i was tagged by @sierranovembr <3 for wip wednesday.
i saw this post the other day and i fell in love. it's a wip and you're getting all 1.7k of it. @kinardnatural, i hope you like it :)
Doing things alone was normal and totally valid.
Was what Buck was trying to convince himself of. He'd had a string of truly horrendous dates, so he was taking Maddie's advice (again) and doing things on his own. Which was a normal thing to do. People did all sorts of things alone, all the time. Buck had already gone to the movies (twice!) and that was a lovely experience.
Now, he was exploring more dicey territory, namely places where other people could see he was alone. He'd found a really nice restaurant. Small, sort of new, and happy to take a reservation for one person.
The seating was a little modern. The table he was shown to had one chair and one bench seat. The bench was long enough to span five tables. If he took the chair, he wouldn't have a view, so he chose the bench, even though it looked like the less comfortable option.
When the server left to get his drink, Buck looked around. There was a man at the next table, seemingly also alone. The guy smiled when their eyes met, but didn't engage.
Buck made an effort to keep his phone in his pocket. He fucked around on his smartwatch for a minute, before he realised that was basically the same thing.
Once he got in the right headspace he actually had a good time. People watching was fun, and his server checked on him periodically. The guy at the next table was definitely alone, too. If he'd been stood up, he wouldn't have looked as content as he did. Maybe he went out to eat alone all the time. He definitely looked confident doing it.
Buck was perusing the dessert menu, when his phone rang. It was early evening; a little early for dinner, but Buck thought he could find a bar or a club afterwards.
His shoulders slumped when he saw the screen. He tapped to accept the FaceTime call.
”Hi, mom, listen, I'm out right now–”
His mom craned her neck, as if that would give her a better view of his surroundings. ”It's so quiet. Are you alone?”
”I'm fine, mom. I'm actually having–”
”I spoke to Maddie. She says you don't date anymore. That's no way to live your life, Evan, you need someone. Surely you can find someone?”
Buck bit back what he actually wanted to say. He glanced at the guy beside him – who was looking right back, sympathetic look on his face. ”I'm not alone, actually, mom. I'm here with my boyfriend.” He turned the phone just enough to get the guy in frame. With the angle and the bench seat, it looked like they were sitting at the same table.
”Boyfriend?” came his mom's tinny voice. ”Evan, you never said–”
The guy scooted over, putting his arm along the back of the bench seat. ”Hi,” he smiled.
Buck nearly dropped the phone. ”H-hi.”
The guy winked at Buck, then smiled at the camera. ”It's nice to meet you. Seems like there's been some miscommunication. I didn't want to tell me parents yet, but I told Evan it was OK.” He smiled at Buck. ”Why haven't you told them?”
”It's, uh,” Buck ducked his head.
”Philip! Philip, come here! Evan has a boyfriend! Come meet him.”
”Jesus,” Buck muttered. He watched the camera shake, until his dad was on screen, too. The guy's arm slid down from the back rest, to lie across Buck's shoulders. His arm was so heavy.
The guy winked again, then turned his attention to the screen. ”Hi, I'm Tommy. It's nice to meet you.”
”Hello, Tommy. How long have you been seeing our son?”
”Oh, I don't know,” Tommy said easily. ”Been such a whirlwind, I haven't thought to count the days. We've been too busy having fun, haven't we?”
”Y-yeah, it's been – it's been really special,” Buck said. His ears were burning.
Tommy continued to exchange pleasantries with Buck's parents, until Buck cut in, ”Mom, can I call you back? We're out to eat, I don't want to disturb the others.”
”Oh! Of course! Have fun! It was nice to meet you, Tommy. Call soon!”
As soon as the call ended, Tommy removed his arm, but didn't scoot back to his own table.
Buck swallowed. This had got to be the most attractive man he'd seen in his life. ”You haven't told your parents about me?” Buck joked.
”Haven't spoken to my parents in fifteen years,” Tommy smiled. ”As handsome as you are, it's not worth breaking the no contact.”
”God,” Buck sighed dreamily, ”fifteen years of silence? No, no, you need to savour that. Don't break that on my account.” Tommy's whole face scrunched up when he smiled. It was really nice to look at. It was a little late for it, but Buck held out his hand. ”I'm Evan.”
”Hi, Evan,” Tommy shook his hand. ”I'm Tommy.”
God, his hands were big.
”Sorry about that, I didn't mean to ruin your dinner.”
”I'd call it an improvement,” Tommy smiled.
”Right, because you think I'm hand-handsome,” Buck gulped a little.
Tommy's eyes lowered, then came back up. He pointed over his shoulder. ”I can go back to my own table?”
”Of course you can, don't let me keep you.”
”I was asking if you wanted me to,” Tommy said. ”Or I could stay here.”
”O-oh.” Buck swallowed. ”I– Yeah, if-if you want. I was about to order dessert.” He glanced at Tommy's table. His dinner plate was empty, too.
Tommy grabbed his glass, and moved to the chair at Buck's table. Buck's server came back, with a very pleased smile on her face, first directed at Buck, then Tommy, then back to Buck. She held her order pad aloft and asked, ”Gentlemen, what are we having?”
When they were alone again, Buck asked, ”Do you do this a lot? Dine alone, I mean?”
”Pretty often, yeah.”
”Does it get easier?”
”Practice makes everything easier.” Tommy raised his glass to his lips and took a sip. ”Depends on whether you like it, though. If you don't like it, it probably won't.”
It gave Buck pause. He hadn't considered that not liking it was an option. He didn't have to like it.
”Tonight was nice. The last couple of times I went out, it didn't go so well.”
”Ouch.”
”It's OK, it's just the apps, you know? Sometimes texting is easy, but then you meet face to face and they feel like a completely different person.”
”Couldn't tell you,” Tommy shook his head. ”I don't do apps.”
”Then how do you meet people?”
”I don't.”
Well, that was baffling. ”You don't date?” Buck sat back in his seat. Tommy was gorgeous. And funny.
Tommy chuckled. ”If someone asks, sure, but I don't seek it out. Usually.”
Buck was about to squirm out of his seat. Was this what it felt like to flirt with men? Thank fuck their server came back with their desserts. Buck rubbed his thighs and stealthily took a deep breath.
Tommy looked like he was having a great time. Before digging in, he tapped Buck's shoe with his own. Buck nearly jumped out of his skin. ”It's still early. Do yo have plans after this, or are you having an early night?”
”Was gonna try out a bar or something. After.” Buck stuck his spoon into his dessert, but he was afraid to put it in his mouth, in case it went down the wrong pipe. It felt like the kind of night that would happen. He touched his throat, where the scar from his date with Abby still lingered.
”Which one?” Tommy asked, and licked his spoon. ”Fuck me,” he muttered. ”God, that's good.”
Buck put his spoon down. Whatever Tommy was doing to that chocolate cake, he couldn't look directly at it. ”Oh, uh. Uh. Let me check, I forgot,” Buck said and got out his phone. He found the pin on the map, but he couldn't fucking read. ”This place,” he held out his phone, so Tommy could read it himself.
”Good choice,” Tommy said. ”I've been there once or twice. Great music.”
”Wanna come with me?”
”I'd love to,” Tommy smiled.
Buck got through his dessert without choking or dying. He almost swallowed his spoon, when Tommy scraped the last of the drizzle off his plate and licked his spoon clean, but he managed to keep a tight hold of his own utensil.
Buck almost fought to cover both of their meals, but they weren't actually on a date. If they were, Tommy probably would've paid. He looked like the kind of guy who'd get a little aggressive about paying, if he'd decided he was the one to do it.
”Ready?”
”Ready,” Buck smiled, not ready at all.
As they went out the door, Tommy touched the middle of his back, pushing ever so gently. It was a move Buck had pulled many times. He had no idea it made the other person feel this breathless.
The bar was close enough to walk to. Buck had never been this aware of his body before. They were about the same height and width, so he didn't know why Tommy felt so massive next to him. Their shoulders brushed a few times. Buck's neck was burning at the contact.
Tommy held the door for him and Buck could barely look at him.
”Bar or table?”
”Oh, uh. Do you have a preference?” Buck asked.
”Bar is usually better when you're alone,” Tommy smiled.
”Bar it is!”
At least he wasn't completely clueless when it came to alcohol. When he stopped bartending, he stopped keeping up with the trends, but the classics never really changed. Tommy was a beer guy, which Buck very much was not. He swirled the ice cubes in his drink until they melted, while listening to Tommy talk about beer. Buck was great at taking in information, so he felt like he was back on even keel.
Then Tommy decided to touch Buck's knee, and Buck stopped listening. It was hardly a come on, Tommy was just an enthusiastic storyteller, but Buck looked down and discovered just how close their legs were. He moved his foot a little bit and suddenly his knee was touching Tommy's thigh.
”Am I boring you?”
Buck's head snapped up. ”Not at all!”
Tommy laughed – and touched his knee again. ”Sorry, when I get going, it's–”
”I like it. You're–” Buck gulped his drink. And coughed. ”You're passionate! It's great.”
”Thank you,” Tommy said, more than a little amused. ”What about you? What're you passionate about?”
”Learning,” he grinned. ”I love learning. I had no idea you could age beer like that. With the barrels. Very cool.”
”I feel like you're making fun of me, but I'll take it,” Tommy winked. ”You're not a big drinker?”
”Used to be. Drank a lot in my twenties – too much. I was a bartender for a while and it all just,” he made a pointless gesture, ”lost its appeal. These days, I just want it to taste good.”
”Wise decision.” Tommy emptied his beer and looked at Buck for a second. Before he got the chance to squirm, Tommy asked, ”Your twenties. How long ago was that?”
”Oh, my god,” Buck sputtered. ”How young do I look? I thought the lighting in here was atrocious.”
Tommy giggled and grabbed Buck's thigh for stabilisation. ”Oh, trust me, it's bad, but your face,” he smiled, ”I can't tell.”
”I'm thirty-two,” he almost felt shy saying it.
”Oh,” Tommy's eyebrows went up. ”Straight out of high school, then?”
Buck dissolved into giggles. It wasn't even that funny, but Tommy looked very proud of himself. Buck wiped his eyes. ”Does that ever work?”
”You tell me.”
”Oh, you're horrible.”
Tommy slapped the bartop. ”Alright, Mr Thirty-Two, do you have a better one?”
”No, but that doesn't make yours good!”
”Made you laugh, didn't it?”
”Alright, alright, fair point.” Christ, what did he usually do? He didn't have a go to anymore. He couldn't exactly flex, when Tommy was bigger than him. That wouldn't impress him. Looking at Tommy's shoulders, he might not even be impressed by Buck being a firefighter. ”Hey, what do you do for a living?”
”I'm a pilot.”
Buck threw up his hands. How was he supposed to impress a pilot? That was so hot, what the hell. ”You don't even need lines! Not with all that.”
Tommy smirked. ”All what?”
”You don't get to fish for compliments, looking like that.” Buck downed the last of his drink. ”Pilot? Really?”
”Air Ops with the LAFD. I don't have a cap, if that's what your imagining.”
”Wait, firefighter pilot? That makes us colleagues. I'm with the 118.”
Tommy's face went slack and oddly blank. ”Oh.”
”That's the most ominous sounding oh I've ever heard.”
”Sorry.” Tommy shook his head. ”I've worked at the 118.”
”You have? When?”
”Got out about … eight? Years ago.”
That was an odd way to put it. ”You got out?”
”That house is cursed.”
”Oh, definitely.”
Tommy gave him an up and down look. ”Should've known you were a firefighter with those arms.”
Part of Buck was always going to be sixteen, so he put his glass down and flexed. ”Heavy rescue.”
Tommy was torn between looking and laughing. ”Does that ever work?”
”Every time,” Buck grinned. It did not. ”If you were there before me, do you remember Hen?”
”Henrietta? Yeah, I was there when she was a probie.”
Hen never let Buck full name her. Although, Tommy could call him whatever he wanted and Buck would say thank you.
Buck took a breath.
Did he want to fuck a man?
He looked at Tommy.
He did. Buck very much would like to fuck a man. No, he wanted to fuck Tommy. It had to be Tommy. He glanced at the bartender. Definitely Tommy. Although those slacks looked great on the bartender. Really highlighted how narrow his hips were.
”Evan?”
”Sorry, I was– Sorry. Hi,” he smiled.
”Hi,” Tommy smiled back.
Buck blurted, ”How old are you?”
”Forty-five.”
”Oh, fuck.” Buck covered his mouth, said a muffled, ”Sorry. I don't know why I said that.”
”Sure, kid,” Tommy said and patted him on the leg.
Buck let out a sound halfway between a whimper and a moan. If he wasn't already covering his mouth, it would have been really embarrassing.
”You good?”
I can be so good, Tommy, please, please, please. Buck cleared his throat. ”I'm great.”
Tommy looked between him and the glasses on the bartop. ”Maybe we should find an activity that doesn't involve alcohol.”
It had less to do with the alcohol, and more to do with the fact that Tommy (presumably) had a dick between his legs and Buck didn't know what it looked like. ”A third location? Sounds exciting.”
Tommy shifted on his stool, pulling his wallet from his back pocket. ”You'd be really easy to kidnap,” he said offhanded, as he waved down the bartender.
hello hi hello i heard it was torturing tommy kinard hours. he’s trapped in a hot elevator with his ex (buck) and his ex’s ex (dealers choice) for hours with nothing to do but talk about their feelings (he’d rather die) (seriously he’s literally in hell)
It has to be Taylor, doesn't it? Because they match. This is Tommy's POV, and Evan and Taylor match. They've got the eyes and the smiles and the cheeks. They look great together, they look like the heterosexual dream. Both kind (he's assuming here about Taylor) and driven and passionate about their jobs. (Tommy is making a lot of assumptions about someone he has only seen on TV, but the elevator is really hot and he's also maybe having a little break from reality, seeing Evan for the first time in a long time.)
The smiles are awkward, but it doesn't make them less gorgeous, and Tommy keeps thinking their children would never stop smiling. They would come out smiling and well adjusted, and Tommy is for some reason imagining Evan as some sort of house husband, even though Evan wouldn't like that at all, and their jobs don't exactly allow for the picture in Tommy's head, where Evan has dinner ready, when his hot wife comes home from the office, but whatever. This is the future he has imagined for Evan. He doesn't have to deal with the gay stuff, he gets to live a normal life, that maybe veers a little bit too hard into the kind of world those assholes on TV keep trying to force everyone to do, but it's easy, right? If you do what society tells you, you get rewarded, and if anyone deserves to be rewarded, it's Evan.
The two of them never sat down and discussed their exes at length, but Tommy has heard about Taylor a few times – and never the bad stuff, so surely, they could get back together. Evan introduced her as his ex, but it didn't sound like it meant anything. Evan introduced him as just Tommy, so maybe they're skipping the whole ex thing.
But Evan gets nervous and doesn't stop talking, and suddenly Evan outs himself to his ex, who doesn't look surprised at all. (I don't think you can have adventorous sex with someone and not notice certain things.) Suddenly Taylor is interested in him and sweat starts pouring down his back.
Taylor asks why they broke up and Evan explains it to her, but he explains it wrong, and Tommy is going to die here anyway, so he might as well set the record straight. Evan and Taylor are going to survive this, they're way too pretty to die. But then Evan gets upset, because he thinks Tommy is in the wrong, and OK, they're good at bickering. Fighting? Less so. The elevator is too small to contain their emotions, which, at this point, Tommy would like for the cables to break and plummet them to their deaths. It would be a novel way to go for a firefighter. Nothing is even on fire.
But then he looks at the number above the door and they're only on the fourth floor and there's no basement, so they probably wouldn't die.
Suddenly Taylor Kelly's hand is on his arm and Taylor Kelly's face tells him to breathe. Which is probably a good idea. Seems like he stopped doing that. She's a very pretty woman, no wonder Evan is into her. Not all that dissimilar to Abby, actually. With the hair and the eyes.
And Tommy isn't that. Tommy isn't a beautiful, redheaded woman with small hands and a good attitude.
When Tommy's vision clears up and the walls stop closing in, he sees Evan sitting in the opposite corner, looking upset.
”Are you OK?” Evan asks him and Tommy can't exactly be honest, can he? Tommy has aged approximately twenty years, since he walked away. Everything hurts, he doesn't remember what happiness feels like. Evan has aged in reverse, looking more beautiful than ever. He's bigger than before, which looks like a healthy mix of fat and muscle.
The kind of body kids would love. Soft for cuddles and strong enough to throw them around – nevermind the fact that Evan told him he has no desire to become a parent. Tommy had helped babysit Jee-Yun one time – only the once – and Evan had leaned into him and told him how exciting it was to hold her for the first time, and how ecstatic he was that he wasn't taking her home; that she wasn't his.
But that doesn't fit the narrative in Tommy's head, and he's managed to convince himself that half the memories of their relationship are fake anyway, and it wasn't actually as good as he remembers.
Part of him wants to be honest, since he doesn't expect to see Evan after this (whether he dies or not), but he can't tell his ex and his ex's ex that he's regretted the breakup since the moment the door to Evan's loft closed behind him. Or maybe the moment the words left his mouth. Even as he said them, he knew he didn't mean it.
”I'm fine,” Tommy says.
”Right,” Evan nods. ”Because you look fine.”
And OK, Tommy has a type, and a lot neuroses, and Evan being catty always gets him going, even now, apparently. ”I get claustrophobic.”
”No, you don't.”
”It's hot in here.”
”You're a firefighter.”
Tommy is not a patient man. He shoves down all the nicknames that would probably hurt a lot and puts on a grimace, that could maybe pass as a smile, and says, ”I'm uncomfortable. I'd like to get out of here.”
Evan calls dispatch again, but the situation hasn't changed. There are several big emergencies going on at the moment, and they're safe, so they're not currently a priority.
They sit in agonising silence for a while. Taylor is by far handling it better than the two of them. Evan is still pouty and upset, but seems to be behaving, beacuse of Taylor. As much as he's telling himself he wouldn't, the way Evan is looking at him tells him that Evan would be so far up his ass right now, if they were alone.
And maybe he longs for that, a little bit. Maybe it would be nice if Evan lost it a little bit and got demanding. But Taylor seems nice and maybe she never found out she was dating a crazy person.
Tommy misses dating a crazy person. He misses Evan like a limb. His life is so fucking boring and empty. They're too far from Harbor, but Tommy knows at least two people currently on shift, who'd go rogue if he called. It was his first thought, when no one answered the emergency button, and 911 said they were on hold, but Tommy is also a crazy person, who wouldn't mind figuring out what would happen, if he got locked in a room with Evan. Too bad his nervous system is a little bitch, who can't handle the heat.
It's so hot in the elevator, Tommy can feel his eyeballs sweating.
”It was me, OK?” Tommy blurts, when Evan won't stop pouting. ”I broke it off, because I thought you weren't fully in it.”
”I asked you to move in!” Evan explodes.
”We don't know each other! But I wanted to. I wanted to know you, Evan. I wanted to keep getting to know you.”
Evan's lip wobbles for a second, before he bites down on it. He glances at Taylor, and tucks himself more tightly into the corner. ”I wanted that, too.”
Taylor is sitting in the third corner, trying to do the math and figure out what the hell happened, because so far, it sounds pretty stupid. She asks how they met and Evan tells her about the hurricane. Tommy clocks the professional interest immediately, but she probably can't sell the story so long after the fact.
Taylor is kind to Evan, tells him she's not surprised he would like someone like Tommy. Which is a crazy thing for your ex-boyfriend's ex-girlfriend to say, even if Evan doesn't seem to think so.
Nothing gets solved in the elevator. They talk in fits and starts, all three of them, but nothing gets off the ground. When it's finally their turn to get rescued, they're like three cats in a pillowcase.
As they get checked for heat stroke, Evan has reached peak pout. Tommy is worse off than the other two, and spends a long few minutes sitting in the ambulance, until Evan comes over and tells him, ”She dumped me, so stop looking at her like that.”
”Like what?”
”Like I'm about to get on the back of her motorcycle.”
It takes Tommy entirely too long to understand that the motorcycle isn't literal.
”I dumped you, too.”
”Yeah, but you didn't mean it,” Evan huffs. ”She did.”
Tommy's whole body is drenched in sweat and he's pretty sure he's going to pass out, if he attempts to stand up. ”I didn't mean it?” Evan is standing in the worst spot, with the sun right behind his head, and Tommy thinks he might throw up.
”No,” Evan says firmly. ”You're dumb. And mentally ill. And … And I should've called you.”
The medic passes Tommy a bottle of water, which he gulps down. He reaches out for Evan's hip and pushes him to the side, so he blocks the sun better, and Evan grabs the chance to hold his hand. His clammy, disgusting hand that has been touching the floor of an elevator for the better part of a day.
The medic hands him a second bottle, cap already off. Tommy sips this one. Maybe the hospital would be a good idea, but he's really not in the mood for it.
”Did you drive here?” Evan asks.
”I did.”
”Let me take you home? I'll make sure you don't die.”
Tommy turns to the medic and tells her, ”I'm not as old as I look.” She doesn't care.
”Come on, old man. You can complain all the way home, if you want. Or pass out. Whatever you're in the mood for.”
”And then what?”
”And then I'll corner you in your own home, where you can't escape.”
tagged by @ambernotember, thank you love! i am open-tagging anyone who has something to share.
here's a little more of this
There's a spot on the bolt of his jaw where Tommy's stubble grows in silver. He has it scattered throughout (including in his chest hair, which made Buck feel fucking feral the first time he noticed it), but that one spot, about the size of the top joint of Buck's index finger, is perfectly silver without a single dark hair in sight. Buck likes to press a kiss to it as they part. He's not sure if Tommy knows why, but he always looks suitably charmed by it. He wants to know when the grays started popping up. Wants to know how long he'll have to wait for Tommy to have more salt than pepper in his beard, on his head, in his chest.
Tommy's hand moves slowly, fingertips skimming up and down the length of Buck's spine. The touch makes him shiver pleasurably and Tommy quirks a smile at him that says it didn't go unnoticed. Buck can feel himself flushing a little, manages to scoot ever so slightly closer, wanting the space between them to evaporate, wanting the touch to continue.
Tommy keeps his nails short and neat. One time, Buck showed up early and got to witness Tommy using a pocket knife to clean underneath them.
"I was working in the garage earlier," Tommy had said, apparently misinterpreting the way Buck was watching as anything other than complete fascination. "Oil's a bitch."
Buck thinks he managed not to make a weird gurgling noise, but he definitely made one in his heart. There was something about the easy, practiced movement, the absolute certainty. Because that's another thing. Buck might be a little obsessed with Tommy's body, but he's definitely completely obsessed with the way he uses his body. And yeah, yeah, in the obvious was of course, but also just — Tommy likes to fidget with things, so Buck has a lot of opportunities to watch those big hands in motion.
Buck sometimes finds himself drifting, dwelling on the agile movement of those thick fingers, jolts back to reality thinking about the way Tommy flips a pen before he uses it. He'd bet actual money that Tommy doesn't even realize he does it — that it's just an old, old habit. He wants to learn all those old habits.
I don't know whether or not this is true, but I'm reblogging this because we live in a world where the third search result when I tried researching the validity of this information was a link to an article about a weight loss product.
The second search result had included the slur "ob*se" in the title of the article.
There are seriously people who tell me fat people aren't oppressed. Meanwhile, trying to find information about how to keep a fat person from drying in a car crash is met with links to products that make dirty money off of how society views my body.
"Seatbelt should be across your hips rather than your stomach for everyone, but i think it's more common for fat people to wear seatbelts over the stomach
Pelvic bones are strong and sturdy, and you're going to be MUCH less likely to injure internal organs and such when you suddenly slam into a nylon belt"
Text and photos by @thejacespace
I wanted to put both of these reblogs in one reblog chain since this is helpful information. Thank you both for giving more information than fatphobic Google did.
You are not afraid to fly any more? You are thinking of your little stone cottage?
It’s on a hillside next to a beautiful vineyard. But that’s not really what I’m thinking about.
What are you thinking about?
You.
Ilya always has a mop of frizzy wild curls at the cottage because
They're always in and out of the water – lake swims, pool swims, hot tub, showers – so doing his curl routine each time would be crazy when he could be spending that precious time sucking his boyfriend's dick.
Shane's not the biggest fan of how Ilya's styling products feel. He'll tolerate it, but Ilya can tell by his face that the texture isn't his favourite. Less product = more hair touching.
Shane's hands are always in his hair. When they're kissing. When they're watching a movie. When they fuck. When Ilya sits with his head in Shane's lap. When they're napping on the couch together. Shane's hands are usually full of a handful of Ilya's curls.
Shane seems to really like it. One time Shane said Ilya's fluffy hair made him look like a duckling and he's been chasing that high ever since.
He just prefers this version of him that doesn't need to look perfect and be perfect to be loved and adored. Shane never makes him feel lazy for letting his hair get a little wild over summer. He kisses his temples and tells him he's so fucking beautiful.
Hockey is Life @lovekellerstumbles - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
