#I’m still hurting from John Mulaney I cannot go through this again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fakeloveaskblog · 3 years

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Greetings from the void, Remington Siest, I have been summoned in your stead—

Oh, it's you! We've already met! Right! Uh, Remus's nonbinary demon friend again, this time coming from the shadowy corners in your room that you never look to. My apologies for that little scare, it's my day job you see, and someone else did summon me to you; old habits die hard, yadda yadda. How have you been? How are you liking that Raccoon plushie I sent?

Now, as for what's been requested of me *sounds of paper shuffling* hmm, ok, yeah, that's easy! Remus adores you, can confirm! Both him and Janus love having you as a friend and while I cannot speak on Remus'd behalf on the matter I can say that Janus is absolutely smitten with you (on a romantic sense) beyond a shadow of a doubt! He doesn't and will never only want you for your body, or leave you if you were to reject any advances he may yet put forth, so you can rest easy on that issue!

Oh. *hears what Remy has to say to their summoner before the message sents* Oh my. *starts to panic* Seems things are worse than I thought. I have. No idea what to say that wouldn't make this any worse! Where's the person who cheers you up and sents you nice text messages when you need it?! Ah, guess if they're not here this falls to me until they do get here? Uh, darn the timer's running out, um.

Remy… you are amazing and a great person and your friends love you for you, and you alone, not just your body, you! (Remus is ace for crying out loud!) Other than the obvious… now, we don't have time to unpack all of that, but…! *quickly sents a link to a social media app on Remy's phone* So. *John Mulaney voice* Hey, do you want me to kill that guy for you? Because it sounds like he sucks and I would totally kill that guy for you!

(U!Virgil, emotional abuse)

Remy: "Oh girl I am loving the raccoon! I sewed him a lil like hoodie so now he like reminds me even more of my boyf. I have-"

They forced in a sharp breathe through their teeth while their whole body trembled from pain. The plushie was pressed close to their chest as they laid in bed. All the blinds were rolled down because any and all light would bring them a migraine right now.

"I haven't like....been doing too hot...I...It's like....a lot right now"

They took a few moments to really listen to your message. (How good that all demon messages came with an automatic playback function)

"...Jan does seem so sweet...and Rem makes me feel all warm...maybe you’re right" They buried their face into the soft fur of the plushie "I want Jan to like hold me like all the time. He's so soft"

(A part of them still felt doubt. Sweet guys had left them before. They tried to press the doubt deep deep down until they couldn’t hear it anymore)

"I really hope Jan like texts me about hanging out soon. Like shopping or eating at some resturant or like going out walking or whatever. I just wanna like talk to him. He seems like tots a good listener right? Would be like good to vent to I guess...I kinda want to...I trust him. I think....I shouldn’t vent....I shouldn’t”

The door opened. The small amount of light coming in made them whimper and hide down under the blanket. Virgil came in. He hunched down by the bed.

“You feeling any better?”

“Bitch look at me. I’m dying more than a 70′s fashion trend!! Oh woe me!”

He kissed them on the nose before taking out a pill from one of the medicine bottles on their bedside table. Remy immediately tensed up.

If they took that pill then eventually the bottle would be empty and Virgil would have to pay for another and they wouldn’t have any way to make it up to him because they were useless and couldn’t work and could barely even be used properly and he would probably tell them himself how horrible of a burden they were and they were probably supposed to refuse or he would get mad and-

“You need it” He had a soft look in his eyes.

“I’m fine babe!” They spat out in panic.

Virgil grabbed onto their jaw and forced their mouth open. The back of their head got pressed down into the mattress. It hurt. They knew he would just sigh back how Everything hurt to them if they said anything. They grabbed onto his wrist to try and force him away, they couldn’t. He wasn’t strong but they were very weak.

He pressed the pill down into the back of their mouth. “Swallow” He kept their mouth open until they did as told. “Good. Was that really hard” He muttered sarcastically.

Their whole body was still so tense it ached “Please babe you just sounded like a laughably pathetic daddy dom”

Virgil fiddled with his hoodie strings like he always did when he got flustered “I Uh didnt’ mean to. Gross. Eh. Dinner’s almost ready by the way”

“Don’t burn the stove down” They teased.

“Shut up you smartass”

“You wish”

“Idiot” He said jokingly before kissing them. He left to check so the stove hadn’t actually burned down.

Remy painstakingly turned to look at you. They pressed the plushie closer. The medicine started to make them drowzy. It did that sometimes.

“My boyfriend doesn’t suck...he’s sweet. so sweet” They mumbled out “Most days he’s so sweet. Like today. And on bad days he just like doesn’t lie. He just says the truth..he gets so anxious about me leaving him....isn’t that like kinda romantic...him being so desperate for me to not leave he just...he just says stuff...and yells...and.....and it’s sweet. He’s so sweet”

They kind of wished Virgil would always be either sweet or honest. It made them so stressed to never know how they had to act. At least their dad never made them stressed like that. He was always angry. That made it easy

Remy gripped onto the stuffie harder. They hated when their brain made connections between his boyfriend and-

“He loves me. He just like loves me so much. All that stuff that sounds bad it’s either ‘cause he’s trying to make me stay, like I would leave or someting, or- or ‘cause it’s true”

....But....But they’d thought the whole thing about how no one else would want them except for their body was true...but if Janus didn’t....then it wasn’t true....Remy couldn’t help but wonder if-

The door opened again. Virgil came in with 2 bowls of black bean soup. The silly wondering was quickly forced away from their thoughts.

He sat down on the bed next to them and set the bowls onto the bed table they had for bedridden days. He gently put his hands on their back and neck to help them sit up. When they whimpered he kissed them.

“I’m not hungry” Remy muttered.

“Beanie you are”

They could eat on their own but they didn’t say no when he used the spoon to feed them. It made them feel pampered and it made him feel needed. Double win.

“Babe this tastes horrible. just saying as like a warning” They said after finishing half the bowl.

“Like you could do any better” He pressed a playful kiss to their forehead.

“Oh yeah definitely! I just put the ingredient in! And then the like water! and then it’s done! Easy!!”

“Woooow. Wish I’d thought of that”

They smiled “Yeah that’s why you’ve got dick for brain. Bitch”

He simply snapped his finger into their forehead in reply “Wanna watch a horror movie?”

Remy got bored by horror movies and Virgil easily got anxious by them even though he loved them so really he was if they wanted to make out and cuddle to avoid looking at the film.

“You akready know I want to”

They didn’t look which movie he picked. They’d already cuddled up to his side and pressed their head to his chest. He moved his arms around them so he could eat his soup while the movie started.

It was so nice. They could hear his heartbeat through his hoodie. He was so sweet. They were so horrible.

They didn’t deserve it. They didn’t deserve it. They didn’t deserve it.

#thanks for the ask!!! that must have taken you some time to write <3 #ask #remy sanders #unsympathetic virgil #sanders sides #obsessed with how your ask makes the implication that remy has a tumblr

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ragingbookdragon · 4 years

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When The Music’s Not Forgotten

A Haytham Kenway x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 1,691 Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst

Author’s Note: *Insert John Mulaney’s ‘No that’s the thing I’m sensitive about!’* I’m sensitive about how sad Haytham is so I made it better. Enjoy! -Thorne

She watched from afar as the two men argued, one with his hands clasped tightly behind his back, the other gesturing wildly with them. It was almost downright hysterical how similar they were, though they’d never agree with her. But from where she stood, the similarities were plain to see. They might have different ways of showing it, but that Kenway Temper ran deep, and she sighed as she started making her way over, knowing it was about to explode into something serious.

“You do not care about the people! They fight to make their lives better! To be free and you stand above them and scoff as if it is all in vain!” Haytham huffed at his words, countering,

“It seems a lot of good they’re doing themselves, Connor. Most of them are getting killed. A ragtag band of townsfolk can’t possibly hope to defeat a trained army.” His son’s face pinched in anger and before he could do anything, she stepped between them, placing her hands to their chests as she split them apart.

“Alright, that’s enough. You two keep at it and trouble will find us.” Connor shoved her hand aside, taking a step forward.

“No! It is not enough!” She turned, a firm look in her eye.

“Look, I get that you’re upset, and I understand, but taking it out on Haytham isn’t going to change the past.” He pointed his finger in her face, hissing,

“You know nothing of what upsets me (Y/N).” She cocked an eyebrow, eyes following from his finger to his honeyed ones.

“First off, I’m your senior, and you will address me with the proper respect. Secondly, how much do you wanna bet on that statement?” He pulled his hand away, getting in her face.

“I would bet my life upon it.” (Y/N) nodded, then remarked,

“I know for a fact that Ziio’s death is what drives you so strongly to defeat the templars and Charles Lee.” Connor recoiled slightly, but she kept speaking. “I know that you blame your father and believe it was his order to burn Kanatahséton.” She watched his face fall in a mixture of hate and pain as he muttered,

“Lee works for him. How could it not be?” (Y/N) tipped her chin up, recalling,

“Because I know for a fact that it wasn’t. Haytham wasn’t even in the colonies when your village was burned.” She could hear Haytham intake a sharp breath, but she took a step forward. “We were overseas when Kanatahséton fell. Whoever burned your village did not do so on Haytham’s orders, Ratonhnhaké:ton.” The young man said nothing, and for a moment, the world around them felt so dark and heavy. Letting out a sigh, (Y/N) placed a hand on his bicep, urging him to look at her; he met them and she murmured, “Go home for the day, Ratonhnhaké:ton. Nothing can be done about the mission this late.” It took him a moment to move his feet, then he whispered,

“I will be at the docks tomorrow.” She watched him walk off before turning to Haytham, mocking,

“Well done genius. Any more ways you want to make your son hate you?” He scoffed, turning on his heel as he headed in the direction of the inn.

“It’s not my fault he’s naïve.” (Y/N) rolled her eyes walking beside him, not bothering to look at the people who moved out of their way as they strode past.

“Of course, it isn’t. But you treating him like a child and not a grown man isn’t going to make the situation better. He’s your son, Haytham. Start acting like his parent.” She watched from the side as he pulled a mirthless grin.

“Any capability of nurturing and loving I could feel has been burned away, (Y/N). You know that.” Her face scrunched up at his words and she asked,

“So what? You’re incapable of loving you own child?” He hummed, musing,

“So it would seem.” She stopped dead in her tracks, condemning,

“You heartless bastard.” Haytham’s steps halted and he turned, looking back at her with a carefully hidden, but hurt expression.

“What?” (Y/N) took a step towards him, reiterating,

“I said, you’re a heartless bastard, Haytham Kenway.” Before he could speak, she accused, “How dare you stand before me and tell me you can’t love your own child? How dare you claim to have loved her when all you have left of her besides your memories is standing in front of you and you can’t even make an effort to care for him?” Each word felt like it was cutting at his very soul and all he could return was,

“I did care for her.” (Y/N) could tell he wanted to yell, but he was desperately trying to reign his emotions in; she let out a huff of disbelief, spitting.

“Well you have a damn good way of showing it Haytham.” She gave him a pointed look before pushing past him, but his hand shot out, wrapping around her forearm to bring her back.

“No, we are not finished with this.” He gestured to her. “Why are you so concerned about it?” (Y/N) thought her head was going to explode and she hissed,

“Because I’m watching the last good thing you’ll ever be given in this sad life you’ve lived and you’re turning it away over some stupid set of ideals!” At that, Haytham’s temper snapped and he shouted,

“Those ideals are our ideals (Y/N)!” She put her hand to her chest, admitting,

“I am not a templar Haytham! I am not devoted to the order like you are!” His brows furrowed as he asked,

“What?” (Y/N) shook her head, expressing,

“Haytham, I’ve never been devoted to the templars.” She took a step towards him, curling her hands in his jacket lapels. She tugged on them hoping to emphasize the emotion she felt. “I’m devoted to you.” Steel eyes went wide and (Y/N) felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, making her lighter than she had in decades. “I have stood beside you for almost thirty years because I believed you could change the templars for the better. And I still do. But-” She felt her grip go weak and suddenly she felt as mature as her body was telling her she was. “But I cannot in good faith say that what you’re doing is the right thing Haytham. That is your child. The son of the woman you loved all these years. And you’re pushing him away because you think any parental feelings you could’ve had are gone.” (Y/N) looked at him and she cursed how she loved the man. Tears welled in her vision and she whispered harshly, “I pity you. I pity that you have locked your heart away so tightly that you can’t find it anymore. I pity that-” Before she could help it, a sob escaped her and she raised her hands to her face, trying to hide it from him. Warm hands pulled her to an equally warm chest, and she buried her face in his chest as she cried.

“(Y/N),” he breathed, shock running through him at her admissions. She clung to him as if she’d fall into the earth if she didn’t. A painful feeling began tugging at his heart and he looked down, coaxing, “(Y/N), look at me.” She shook her head and he sighed. “(Y/N), please?” Finally, she tilted her head up and he took in the sight of her red-rimmed eyes and tearstained cheeks. Only one question seemed to swim above the rest of them and he inquired softly, “Why have you stayed all the years?” Her lips wobbled, but there was no turning back now, she’d already pulled the final support from the dam. She stared into his eyes and brought a hand up, pressing it to his cheek. She let her thumb caress his skin and confessed,

“Because I love you Haytham…and I want you to do what’s best for you.” (Y/N) inhaled deeply, trying to push the lump in her throat away as she shook her head. “I don’t want you to make your decision based on the order and your responsibilities to it. I want you to look at what you’ve got left and ask yourself if it’s really what you want from life.” She pulled her hand away and dropped her gaze, beginning to untangle herself from his arms. He held tight and she pleaded, “Please don’t do this Haytham…let me go.”

“No.” (Y/N) looked back at him and he said, “Why haven’t you said anything all these years?” She wanted to laugh but all she could manage was a pathetic huff.

“Haytham, you’ve never looked at any woman like you did Ziio, and you sure as hell have never been as happy as when you were with her.” (Y/N) swallowed thickly, whispering, “I’ve had thirty years to understand my feelings for you. You don’t need to worry about the admittance. It won’t change anything.” She tried to move again, but he reached up, cupping her cheeks, murmuring,

“It changes everything.” She met his eyes and he professed, “I love you (Y/N) (L/N).” Though a bolt of disbelieving happiness shot through her, she shook her head, begging,

“Don’t do that Haytham. Don’t lie to me to make me feel better about this.” His grip tightened ever so slightly, and he calmly stated,

“Look me in the eyes and tell me that I’m lying to you.” (Y/N) raised her eyes and searched his, hoping that somewhere there was a lie. But for the first time in a long time, his steel eyes shone with a clearness that she hadn’t seen in years. “Am I lying to you?” She shook her head, murmuring,

“No…I know you well enough to know that.” She blinked slowly, questioning, “Where do we go from here, Haytham?” He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers, hands lowering a bit to cup her jaw. His fingers brushed the back of her neck and he whispered,

“We go home.” (Y/N) shut her eyes and he added, “We’ve wasted enough time (Y/N)…let’s not waste anymore.”

#haytham kenway imagines #haytham kenway imagine #haytham kenway x reader #haytham kenway x reader imagines #haytham kenway x reader imagine #haytham kenway #assassins creed imagine #assassins creed imagines #assassins creed 3 #ac3 #connor kenway #Ratonhnhaké:ton

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sukkadeservedbetter · 5 years

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It’s Different.

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: After a dramatic and traumatizing experience at a gas station, things with Tom hit different.

Warnings: Mugging/Robbery

Word Count: 2.6 of fluff

You’ve always been oddly comforted by the smell of gasoline. Anything that smelled like a car garage had always left you with a sense of euphoria: new tires, exhaust pipes, and metals. It wasn't something you could really explain, but as the faint smell of gasoline entered your nose after a horribly long day at work, you welcomed it.

Your mother always told you not to let your mileage gauge get below 50 miles, but you never listened to her. Tonight you got to the gas station with 10 miles left. Tempting the fates was becoming a little hobby of yours—at least when it came to getting gas. Mainly because you hated pumping gas. It wasn't hard, or even a lot of work, but you always realized you needed gas at the worst possible times. Like tonight, for example. You didn't have anywhere to be, but you were tired. You debated whether you wanted to prolong getting into your comfy clothes tonight or wake up earlier tomorrow in order to fill your stupid car with gas. In the end, prolonging rest now seemed a whole lot better than waking up any earlier than you needed to tomorrow.

You begrudgingly dragged your exhausted body out of your car. It wasn't all that late, but the sun had gone down behind the hills and a faint wind nipped at your neck and cheeks. Summer was officially over, but the remanence of long, warm nights hung in the faint pink glow of the horizon. You scrolled through your phone mindlessly as your car's tank filled agonizingly slowly. You heard your mother's voice telling you that you should always wait in your car while pumping gas at night, just in case. You shook off her words. You lived in the sleepiest part of L.A. where nothing even remotely interesting happened. It was all families and Instagram models here—not crackheads and gangs.

The gas pump clicked, letting you know you were finally done with this heinous chore. You placed the pump back in its holster and finished up paying on the pin pad. As you pivoted on your left foot to turn around and hop into your car, you felt cool metal press against the back of your skull. Your throat closed immediately. The pounding in your chest became overwhelmingly loud. Your ears rang and everything began to slow. Whoever was behind you spoke, but you couldn't hear anything.

They teach you about the "fight or flight response," but they never tell you about the third reaction in response to fear: freeze. You wanted to scream, or run, or kick, but you couldn't do anything. Your lip began to quiver as you cursed yourself for never listening to your mom's advice. The person behind you grabbed onto your arm so hard you yelped.

"Shut the fuck up!" The voice yelled. It was deep and gravely. "I said, give me your money and I won't have to use this." You heard the sound of his gun cocking and you let out a silent wail.

"I don't have anything," you plea, putting your hands up to show you were literally empty-handed.

"Do you think I'm a fucking idiot? Where is your purse? In the car? Walk." The man shoved you towards your car. Your mind raced with possibilities of how to get out of the situation. You quickly realized that you were either going to have to give him your money or he would shoot you and there was no in-between. For a moment you let yourself hope that someone would save you in a damsel-in-distress moment, but you knew that real life wasn't a fairytale, and knights in shining armor were far and in between in L.A.

The man turned you around and shoved you against your car door causing you to wince. When you saw his face you let out a sob. He was wearing a Spider-Man mask. Your mind went straight to Tom. You and Tom had been friends for years. You knew he was kind and good, but you couldn't help but associate him with the mask and that made this situation so much worse.

"Now, give me your money so I don't have to blow your fucking head off," The man sneered. You gulped as you turned around to open your car door. The man placed a harsh hand on your hip as you bent over to reach for your purse. Your throat closed up again thinking about what he might do after you give him the money. You grabbed both your debit and credit card out of your wallet. In a stroke of dumb luck, you remembered something from a John Mulaney special you had watched with Tom a while back.

"Here. Fetch!" You yelled as you turned around and chucked your cards as far away from yourself and the car as you could. The man shoved you into your car, causing you to hit your head, as he ran towards your cards which were now scattered about 20 yards away. You slammed your door shut and drove away quickly, hoping he wouldn't shoot towards your speeding car. You felt numb. Your body shook as you drove. You wanted to go home and sob, but you knew you had to go to the police station first.

The police station took forever. You sat in a boring room that was too bright and too cold as you listened to a policewoman talk you through the process of filing a report. You weren't fully there and if she had asked you to repeat what she was saying you wouldn't have been able to. After what seemed like forever, the police let you go. You got in your car and stared forward mindlessly. Where were you supposed to go? Home was the obvious answer, but you didn't want to go back to your dark and lonely apartment after what had happened. Every time you blinked you saw Spider-Man holding a gun towards you.

You realized that you wanted to see Tom. Tom always knew how to make you feel better and after being terrorized by someone who looked like Spider-Man, Tom's happy-go-lucky attitude and soft British voice was something you craved. You checked the time to find that it was nearing 11:30. Tom might not even be home, but you didn't care. You considered calling him first, just to see if he was home, or wanted to see you, but you were already outside of his apartment before you could truly comprehend that you were heading to him.

You stood with shaking hands outside of his building. As you pressed the call button for his apartment, you became instantly anxious. What if Tom didn't want to see you? What if he had someone over? What if—

"Hello?" Tom's voice rang from the speaker. You let out a shaky sigh of relief. At least he was home. "Hello?" Tom asked again.

"Oh, uh. Hi, Tom..."

"(Y/N)? What're you doing here?" He didn't sound upset, just confused.

"I, uh... can I come up?"

"Yeah, of course!" The door buzzed and clicked open. You pushed the ornate gold handle and began bounding up the stairs. You should've taken the elevator in your state, but you didn't want to wait. Your heart was pounding as you climbed to the ninth floor. By the time you got to Tom's apartment, you were out of breath. You took a moment to compose yourself before you knocked. Tom opened the door with a sideways smile. Upon seeing his face you immediately crumpled into his arms and started sobbing. You hadn't processed what had happened yet, but seeing Tom all soft and warm in his hoodie and sweats made you feel safe.

Tom grabbed you just before you hit the floor and wrapped you into a tight hug. You knew he was probably scared and confused, but you couldn't stop crying long enough to explain yourself. You were ugly crying. There were snot and tears coming out of and your jagged breaths made you feel as though you could vomit. Tom didn't say anything he just rubbed your back and pulled you onto his couch.

"I'm-- I'm so... so sorry," You choked out.

"Shhh, it's okay," Tom comforted. "It's alright, Darlin'." Even upset that pet name made your heart swell. "What's going on?" Tom asked. You took a few seconds to gain some composure. You sat up and wiped the tears from your face as best you could. After a few seconds of uneven breathing, you began to tell Tom what happened. His brows furrowed and his grip on your thigh tightened as you told him how this stranger attacked you.

"I didn't mean to bother you so late I just... I didn't know where to go," you said as you concluded your story.

“No, it’s okay! I’m glad you can here. You’re always welcome here. You know that.” Tom pulled you in for another tight hug. You breathed in his cologne. The familiar scent sent your brain back to last spring when the two of you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. Tom wasn’t just a friend—or he was, but with benefits. Two years ago after a bad break up and a lot of tequila the two of you first hooked up. After that, it became custom for the two of you to get together whenever you were both single and in the same place. It wasn’t constant and both you had been in and out of relationships since you first hooked up, but when it happened it happened—no questions asked. A part of you often longed for something more, but at the end of the day, you were just happy to have someone like Tom in your life.

You looked up at Tom through glassy eyes. You wanted nothing more than to kiss him. Tom had always been good at reading you even if you swore you had a great poker face. Tom placed two fingers under your chin and tilted your head so that your lips met his. It was a soft kiss, nothing particularly special, but behind it was all the care in the world and it was mutual. You break apart after only a few seconds.

"I hope that makes up for that asshole using my likeness to mug you." You let out a shaky laugh.

"It did. Thank you."

"I cannot believe the wisdom of John Mulaney came to you in your moment of crisis," Tom laughed.

"Actually, I think it was Detective J.J. Bittenbinder's wisdom," you teased. As you moved to sit completely upright you winced.

"You okay?" Tom asked, suddenly worried.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm good. That guy just rattled me around a bit. I'll be fine." You were lying. You would be fine, but your hip and back and arm hurt like hell and you didn't want Tom to worry.

"Okay..." Tom said, obviously still unsure. "Do you want to shower? It'll help you relax."

"Yeah, that would be really nice." Tom helped you up from the couch. You followed him to his bathroom with his hand interlaced in yours. You forgot how attractive an attentive/over-protective Tom was.

"You can get in. I'll go grab you a towel," Tom said. You didn't really respond so much as nod, but you knew he knew that you meant, "sure, thank you." You quickly stripped yourself of your clothing and stepped into the steaming water. You winced and cowered away from the water as it hit your forming bruises. You looked down at the marks on your arm and hip which were already red and swollen. The faint outline of fingers traced over your hip. Looking down at the marks, you wanted to cry again, but you knew that there was no point.

You heard the bathroom door open again and could just see Tom's figure from behind the fogged-up glass door. You closed your eyes and let the water pour over your face. When you opened your eyes again Tom's figure was closer to the door, but this time it was devoid of clothing. The door opened and Tom stepped in silently. You turned around to face him.

"Hi," You whispered.

"Hi. This okay?" Tom asked. You nodded, but you suddenly felt the need to cover yourself. You couldn't figure out why you felt so exposed. Tom had seen you naked plenty of times, but this felt different. This was so much more intimate. Normally when you were naked in front of Tom alcohol was involved and during the times it wasn't your exposed body was veiled by the haze of lust and need. Now there was nothing to conceal your skin or your bruises.

Tom's eyes immediately went towards the mark on your arm. He lifted it up to see the bruise better and felt like you could see his heartbreaking as his face crumpled at the sight. "Baby..." he whined, pulling you in for another hug. Your breath caught in your chest at the pet name. Tom never called you 'baby' except for during sex. You (along with most other girls) were always 'love' or 'darling", but this time he called you baby. It felt different.

Your wet body pressed against his. You had never showered with Tom. It was nice. It wasn't sexual like you assumed it would be. In fact, for once, Tom wasn't trying to make an intimate situation sexual at all. Tom pressed a wet kiss to your forehead. "I'm so sorry," he said against your hair.

"It's fine," you mumbled back. Tom turned you around so that your back was now against his chest. You felt his fingertips skim over what you assumed to be various bruises on your back. Without warning, Tom brought his lips down to your shoulders and peppered open kisses across them. He brought his arms around your waist and you bit back a huge grin. Either subconsciously or out of habit leaned your neck to the side to give Tom better access to your neck. Rather than giving you a hickey like you expected him to, he pressed a soft kiss to the exposed skin and turned your head back to meet his lips.

This kiss was different than the kiss you shared on the couch. This kiss was slow and deliberate. Tom slipped in just enough tongue to give you the chills. You could've stayed in that moment forever, but you knew all too well that all good things must come to an end. After what seemed like hours you and Tom stepped out of the shower into the foggy bathroom. Tom wrapped a towel around you, kissing your forehead again in the process. You internally groaned at the thought of putting your jeans back on and going home. Like always, Tom was one step ahead of you.

"Do you want to stay?" Tom asked, but it wasn't like he normally asked you. Something in his voice was different. "I could stay on the couch if you want the bed to yourself, or you could have the couch. I just..." He was nervous.

"You don't need to sleep on the couch," You said, calming Tom's nerves. "You just have to let me borrow a t-shirt."

"Deal." Tom handed you one of his shirts. You slipped your panties back on and let Tom's shirt engulf your figure. It smelled like him. By the time you were finished drying your hair, Tom was already in bed. He was awake, but barely. You slipped into bed next to him and kissed his cheek.

"Thanks, Tommy."

"Of course, (Y/N)." You had ended your nights so many times in the same way in Tom's bed, but when he wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed your shoulder, something felt different.

——

A/N: This is loosely based on an experience I had a few months back and while getting gas I got inspired! Lemme know what you think :)

#tom holland #tom tom #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fic #tom holland fan fiction #tom holland blurb #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland fan fic #tom holland imagine #harrison osterfield #peter parker #peter prker fic #spiderman

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boydsfm · 4 years

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❛ ✶ ( ALEX WOLFF , CIS MALE , HE/HIM ) — did you see LUCAS BOYD walking around campus earlier ? i hear a lot of people talking about the NINETEEN year old SOPHOMORE . from what i know , they are studying COMPUTER SCIENCE and are a part of PHI KAPPA DELTA . they come across as + KIND-HEARTED but also - TIMID , which makes since because on their instagram ( LUCAS.V.BOYD ) it says they are a VIRGO . when i see them , i think of A DESK COVERED IN EMPTY COFFEE MUGS, DANDELIONS GROWING THROUGH THE SIDEWALK, THE UGLIEST GODDAMN SWEATERS YOU’VE EVER SEEN. the most interesting thing i’ve heard about them though , is the fact that REDACTED , but don’t tell anyone i told you that . ooc info . ally . 22 . est . she/her .

hello hello hellooooooooooooooo. i’m ally, i’m from canada, and i’m addicted to tik tok i’m so excited to be here!! this has been an opportunity to bring back an old and beloved muse of mine, one lucas victor boyd ! if you like this, i’ll hyu on discord, or you can hmu at known simp harry hook#3923.

statistics.

full name. lucas victor boyd nickname(s). just lucas. not luke or lou, just lucas. occupation. undergraduate student, beaumont campus tech support age. nineteen. date of birth. september 2nd, 2001. nationality. american. ethnicity. ashkenazi jewish, scottish. orientation. gay. gender & pronouns. cis male; he/him/his.

height. 6′0”. weight. 145 lbs. eye color. hazel. hair color + style. dark brown; usually messy and curly. he gets it cut short at the beginning of the semester and then by the end its a mop. really doesn’t style it. dominant hand. right-handed. distinguishing features. distinctive nose, lanky figure, messy curls, undereye bags, that cute li’l mole.

background. (tw alcoholism, death of a parent)

SO. lucas was born in portland, maine, to a pretty lower middle class family. his father left when he was two years old, and he was largely raised by his mother, florence weber.

florence was a hardworking and loving mother, but she was also quite depressed her entire life. she was a recovered alcoholic when she met judas, lucas’s father, but once he left, she slowly slid back into her old habits.

by the time lucas was eight, he was having to start to pick up some household responsibilities. cooking, cleaning, packing his own lunch. waking his mom up in time for her shifts at target.

by the time he was in middle school, he’d learned how to forge her signature on cheques, he’d applied for unemployment for her after she got fired, and he was taking any odd job to make money.

school was his favorite distraction; he was always a brilliant kid, and if it weren’t for the fact he was already a terribly shy and awkward kid, he could have skipped a couple grades. he threw himself into schoolwork to avoid everything; his mother’s worsening condition, his crippling loneliness, his fear that he might be as gay as every one of his bullies insisted.

this was, also, around when he picked up his most lucrative but troublesome odd job; hacking into the school board network to get test answers. he could get fifty dollars per person per test, and he was able to buy groceries besides beans and rice, was able to buy new clothes for himself and his mom. he felt awful about it every day, but... he still did it.

(death tw) at sixteen, when he found his mom motionless and cold on the floor of their apartment, he buried himself in his work, too. he couldn’t help but feel guilty, though; it was his work, his taking care of everything that had allowed his mom to keep her addiction up for this long.

so, yeah. there’s a very good reason why he doesn’t go back to portland anymore. he spent last summer in cambridge. well, that and his Secret.

since the beginning of his freshman year, lucas has had something of a glow-up. he signed up for the school’s counselling services before he even got to campus, and he’s been making great strides.

additionally, he pledged phi kappa delta, which... he never saw himself pledging a frat, ever in his life. but all the guys there were so... cool. and so supportive and nice and... and they’re like the brothers lucas never had. having that little family has helped him gain that much more confidence in himself.

personality.

if there was an onion headline for lucas’s life it would be Nervous Wreck Slowly Becomes a Functional Human Being.

very virgo, very type a. but also a pisces moon cancer rising. so he needs everything to be in alphabetical order or he’ll cry.

ever since he’s started college, he’s transitioned from being As Plain As Possible to being more outwardly soft as he’s gained confidence in himself. he wears the dorky sweaters and neat socks he likes, he has a small collection of plants on his desk, he knits scarves for his friends. big hufflepuff energy. again, this comfort largely comes from the acceptance he’s found at phi kappa delta.

slowly getting over his Big Anxiety. slowly learning how to talk to people. still awkward at parties. still has panic attacks every day during exam season. but he adores his therapist and takes his zoloft every day and he’s… he’s doing alright.

there are things he is sure of. his intelligence, his diligence, his ability to get shit done. he’s recently mastered asking fellow customers to please be kind to servicepeople.

still he’s that guy who doesn’t want to tell the waiter they got his order wrong.

he’s literally highkey fucking brilliant. he’s literally at the top of his class in one of the most difficult programs at one of the most difficult universities in the country.

a chronic people pleaser up until the point that it breaks his moral code. like if you want him to help you cheat or help you toy with someone he will put his foot down. he’ll do it very softly, but he won’t budge.

(though he is known to do mathematics and computer science homework for his friends when they’re overtired. he’s always the one to offer in that case, though.)

the rare gay who is extremely capable in math. legit he gets so excited about math it’s actually really cute.

theres a part of him that still believes in magic, to some capacity. he still wishes on shooting stars and pennies on the ground and dandelions.

his greatest strength and fatal flaw is that he sees the best in people. even if he knows you tried to hurt him, he will give chance after chance.

(but he works in tech support rn So. he’s slowly losing his belief in humanity.)

in conclusion, here are some tik toks that describe lucas

him in kindergarten

he can’t write i’m so sorry

just.... the Vibes

wanted connections.

skinny love. lucas is extremely shy, especially in romantic situations. he cannot flirt to save his goddamned life. he also probably thinks this person is out of his league. (honestly i want a romantic plot for him so bad gimME)

close friends. GIVE HIM FRIENDS FOR THE LOVE OF FUCKING GOD he’s such a good friend he just wants to love people.

lawyer for real life. based off this john mulaney bit. someone who reminds lucas that someone is mistreating him.

lab partner. idk man i just like that easy camaraderie. or maybe they make lucas do all the work in which case he will eventually snap.

tutoree. someone that lucas basically helps out of the good of his heart.

bad influence. someone get this boy TURNT

manipulator. lucas does have a bit of a backbone, but he is incredibly naive and very easily manipulated. basically he will do your stats assignments for you if you say he’s your friend.

academic rival. lucas is not typically an antagonistic person, but having someone be so obviously smarter than him grinds his gears a little bit. his mood when talking to this person is :))))))))))

literally anything pls i’m desperate and he’s baby

#bu.intro #alcoholism tw #death tw #just realized this edit clashes with my blog but #what !!!! ever yk

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redbelles · 5 years

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kastle prompt ficlet

for the lovely @ltfrankcastle (tumblr ate the ask when i tried to answer it, wtf!!!!!!) for the prompt “frank comes over one day and just... doesn’t leave. karen isn’t prepared for it, or just doesn’t consider it, but one day they run out of coffee and frank literally cannot function.”

also for @karenpage b/c she’s had a hell of a time recently and i love her muchly

title from “leather and lace” by stevie nicks and don henley because of reasons, okay? okay.

stay with me (stay)

He shows up at her door three months later, flowers in hand, complete with hangdog expression. She shouldn’t let him off the hook so easily, but shouldn’t hasn’t ever really mattered much when it comes to Frank.

“I had no idea The Punisher was so old fashioned.”

“Karen—”

“Just— shut up and come inside.”

Frank may be a goddamn idiot sometimes, but he’s far from stupid. He shuts up and comes inside.

The flowers go in a vase on the coffee table. White roses again, dotted with carnations. He’s either figured out her favorite flower or he’s the luckiest idiot in New York. Probably the former, given how their luck tends to run. It makes her chest ache just thinking about it.

She sets the vase down and turns away before her hands start to shake, fumbling with her phone. The number for Ming Wah Chinese is saved in her contacts. Good thing, because she’s not sure she’d get it right if she tried to dial from memory. She and Frank share approximately half the menu and a beer or two, sitting quietly on her couch.

She stays up as long as she can, until her eyes are gritty and she can’t stifle her yawns, and then she has to call it a night. He stays put as she moves through her nightly routine, scrubbing away the last traces of makeup, wrestling with the toothpaste because she keeps forgetting to buy a new tube; at the end of it, she stands in the doorway to her room, trying to commit the sight of him to memory.

No blood, no bruises. Frank Castle at rest.

She can’t fight down the lump in her throat, but she forces herself to speak around it. She wants to go to bed and pretend he’ll be there in the morning. Wants to pretend he can stay. Three months ago, she might have taken it on faith, trusted him and just— swallowed down the hurt if she was wrong. Now…

So make it mean something.

He couldn’t. Can’t. Now, she needs ground rules.

“Frank?”

“Mmm?”

“Don’t leave without saying goodbye.”

A grin pulls up the corner of his mouth, ragged and rueful.

“Yes ma’am,” he says, more apology in those two words than she can handle at 11 pm on a Thursday.

Her heart clenches in her chest. This is why she forgives him again and again, her own better judgment be damned; he’d rather face a bullet than offer himself a little kindness. Still, she can’t bring herself to regret it.

“Okay.”

Sleep doesn’t come easy that night, but when it does, it’s dreamless.

The apartment smells like fresh coffee when she wakes up, the familiar scent drawing her out of bed before her alarm even has a chance to go off.

Frank is leaning against her counter, staring at her janky old coffee maker like he can will it to work faster. He’s nicked the throw blanket off the back of her couch, wrapped it around himself like a shawl. The sight is so unexpected that she bursts out laughing.

He blinks at her like an owl, sleepy and vaguely disgruntled.

“Here,” she says, taking pity on him. She prods the machine with the ease of long practice until it finally starts percolating in earnest.

“Don’t know how you live with that thing,” he mutters, voice raspier than she’s ever heard it.

“I work with a pair of broke lawyers and I freelance as a journalist on the side. You’re lucky I’ve got a working coffee maker at all.

Frank grunts in response, but it’s a familiar sound, fond.

He’s on his second cup when she leaves for work. She can’t quite bring herself to say goodbye—afraid she used up all her luck last night, and this time he’ll take it more literally than she means it—so she takes a page from his book and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek. He smells like coffee and apple-scented laundry detergent, the kind she uses because it’s always on sale. From the blanket, no doubt, but it makes her smile all the same.

She carries the smile with her all the way to the office, where it lingers until Foggy gets suspicious and starts asking questions.

“A date, Karen? Snagged your favorite pastry at the deli this morning? The New York Post finally published that retraction you’ve been after? C’mon, spill. What’s got you grinning like a loon over there?”

“Apples,” she says, like that’s a reasonable answer. Matt and his super senses aren’t in yet, so Foggy can’t look to him for back up, but he doesn’t let that stop him. He scoffs and keeps at it, like he can ferret out the secret if he’s just persistent enough.

“It’s no big deal,” she promises, still grinning.

“Denial! That means it’s absolutely a big deal.”

“If the court reporter reads back my remarks, you’ll see I did not—”

“—hey, hey! Don’t you John Mulaney at me, Karen, we’ve talked about this!”

Frank stays.

He comes and goes during the day—either that or groceries have started magically appearing in her fridge—but he stays.

The first weekend is hard, a little awkward. He fumbles through an apology for the way things played out in the hospital, winces when she tells him if he’s making amends he has to make them to Amy and Curtis and probably Madani. He draws the line at Mahoney, and she lets it slide. Brett’s had enough of them for a while; she’ll let Foggy ply him with cigars before they try anything else. Let him get his equilibrium back.

“You scared me,” she admits. “If Amy hadn’t been there, if Dinah and I hadn’t come back in time—”

She breaks off, sucks in a shaky breath. Tries again. “Maybe it was selfish of me to ask you to fight through it, to live with it, but you can’t do that again. You can’t just— lay down and die. You have to promise me you’re past that.”

His eyes are glassy with unshed tears, but he meets her gaze without flinching.

“I’m never gonna be past it, but I’m here.”

He reaches out, cradles her hand between both of his. His palms are warm and callused, achingly familiar. She’s in so goddamn deep.

“That enough of a promise for you, Karen? Because right now that’s all I got.”

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, that’s enough.”

So he stays.

He’s there when she goes to bed, there when she wakes up. He gripes about her coffee maker, folds the throw with military precision when he’s not wearing it like a cape, and tries to get her to eat something homecooked at least once a week. It’s— nice. More domestic than anything she’s imagined since he burst into her life in a hail of gunfire and graveled promises, but. Nice.

She kisses him on the cheek like ritual now, every morning before she goes to work. He never denies her, never tries to dodge away, but he never takes her up on the implicit invitation. Never turns to meet her halfway, never gives into the mutual ache between them and just— kisses her.

Maybe once upon a time, she’d have pushed, but not now. He’s here; that’s all that matters, really. He’s here, and he’s safe. Anything else is just... wishing. She’s greedy for him, for everything and anything he can give her, but she can live with this.

Still, she leaves the bedroom door open at night, just because. A silent offer, easy enough for him to ignore if it’s too much. And maybe it is, but there’s a part of her that’s always going to hope.

She falls asleep listening to the sound of his breathing, just a room away, and lets herself dream.

A case blows up so badly that she spends a week and a half working past close. It doesn’t bother her—she worked stranger hours at the Bulletin—but when the schedule is finally back to normal, Matt and Foggy (mostly Foggy, let’s be real here) tell her go ahead and take the rest off the week off. Karen’s many things, but she’s not a fool. Desperate for a shower after a night spent at the office, she takes them up on it, breezing out the door just before noon and hailing a cab.

It’s quarter to one by the time she makes it through midday traffic back to her apartment. She still doesn’t really know what Frank does with his days, but if he’s around, she’s thinking maybe a late lunch? She’ll even try her hand at cooking if he’s willing to risk potential food poisoning.

Instead, she walks into her apartment to find Frank sprawled out on the couch, dead asleep. He stirs when she shuts the door, the click of the deadbolt making his eyelids flutter.

“Karen?” he rasps, and her heart beats out of time. Former Spec Ops soldier, comfortable enough in her apartment—safe enough—to let his guard down. To trust that it’s her.

“Hey, sleeping beauty.” Her voice is admirably steady.

He makes a pathetic noise and rolls to face her, sleepy and disgruntled.

“Coffee maker’s broken,” he mumbles. The combination of gravel and petulance in his voice is fucking adorable.

“Want me to go take a look?”

She expects him to say yes. She’s already moving toward the kitchen when he reaches out and snags her hand, pulls her close, until she’s directly in front of the couch, struggling against the urge to cradle his face, run her fingers through his stupid fluffy hair.

“Nah,” he says instead, tugging gently at her until she folds herself down onto the couch with him. It’s not a perfect fit, not by any means. Her couch is tiny, and she and Frank are about the same size, give or take some muscle. A lot of muscle. The point is, it’s a squish, but—

She scoots down until she can rest her forehead against the crook of his neck and just breathes, savoring the warmth and the calm, the quiet of the moment.

Frank Castle at peace.

“Nah,” he says again. “Got everything I need right here.”

“Mmm. That so?” It’s a good thing he can’t see her face right now, because the hope on it right now would shatter him. She knows that in her bones.

“Yeah.” He swallows. “Yeah, that ah, that open door mean what I think it means?”

“Anything,” she tells him, so honest she nearly chokes on it. “Anything and everything. Whatever you want it to mean.”

His fingers tighten around hers, his other hand moving to stroke down her back, gentle but lingering. Just past this side of platonic. Karen bites at her lip, fighting back a shiver when his hand settles on her hip, warm and full of promise.

“Okay,” he says, all traces of sleep gone, nothing now but heat and smoke.

Still—

“Okay,” she echoes back. Presses a kiss into the skin beneath his jaw, once, twice, three times, then stands, tugging at his hand until he unfolds himself and joins her. She grins, made helpless with delight at the sight of him, whole and safe and hers. “But first, let me show you how to defeat the coffee maker,” she teases. “ I don’t want you falling asleep on m—”

Frank cuts her off mid-word, a sweet kiss that turns sly and filthy halfway through, both of them too hungry for each other to bother going slow.

He’s panting when he breaks away, the corner of his mouth kicked up in a grin as he hoists her up into his arms, cradling her against his chest like it’s nothing.

“All due respect, ma’am,” he says, moving toward that open bedroom door, kicking it shut behind them as soon as he’s across the threshold. “Coffee can wait.”

[read on ao3] // [buy me a coffee?]

#frank castle x karen page #kastle fic #kastle fanfic #kastle #*writing #why is the formatting so fucked up on mobile!!!!!! why is this hellsite the way that it is!!!!!!#@everyone i cannot seem to Unfuck the mobile formatting i'm sorry but you all just have to Suffer

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kelleyish · 6 years

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long overdue

SO! I have been trying to get around to writing a post for several weeks now. God knows what all I was going to say, I’ve probably forgotten half of it. But here we go.

It’s currently raining and thundering outside. I love it. My dog is a little less thrilled.

I turned 41 about 2 1/2 weeks ago. As if that wasn’t shitty enough, the night before I somehow managed to hurt my leg/hip/back. While laying in bed! Doing nothing! I could hardly sleep because laying on either side hurt, and I can’t sleep on my back. I spent a good part of my sleeping time the next couple of days in my living room recliner. When I tried to walk, I had this sideways limp thing going on, looking like Quasimodo, and I couldn’t walk far enough to even go to the store. I was very angry about the whole thing.

Here’s one thing that stupidly hurting yourself for no reason and turning yourself into a cripple overnight is good for - weight loss motivation! I got back on keto that day, and barring a box of Cheez-its I demolished later that very day (oops), I have been on it since. Like I said that was 2 1/2 weeks ago, so I’m firmly in ketosis and my appetite has decreased considerably, which is awesome. I’m currently eating just one big meal a day at dinner, with a small snack at lunchtime if I have to. It’s not strict intermittent fasting but I’m not stressing it because:

My currently philosophy is “good enough.” Eating bread substitutes, and sugar substitutes like erythritol, or even some Coke Zero is ok, if it keeps me on the diet. It’s still 125% better than not being on the diet at all. If I’m hungry, I eat. There will be time for more strictness later. I have to quit focusing my energy on losing as quickly as possible, because that leads to slipping and falling off the wagon and I get nowhere. I’ve made sure to cook keto treats and keep them around for when I need something, like keto peanut butter cookies or keto mini cheesecakes. My father has lost over 60 lbs since I introduced him to keto last September (if only I had stayed on it myself!!) and he’s lost that weight by doing exactly this - making sure he has access to keto-approved carb substitutes instead of trying to eat nothing but meat and vegetables forever.

I don’t know how much I’ve lost because I gave my scale to my parents to keep several months ago. But I can tell my pants are already looser, and my body feels 5X better in general. My body obviously doesn’t like carbs, I just wish I could convince my mouth.

To that end, I’m trying to do this with the mindset of an alcoholic staying sober. No, I cannot reward myself with that sugar-laden drink as a treat, just this once, because it will set off a chemical reaction in my body and brain, ruining my hunger suppression and resistance to cravings, causing me to fall off the wagon. I have to stay 100% dry, for a gooooood long while.

I’ve been jobless (or self-employed) for about six months now. My brother and I are starting a web based business but it’s taking a lot longer than we thought to get it going. In the meantime, I got a wild hair to try writing and selling stories on Amazon. It’s not a get-rich-quick scheme in the slightest, and will probably never make enough to support me, but maybe, if I’m very successful, it could be an extra $1000 bucks in my pocket per month. That goal is a very, very long way off though. I published my first story on my birthday, about 2 1/2 weeks ago. I made what I later realized was a mistake, giving it away for free the first few days. I thought the ‘sales’ numbers would contribute to my ranking after the free period was over, but it didn’t. And likely many of the people who downloaded it for free wouldn’t have paid for it, but I am enrolled in the Kindle Unlimited plan, so people who are subscribed (it’s like Netflix for books) can read it for free, but I get credit for their page reads, so I probably lost out some of those to KU subscribers that just “purchased” it for free rather than reading it through KU. Since then I’ve probably earned about $6 from it. Not big bucks.

I just finished my second story today. My first story was 5 thousand words, this one ended up being three times as long. It still needs some editing and I need to create a cover for it, so maybe I can put it up next week. The general consensus in this game is the faster you write and publish stories, the more you will earn. But I am not the world’s fastest writer, it seems.

Did I mention I’m writing erotica? I’m writing erotica. It’s a low bar, and I only have to construct the barest of plots, and then throw in lots of dirty scenes. The real money is in romance, but I’ve never been a romance reader, and I’m not sure I could write a novel-length story. But who knows, I did triple my word count on my second go-around. I guess I need to start actually reading some romance novels, see what it’s about.

Ok I have actually read at least one romance novel. I was in 5th grade, and I stealth-borrowed it from my friend’s mom. I snuck it out of their house and read it while sitting on top of the monkey bars at the park. I remember it had a scene where the guy lays the girl down in a meadow, and licked her pussy through her sheer underwear. And all off a sudden i started feeling a crazy throbbing between my legs as i was sitting there on those monkey bars, and I was like wtf is happening to me down there?? Lol.

On Monday, I was getting ready to gather my laptop and go sit at Starbucks and write, when I got an email from my former co-worker, asking me to call her. So I did, and she asked if I would want to come back to work. She said things have picked up, and my immediate boss wanted me back. I said I’d have to think about it. So I sat in Starbucks trying to write smut and couldn’t stop thinking about my old work. I ended up deciding the adult thing would be to go back for now, if they need me, because I’m not making any money right now and I’m going to have to pull more from my retirement account in another couple months if that doesn’t change. Even though I told myself I didn’t ever want to go back, I didn’t leave on bad terms, and it would be way easier than interviewing for new jobs and more pay than temp jobs, probably. So I texted her back yes, and she said she’d talk to the big boss.

For the last three days I’ve been dreading going back. It feels like I’m a kid again, dreading the end of summer and having to go back to school. Days were going by without me hearing anything, and I was like when do they even want me to start? I still had questions about salary and insurance, etc. Then my co-worker texted me back today, saying the big boss would look at the budget, and that my immediate boss probably didn’t need me as soon as he thought. Translation - it could be months before they actually call me back. Or it could be two weeks from now, who knows. But man I feel good knowing I’ve gotten another temporary reprieve. “In terms of instant relief, canceling plans is like heroin.” - John Mulaney.

There’s probably more I could say, but this damn thing is long enough.

#about me #weight loss

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