swearin'

Fairies First

PAIRING: Harry/Y/N
RATING: R (it’s smutty!)
WORD COUNT: 5.7k
REQUESTED: sorta lol

hello, tis i with yet another domestic, smutty one shot!!! i rly hope u guys like this :-) if u enjoy it, please dont hesitate to reblog or to let me know what u think! [feedback] [masterlist]

~*~

Keep reading

Look, I made a mix yesterday. in love with love & lousy poetry.

  1. The Mountain Goats - Distant Stations
  2. Waxahatchee - You’re Damaged
  3. The Weakerthans - Aside
  4. RVIVR - 20 Below
  5. Gateway District - When I Fall
  6. Pinhead Gunpowder - Achin’ to Be (Replacements cover)
  7. Dillinger Four - Noble Stabbings!!
  8. Lifter Puller - Back in Blackbeard
  9. Sleater-Kinney - No Cities To Love
  10. Divers - Tracks
  11. Swearin’ - Just
  12. Hop Along - Laments
  13. Franz Nicolay - Marfa Lights
  14. Neutral Milk Hotel - Where You’ll Find Me Now
  15. Magnolia Electric Co - Leave the City
  16. Nob Dylan and His Nobsoletes - Subterranean Homesick Blues (Bob Dylan cover)
  17. World/Inferno Friendship Society - Dr. Dracula Who Makes You Get High!
  18. Dag Nasty - Values Here
  19. Meat Wave - The Truth
  20. The Promise Ring - Is This Thing On?
  21. Rites of Spring - For Want Of
  22. Jawbreaker - Want

I also earned a badge on 8tracks:

Hell yeah.

“Sweet love, Sweet lines, Sweet life!”

-Shakespeare


“I wanted ye from the first I saw ye—but I loved ye when you wept in my arms and let me comfort you, that first time at Leoch.”



I undressed slowly, standing by the bed, looking down at him. He had turned onto his side and curled himself up against the cold. His lashes lay long and curving against his cheek; they were a deep auburn, nearly black at the tips, but a pale blond near the roots. It gave him an oddly innocent air, despite the long, straight nose and the firm lines of mouth and chin. 

 Clad in my chemise, I slid into bed behind him, snuggling against the wide, warm back in its woolen nightshirt. He stirred a little, coughing, and I put a hand on the curve of his hip to soothe him. He shifted, curling further and thrusting himself back against me with a small exhalation of awareness. I put my arm around his waist, my hand brushing the soft mass of his testicles. I could rouse him, I knew, sleepy as he was; it took very little to bring him standing, no more than a few firm strokes of my fingers. I didn’t want to disturb his rest, though, and contented myself with gently patting his belly. He reached back a large hand and clumsily patted my thigh in return.

 “I love you,“ he muttered, half-awake.

 “I know,” I said, and fell asleep at once, holding him.” 


 “I didna think I should ever laugh again in a woman’s bed, Sassenach,” he said. “Or even come to a woman, save as a brute, blind with need.” A note of bitterness came into his voice. 

I lifted his hand, and kissed the small scar on the back of it. “I can’t see you as a brute,” I said. I meant it lightly, but his face softened as he looked at me, and he answered seriously. 

“I know that, Sassenach. And it is that ye canna see me so that gives me hope. For I am—and know it—and yet perhaps…” He trailed off, watching me intently. “You have that—the strength. Ye have it, and your soul as well. So perhaps my own may be saved.”


 “It’s a wonderful gift. However did you find it?” He smiled then, in return. The sun blazed low, a brilliant orange ball glimpsed briefly through dark treetops. 

“I’d seen the box when I went to the goldsmith’s shop—it was the goldsmith’s wife who’d kept it. Then I went back yesterday, meaning to buy ye a bit of jewelry—maybe a brooch—and whilst the goodwife was showing me the gauds, we happened to speak of this and that, and she told me of the Doctor, and—” He shrugged. 

“Why did you want to buy me jewelry?” I looked at him, puzzled. The sale of the ruby had left us with a bit of money, but extravagance was not at all like him, and under the circumstances— “Oh! To make up for sending all that money to Laoghaire? I didn’t mind; I said I didn’t.” He had—with some reluctance—arranged to send the bulk of the proceeds from the sale of the stone to Scotland, in payment of a promise made to Laoghaire MacKenzie—damn her eyes—Fraser, whom he had married at his sister’s persuasion while under the rather logical impression that if I was not dead, I was at least not coming back. My apparent resurrection from the dead had caused any amount of complications, Laoghaire not least among them. 

“Aye, ye said so,” he said, openly cynical. 

“I meant it—more or less,” I said, and laughed. “You couldn’t very well let the beastly woman starve to death, appealing as the idea is.” 

He smiled, faintly. “No. I shouldna like to have that on my conscience; there’s enough without. But that’s not why I wished to buy ye a present.” 

“Why, then?” The box was heavy; a gracious, substantial, satisfying weight across my legs, its wood a delight under my hands. He turned his head to look full at me, then, his hair fire-struck with the setting sun, face dark in silhouette.

 “Twenty-four years ago today, I married ye, Sassenach,” he said softly. “I hope ye willna have cause yet to regret it.” 


Yet what he felt now was not lust—not quite. Nor was it even the need of her, the wanting of soul’s company. He wished to cover her with his body, possess her—for if he could do that, he could pretend to himself that she was safe. Covering her so, joined in one body, he might protect her. Or so he felt, even knowing how senseless the feeling was. 

 He had stiffened, his body tensing involuntarily with his thoughts. Claire stirred, and reached back with one hand. She laid it on his leg, let it lie for a moment, then reached gently farther up, in drowsy question. He bent his head, put his lips behind her ear. Said what he was thinking, without thought. 

“Nothing will harm ye while there is breath in my body, a nighean donn. Nothing.” 

 “I know,” she said. Her limbs went slowly slack, her breathing eased, and the soft round of her belly swelled under his palm as she melted into sleep


 “It’s a great comfort,” he said at last, “to see the sun come up and go down. When I dwelt in the cave, when I was in prison, it gave me hope, to see the light come and go, and know that the world went about its business.” He was looking out the window, toward the blue distance where the sky darkened toward infinity. His throat moved a little as he swallowed. 

“It gives me the same feeling, Sassenach,” he said, “to hear ye rustling about in your surgery, rattling things and swearin’ to yourself.” He turned his head, then, to look at me, and his eyes held the depths of the coming night. 

“If ye were no longer there—or somewhere—” he said very softly, “then the sun would no longer come up or go down.” 


 He turned and reached up his hands, and she leaned to him, tried to climb down, but lost her footing and half-fell, landing in his arms in a fluster of clothes and loose hair. He laughed and turned her round to look, but kept his arms around her. 

He was loath to surrender the warmth of her and held her like a shield against cold memory. She was still, leaning back against him, only her head moving as she looked from one end of the cave to the other. It was barely eight feet long, but the far end was lost in shadow. She lifted her chin, seeing the soft black stains that coated the rock to one side by the entrance. 

“That’s where my fire was—when I dared have one.” His voice sounded strange, small and muffled, and he cleared his throat.

 “Where was your bed?” 

“Just there by your left foot.” 

“Did you sleep with your head at this end?” She tapped her foot on the graveled dirt of the floor. 

“Aye. I could see the stars, if the night was clear. I turned the other way if it rained.” She heard the smile in smile in his voice and put her hand along his thigh, squeezing. 

“I hoped that,” she said, her own voice a little choked. “When we learned about the Dunbonnet, and the cave… I thought about you, alone here—and I hoped you could see the stars at night.” 

“I could,” he whispered, and bent his head to put his lips to her hair. The shawl she’d pulled over her head had slipped off, and her hair smelled of lemon balm and what she said was catmint. She made a small hmp noise in her throat and folded her own arms over his, warming him through his shirt. 

“I feel as though I’ve seen it before,” she said, sounding a little surprised. “Though I suppose one cave probably looks a good deal like any other cave, unless you have stalactites hanging from the ceiling or mammoths painted on the walls.” 

“I’ve never had a talent for decoration,” he said, and she hmp’ed again, amused. “As for being here … ye’ve been here many nights wi’ me, Sassenach. You and the wee lass, both.”


“Are ye no coming to bed, Sassenach?” Jamie was already lying down, having found a remote corner behind the bar counter and spread out our cloaks. 

“I’ve broken a fingernail trying to get this bloody thing loose, and I can’t bloody reach it with my teeth!” I said, on the verge of breaking into tears of frustration. I was swaying with weariness, but couldn’t bring myself to sleep in the clammy confines of my stays. Jamie reached up an arm out of the darkness, beckoning. 

“Come lie down wi’ me, Sassenach,” he whispered. “I’ll do it.” The simple relief of lying down, after twelve hours in the saddle, was so exquisite that I nearly changed my mind about sleeping in my stays, but he’d meant it. He squirmed down and bent his head to nuzzle at my laces, an arm round my back to steady me.” “Dinna fash,” he murmured into my midsection, voice somewhat muffled. “If I canna nibble it loose, I’ll prise it wi’ my dirk.” He looked up with an inquiring noise, as I’d uttered a strangled laugh at the prospect. 

“Just trying to decide whether being accidentally disemboweled would be worse than sleeping in my stays,” I whispered, cupping his head. It was warm, the soft hair at his nape damp to the touch.

 “My aim’s no that bad, Sassenach,” he said, pausing in his labors for an instant. “I’d only risk stabbin’ ye in the heart.” As it was, he accomplished his goal without recourse to weapons, gently jerking the knot loose with his teeth until he could finish the job with his fingers, opening the heavy seamed canvas stays like a clamshell to expose the whiteness of my shift.

 I sighed like a grateful mollusk opening at high tide, plucking the fabric out of the creases the stays had made in my flesh. Jamie pushed away the discarded stays but remained where he was, his face near my breasts, rubbing his hands gently over my sides. I sighed again at his touch; he’d done it by habit, but it was a habit I’d missed for the last four months, and a touch I’d thought never to feel again. 

“Ye’re too thin, Sassenach,” he whispered. “I can feel every rib. I’ll find ye food tomorrow.” I had been too much preoccupied in the last few days to think about food, and was much too tired at the moment to be hungry, but made an agreeable sound in response and stroked his hair, tracing the curve of his skull.

 “I love you, a nighean,” he said, very softly, his breath warm on my skin.

 “I love you,” I answered just as softly, taking the ribbon from his hair and loosening his plait between my fingers. I pressed his head closer to me, not in invitation, but out of the sudden urgent need to keep him close to me, to protect him. He kissed my breast and turned his head, laying it in the hollow of my shoulder. He took one deep breath, one more, and then was asleep, the relaxing weight of his body against me both protection and trust.

“I love you,” I said, almost soundless, my arms wrapped tight about him. “Oh, dear God, I love you.”

Outlander Books “Sweetest Moments” As Requested by Anonymous

itsnotliketherearehillshere  asked:

JAMIE COMPARING CLAIRE TO THE SUN = ME, TURNING INTO A LAGOON OF TEARS, not only is that giving me Wedding feels, doesn't he compare her presence in his life to the sun in a later book? (I've only skimmed most, I'm a hashtag bad fan lmao) anyway I'm lovin' this concept of this being like, an established "Jamie loves Claire so much" thing, keep it goin', show! Keep it goin'!

She’s his Sorcha! His light, its such a beautiful comparison and yes it does pop up in the books! 

In ‘The Fiery Cross’:

“Sorcha,” he called softly, and she turned, eyes narrowed against the rays of the sinking sun, then wide and gold with surprise at the sight of him.

“Welcome home,” he said, and held out the small bouquet of leaves and twigs.

“Oh,” she said. She looked at the bits of leaf and stick again, and then at him, and the corners of her mouth trembled, as though she might laugh or cry, but wasn’t sure which. She reached then, and took the plants from him, her fingers small and cold as they brushed his hand.

“Oh, Jamie—they’re wonderful.” She came up on her toes and kissed him, warm and salty, and he wanted more, but she was hurrying away into the house, the silly wee things clasped to her breast as though they were gold.

He felt pleasantly foolish, and foolishly pleased with himself. The taste of her was still on his mouth.

“Sorcha,” he whispered, and realized that he had called her so a moment before. Now, that was odd; no wonder she had been surprised. It was her name in the Gaelic, but he never called her by it. He liked the strangeness of her, the Englishness. She was his Claire, his Sassenach.

And yet in the moment when she passed him, she was Sorcha. Not only “Claire,” it meant—but light.“


And also in ‘A Breath Of Snow And Ashes’:

“It’s a great comfort,” he said at last, “to see the sun come up and go down. When I dwelt in the cave, when I was in prison, it gave me hope, to see the light come and go, and know that the world went about its business.”

He was looking out the window, toward the blue distance where the sky darkened toward infinity. His throat moved a little as he swallowed.

“It gives me the same feeling, Sassenach,” he said, “to hear ye rustling about in your surgery, rattling things and swearin’ to yourself.” He turned his head, then, to look at me, and his eyes held the depths of the coming night.

“If ye were no longer there—or somewhere—” he said very softly, “then the sun would no longer come up or go down.” He lifted my hand and kissed it, very gently. He laid it, closed around my ring, upon my chest, rose, and left.”


 But I really love that Claire’s the first to describes him as the sun  in Outlander:

Suddenly the inn door opened, and the sun came out, in the person of James. If I was a radiant bride, the groom was positively resplendent.


They are both very much each other’s light!

Clair(e)voyance

1:4

He spent the next five days retracing his victims’ steps.  He talked to so many people. Devoured past interview transcripts.  Phone records.  Tried to think of every damn stone he could turn over.  His efforts finally provided a link between the two men. 

Both had a history of domestic abuse.  

After conducting some interviews of his own, he was pretty sure he could rule out the wife and girlfriend as suspects. 

He found one more commonality though.  But he needed to talk to Claire about it first.  

It had been five days since they’d had pizza and wine together.  Five days since he’d taken her hand and watched her flinch as if burned. It didn’t take his detecting skills to figure this out.  He was certain now.  The evidence was too convincing.

Claire Randall saw things.  Visions. Premonitions.    

Claire Randall was a Psychic.  

He wasn’t innocent.  He knew the signs of an aroused woman.  Pupils dilated. Cheeks flushed.  Breath short.  Every time he touched her, she reacted. 

When they parted five days ago she was furious. Twisting her hand from his she grabbed the lapels of his jacket, and brought him to within mere inches of her face.  She cursed him.  Hard.  

“You fucking bastard!“  Then she shoved him out of way, and disappeared inside her townhouse before he was able to make it to the bottom of her front door stairs. 

He could hear the music before he reached the basement of the building.  The pounding of the drums loud and jarring, the words coming fast and hard.    

This doesn’t mean I lost my dream,

It’s just right now I got a really crazy mind to clean.

Can you save

Can you save my

Can you save my heavy dirty soul?

Jamie stopped at the double doors and watched her through the window.  She was laying bones out on a table from a box.  

He watched her hold each piece of the skeleton for a moment.  Internalizing. Listening.  Then lay it out in its correct spot.  She did this with each and every vertebrae.  Solemn,  Respectful.  She pulled out a humerus. She smiled as if remembering something special. Whimsically.  Fondly.  What had Claire Randall held in her arms to make her smile like that? She pulled out the skull. Ran her long, delicate fingers over the cranium.  She closed her eyes, and he saw her shake her head sadly.  What did she see?  

Down here, hidden away, the music drowning out the world around her, Claire was free to be herself.  To let her gift flow without fear.  The bones spoke to her. A good woman.  Her death was peaceful, of that Claire was sure.  And she had loved, and been loved.  

Jamie watched with fascination.  Heavy dirty soul. What was it that weighed her down?  Why did such a beautiful woman, eyes that could shine with golden light, choose to lock herself away in solitude?  

The song was still pulsing.  He pushed the door, and felt the resistance.  He reared back.

Locked.   

Death inspires me like a dog inspires a rabbit.

He banged on the door.  The music prevented his intrusion.  So he waited. Man, those drums. They were relentless.  He didn’t understand how she could concentrate.

The song finished.  He knocked and watched her head snap up.  

Their eyes locked for a moment.  He could see the war raging in her mind. So, she had been avoiding him.  He held up the file in his hand, and shouted, “I think I found something!”

The next song kicked on and she jumped.  More drums, heavy bass.  She set the skull down gently, and came over to unlock the door.  She hit the button on her sound system as she passed it drenching the sterile room in silence.

The lock slide free.  She didn’t bother to open the door, just turned and walked away.  Jamie stepped inside the cool room and let the door whoosh closed.  

“Thanks for yer time.” he said by way of hello.  “I have a couple of connections in the poisoning cases, but one needed yer expertise.”

Claire went back to her work removing bones without a word.  Jamie followed her over to the table.  “What do ye have here?”

“Woman.  Brought in for me to see if I could identify her, maybe connect her to a missing persons.”

“What did she die of?”

“Nat-” Claire stopped.  “I won’t know until I examine everything.”   Her hands gripped the edge of the box, and she let her head fall forward. She grit her teeth until she could feel the pulse in her jaw jump.  Where had her guard gone? Where had her carefully constructed persona gone? 

What’s your question?”  Claire kept working.  Keeping it professional.

“The autopsy report said the stomach contents were the same.  Can ye confirm somethin’ for me?”

Claire gave him the briefest of glances.  “I can try.”

“Would ye say both men ate at the same place before they died?”  He watched her eyes widen just a little before answering.

“I don’t really know for sure.  I mean, it’s possible.  If I remember correctly I indicated they had similar meals.  I can’t confirm they were from the same place.”  Claire turned back to the box and closed her eyes for a brief moment revisiting the impression that hit her during the second postmortem.  Glass cases.  Fresh, crisp vegetables.  Bright blue floor.  Small tables.  Sunlight.  

She grabbed a mandible.  This one had been chatty in life. 

Jamie leaned across the table at her, trying to meet her eyes.  She did know. Instinctively.  He wished she would trust him.

“Talk to me, Claire,” he said, soft, and caring.  Pleading.  A lover’s voice. 

“That’s what we’re doing,” she said, clipped and hard.

“Yeah.  How about ye tell me the truth.  Without ye dropping yer head, or swearin’ at me?”  He’d never met a woman so closed off.

“Look.  I’m busy, and I want to get this done because I’m hungry.”  She took out another bone, a rib, and laid it on the table.   

“Here,” he said, stepping around the table and reaching inside the box, “let me help.”

“No!” Claire shouted, blocking his way with her arm.  She would never get the whole picture if she didn’t connect with every single bone.  She moved too fast and made a mistake. She accidentally placed a hand on his chest trying to hold him off.  

Right above his heart.  Laughter.  Affection.  Joy.  So much joy. 

She pulled her hand back, fast.  Her breath was irregular.  She grasped at the first excuse she could think of to cover her behaviour.  “You don’t have gloves on.”

Now, Jamie thought.  Now we talk about it.  He stepped closer to her.  

“Ye know what we could be.  But ye don’t think we should be together.” He tried to catch her eye, but she was having none of it.   

“That’s right,” Claire said.  Another bone on the table.  “I think I’ve been very clear.”  

“Well, I need to be clear, too.”  Honesty.  It felt like the right way to go in this case.  “I feel this. Just as ye do.  I can’t ignore it.”

“Well, you have to.”  She prayed the floor would open up and swallow her whole.  

“I can’t.  I dinna want to.”  Jesus, Jamie thought.  Am I actually begging right now?

“Not my pig, not my farm, Fraser.”  She would not get into this.  She was doing fine without another Alpha Male in her life. She dug through the box.

“Can you?”  He asked her, his voice mocking.

“Can I what?”  Claire was being purposely obtuse.  It served her well, at times. A collarbone set in place.  

“Ignore it.” His voice reflected his impatience. 

“Yes.  Quite easily”  Which wasn’t exactly the truth, but Claire decided it would have to be her truth for right now.

“I don’t believe ye.”  He would not give in without a fight.  “Why do we have to ignore it?”   Persistence.  It’s what made him a good detective.   

She slammed the femur down on the table with a crash.  The clang of the metal table reverberated around the room.  Jamie jumped back.

“Dammit. STOP.”  She realized she wouldn’t get any peace until she spelled it out for him.  Fine.  He wanted her secrets, did he?  Damn him.  He had no right to them. 

“Now you listen to me, James Fraser.  I get how perceptive you are.  I understand that you think you know me.  But you don’t.  I will say this once, and only once.  Am I attracted to you?  Hell, yes.  You’re too damn good-looking by half, and smarter than the average man which makes you even more alluring in my eyes.  But there cannot be an ‘us’.  Understood?  I like the men in my life to be like my cadavers.  Simple.  Silent.  And dead. ”   

“But that’s not what ye see.”  Jamie’s eyes narrowed like a cat’s.  

Claire threw her hands in the air, exasperated.  

“Do yer visions ever not come to pass?” he persisted.

Claire counted to twenty before she answered.  Fucking, stubborn Scot. 

“No,” she whispered.  “I haven’t been wrong.  Yet.”

The Devil Strolled Through the Cubefarm

(Hopefully the tune is obvious here. @grimreapersprint and I were joking around and then I accidentally a terrible parody.)

Well the Devil strolled through the cubefarm
He was lookin’ for a soul to steal
They were in a bind, triple overtime
They’d be desperate to make a deal
when he came across a young man
Banging on a keyboard and swearin at God
so the Devil topped up at the office java pump
and said ‘boy, this might sound odd…’
'I bet you didn’t know it by I’m a keyboard monkey too
and if you’d care to take a dare, I’ll sling some code at you.
You’ve built a pretty good repo boy, but give the Devil his due,
I’ll bet a Master of Gold against your soul
cuz I debug better than you.’
The boy said 'My name’s Johnny, here just pose for my webcam…
Sure I’ll join your jam, 'cuz you code like spam and I’ll be setting winner=true.’

Johnny grab your github, and hit that coffee hard
cuz the hell’s come to your cubefarm and the Devil’s not here to LARP
If you win you’ll get that final master made of gold
but if you lose you’ll get far worse than trolled…

The Devil booted up his box and said 'I’ll start this show.“
and fire blazed from his heatsink as he commented his code.
As he made his first revisions the system made an evil hiss
then his team of demon debuggers joined in
and Pandora played somethin like this:

*riff*

When the Devil finished Johnny said
"You code pretty good old son,
but sit down in that chair right there
and watch my brain’s multi-threading stun.”

Enduser is a PEBKAC run tech run
In-joking in the changelog just for fun
Clickin through the popups don’t break my code
Hide important options where they won’t show.

The Devil read the comments and he knew that he’d been beat
and he laid the golden master on the ground at Jonny’s feet
Johnny said 'Devil, just come on back
if you ever want to try again,
for now I’m gonna roam, I’m going home
I’ve been off the clock since ten.

nateisbritish  asked:

So, I really want to start working out again, I used to work out all the time in high school. But I just don't have the motivation anymore. I don't have a lot of friends to work out with and my cousin who wants to work out with me wants me to get a gym membership, but i don't make enough money for that. How do I get motivated? I work and go to school and by the time I get home, I'm exhausted. Please help.

Okay @nateisbritish Motivation is Fleeting and unreliable the majority of the time and it comes in spirts. You need to focus on building
Discipline and CONSISTENCY.

Now think about why you personally want your fitness goals. Literally write them down. Also I want you to remember this, once you begin to quit, it becomes easier and easier to keep quitting.

Now I apologize in advance for a lil bit of language but its how my friend really got the memo through to me and how I stopped being so soft in areas of my life that need me to be strong, So I’ll pass it on.

When you quit, It becomes a habit, becoming a BITCH is habit forming (and thats not the derogatory term for women im using.)

Let me give you an example,

You say

i want to workout“ but you spend all night awake so you sleep in and skip your morning workout, then you push it till noon, then push it till the evening and then you bitch out on it.

Then you start bitching out on other things like “I could eat this clean healthy meal from all the health food I have at home But these brownies and cake look tasty so ill wait till tomorrow.”

So this is how my Good friend got the point across to me. Last year or was it early this year I was being really wimpy and whiny about something and my buddy had enough of it and said “Jordan stop being a little bitch” and I was so sensitive at the time I was like “why would you even call me that when i-” and my friend then STRAIGHT Decked me in the face like fuckin Kamina 

and knocked me down and said these words that I’ve never forgotten 


“Jordan WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO YOU, You’re letting yourself get so fuckin soft. You’re actin like this one thing DID that much. thats not the badass I used to know, you’re becoming pathetic and I as your Good friend will not allow it. You’re stronger than you fuckin know and if you ever let yourself think about bein a weak little bitch again I’ll slug ya because I love you Bro and I know you’re better than that” 

and that really just helped me realize yeah wow i was becoming a wimpy whiner about a lot of things and that wasnt going to help me with anything. It was the TOUGH LOVE WAKEUP CALL I NEEDED. Its GOOD to have friends call you on your shit haha so I always thank him for that

I try not to quit anything anymore. I literally bitched out on getting my shoulder healed because i was lazy and bitched out on workouts till I looked in the mirror and straight called myself out on it and fixed it. then you keep building bitch habits you will bitch out on big areas of your life. Dont Do that, The times you dont wanna workout or say you cant, Is bullshit because a 1 hour workout is 4% of your day.You have time and those are times you must not quit. Build strong habits that build integrity, and self confidence and MOST Importantly Stay Consistent and Stay disciplined. Will power is like any other muscle it has to be trained

if you keep forming bitch habits then thats what you will be. Sorry for the swearin but Honestly I’ved found tough love is the best one that will get you back on track. Now don’t go find your Motivation find how you can stay disciplined and consistent whatever it is, and Don’t quit it, Don’t bitch out and you can overcome anything life puts in your way.