#story stats

[jrob64]

Stats Tag game

I was tagged by @firawren for this game. What a lovely surprise! Thank you!

Rules: These are my fics with the most hits, most kudos, most comments, most bookmarks, most words, and least words. 

These are all OUAT Captain Swan fics

Most hits

Devastation and Healing - 8954 hits

Most kudos

Coming to Her Senses - 322 kudos (over the next most by almost 100, which blows me away. It’s my very first fic, a one-shot, and still gets numerous kudos a year!)

Most bookmarks

Coming to Her Senses (again) - 78 bookmarks

Most comments 

Sowing Seeds of Trust - 258 comment threads

Most words

Also Sowing Seeds of Trust - 120,678 words (not including the second part, Marco’s Legacy)

Least words

Time Alone - 841 words

Tagging @kmomof4 @cs-rylie @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose

Have fun ladies!

[lycorogue]

Latest Blog Post is Live

The Rogue’s Scribe: Incoming Gush Fest

Kept me until literally the last day of the month, but I did it! I continued my goal of publishing a new blog post each month of this year! Welcome to an absolute gush fest over my readers. <3 Thank you all for the love and support. <3 <3 <3

This month’s post is only about 15minutes estimated reading time. About half of as long as my February and January posts, but it’s pretty much all love this go. And a lot of pictures to express my big ol’ heart eyes for everyone! You’re all beautiful people and I do indeed gush over you for about 10 minutes straight. Be prepared!

The Rogue’s Scribe: Incoming Gush Fest

[egophiliac]

(looks at upcoming card releases)

I'm in danger :)

[noughticalcrossings]

Put thee not on Silent

[ID: A 4 panel comic made of digital paintings of a zoom meeting between the knights of the Round Table.

Sir Galahad, Queen Guinevere, Sir Gawain, Sir Lancelot, Sir Bedivere, have their own individual screens, and one screen shows a conference room with King Arthur, Sir Mordred, and others who are not named.

Both Sir Lancelot and Queen Guinevere have their cameras turned off, and microphones muted, the entire time.

Panel 1 shows King Arthur with a few of his knights, with Sir Mordred brooding beside him in shadows, and a hand reaching from offscreen to steal snacks from a bowl.

Sir Galahad has his microphone muted, and is in a forest, looking up and to the side. He has brown hair up above his head and very pale skin.

King Arthur asks, "Sir Gawain, canst thou see the PowerPoint slides?"

Panel 2 shows Sir Gawain, who has brown skin, black hair, green clothes, and heterochromia, with one green eye and one dark, replies, "Verily I cannot, I think it be a miasma of the sight."

Behind him for the background is a section from the Green Knight manuscript, showing faded lettering and a green knight on a green horse standing in front of someone with a large axe while a crowd of spectators watch from the sides.

Sir Galahad's screen is now slightly motion-blurred, showing a reddragon's open mouth in front of Sir Galahad's face.

Panel 3 shows Sir Bedivere, labeled Tech Support, who wears a blue shirt and a plumed knight's helm, looking exhaustedly into the camera, pushing his helmet visor up with one hand. He is lit by blue light and has bags under his eyes, asking: "Hast thou sharest the screen?"

His background is of a library. Sir Galahad's screen is now taken up by the motion-blurred side of the dragon that is attacking him.

Panel 4 shows Sir Gawain turned slightly to the side, looking derisively at the camera, saying: "Yea, but I cannot hear Sir Galahad."

The only thing left in Sir Galahad's screen is the motion-blurred, spade shaped tail tip of the dragon chasing him.

End ID.]

Description very kindly added by @describe-things

[lgbtlunaverse]

I feel like too often people frame Nie Mingjue's issues as ignorance borne from safety. Like, they think that because of his privilege as a sect leader he doesn't know what it's like to be in danger and forced to make hard choices to survive. And I disagree. Strongly.

First of all, Nie Mingjue is very familiar with death not only from war but from. You know. Actively dying since the age of fourteen. Let us not forget Nie Mingjue is dead! Super dead! And maybe he didn't die the exact way he expected to but he did, absolutely, know he was going to die. To act like Nie Mingjue is unfamiliar with the scenario of "do something you find morally reprehensible or die" is to ignore that he has been living that exact scenario and chose death.

Nie Mingjue knows death is a risk for someone like Jin guangyao, in fact he explicitly acknowledges it even in his worst moments like the stairs in chapter 49. Had his issue been ignorance, then he would've responded to Jin Guangyao saying that he's in danger and has to sacrifice others for his own safety with "No you aren't you'll be fine." But he doesn't. He accepts the fact that jgy is in danger with no qualms and says: then you should die.

That's not him betraying his values, those are his values. He is, essentially, pro-suicide. Jgy is like hey I have a moral dilemma what should I do and nmj straight up goes "Kill yourself" and earlier that same chapter when he was faced with a moral dilemma he went "I'm gonna kill myself." He believes the solution to moral dilemmas is suicide! He is extremely consistent about this! When it's pointed out to him that it would have been dangerous for Wen Qing to oppose Wen Ruohan it doesn't phase him because he thinks putting yourself at risk to do the right thing is the only moral choice. The idea that he can only hold this belief because he is himself somehow not in danger, again, requires you to ignore that he is dying the whole time. And it doesn't deter him. He is the idea of self-sacrifice as a moral good taken to its absolute logical extreme. Someone who is ready to die and demands the same from everyone else.

It makes him a very fun case study for fandom, because a lot of fandom spaces also tend to revere self-sacrifice as the ultimate good, and yet we get very uncomfortable when someone starts demanding it of characters we love. Like woah, hold on, that's a bit too far isn't it? Only we the audience get to do that!

[buggerrr]

dev having a one-sided crush on hazel in a “baby’s first time experiencing kindness” way. like one drop of compassion directed towards him and hes head over heels. hes just THAT starved of meaningful human connection. he has never had someone that genuinely cares about him before.

look at his face. LOOK AT HIS FACE. all hazel did was be all “we’re cool no worries” and LOOK AT HIS FACE

i love him so much i want to put him in a microwave until he explodes

[asleepinawell]

discordant studies is the best story in the game tbh

[lazylittledragon]

what do you mean youre technically a detransitioner cause of terf bullshit?

it's a v long story but i detransitioned for a couple of years when i was 16/17, for multiple reasons but mostly because i fell into the blaire white/kalvin garrah chamber of "you have to be This way to be trans otherwise you're not real".

i was already Deeply insecure about myself and my 'passing' and i was led to believe that i couldn't want to wear makeup or skirts, and i couldn't choose not to have bottom surgery, and i couldn't do anything but bind for 12+ hours a day to the point that my ribcage is still misshapen. basically i thought that if i wasn't suffering enough doing 'feminine' things, i couldn't really be trans, so i should just go back to being a girl and suck it up.

the terf bullshit is because i'd seen a lot of terfs/detransitioners talking about the 'dangers' of testosterone and how it would turn me into a horrible ugly evil monster and how there was nothing worse than wanting to be a man. which combined with 'you need to fully medically transition to be valid at all' creates some very dangerous and upsetting feelings to cope with.

it also came from trying really hard to put myself in a little box before i realised that my sexuality/gender are very fluid and it's FINE for me not to have a label and just do whatever i want. when i was 19 or so i went back to using they/them (and eventually he/him) and changed my name again because even though i like doing 'feminine' things, i don't want to be seen as a woman.

tldr: i was conditioned by transphobic/terf rhetorics to think that i was being trans the 'wrong' way so i couldn't be trans at all, so i believed i must actually be a girl if i still wanted to do 'feminine' things. nowadays i am a transmasc who does feminine things because i don't give two shits about what any transmed prick thinks of me anymore.

[urfavcrime]

dsmp is still SO insane to me. still not completely convinced it wasn't a social experiment. it is something that can never be replicated again due to the really specific circumstances that attributed to it's creation and popularity

[gabugabs]

"ball's round, anything goes."

my mc from @collegetennisoriginstory !

[rebouks]

Previous // Next

[Robin scrambled over the back of the sofa and wedged himself beside Oscar, absently watching TV. Part of him hoped his father wouldn’t wake, but he was a notoriously light sleeper so the chances were slim. Sure enough, Oscar stirred, sleepily wrapping an arm around his son with a cosy hum] Oscar: Mmh-.. what time is it? Robin: I don’t know. Oscar: Late, then… [Robin shrugged a shoulder, the steady rhythm of his father’s heartbeat soothing his frayed nerves; he wished they could just stay like this forever-.. Oscar’s breathing softened as he threatened to drift off again though, reminding Robin why he’d clambered out of bed in the first place] Robin: Papa.. can I ask you something? Oscar: Anything. [Robin held his breath, readying himself for the inevitable barrage of Oscar’s unpleasant memories] Robin: Can you tell me the truth about what Larry said? I asked grandma, but she made me promise I’d ask you too-.. that you’d explain it better than her. Oscar: Is that what you’ve been thinking about this whole time? Robin: I don’t want you to die again… Oscar: I’m not going anywhere, I promise. Robin: You can’t exactly promise something like that. Oscar: I promise I’ll try my best not to, then. Robin: You still think about that sorta stuff though, don’t you? How do you know it won’t happen again? [Oscar sighed as he righted himself and settled Robin atop his knee, wondering what on earth Sidney had told him] Robin: She said you knew the risks-.. why’d you do it? Oscar: I wasn’t thinking straight-.. bit off more than I could chew. I was in a pretty bad place at the time. Robin: Why? Oscar: I like to keep things to myself, but it doesn’t do you any favours; I used to use all that nasty stuff to bury my feelings, to numb the pain it caused me to keep it all locked up n’ keep going. Robin: But everyone has secrets, don’t they? Oscar: They do, the fewer the better though-.. I think you’re as bad as me for bottling stuff up, but it’s so important to talk about things n’ let people help, ‘cause otherwise you’ll just end up finding unhealthy ways to cope instead. Robin: So, it happened by accident? Oscar: Yeah-.. it was pretty scary, to be honest. Robin: But it definitely wasn’t on purpose? Oscar: Sometimes I figured it’d be easier, but I didn’t want to die, no. Robin: I don’t want you to either, not ever. Oscar: It’s normal to be frightened of losing the people you love. Robin: Really? Oscar: Yeah-.. I used to worry about my grandad dying when I was your age. Sometimes it’d randomly pop into my head and I’d wonder what I’d do without him n’ get all pissy with everyone ‘til I could be alone, then I’d cry about it. [Robin felt a twinge of sadness yet smiled faintly, feeling slightly less weird for worrying so excessively] Robin: Sorry I asked grandma first… Oscar: It’s alright, being curious is normal too. [Oscar squeezed Robin tightly, semi-wishing he’d explained a little sooner; he was so mature for his age sometimes] Oscar: I’ll never ever be upset with you for asking questions, okay? There’s nothing you can’t talk to me about. Robin: I didn’t want to make you remember. Oscar: The past is what makes us who we are, buddy-.. I just hope I’ve made enough mistakes for the both of us…

[lycorogue]

Latest Writing Blog Post is Live: October 2024

Shhhhh.... nevermind that it's mid-November....

Tis story time, children!

Let's Talk Stories

Est. Read Time: 60min

Is it a wonder that this update took me about 3 weeks to write? 😅 [sweat emoji]

This update, I talk about:

The stressors (and my sister's wedding!!!) that caused the update delay in the first place

My drive to get back into working on my story Seduce With Caution

My excitement about @zenmisery writing fic again

The world build and character arcs my playgroup created for our World Wide Wrestling campaign (I go on extensively about this...)

The evolution of my D&D cleric Aubrianne from naive Luisa Madrigal-inspired beefcake to exhausted Mom Friend/Cat Herder.

The five new manhwas I started reading on Webtoon - Marry My Husband - The Duke's Cursed Charm - Office Romance From Hell - Dark Water - Seabird and the Wolf

Updated story stats for the 3 fics I've written this year. How are they still doing numbers!? - You Pretended Not To Care >> (the Not Your Typical Reincarnation Story fandom) - I Think I Like You (Maybe More Than I Should) >> (the Miraculous Ladybug fandom) - Scott's List Item >> (the Hailey's On It! fandom)

(also, yes, I have already started working on my "actual" November update...)

[22plus15]

3 goals in 2 finals. 4 goals in her last 4 games. ona batlle 🌟

[ao3-anonymous]

Fastest Growing Fandoms on AO3 This Week (11/21/2024)

Every week I pull data on how many fics are in each fandom and compare to the previous week, then calculate the percentage increase to determine fastest growing fandoms.  Since this naturally skews towards smaller fandoms, I have included the same data filtered to Over 1k, 5k, & 10k fics.

Overall:

Over 1,000 Fics:

Over 5,000 Fics:

Over 10,000 Fics:

Source: AO3 Fandom Dashboard

[monpalace]

ships .. (ocarina of time/majora's mask) link/reader, fierce deity/reader.

content .. the boys (separately) with a reader who feeds them well, and the fruits of their loving labor.

warnings .. unedited. no pronouns used (you/your). reader is implied to have more meat on their bones (vaguely). reader is in their housespouse era and they aren't even married (legally). non-graphic vomit and forgetting to eat mentioned (link). link and fierce deity are taller than reader. fierce deity is named aram for writings sake. reader is implied to be a god of sorts (fierce deity). fierce deity is literally my oc at this point.

notes .. my schnookums thought they could have big cheeks and get away from me? my cutie patooties thought that i wouldn't write about them eating right? my pookie bears thought that i wouldn't fulfill my duties as their #1? my baby faced sweethearts thought i wouldn't spend 2hrs looking for pictures like those? my favorite white boys? my honeybuns? my hollywood stars? my sugarpies?

i'll eat them. omnom

LINK has always been rather thin. That was especially the case when he was a child. Something about a Kokiri child's diet not fitting what a Hylian needed always kept him frail.

When you both were children, he had quickly gotten used to you plucking his arm when it was idle to compare his lack of fat to your surplus.

(He never minded. He always looked forward to being reminded why he put one foot in front of the other every day during his fight against Ganon, or repeated cycle after cycle when it came to Majora.)

(Funnily enough, you had always made fun of him for being shorter than you as a child as well. You always mentioned he needed to drink more milk and eat more cuccos so he'd one day pass you.)

It was when you were able to cook more than simple meals and wouldn't risk burning down your cottage that you would invite (force) Link over more often than you already have.

Link had always tried to limit his visits to when he absolutely needed to. Free food, bed, shelter, care, supplies, clothes, bathes (the list was endless), and whatnot were always appreciated, but he never wanted to become to comfortable lest he wake up one day (or night. Or afternoon. His internal clock was always ruined when it came to sleeping at your cabin) and decide not return to the world outside.

He does his best to turn down any seconds, or thirds, or fourths, or fifths, and so on you may offer him when he does stay long enough for you to finish whatever extravagant meal you made just for him.

Past experiences often make him sick (with trauma or physically) and result in him vomiting his food, but there's always more from you to replace what he had just eaten and the meal before (if he remembered to eat it).

What he can't finish at the table (or on the sofa, or in the bed), he takes with him when he leaves. Link is respectful in all meanings of the word and hates to leave anything to waste.

When it comes to thanks, he either finds ways to help around your cottage or brings back items from new regions for you to cook. Whether it be repairing the busted bathroom door you've been complaining about before fixing your water faucet so the pressure is what you want it to be, or bringing back a spice the Gorons specialize in you've mentioned wanting to try, Link typically feels his gifts fall lackluster when compared to your treatment of him.

(He trusts your skill and creativity enough to know you won't poison him on accident. He never brings back any recipes or instructions either if it's not a dangerous material.)

(He's always excited to try whatever new dish you've concocted, so his only condition is that you wait for his return to cook whatever it is he brought you. "A celebration, of sorts," he calls it.)

A look in a lone puddle had told him his cheeks had gotten fatter. He supposes he now understands why he was refused entry into one of the pubs when he had to retrieve Malon and Cremia's uncle.

He had noticed that the details of his arms were less visible through his shirts when a Goron had pinched one,— not in the same way you did when you were younger— he had mentioned that he had an amount of muscle and fat to be proud of before asking him to join a tournament. Any attempts prior to were quickly shut down.

During a day of horseback archery with the Gerudo, the sweltering sun had gotten to him enough that he had to remove his tunic and the shirt underneath to feel some sort of relief. One of the women who were training him took a look at his stomach and nodded approvingly, mentioning that he should praise his soon-to-be spouse for feeding him so well.

The last nail in the coffin came when he was riding Epona into Castle Town. His tunic felt uncomfortably small and his tights (curse those damned tights) felt as thought they were stretched more across the expanse of his thighs than they usually were.

He's back in your cottage when he finally vocalizes his thoughts, preferring you to any other tailor or seamstress in the country. "I've gotten to big for my clothes," he either sighs or signs to you while eating. His gaze held a thousand yards in them, idly watching his clothes move with the wind.

The tunic, hat, tights, boots hang outside the window on a string connected to your shed. They had to be washed after a (admittedly well-planned— even if they don't think) ambush by a hoard of chu-chus.

You throw a hazy look to them before returning to the bowl you were tirelessly mixing. You were making dinner, he thinks, or maybe it was in preparation for the big breakfast you were making with the variety of bread from the Gerudo he brought back.

You'd already given him a large snack earlier.

The thought makes him look down at the plate in his lap. Every spot of it was filled and piled with bread, and eggs, and meats, and jams. He couldn't see the white bottom of it even as he pushed and prodded around.

He takes a bite of it gratefully.

"I saw you before you left not even three days ago. You fit everything fine enough to me." At some point you had stopped stirring and held the bowl out to him. Link grabs something off the plate and dips it in without a thought, eating it before responding with a hum of approval. "I can make adjustments to then, if you'd like."

You leave the bowl with him before attending to something on the stove.

"Please," he responds, halfway through another bite of the (what he now recognized as) Gerudo bread and cocoa dip you had made. "Different pants would be nice, though. It'd be a nice excuse to finally get rid of those tights." Both tasted sweet by themselves, he realized, but left a calmer aftertaste that he'd like to savor.

"You've always hated the tights," you hum in response, moving from the stove to the coolers that he'd built you after bringing you a large fish that only lived in Zora's Domain. "What would you want to move on to now? Leggings? Shorts?"

Link watches you remove a pitcher from one of the coolers. He isn't sure how long it's been in there (he doesn't even remember watching you make it), but he assumes you took some ice out so the pink liquid wouldn't freeze over into complete ice.

He watches you try to take a cup from one of the cupboards, watching you struggle to grab his favorite one from the higher shelves.

He stands from the chair sat just outside the kitchen (he liked to watch you cook when you had the time), placing the bowl and plate on one of the many cleared counters (you liked to clean as you worked), and grabs the cup for you.

Link lowers his head with his hand when he hands the cup off, head resting upon the crown of yours as he watches you pour the pink liquid into it, idle arms wrapping around your waist as he makes some slick comment about eating enough milk and cuccos for your liking.

You don't elbow him in the stomach like you might have when you were younger and he doesn't hold the cup above your head teasingly like when he was younger to (— then again, he had to climb a counter to get it out of your reach.)

Instead, you wordlessly pass the cup back to him and he wordlessly drinks it despite not knowing what it was.

He likes it, as he does all your works, and notes how it was both sweet and sour. A taste that fills both his childhood need for sweet all the time and his older palate's need for other tastes.

Handing the cup back, Link tilts his head so he can press a kiss to your crown. "Anything you'd think I'd look good in," he finally responds, the flavor of the moment leaving a tooth-achingly sweet taste on his tongue.

ARAM is often humbled in your abode.

He may have acted arrogant to others in his younger years and horrifyingly aloof now that he's a more seasoned god, but he never failed to (willingly) crumble to his knees when in your presence during either times of his life.

He had no need for the sustenance mortals require, prayers and whispers of his name were always good enough for him, but he'd kiss the ground you walk on if it meant you'd bless him with another food you've created (he already does).

Aram is the provider to your fire-lit home, an arrangement the two have been living by for as long as he can remember.

He is the sword to your shield. The arrow to your quiver. The moon to ever burning sun (which he did create for you, after all). The wound for your gauze. The life to your world— and one cannot live peacefully without the other.

Your food had quickly become an addiction to Aram. He'd eat as much as often as he could, giving little response to when questioned why he loves it so much.

("Because it comes from your hands," he once explained hours later when you were sleeping. "Your hands, that create all. That nourish all it touches and replenishes all that is extinct. I am your antithesis, and I must destroy that which I love."

(You never had the heart to ask again.)

He has enough sense to slow his eating around you. One concerned comment about him choking was enough for him to indulge in needless your wishes, but a question regarding its taste had him eating like a mortal.

His relationship with food prior to getting hooked onto yours was brief and filled with obligation. He never ate to feel full, only to make the people he was fighting with shut up and leave him out of whatever conversation they were having.

It never lingered in his stomach like a warm fireplace that others had described it as. It never made him warm and filled with love. It never gave him the energy he needed to keep fighting.

It just went through his digestive tract (why did he even have one?) and disappeared like an heavy smog finally dispersed by a strong gust of wind before he had to fight again.

When a war was over, you always came. You took the battle-shaken soldiers away when it was their time and healed their ailments if they were able to withstand everything. You went through war-stricken cities and set everything as they should have been. You feed and clothe and bandage and sew and reunite and Aram isn't sure why he lingered.

He's seen the effects of what you can do long after you've left. He knows of the good you're capable of doing just as much as he knows the bad he can cause.

He craves your touch when he sees it at its peak. He indulges himself when he sees it first-hand.

Aram understands what the soldiers mean when you beckon him closer and offer him food, uncaring of how he stands tall above all else.

The soup warms his insides. The flavor resides on his tongue hours after he's finished it. His energy, though far from depleted, had made him feel as though he were a youngling again.

He craves more.

The addiction to your presence and your food (and subsequently, you) had started then. It's an event he could easily recall when asked, one he would happily recount to you if you ever forgot where his devotion to you started.

Meeting after a war or battle had become frequent enough that he had finally learned your name; not some silly alias those who followed you often referred to you as. He felt like one of those lovesick children soldiers talk about, tripping over himself and his words.

He's curious to you, an admirer more than a stalker, fortunately. When he wasn't on the battlefront, he was always hovering around as you worked, busying his hands with whatever task you've given him after noticing his lack of mortality.

You treated him well; doing so even after the era of wars were long gone and he was seldom needed. You cared for him as though he were one of the many wounded soldiers with no family to return to once all was done and said— and to an extent, he was.

He's eating when you bring attention to his softer thigh.

You were reading to him, a romantic thriller that held as much of his attention that your captivating voice did. His gaze focused heavily on you, watching as you lick your lips after each page, how your eyes rake over the page to ensure the tone you speak the next sentence in is correct. He notes how you shift less often, how he doesn't have to move you further up his lap so you can lean against his stomach.

"It's not as painful to sit on you anymore." Aram doesn't think that line was in the book, but he doesn't mention it. It dawns that you were talking to him when you look up, using your finger as a bookmark as you closed the book around it. "Have you gained weight?"

He's a big man; it's a fact he's known since the beginning of his existence. He has large arms, muscles well know for how he snatched prey up to bring back to you. His height made it a simple feat to reach into the trees and capture any avian you wanted to experiment with that night. His legs that would stomp on any fish swimming downstream during a day at the lake you suggested.

He was sculpted by the Goddesses themselves. If they hadn't meant for his body to change along with his lifestyle, they wouldn't have designed him to dough.

(He'd never be ashamed in the fact either. He was contented knowing he had someone to dote over him constantly; a sentiment he had gained after recalling a conversation with wedded soldiers.)

(Also, the prospect of defacing what the Goddesses had long since disgraced was exciting, in a way.)

Aram doesn't look at himself, already well-acquainted with his body as his brow raises in amusement. "You feed me well, My Grace," he responds with a peck on your temple, "I would hope to become more comfortable for your pleasure." He refused to stop eating as he indulged you in conversation, the leg you sat on jumping once in place of his busy hands.

You hum that sweet, quiet hum of yours that Aram has come to associate with your contentedness (he aimed to hear to several tomes every day). Removing yourself from his lap, discarding the novel to the side as you raise your hands to cup his cheeks. "It suits you. You look healthy. Happy."

"Did I look ill before?"

You don't fluster as you might have like in your younger years. He's honored to have grown alongside you, reminiscent of the older couples you've both watched and escorted when he was still an active god.

The same filling feeling your food gives him fills his heart. The lingering sense of peace that he felt since meeting you dancing through his body when your thumbs rub the apples of his cheeks, the softest and fondest gaze anyone's ever given him in your eyes.

"No," you answer in a quiet voice only he'd be able to hear. "Never. You've always looked perfect."

And Aram has never been more thankful that he separated himself from the Goddesses as he preens under your touch. Never been more thankful that he lingered after the war was done. Never been more thankful that he had readjusted his psyche to more readily accept your gifts and affection.

He frees a hand to cradle to back of your head, a threat to all that aren't you, and brings you beneath his chin in a protective gesture. "As have you," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. "And as you always will be."

[jasontoddsguns]

It drives me up the wall when somewhere hears a statistic and chooses to rebuttal with a personal anecdote.