#Laughter Exercises

[raffaellopalandri]

Laugh, it's World Laughter Day!

World Laughter Day, celebrated annually on the first Sunday of May, is more than a mere occasion for lightheartedness; it is a deliberate and profound initiative rooted in the vision of Dr. Madan Kataria, the esteemed founder of the Laughter Yoga movement. Image found on Internet Established in 1998, this day serves as a global clarion call, urging humanity to recognise and embrace the…

[calm-happy-positive2025]

♥️♥️

[vaguely-concerned]

rye during the taash & davrin workout scene is sooo 'I came here to eat near-inedibly dark chocolate and gently bully davrin, and I'm all out of chocolate' coded and it's wonderful. I love all three of them so much. I love that davrin approves if you tell taash 'you gonna let davrin beat you???' (and taash' satisfied 'davrin DIDN'T beat me }:)' afterwards). I love that rye tries to neg davrin about the pull ups and taash immediately but not uncompanionably um actually --s him. their mother's child truly in ways they don't seem to realize lol. young master ingellvar I believe that as a consequence of your own hubris you have been -- what is the teminology... owned. (rye has not done a deliberate pull up OR chin up in his LIFE, btw, his muscle is all built up through fighting practice/forms and advanced necropolis parkour between ruined buildings from a young age. he probably has something between like a climber's build and a dancer's. all those watcher 'back straight' reminders over the years. and all it cost was a few very deep neuroses taking root in him forever! a bargain I'm sure) the fact that taash identifies griffon babies in danger as the most urgently motivating image for davrin and seems to be correct about it. I hope manfred and assan are out there getting up to Shenanigans while briefly unsupervised. peace and love in taash' improvised gym this fine day

[harrycosmo]

Zendaya and the exercise ball.

[kevin-day-is-bi]

orangé and healthy grass except we don't have to talk about the cloud shapes, we can just talk about our wips 😂

(from mel 💜)

hi melody!

us laying in the field talking abt jaytim Scream au <3

and I DO wanna commit crimes w you. I'm always so down to commit crimes. before going to college I read the entire student handbook and my parents were so impressed and I was like "I need to know what I'll have to lie about 😊" and they just 😐

[ecomehdi]

Natural Remedies for Anxiety: Finding Peace in Nature's Embrace 24

Life’s hustle and bustle can often leave us feeling overwhelmed and anxious. In such moments, turning to nature’s embrace can be a soothing balm for our restless minds. This article explores natural remedies for anxiety, providing simple yet effective ways to find tranquility amidst the chaos. Natural remedies Understanding Anxiety Anxiety is not your enemy; it’s your body’s way of signaling…

[loreeebee]

Dealing With Stress, What's Your Best Method?

What’s your tried and true method for dealing with stress? Experts have their opinions and advice of course but many of them are not that easy to follow.  With the costs of just about everything soaring, most of us have financial stress of some sort these days. If not our own financial woes, then that of our children, or grandchildren, which in turn causes stress for us. Stress can be a vicious…

[tobeholyistobeempty]

you’re drunk - simon ghost riley

“y’wanna know what stupid looks like?” he mutters, head dropping down until his lips near your jaw. “you, wakin up with my fuckin dog tags round your neck and nothin else.”

based off a request i got - tispy simon riley x drunk reader. simon is a man of morals, even when you make it very very hard for him to exercise them. 18+. lots of detailed dirty talk.

————-

it’s honestly not even your fault.

you’ll blame it all on soap, if anyone asks - he’s the one who had a tab open, a devil on his shoulder, and kept pouring shots as if they were free. now you’re blackout-adjacent, stumbling through the hallway with simon’s arm wrapped around your waist in some makeshift tourniquet while everything spins like a goddamn carousel.

simon always gets stuck on clean-up crew. mostly because he’s the only one who can handle their fuckin liquor.

needless to say, he’s used to this by now. used to the way you’ve been rambling on about nothing for the better part of five minutes - doesn’t say much when you stop and get distracted by something stupid for the billionth time. doesn’t complain when you grab his arm and lean a little too hard into his side, as if he’s a lifeline in the sea that is the floor beneath your feet.

he’s tipsy, sure, but somehow still annoyingly steady. classic simon.

“jesussi—you’re big.” it’s slurred and breathless, broken by your own laughter as your head drops lazily onto his shoulder. “like, industrial grade. military-issued big.”

the corner of his mouth tilts. if you were sober you’d see the smirk he’s biting back.

“tha right?”

“mmm. like a fuckin tank,” you hum, fingers kneading the muscle under your palm. it’s involuntary - just like it’s involuntary when he twitches. “or an armoured vehicle. y’should come with airbags.”

simon bites his cheek. the devil in you is dancing in the waves of tension rolling off him.

maybe he’s not as used to this as he thought - because this isn’t just drunk-banter. this is you, murmuring compliments with all that heat behind them. personal. stupidly involuntarily honest.

hes not used to compliments. not ones that sound like that.

“you’re drunk,” he breathes.

you grin. “so’re you.”

“not even half as much as you.”

you let out a giddy little laugh that makes him glance down, at that. it’s quick and brief, the way his eyes flick over you, like he’s checking to make sure you haven’t stripped mid-hallway. it’s just the bickering that gets you. makes you warm inside.

“m’not that drunk,” you lie through your teeth with all the drunken confidence you possess. “i mean—i am, but not like…memory loss drunk. i’m still gonna remember how wide your shoulders are tomorrow.”

it’s only seconds after that and your fingers are moving again, crawling down his arm to where leather edge meets skin.

“..and how insanely big your hands are,” you sigh in continuation, unable to help yourself. “like—biblically destructive. ruin-her-life-in-a-single-night kind of hands. anyone ever tell y’that?”

and that might just be precisely when it starts - the feeling in his gut. brought to life through the filth you’re beginning to feed.

“don’t.” he says, and it’s torn. “not now.”

he’s all but begging you - and however miraculously, his pace doesn’t break. still steady as ever even as you switch from squeezing to tracing his tattoos with your finger. the only response he gives is a devastating clench of his jaw as he keeps you moving - steering past flickering lights and sterile walls.

“y’ever choke a girl out with them?” you press, unfettered. “not like, unconscious, but like. in bed?”

he exhales. slow. almost a growl.

“jesus. stop talkin’.”

“why?” you blink up at him, all wide eyes and flushed cheeks, far too innocent for someone who’s very much not being innocent. “am i makin’ you nervouuus?”

his head tilts just slightly, just enough to peer down at you again.

“no,” he says, and even drunk you hear the grit in it. “you’re makin’ me hard.”

he says it like he hates himself for it. like it slipped out - cut from the meat of some deep place the inebriation in his veins simply won’t let him keep inside.

and you?

you blink slow, lips parting in surprise.

“fuckin’ finally.” you exhale with a smile. slow and crooked and dangerous. “thought i’d have to be on my knees and naked for you to admit that—“

he doesn’t let you finish that thought.

“fuck’s sake, y’little minx.” he’s dragging you now, as if he’s realizing the dangers that are surfacing the more this conversation continues. by this point he’s half-carrying, half-hauling your giggling form down the hall like you weigh nothing. “y’need to stop talkin.”

“you like it,” you slur between unsteady steps. “y’like me like this cause you’re a freakkk—“

his grip tightens. morals in tatters. control evaporating.

“i’d like you more if y’were unconscious.” he huffs, hard. “or duct-taped.”

that makes you giggle more. worse, it eggs you on.

“was that supposed t’be a threat?” you ask, lips glistening. “cause if so, it’s workingggg.”

he grunts - some deep, violent sound in his throat like that one hit a nerve. “bloody hell.”

by the time you make it to your door, he’s breathing heavy. less from exertion and more from sheer fucking restraint. it takes two seconds before he throws the hinges wide, kicks it shut with his boot, and all but drags you onto your bed.

and you hardly even realize you’ve reached it until the cotton caresses the side of your cheek. but that feeling is quickly forgotten when simon, the gentleman that he is, leans over you - one knee braced on the mattress as his hands go to work on the laces of your boots.

your thighs tense. he notices.

“fuck, simon.” you can’t stop yourself. not even god himself could, at this point. “i’ve been into you for ages, y’know.”

he pauses. boot in hand.

“…what?”

he says it low. like a warning - like a don’t you fuckin start. but you’re too drunk to care - especially when all you smell is him and all you see are those shoulders, leaning over you while you’re flat on your back beneath him.

your lashes flutter.

“jus sayin- since, like. you’re in my room, on my bed above me like one of my codeine fever dreams.” you slur, brain sloshing. the room spins with it. “thought y’should know.”

he looks at you like you’ve hit him with a brick.

your head lolls. glassy eyes dragging up over the length of him. “used to think about it—you—when i couldn’t sleep.”

he swallows, and you watch his throat work with it. the grip he’s got on your ankle could shatter bone.

“….you tellin me y’think bout me when y’touch yourself?” he asks.

“god yes.” you don’t even realize you’ve said it. “you. your hands. bending me over the sinks. in the showers while muttering filth in my ear, tellin me to behave—“

“—fuck.” it punches out of him like it hurts.

the silence falls heavy. he doesn’t blink, breathe, or move for what feels like forty minutes, when in reality, it’s like forty seconds - just long enough for him clamp the leash back on whatever beast is tearing through him.

not fully, but enough.

you stretch like a cat, oblivious to it. arch your back. sigh. “d’you think about it?”

he doesn’t answer. not at first. then—

“only when i breathe.”

your stomach lurches. your thighs twitch. “you mean that?”

he looks at you, finally - eyes darker than the devils deal, filled with filth and heat from the fire you started without even trying.

he shakes his head, his jaw clenches with the effort of keeping the beast at bay. “i mean, if you don’t stop talkin, m’gonna fuckin’ fold.”

the alcohol in your blood just roars, at that. fuel to the flaming fire inside you.

“tell me.” you murmur. “you think about fucking me? what i’d sound like moaning your—“

before you can finish that thought, his hand is over your mouth. it swallows your face, makes you twitch in all the wrong places — and he sees it.

“enough.” it’s barely a whisper. “christ. fuck. you’re gonna make me do somethin’ stupid.”

you moan against his hand - it spills out of you, vibrates against his fingers. he curses.

“y’wanna know what stupid looks like?” he mutters, head dropping down until his lips near your jaw. “you, wakin up with my fuckin dog tags round your neck and nothin else.”

his palm silences everything but your pulse, which is roaring, at this point.

your fingers come up, shift a few of his digits until your voice finds room to leak out. “please.”

his eyes snap shut.

“y’dont know what you’re askin for, sweet’eart,” he mutters, grabbing the edge of the blanket with his free hand and yanking it over your hips. “ain’t gonna wake up with you hatin me.”

even drunk you realize he’s a man of morals.

“you think i’d regret it?” you whisper. stars in your eyes. he doesn’t respond. “simon. i just told you i’ve fantasized about fucking you. i wonder how big you are, if it’d hurt—“

his palm tightens over your lips again.

“one more fuckin’ word and i’ll forget every goddamn reason why i shouldn’t touch you right now.” he spits. “if y’even remember this tomorrow, y’come say it to me sober. promise on every grave i’ve ever stood over i’ll bend y’over on the spot and fuck the idea of regret right outta you.”

then he pulls back, moving slow like it hurts, and you smile.

“guess i’ll see you tomorrow.”

“mhm.” he hums, take a step or two toward the door. “fuckin hope you will.”

[calm-happy-positive2025]

♥️

[happytakes]

2024.11.28 | Laughter is the best medicine; but perseverance is required to laugh through the struggles too. Seeing the bright side of things is a strength that all of us need to resort to from time to time to lighten the burden of life. So don't forget to smile and laugh.

[robotsexguy9000]

I'm doing GREAT I'm having FUN I am PILOTING A GIANT ROBOT everything is FANTASTIC. Except for the sludge I fear.

[dynamichealthinsights]

Breathe Deeply and Smile: How Positive Emotions Improve Respiratory Function

Imagine a moment of pure joy – a child’s laughter, the embrace of a loved one, the awe-inspiring beauty of a sunset. In these moments, haven’t you noticed a sense of release, a deeper, more satisfying breath? This isn’t mere coincidence. Emerging research reveals a profound connection between our emotional state and our respiratory function. Cultivating positive emotions like joy, contentment,…

[leafyeyes417]

Delivery

Danny really didn’t like the bowing and formality of being the Ghost King. Yes he had a lot of power but as long as you were decent he didn’t feel the need to exercise it. So Danny decided to disguise himself. His choice, a messenger.

He used to have only two forms, his human side and ghost side. Now he has four. A Royal form and his messenger form. His normal ghost form could now could be considered his comfy form, which he uses when he’s just hanging as friends.

Anyway what started the whole messenger thing was when he found out there was an entire room full of paperwork just relating to one guy. Like good for him in his Soul Evasion but not for the poor Ghost King. So he decided to return to sender.

Once in disguise (Thank you minor shapeshifting), he used a portal to get to the guys vicinity. Which happened to be in the middle of a Justice League meeting. Great. Okay Danny you got the bored look down, just do your supposed job.

“I’m looking for a…” he checks a clipboard he pulled out of nowhere. “John Constantine.”

He hears a curse to his left and glances over. Yep that’s the guy. Someone asks, “Why are you looking for him?”

Danny smiles blandly. “I need to deliver a package. It is quite large though so I will need a…” He glances at the clipboard again. “12 by 24 by 30 foot room to place it in.”

Constantine blinks confused. “But I didn’t order anything? Especially not from one of your kind.”

Danny nodded. “Yes this is a late return order I’m afraid. We finally got through some of the back log.”

Perturbed Constantine agreed and Danny was led to a place in the Watchtower after getting a signature for confirmation of delivery. Checking that the measurements were correct, Danny opened the portal and with a whomp the piles of paperwork landed in the room. Impressively none of the towers of paper toppled over, only swaying a little.

The heroes that had followed out of curiosity gaped. Constantine sputtered out a, “What the ‘ell is all this?!”

Danny gave a toothy smile. “This? This is all paperwork tied to you. The Ghost King decided that if you wanted to create so much paperwork then you can be the one to fill it out.” Ripping open another portal Danny waved and said his goodbyes. “Well my job is done. Bye!”

Once back in his keep he couldn’t keep himself from breaking out into laughter. It was so worth it to play messenger boy for that.

Later (not really a connected scene but had to share):

Danny floated into one of the Demon Princes receiving rooms. Constantine had gone through some of the paperwork and he needed to deliver the finished copies. Turns out being a messenger gave him a lot of wiggle room in going to new locations.

As Ghost King he would need to ask permission, get a bunch of gifts, etc etc. Messengers just needed a ‘hey I’m neutral and temporarily entering your territory’ and as long as Danny stayed out of restricted areas he had basically free rein.

Upon getting the sigil of confirmation from the Demon Prince he handed him the papers. The Demon frowned as he started reading and then snarled. “What is this?! That human’s soul was mine so why do I suddenly not have full claim?”

Danny shrugged. “I’m just the messenger but at a guess, the guy took advantage of the fact the bureaucracy was back logged and got some more deals. Heard the Ghost King is having him work through his own paperwork as punishment for making so much.”

Snarling and grumbling, the Demon shooed him away. He smirked. It was fun to see everyone react upon receiving bad news.

[francfielder]

Laughter and Exercise Protects You From Stress! CTTO

[seumyo]

just thoughts of growing old with bakugou.

“Y’alright, old lady?” he asked.

“Excuse me?” You shot back with a huff, but the laughter in your voice softened it. “You’re not exactly a spring chicken yourself, Mr. Dynamight.”

��Hah? I could still beat your ass in a race.”

“You could barely bend down to get your keys this morning.”

He clicked his tongue but didn’t deny it. “Should’ve let you get them. You’re closer to the ground anyway.”

“Now you’re just asking for trouble.”

You two walked a few more steps before he noticed your breathing was just a little heavier. Your hand was tighter on his forearm. You hadn’t said anything, of course. He knew you never liked making a fuss. But Bakugou noticed. He always noticed.

Because if he didn’t notice, then he’d think he’s the shittiest husband on the planet.

Bakugou stopped.

You looked at him, confused. “Katsu?”

“Turn around.”

“What—”

“I’m givin’ you a piggyback ride.”

You blinked. “Katsuki, we’re in our sixties.”

“And? You think that stops me?” He crouched a little, wincing more dramatically than he meant to. Despite retaining lighter exercises to keep his body in tip-top shape, age still creeps in like a barnacle to his back. “C’mon, get up before I change my mind.”

“You’re going to throw your back out.”

“My back’s tougher than yours.”

“That’s not saying much anymore!”

“I’d rather break my back than see you waddle like a fuckin’ penguin with those stuffy shoes.”

“Our daughter gave me these shoes!”

“I know,” he replied. “Get on, woman.”

With a chuckle, you carefully climbed onto his back, your arms wrapping around his neck like they did all those years ago when you two were barely adults sneaking out for late-night walks. He held your legs securely under him, your weight familiar even after all this time. You rested your head against the back of his neck.

He lifts you like it’s nothing.

“Still got it,” he mutters, somewhat relieved.

Because Bakugou wants to give you a piggyback ride—or just carry you as many times as he possibly could.

“You’re insane.”

“Yeah, well. You married me. So there’s nothin’ we could do about that now that we’re five decades in, huh?”

You nuzzled your cheek against his shoulder, your voice muffled. “Best decision I ever made,” you hum. “Do you ever think about what we were like back then?”

“All the time,” he replies.

“Do you miss it?”

Bakugou exhaled. “Nah. I mean, it was good. Great, even. But this…” He shifts you a little higher on his back. “This is better.”

“You’re carrying your wrinkly wife down the street, and you think this is better?”

“Hell yeah,” he replies without hesitation. “You still make fun of me. Still make me laugh. Still kiss me like we’re teenagers. And even if you walk slower now, you still walk with me.”

You were quiet for a moment. Then, softly, “That’s so sappy. I hate you.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles.

You chuckled.

“I love you, Katsuki.”

“I know,” Bakugou says, and then, a little quieter, “I love you too. Always have. Even when you fell asleep during Die Hard.”

“I knew it. You were paying attention.”

He laughs. Full, unguarded, and warm. His chest feels full, like it always does when you’re near. The kind of full that doesn’t need fixing. Doesn’t need anything more.

-

“See?” Katsuki muttered breathlessly, settling you down onto a wooden bench that overlooked the town below. “Didn’t break my back.”

“Not yet. Tomorrow, maybe.”

“Tch. Still mouthy,” he said, but there was nothing but tenderness in his voice. He reached for your hand, calloused fingers lacing with yours. “Old or not, you’ll never stop talkin’, will you?”

“Not if I can help it,” you murmured. “Someone’s gotta keep you on your toes.”

“You tickle my toes when I’m about to fall asleep, you psychopath.”

“As I said, keep you on your toes.”

You two sat there in silence, side by side, watching as the last of the day faded into hues of soft purple and gold. The town below lit up slowly—windows glowing, streetlights flickering on one by one. It was the same town where you built a life, where you came after retiring from the city, where you spent quiet afternoons and lazy mornings and stormy nights curled under blankets.

“I was thinking earlier,” you said, tilting your head toward him. “Remember that old apartment? The first one?”

“The one with the leaky pipes?”

“And the hole in the wall.”

Bakugou made a noise between a groan and a laugh.

“Don’t remind me. That place was hell.”

“But we were happy. And it was our first.”

He nodded. “It was.”

“You used to stay up late grading case files while I was asleep on the couch.”

“And you’d drool on every pillow,” he said, smirking.

“That’s love,” you quipped, “sharing spit on furniture.”

“Disgusting,” his eyes crinkled as he chuckled, quiet and deep, before falling into a softer stillness.

“Do you think we did okay?” you asked.

Bakugou turned to look at you. Your eyes were searching his face—not out of doubt, but for reassurance.

“We did more than okay,” he said. “We loved hard. Fought harder. Got old. Grew up.”

You smiled faintly. “We grew softer.”

He squeezed your hand. “You did. I stayed badass.”

You laughed, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Yeah… you did.”

A breeze blew past, and you shivered slightly. Bakugou was already tugging his jacket off before you could protest. He knows you well enough that it comes second to breathing. Something that he could never forget because he needs to remember it to survive.

“You don’t have to—”

“Shut up. You’re cold.”

You let him drape it over you, fingers brushing his wrist as he tucked it close. It was nice. This was nice.

“I still remember the first time I saw you,” you said after a while. “You were yelling at someone, I think.”

“That sounds right.”

“I thought, ‘What an ass.’”

“And yet, you married me.”

“Because you were very persuasive,” you told him.

He snorted. “Uh huh.”

Time passed like that—peaceful and unhurried—until the sun was a mere sliver on the edge of the world. Fireflies blinked into view. The quiet of the hilltop wrapped around you like a blanket.

“I’m tired,” you murmured quietly, closing your eyes for a moment against his shoulder.

“Want me to carry you home?”

“No, just…” You paused, then exhaled. “Let’s just stay here a bit.”

Bakugou nodded. “Yeah. We can stay.”

“You’ve always been stubborn.”

He grunted in acknowledgment.

“But also the kindest man I’ve ever known.”

He didn’t reply right away. He just looked at you—really looked at you. Your hair had silvered, your cheeks had thinned, but your eyes held the same sparkle that made him fall in love with you years ago. You were still [Name]. Undeniably his.

And he was still Bakugou. Your.

“Even if I get reincarnated,” you whispered, your voice barely audible now, “even if I forget everything—I hope I find you again.”

He swallowed hard, jaw tightening. “You will.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah. I’ll find you too,” he said. “You’re too damn loud to miss.”

You smiled. Your hand, much more wrinkly now, more fragile than it used to be, reached up to his cheek. Your thumb traced the scar that time left near his jaw.

“I love you,” you said.

He leaned in, pressing your foreheads together. “I love you too. Always.”

And in the stillness, with the cool air surrounding you and the stars beginning to blink into view above, you leaned into each other—together in warmth, in memory, in everything you two ever were.

Your hands stayed intertwined, steady.

And when the wind finally hushed, you drifted off into the quietest, most peaceful sleep.

Together, one last time.

Forever.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[openvimark]

(vía Camiseta clásica con la obra «Dive into Joy: A Refreshing Plunge into the Lake» de 0penvimark)

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