape of the figures against one another), and i have a lot of feelings about them recently, so this is the result

[chazz-is-a-zelda-fan]

can’t post this on insta considering a good chunk of my irls follow me there and they wouldn’t get this but i’ve been doing a lot better this week about keeping up with myself, i think

[imaginarypasta]

nothing grinds my gears quite like a second “why haven’t you responded to me yet” message a mere 1-2 days after the original text

[scientia-rex]

A lot of younger people have no idea what aging actually looks and feels like, and the reasons behind it. That ignorance is so dangerous. If you don’t want to “be old,” you aren’t talking about a number of years. I have patients in their late 80s who could still handily beat me in a race—one couple still runs marathons together, in their late 80s—and I lost someone who was in her early 60s to COPD last year. What you want is not youth, it is health.

If you want to still be able to enjoy doing things in your 60s and 70s and 80s and even 90s, what you want to do, right now, is quit smoking, get some activity on a regular basis (a couple of walks a week is WAY better for you than nothing; increasing from 1 hour a day of cardio to 1.5 will buy you very little), and eat some plants. That’s it. No magic to it. No secret weird tricks. Don’t poison yourself, move around so your body doesn’t forget how, and eat plants.

If you have trouble moving around now because of mobility limitations, bad news: you still need to move around, not because it’s immoral not to, but because that’s still the best advice we have. I highly recommend looking up the Sit and Be Fit series; it is freely available and has exercises that can be done in a chair, which are suitable for people with limited mobility or poor balance. POTS sufferers, I’m looking at you.

If you have trouble eating plants because of dietary issues (they cause gas, etc.) or just because they’re bitter (super taster with texture issues here!), bad news. You still want to find a way to get some plants into your body on a regular basis. I know. It sucks. The only way I can do it is restaurants—they can make salads taste like food. I can also tolerate some bagged salads. On bad weeks, the OCD with contamination focus gets so bad I just can’t. However, canned beans always seem “safe,” and they taste a bit like candy, so they’re a good fallback.

If you smoke and you have tried quitting a million times and you’re just not ready to, bad news. You still need to quit. Your body needs you to try and keep trying. Your brain needs it, too. Damaging small blood vessels racks up cumulative damage over time that your body can start trying to reverse as soon as you quit. I know it’s insanely, absurdly addictive. You still need to.

You cannot rules lawyer your way past your body’s basic needs. It needs food, sleep, activity, and the absence of poison. Those are both small things and big asks. You cannot sustain a routine based on punishment, so don’t punish your body. Find ways to include these things that are enjoyable and rewarding instead. Experiment. There is no reason not to experiment—you don’t have to know instantly what’s going to work for you and what won’t, you just need to be willing to try things and make changes when things aren’t working for you.

You will still age. Your body will stop making collagen and elastin. Tissues you can see and tissues you can’t see will both sag. Cushioning tissues under your skin will get thinner. You’ll bruise more easily. Skin will tear more easily. Accumulated sun damage will start to show more and more. Joints will begin to show arthritis. Tendons and ligaments will get weaker and get injured more easily, as will muscles. Bones will lose mass and get easier to break. You’ll get tired more easily.

But you know what makes the difference between being dead, or as good as, in your 60s vs your 90s? Activity, plants, and quitting smoking. And don’t do meth. Saw a 58-year-old guy this week who is going to have a heart attack if he doesn’t quit whatever stimulant he’s on. I pretended to believe it was just the cigarettes, and maybe it is, but meth and cocaine will kill you quicker. Stop poisoning yourself.

Baby steps; take it one step at a time; you don’t need to have everything figured out right now. But you do need to be working on figuring things out.

[makingmylifebetter]

The stress levels are off the charts I kinda wanna die I kinda wanna take my kid pack a bag and leave bc then at least I could get a fresh start and not delude myself that I’ll get anywhere close to 50/50 that I absolutely talked myself into believing I’ll have

[cherrysnax]

About to go to bed but I’m up thinkingggg

[emmaspolaroid]

my parents decided to give us a washer and dryer for our bdays and I’m like Woah That’s Really Nice I Hope It’s Not A Joke