#drain the fantasy of queue

[th-aubade]

✧ continued from x with @adam--bomb ✧

Himiko popped her head around Cass's shoulder, smiling in her delight. "Mhm!" Her fingers went to work, looping one strand of hair over the other. It was almost like bracelet-weaving. She was much better at that than styling her own hair. Her own hair felt too wild to be managed.

"Your hair is so soft, Cass-chan! You must take good care of it!"

[twilighthavens]

✧ Please feel free to ignore this tag dump! Getting things ready to open officially.

[anakinstwinklebunny]

older sugar daddy!anakin who's paying for your postgrad, just cuddles you after a long day of studying 😩

TW: none really, just fluff and soft praises cause bunny loves dilf!ani :3

Author's note: I love you, give me more..let your fantasy free. Also, today's my birthday, when it's posted, I'm sleeping (thanks to the queue). But I want to thank YOU for this year. In September, I celebrated without all you knowing probably, my one year on this app. One year. Year ago, I'd not even imagine that one of my dreams would come true - to post MY work, something people will enjoy..you guys made it real and for that I thank you so much! Hugging all 622 of you!!! <3333333

It had been one of those days where nothing seemed to go right. Your brain was fried from the constant cycle of lectures, readings, and assignments. The textbooks in front of you blurred whenever you tried to focus on yet another chapter of dense material, so it was no use.

You felt drained—mentally and emotionally. All you wanted to do was crawl into bed and forget about postgrad for a little while.

The soft click of the apartment door opening snapped you out of your haze. You heard the familiar shuffle of Anakin’s shoes being kicked off, his expensive, cashmere-wool blend coat draped over the chair. Before you even had the chance to look up from your mountain of notes, he was beside you, his presence filling the room with warmth and comfort you so much craved at the moment

"Hey," he greeted quietly, his deep voice gently vibrating in your ear. He could immediately sense the tension around you, see the exhaustion written all over your profile side. Without asking, he leaned down to kiss your burning temple that was heated up from way too much information for one day

Not taking your tired eyes from the whatever you were trying to focus on, your nostrils could pick up the familiar scent of him—clean, warm, with a hint of vanilla and cinnamon

Dear heavens..

"Long day?" he asked softly, his large hand coming to rest on your shoulder, thumb gently brushing the back of your neck. You closed your eyes at the contact - it felt so good, to just being able to feel the all the stress and tension slowly melt down your spine

Well, Anakin's hands were magic. In every way. They could tear you apart, pull you back together and make you beg for more. Yet today, you were way too tired to beg him to do anything

"You have no idea," you sighed, your voice barely above a whisper as you leaned into his touch. “It feels like this coursework is never-ending.”

Anakin’s lips curled into a soft, understanding smile as he tilted his head, studying your tired expression. "You’ve been at it for hours. I can tell." He glanced at the textbooks, notebooks, and laptop scattered around you. It was impressive, to say the least, but even him knew you needed to slow down "You need a break."

Before you could protest, Anakin was already moving. He gently closed your laptop, setting it aside along with your textbooks, making sure they were out of reach so you wouldn’t be tempted to keep working. At first it brought you a quicker heartbeat, to see him just so casually act like it when you still had so much to do “Come here,” he murmured, reaching out to you. "You’ve done enough for today."

Yet, you didn’t hesitate. As tired as you were, the moment he opened his arms, you were drawn to him like a magnet. You slid into his embrace, sinking into his broad chest as he wrapped you up in the warmth of his body.

Your cheek pressed against the soft fabric of his sweater, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. It was grounding, a gentle reminder that you weren’t alone in all of this. He was here, as he always was, making everything seem a little less overwhelming.

“You’re working too hard, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice tender as he massaged your scalp before gently threaded his long fingers through your hair, brushing it away from your face. "You need to rest."

You sighed, sinking further into his embrace. Dammit, if he keeps it up, you'll fall asleep "I just want to get through this semester." you confessed

Anakin pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head before his hand moved to caress your back “And you will. You always do.” His voice was filled with quiet confidence, the kind of unwavering belief in you that never failed to make your heart swell.

“You’ve been taking care of everything else,” Anakin murmured after a long moment of quietness, his voice a soft rumble in your ear. “Now let me take care of you.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, overwhelmed by how much his simple presence soothed you. He always knew when to step in, offering comfort without needing to ask for anything in return. It wasn’t about money or gifts—this, right here, was what made him your anchor. The way he could make you feel safe and cherished, no matter how heavy the world felt on your shoulders.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest. You pressed your face further into him, breathing him in, the scent of him calming your racing thoughts. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

"You’ll never have to find out," he replied softly, kissing the top of your head. "I’ve got you."

You shifted slightly, your legs curling up as you snuggled deeper into him, finding the perfect spot in his lap. His hand gently cradled the back of your head, fingers sliding through your hair with a touch so tender it made your heart flutter.

"I’m not letting you out of my sight for the rest of the night."

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @erosmutt @haydensprettyprincess @mistress-amidala @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @bimbo-baggins17

(if you want to be removed or added then don't be shy and let me know 💋)

[shyminmin]

༄𝐁𝐓𝐒 𝐗 𝐟.𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | Fantasy, Mermaid AU | ༄𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 3.9k + ༄𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : Dark/Traumatic events

Oh this is familiar.

Lying on the sandy shores of my 'birthplace', cold and wet from the waves, I watched as the same figure above me morphed into the silhouette of an unknown man. My strained vocal cords sounded out my worthless screams as I struggled to move my dead limbs.

The moon in my peripheral, water lapping in the background, he muttered the same gibberish that I failed to comprehend for years on end.

Why was this dream still happening? There was nothing left to look for in my past.

Just like last time, his dark face lowered down to be in line with one of my ears, making me desperate to know what he had to say this time round. Would he talk about something new or repeat the same brief words as before, words that I still had no clue as to what their meaning was or what they were referring to.

"You're so warm... you're almost there," he spoke clear as day, wiping at the rivulets of tears that were running down my face.

"Let the waters guide you... just as Selene guides them..." His silky voice rolled off his tongue in enchanting waves.

"You've been away long enough...It's time to come home.."

Not wanting to make the same mistake as last time, or risk being woken up by the outside world, I forced away my cries and calmed myself.

"What do you mean?" My words came out scratchy and pained. "Please...please tell me!" The last of my pleas strained out in a slight tremble.

Continuing to stroke my cheeks, he cupped them both in his cold, damp hands, locking my gaze to his hidden one. I waited for him to speak, however unsettling silence imbued us as he offered no words of reply. Patience wearing thin, I tried again by firing out more questions.

"My home? You mean in the city, Seoul?"

His head slowly shook from side to side at that, "No sweet thing.."

"Then where, back at one of my foster homes, Mr Yang even?" I cringed at that man's name, hoping with all my heart that that didn't turn out to be the case.

Placing a finger on my lips to quiet me, he sighed.

"You will know in due time... Your body and soul are being drawn towards it as we speak... The pull will only grow stronger..." he uttered musically.

"Don't resist these signs...doing so will only lead to your downfall..."

I processed his vague statements, trying to get a glimpse of the man's face, a nose, mouth, a freckle, anything. However no matter how hard I stared, my dream sadly denied me that request.

He gently combed his fingers through my drenched locks, strangely soothing me in the process as he continued on with his brief sentences.

"Trust your intuition, your instincts... Embrace them with your whole being and you can't go wrong...."

"You're not making any sense, just give me a straight answer," I cut in, having enough of his flowery words.

"As I had hoped, one day you would return back to where you belong, back to where you were meant to be all along if not for past circumstances... Fate has worked out in our favour and has brought you here... here back to the shores where you have fulfilled my previous wishes... Now you have broken your ties and the day for your return has finally come..."

"I will be there.. waiting for our reunion... For I have waited for far too long already..."

"Please come home...The waters need you and you'll need them... They miss you... I miss you..."

"For you are my dear sister."

What?.... I went stiff from shock as I felt the blood draining from my face.

What did he.. W-what did he just say...?

As if on queue, the wind picked up bringing in the tides and a building up of sweeping waves. The turbulent waters caused me to panic as they crashed all around us, threatening to sweep me and the man away. Like my last dream, the current turn of events have never happened or been this drastic before, making me all the more nervous of their outcomes.

"W-what's happening!?" I shouted, me having a hard time hearing myself over the now hurricane like weather. A flow of adrenaline coursed through my veins and like some miracle I could now move my body. Wasting little time, I clutched onto the male's shoulders, not wanting to get blown away.

Buckets of rain started to pour down and soak our already drenched forms while seawater was splashing us from all angles.

A crash of lightning and thunder boomed around the once calm beach, briefly lighting up the whole shoreline in a blinding, white flash. Gusts of wind coming dangerously close to sweeping me up into the dark stormy skies. Scared for my life at this point and forgetting that I was dreaming, I cried out in terror, burying my face in the man's neck.... No... My sibling's neck....

"Brother!" I screamed, my body shaking like a leaf as I gripped onto him for dear life, refusing to let go. "Brother!"

I felt him circle his arms around me, rubbing my back and shushing me as I tried to block out the storm we were caught in.

"Brother, don't leave me!" I balled out, body shivering from fright.

"I won't! I'll never leave you again!" He voiced, embracing me fully. "Just come home! Come back home to me!"

I caught a blur of dark blue over his shoulder and sharpened my sight. Gulping, I naturally started to pull us back as we were right in the path of what looked to be a massive 10ft wave. It towered over the others, clearing and destroying everything it touched. "We have to move! We're going to drown!" Trying to make him budge, the wave only encroached on us further, taunting us with its sheer magnitude.

Like a rock, my brother remained in place, not moving a muscle as he continued to hold me. Panicking, I tugged on his body harder, digging my heels into the wet sand in order to gain some sort of momentum. "Hey, come on! We need to get away from the shore!" I shook him when dragging him failed. "Why aren't you moving!?"

He pushed against the back of my head making me further bury my face into his neck. "You need to come home, back to your real home!" He shouted, when I felt him moving us both backwards in the direction towards the hazardous surf that housed the dangerous wave.

"Are you insane!?" I struggled to free myself from his grasp and pull us both back, him as a result tightening his hold on me.

"Trust the waters, let them guide you!" He repeated his previous riddled words.

Something long and powerful broke the water's surface right next to us, shiny dark scales catching my eye. The strange limb however vanished back below the tides as quickly as it revealed itself.

Was that a fish tail? Are there predators about? Something that big can't be friendly!

"Please, we aren't safe here!" I cried, tears rushing out of my eyes a second time, worried for both our lives, not wanting to lose the one family member I had just discovered.

"Brother I'm s-scared!"

With my keening outburst, he was quick to reassure me with his secure embrace and calming hums, doing everything he possibly could to shield me from this harsh weather.

"Don't be, you're safe...Trust me...Trust your instincts, let the waters guide you....."

"Let them change you...."

Just as he spoke those last words, a heavy wall of water and salt crashed upon us head on, knocking me off my feet as water now fully encompassed us both. Dragging me under, I tried to swim up to the surface and breach the salty swells for air; however the current was just too strong, even an Olympic athlete wouldn't have a chance against these extremes. I had lost sight of the shadowy figure that was of my sibling and I couldn't call out to him as I needed to conserve my oxygen.

I continued with all my might to swim against the strong waters as they relentlessly tossed me around like I weighed nothing. The loss of my brother's company and stability caused me to become all the more terrified as I was now alone in this horrific situation.

When I was sure he was gone for good one last form of comfort from him miraculously reached me.

"Dear sister," his melodic voice erupted through my head as I succumbed to the dark raging waters. "I'll be waiting..."

"I love you..." the smoothness of his voice fading out, dispersed and vanishing into the violent ocean swells.

No! Don't go! Please!

Losing all reasoning, I opened my mouth, letting out one last final scream in anguish. Bubbles of air floating and rising above me as the last remnants of oxygen left my lungs to be replaced with chilling seawater.

No, please...

"Brother!" Startling awake, I shot up from my sleeping position, clutching at the front of my pajama shirt, breathing in sharp, ragged breaths.

Realising I was in my room at the inn and not in the water drowning, I let out a relieved sigh, calming my trembling form. Sweat coated my skin making my clothing stick to it disgustingly as I fanned myself off with my top.

I'd never had a dream that was so vivid...so real...

"What even.." I mumbled wiping my forehead and ridding my eyes of a few stray tears. I toss my messy hair over my shoulders still feeling the phantom sensation of the man's fingers combing through it.

Why did he say I was his sister?

I racked my brain for answers, wondering if it was just an effect of my dream or if it was in fact elaborating on my past telling me that I had a real blood sibling.

"Why did he keep talking about the water, the ocean? About trusting it?"

He made us both get sucked up into the waves like it was nothing. He let me drown... He left me..

Shivering at that thought and everything I went through in my dream, I stood up and walked over to the one window of my room and opened it to let in some much needed fresh air. A salty breeze blew over me as I looked upon the beach in front of me, the sight of the waves causing me to become a little on edge.

God why am I so thirsty?

Downing my second bottle of water in the span of 3 minutes, I leaned back in my seat at one of the tables of the 'Seaside Chow' cafe. Temporarily quenching my thirst, I felt the inside of my throat ever so slowly drying up again like I hadn't just gulped down a good litre or so of liquid. No, instead it gave me the feeling that I haven't seen a single drop of water in weeks, years even.

This weird dehydrated state I found myself in, spouted out of nowhere an hour or so after I had woken up from my intense dream. Knowing this place would most definitely have a plentiful supply of water, I hightailed it to here, wanting to get hydrated asap. Liquid hydrogen and oxygen had never tasted so good.

I didn't care if I ran into the man who had that weird obsession with my feet yesterday, all I wanted was water... and more water. Grabbing a fresh bottle out of the cafe's drink fridge, I shyly handed the cashier another dollar bill. The older woman on shift looked at me skeptically and eyed my table where two already empty bottles were sprawled on top of.

"You alright miss? This is your third one in such a short amount of time," She asked, taking my money and depositing it into the shop's till. "You sure you're feeling ok?"

"Ah y-yeah.." was all I could say as I sheepishly returned to my seat, practically skulling the whole thing down in one go. My stomach felt bloated, being filled with so much liquid now.

Thinking I may as well order some food while I was here, I opened the menu, scanning the options. Amongst me looking under the lunch section seeing as it was getting close to that time, one of the waitresses walked past me carrying another table's dish, the contents making my tastebuds salivate at the smell alone. Wondering what smelled so appetizing, I looked their way, thinking I could order and try the mystery dish.

A large plate was set onto a table occupied by an elderly man, in it sat a side of plain greens with the centerpiece being two fillets of some type of fish.

That can't be right, I hate seafood, loath it. Fish being on the same level as oysters. What the hell?

Looking back I came to the conclusion that perhaps my dehydration had mucked with my sense of smell, if that was even a thing? A lot of strange things have happened since coming to this town, why was I still surprised at this point?

Deciding instead on a decent salad wrap free of any kind of seafood, I had set down yet another water bottle onto the counter for good measure, a now quite concerned cashier accepting my change and giving me worried stares. Not wanting to have lingering eyes on me for that sake, as soon as they handed me my food order, I dashed out the door, finding myself on the town's main street.

It wasn't as hot as the last couple of days so hopefully I wouldn't get too thirsty again because of the heat. Traumatized from the no-name man's actions from yesterday, I was too creeped out to even think about retrieving my shoes and socks that he had thrown all over the place. No, I was too focused on getting away from him to even care about them. Luckily I packed another pair, my only other at that, I wasn't made of money.

I wore those now, regardless of their poor quality they safely hide my hideous feet from sight as I traipse around the quiet town, taking in the old architecture while nibbling my food. I wasn't too fond of wandering down to the beach again, not after that whole foot ordeal and especially not after my concerning dream turned nightmare.

I couldn't help it when the man with the hat decided to invade my thoughts like he had so easily managed to do quite often lately.

There was a lingering sense of genuinity about him, with the way he interrogated me, demanding answers. Nothing but serious and passionate. Very similar to Yang Chinhae's outbursts. There was not an ounce of hesitation in belief but utter honesty in both their accusatory words, making me once again rethink that they both were in fact referring to nothing but the truth.

Two distinct things spoken about that linked the separate encounters, the unique state of my feet and the unsettling way they both mentioned the waters of the sea.

My recent dream being filled with nothing but the perilous ocean and its depths.

There's definitely a connection.

Something blindingly obvious if only I connect the dots.

The sea, the ocean shores...

Yang claimed I came from them, the mystery man wanted to drag me into them to prove some point... My 'brother' implored me to trust them in some way...

Home.. He wanted me to go back home, back to my real one... Back home to him where he was waiting. The talk of the waves and him pulling me with him into them like they were his backyard. The cat eyed man asking why I was on land...

Water, the sea, home...

Scarred feet...

When I didn't speak, the man turned to them and revealed the red uneven skin...Mr Yang claiming I wasn't human because of them.. That he had seen me shed scales... scales...

That long appendage that was covered in dark fish scales amongst the chaos in my dream... How it was so close to the figure of my 'brother'... Others that night... the night where I was abandoned on the shore... others that Yang claimed to be sea monsters... calling me a fish freak. My 'brother' on those shores with me in my dream...

He was one of them..

Was he the one who abandoned me that night? Why would my own brother do that!? He was so caring in my memory dreams.

My kind... scarred feet... not human...scales..

Mystery man saying his feet were the same.. Fishtail near my 'brother' and him not being afraid of the stormy waters.

'Follow the feeling', 'one touch', he had spoken before... The strange aura the man with the hat exuded... how it affected me, how he made me feel...when our skin had touched and I practically fainted... him asking what I was... him suddenly obsessed with my feet...

Everything was scarily pointing in one direction, one stupidly, unrealistic direction. However it all flowed into one another perfectly.

Water.. sea...home...odd feet... scales..

I didn't want to say what I was concluding in the chance I was turning completely insane.

I couldn't be a... a Mer-

My thoughts and deductions were diverted when I let out a loud cough. Rubbing the front of my neck I realised my throat had once again turned dry and scratchy from lack of water. I quickly undid the cap of my fourth bottle, taking a big sip and relishing in the cold liquid running down my throat, soothing the insides.

What's wrong with me? At this rate I'll have to go back and buy out the shop's whole water supply.

She's going to get herself killed!

Frustrated, the merman skimmed his pale hands through his dark, inky locks, tugging at the ends in minor stress as they fell back in front of his eyes.

"She's gonna get withdrawals," He groaned displeasedly, annoyed that he cared.

He felt 'The Elixir's' effects on her break as soon as he had touched that soft skin of her's. The surge of energy that had run through her was all too familiar to him as he was exposed to the workings of spells and mer magic on a day to day basis as his practice allowed it. How she had acquired something that was so rare and hard to concoct in the first place was beyond him.

That specific energy signature that erupted through her was from a potion plainly known as 'The Elixir'. Something that was forbidden – amongst other things – to be created and used by merfolk as it gave them the ability to grow legs and essentially become human.

Ordinarily, the Mer don't possess metamorphic capabilities. If they were to drag themselves onto land normally without magical intervention, then they would essentially become beached whales, landlocked and unable to move easily from the limitations of their tails. No legs would conveniently appear like most human stories emphasised.

The longer they would be out of their watery home, the more they would deteriorate.

Withdrawal symptoms..

Without seawater exposure, their tails and skin would dry up, becoming extremely dehydrated and they'll struggle to breathe. Fatigue would plague them and their limbs and organs would cease to function. Death would inevitably follow.

The most one could be out of water varied from mer to mer. The average being around 1-2 days.

What's more, one of the reasons for the ban of the potion was the controversial means in which it was produced. The base ingredient being human blood.

Contact with humans ceased after the time when conventional pirates still roamed the waters, the merfolk choosing to cut off all ties with them causing the belief of their kind to be nothing more than fictitious nonsense. Only outcasts or rogues would even think about going to the surface to potentially encounter a human. Whoever was snuffling them out for their blood was cause for concern.

Blood magic is one branch where intentions were not in everyone's best interest. He would know since he's delved into the art on occasion in the past.

That girl didn't look malevolent, heck she was utterly clueless. As confirmed, she clearly doesn't know what she truly is or that she even took 'The Elixir' in the first place. Someone else must have obtained it and forced it down her throat. But why?

If her unique aura or the effects of the potion weren't already indicators of her true self, then the appearance of her feet certainly confirmed his assumption. Especially when they were identical to his own when he was in his human form. Even when Mer are miraculously able to gain human limbs, the unique state of their feet will always be a reminder of what they are, beings that belong to the sea.

"Y/n hey.." he muttered to himself, thinking of the small, stuttering woman. "Just what is your story?"

Ruminating as he swam in circles around his underwater cave, he came to the conclusion that he couldn't just let everything slide. He needed to step in before things turned ugly. Too bad he needed more time to rest before he even attempted to transform again, he had already stretched his abilities enough as it is these past few days.

Hopefully Y/n could hold on a little longer. By the way she acted it was going to take some major convincing for her to get through her inevitable transformation smoothly. However, if in the end he had to forcefully drag her into the water like he had threatened her last time, then so be it. Her very life was at stake if he didn't.

Boy was she gonna get the shock of her life.

"Tch... Why do I even give a shit about what happens to her!?"

Being a solitary mer, he doesn't come across a lot of other merfolk in general, only a handful of individuals gained the privilege of earning his full trust and support. So why is it then that he has this incentive to give a damn about a random female posing as a human.

Living alone and tribeless was partly due to him not liking company and refusing any form of social attachment he deemed unnecessary. He didn't see a point to go through all that effort. The other reason being well...

Let's just say that the general population of merfolk don't take too kindly to associating with a merperson of his nature and practice.

The prejudice against him and others like him caused them to have to keep their distance and limit interaction with any of the mer tribes when they didn't have to. This was out of fear and hate as many past mer like him were known to be nothing but dangerous and sinister. Having magic in their blood, they held a kind of superior power, able to do other things that normal mer couldn't, many succumbing to the efficacy of their abilities for their own selfish gain.

With all this being said it was only natural that 'normal' merfolk assumed that everyone of his kind had ill intentions.

Sighing, he only hoped that they could get to Y/n in time, to the female human who was in fact a mermaid all along.

| 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 | ༄⋆

[selfoncemore]

Ok so this finished literally 5 mins ago (I am going to queue this up for a random time though) but I am having thoughts.

I have been engaging in some softcore pet play with a person, it started with me jokingly calling them puppy once and I think you can see how that snowballed into softcore pet play.

In the beginning (aka like 4 days ago) it was just me jokingly calling them puppy a few times, but then that evolved into teasings and "good boy"-ings, and then to them asking me for a list of things they should do to get the praise and you can fill in the blanks.

-

I have learned that while giving praise it alright, it is more fun to degrade someone.

-

And then, tonight. It was already a lot of things today, various teasings and such, but then it started getting more… charged. I have new names to call them now. And then the … sexting (???) started.

-

Exchanging photos is never a good idea. Don't do that. Don't ask anyone for photos. Don't give photos.

-

They made it clear they like praise, that's fine, I can praise people. Though it is very easy to run out of things to say, I did that and just started repeating myself but with different nouns.

They also liked light bullying. That I could do better. I am good at berating people. It comes to me more naturally then I expected. I did hold myself back, they made it clear they didn't want me to be mean. I could have gone harder on the bullying if they would have wanted that.

-

I am more of a dom then first realized.

-

I instructed them on what to do. That was the hardest part. Coming up with ideas. It ended up being a very simple thing, I didn't have the motivation, energy, or knowledge of what they would want to be comfortable pushing it more.

Doming is exhausting. All I did was say some words but I am drained. The "a lot of things today" already took most of my energy. Dear reader, it is not a good idea to do this on so little energy.

Ratings come early today. I have other things to talk about.

Praising - 5/10 - Unfortunately not really for me. I was content with doing it because they enjoyed it so much.

Degrading - 8/10 - Quite fun. I have learned I like seeing people squirm.

Orgasm Control (because to be clear, that was what I was doing) - 4/10 - I will get into this after the ratings.

General Doming - 9/10 - Very fun, extremally exhausting. I have a theory that it would be more fun if I had any idea what I was doing.

I'm scared.

I'm scared of what they think this means.

Despite my seemingly low rankings I did have fun. But I could tell they were more into it then I was. We've been through this before. Not this but this. We've done this before and we both know it didn't end well.

I'm scared that they'll think I would be willing to do this in different circumstances.

I am aegosexual. They know this. I'm not sure how much of that they understand. This whole experience also helped me find my own boundaries when it comes to sex. I am fine with it in hypothetical fantasies, in one sided fantasies, and in situations where I am far enough removed away from my body. In this case, the text format helped remove me enough. Whoever was doing that was not really me but a part of me. I felt comfortable enough to do that because it wasn't me who was doing it, but another me. I don't know how far the border lasts until it is stretched to thin.

I'm scared that they think this is something.

After we finished, we went into aftercare. When this happened, I felt more like me again. It was weird. I did my normal thing. I am the caretaker in almost all situations. I reminded them to get water, find something to eat, possibly bathe later. That was normal that was fine. But they continued the roleplaying into the aftercare. That I was there, I touched them, just a holding of hands. I felt awful. The idea of touching a person in a semi-intimate matter, when it was me doing the touching, not something I am piloting, It makes me feel sick. I hate the feeling of skin.

-

I am touch adverse.

-

I'm scared what assumptions they have.

We are somewhat open about sex. We know we both have kinks, just not the specific details. During the scene, I was instructing them on how to touch themself. I also had control over when they would orgasm. I cannot orgasm. I've known this for a while. I have never told anyone this because it is no ones business. When doing this I came to terms with the fact that others can orgasm (dear readers, I thought it was a mythical idea that only came to the likes of the actors in pornos for far to long). They will have assumptions of me. They assumed I was participating physically during the scene. I was not. Not really. They have assumptions about me I don't want to shatter. But if I want to be content in any way, they will need to be broken.

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To my Ever Ending Patron. Who I have neglected. I give you a fear. A bad memory. A guilt. Something that can never be stable.

And so, enter: a beginners guide to faking your death.

Something we swore never to repeat and something we will attempt to pull ourself from.

[cafeleningrad]

🔥 + vampires

Hello Anon, 'tis the season for such asks, isn't it? (And I recently talked too much about these creatures even though I'm not even a big fan of them?)

I think every onw has their littell indulgences in fictions far easier than certain themes, more tempting settings or creatures. For me it's dragons, for others it is vampires. This I personally don't get. Why is that sofor me? Pardon the pun but I think vampires in popcultre are remakrably defanged. At least they're very uninteresting in Western culture these days.

Dr. Jeff Holdeman said: "every age creates the Vampire it needs". Probably that can be said about any monster that cultures create creatures incarnating fears and cosmoplogy into a shaped myth. Vampires in particular are monsters created from fears of wasting, of fears of being robbed basic needs like rain for crops, draining people of energy and ressources they might barely have themselves, and a lot other anxieties- (Note that albeism and ageism are featured in these fears.) As concept the folkloric vampire can still transport anxieties into it's mythic form, there can be a lot done with it. In the Romantic and later ion Stoker's era, vampires became metaphors very often for artistorcrats sucking life forces of people socially weaker than them, breaking of boundaries. Additionally to fears of age, disability, and silent wasting diseases, came a social commentary component in anglophone literature which expands on the idea of a life sucking force can be. (Also interesting note, that Stoker might been more heavily inspired by Irish folklore than actual Central European one.) And of course what people see as silently corrupting others might differ form person to person. Meaning for homphobes, homosexuality can be a silently corrupting force. Queue Carmilla. It is no accident that in the 70s Hollywood was so fixated on the female vampire. In hindsight it is a perfect encapsulation of male fear of female sexuality. In the light of women's liberation movements soverignity women have and should have about their own sexuality stepped into the public light. Alongside the queer movement, the discovery of lesbian sex, men kinda realized male genitals were not necessarily needed for female orgasms. That breeds an entire subgenre of lesbian vampires. Apart from a homophobic literary predecessor, curious how the sexually assured woman who seduces other women, and (dentally) penetrates them becomes the monster. Speaking of sexuality. Eroticism and vampires are commonly linked these days, the metaphor is certainly there. Already with Lord Byron being parodied as a sexually exploitative vampire, Carmilla, later in cinema with Legosi, and Lee. I mean surely, horror plays with fears and tabaoos, if not fully diving into it. In times of sexualy repression the sexual component makes a lot of sense to incarnate in the modern US vampire. Not be another hater on Twilight, so much hate and ridicule was based on misogyny of a property for a femlae audience having sucess, however the vampires could've actually been any cerature as long as it was eternally youthful and sexually intriguing. (As demonstrated as the YA supernatural soft porn copy cats featuring angels and faes....) But why is Edward a vampire then? It's the animalistic appeal in him madly desiring a total normal girl into which the readers can easily project themselves into as an avatar, it's about the fantasy how badly Edward wants go down with Bella but is still safe as he will chastily surpress the urge for her virtue. There is a lot of itneresting stuff to unpack about the modern US vampire about his peak as sexual metaphor. Won't dwell to long on it because tumblr has already so many essays discussing Twilight, and vampires and (homo-)sexuality. What does annoy me, is that sexual repression is only one aspect of what a vampire can be. It follows only one branch of anglophone, and increasingly US-cultured pop-cultured, literary history centered around puritan anxieties. Don't get me wrong, the sexual aspects are there but if I have to read another Dracula take of puritanical Victorians... (For a "eat the rich" website the nobility cricism and Irish aspects are wasted... Also, wasting disease, and a certain tinge of xenophobia...) At some point that too can make a monster onesided, and repetitive if it only operates on one metpahor.

However, it is interesting that the vampire is pitiable, deserving of sympathy, maybe is romancable as endgame -monsters not being onedimensional evils anymore- falls togehter in an age where other stories very much invite the idea of understanding of the otherness as well. It can be very interesting. What is even more intersting to me how un-monstrous the monsterous is. Post Twilight, not all, but many vampiric centered shows used the mosnter as metpahor for understanding the other. But what does it say about the mosnter when it's nature is domesticated into easy alternative products, tamed, and is easily understood if it adheres to a very high beauty standart? (Del Torro's Shape of Water is the only bigscreen exception in Hollywood. I might be wrong but I can't recall much of another mainstream monster-monster romance title.) I think, there is a lot of interesting potential to continue using the monster as metpahor for understanding. Heck the compromise of it not being able to not harm the other person yet bargaining how to keep the harm at bay could make for an interesting story. The versions where the bloodsucking/lifeforcesucking is watered down to first sexual excitement just make the mosnter to a very bland idea of a sexual fantasy to me.

I mean, I know why these alterations exist like this, they're their right to exist. But in this form they simply are very boring. They're just the recycled idea of a "bad boy lover" but with a lot of money, and maybe Versailles cosplay, or dark leather, preferences may vary.

On the male side vampires are so ficking boring. Just overpowered beasts, can't die easily, there's a lot of blood, the goth imagery is there. I am looking at you Castlevania, Hellsing, and Lincoln Vampire Hunter. Perhaps every and genre era has macho hype fight fantasies. This one is so unbearbaly edgy wanna be cool to me.

All in all: Like every monster, the vampire was born out of very existencial anxieties. The concept ca be expanded onto fears of every era, and a lot of intersting things can be done out of them. A cerature that feeds of others, especially in invisible, barely inescapable ways - that metaphor can stretch so far, and play into some gerat horror ideas. Like with sexuality, abuse of social status, dealing with invisble illnesses. In previous discussions with anons they purposed ideas about vampires surviving over centuries and wirnessing history. Maybe less monstrous but also interesting to lean into what the massive passage of time can do. ("Interview with a vampire" really leans into the aspect of being stuck in time, being damned to actually remain in the age the turned person died while things still go on. Rice really wrote beautifully about the sensation of grief. So much in teh story comes back to trying to find a source for the characters' misery (the vampirism, being condemned to eternity, especially Claudia. I know, Lestat is a tumblr fave but the entire Vampire sage of hers is less interesting because it does exactly what I dislike about contemporary vampires: Defanging Lestat in his villanous aspects, swapping the more poetic stories but a more cool character image. Hearing good stuff from the show re-interpretation though.) In an age where everyone discusses class struggles, power dynamics between different demographics, word like "emotional labour" as well as clinical diagnosis are thrown around, scarcity of ressources is a big topc of anxiety, I think the concept of vampire can be easily used int stories - at least it can expand way beyond brachial discussions of sexuality. Or if leaning into sexuality, let's go back into the monstrousness. Aren't we in times talking so much about abuse? Why not make more of it? If understandig the monster why not go into also ageist and albeist origins of the the folkloric vampire? Why not talk about vampire metaphors historically harmful to minorities? They're such a rich source of ideas, and I am pretty suer that they're very good off-mainstream, outside-Hollywood titles using this creature in intersting ways. At it's current state of being afigure of "a rich, fancy seducer but within the boundaries of sexual comfort zone with a bit of excitement", or male power fantsy OP beast, they're just very unteresting to me. Both, as character and monster. (shout out to "Let the right one in", and "the girl who walks alone at night")

[bringmoreknives]

He could hear the Cardinal saying God's name, he could hear himself snarling in response. Images flashed rapidly in front of his eyes; the guys, his Mom, his own face, bleeding and turned up to the Heavens.

HEAVEN HELP US, BEXLESS

[bringmoreknives]

(via communistmccracken, fuck-yeah-the-used)

[wayanayaw]

hey are medieval demons weird or what

[hyanide]

🖤 Recent commish ✨ 🖤 The queue is getting really small, no idea what my posting schedule will be after, since my productivity has gone down the drain 😅 . . . #art #digitalart #artcommission #characterart #ranger #dnd #elf #fantasy #fox #dungeonsanddragonsart #characterillustration #artistsoninstagram #romanianartist #artisttofollow #artist https://www.instagram.com/p/CaXo5ISqfXg/?utm_medium=tumblr

[mintchocohip]

sub!bts as househusbands

╺ requested | the ot7 as househusbands!

╺ note | sub!bts x domme!reader. see each member for any notes!

TAEHYUNG ➜

note | roleplay

Visiting friends, putting on his errand boy hat, or wandering town with a camera, an empty stomach, and a pocketful of cash occupy chunks of Taehyung’s weekdays. He isn’t allowed to open his sub journal until three hours past noon—that’s the hour when he misses you the most. At the sanctioned time Taehyung opens the journal to today’s date and picks out a handwritten note delicately tucked into the pages. Today, he’s Maestra’s best student—recording himself practicing the new song you chose on his violin. “'I’ll do anything for Maestra. I would be her Cinderella,’” you’re finally home, and you’re sitting next to Taehyung on the couch reading aloud the journal entry he scribbled after sending you the recording, “'cleaning on hands and knees.’” Taehyung’s sheepishness at hearing you voice his fantasies is cured by a fluff of his hair and a fond kiss on his rosy ear. As you wash dishes with Taehyung later this evening you’ll contemplate tomorrow. Choosing these secret tasks is your prerogative. Still. Your husband always has amazing ideas. 

YOONGI ➜

notes | naked apron kink, mentions of pegging

Yoongi is the ideal house husband. He’s vigilant, hardworking, and resourceful. A need for time and space alone is never questioned. When your sleepy-eyed husband emerges from the solitude of his home studio, though, Yoongi needs tangible proof he’s making you happy. “An apron?” Yoongi glances down at the white sheath. He wandered into the kitchen to find you home from work with a shopping bag on your elbow. You’re holding the apron’s straps against his shoulders to judge the fit. “Cooking naked. Flying oil. Makes me nervous... I thought my little chef could use an apron.” Yoongi blinks. He knows he’s blushing. Usually, he doesn’t pull on clothes before waking up early to cook you breakfast and pack your lunch for work. Cooking for you is basic, respectful routine. It would be easier to toss on a baggy shirt than tie an apron. This gift mostly appears to benefit the person who strolls into the kitchen most mornings acting like you’re already hopped up on two espressos and daydreaming about giving him the strap tonight while you wake yourself up knowing full well the effect your naughty backhugs and whispered “good morning, baby”s have on his attempts to focus on stirring veggies in the frying pan, of course; but, Yoongi has a feeling he might enjoy it more than you do.

JUNGKOOK ➜

notes | mdlb, little!jk

Jungkook waited for the right moment expectantly. He sensed it in your aura. He felt it in the way you looked at him, listened to him, and held him in the weeks before. Something changed. It was a comfortable, gentle change. Jungkook cried when he proposed. He cried at the wedding. He cried when you said it would be better to stop renting dungeon space and instead find an apartment with a suitable extra room. Marriage was about romance, symbolism, and becoming yours. Jungkook knew his lifestyle of playing games and going to the gym all day wouldn’t change. You’re two self-sufficient people who fix up chores as they appear. Most days, Jungkook feels that vocally supporting your ambitions and treating the apartment like a laundrette are the most important things he can do. When you text him to say you’re coming home early and wondering if he could take out all of his littlespace things and set up the playroom before you’re through the door—shocks run up Jungkook’s spine. He gloats like your friend when he steals your snacks, and he thinks like a roommate when he asks if he can dedicate more closet space to his growing shoe collection. Right now, you need your partner. That special knowledge relaxes Jungkook with peaceful—dry-eyed—certainty.  

HOSEOK ➜

note | mommy kink

You didn’t know housework channels existed until Hoseok started one. The ‘mommy’ in his social media handle is cutesy but sincere. In the past Hoseok has always felt tingly and whole when you gave him a sarcastic “sorry, mom” after he scolded you for putting drain cleaner in the wrong cupboard or failing to tap down a coaster for a glass of water. Now, it’s what a legion of fans call the faceless, apron-clad man posting soothing clips of himself cleaning through every room of this gorgeous sunny apartment and, occasionally, grooming the puppies. You’ve never really looked at any of it. Hoseok appreciates that you have him so wholly you don’t need to. “Soft,” you mutter while laying in bed with him at night. You’re playing with his hair to make him smile. Hoseok knows a certain bedside drawer is off-limits from his urge to tidy and rearrange. When you roll over to open it he curls up inside. At some point this house gained two mommies. Only one Mommy is dignified with a capital M in texts through fluxes of dirty talk and reminders to buy new air filters. Only one of them decides when and how Hoseok gets off. Your husband enjoys organizing his days. For your sake, he’s even happier to surrender his nights. 

JIMIN ➜

note | lifestyle d/s

Watered plants, vacuumed cat hair, spotless surfaces, empty recycling, lines in praise of Mistress. Jimin sends you photos of today’s completed chores at the scheduled times and gets cute emojis in return. If he lived alone Jimin might spend all day playing with the foster cats and downing wine at brunch. As it is, he carefully considers a new color scheme for the bathroom. He needs this space to be pretty for you. Shopping with a wide open budget usually distracts Jimin into sending you pictures of a giant teddy bear and asking if you would be angry to find it in the living room when you come home. Although he flutters from amusement to amusement, Jimin is always home, relaxed, and wearing the clothes you like when he needs to be. Hanging up your backpack and taking off your shoes, following you into the bedroom, and kneeling at the edge of the bed to massage your legs and eat your cunt is ritualistic. Jimin makes amazing coffee. You lounge in bed, sip the mug he brings, and tell him what to order for dinner. Discipline earns its rewards. The reason you bicker with smiles on your faces about Jimin’s definition of “spotless surfaces” is absolute comfort. You know what you want from each other, and you want the same things.  

NAMJOON ➜

Lounging in the garden is a fine way to spend a weekend afternoon. Cool shade inside the wisteria tunnel is dappling Namjoon with light and shadow. You lean over the picnic tatami and clink lemonade cans with the man who created this masterpiece. He smiles shyly when he realizes you’re staring. You’re giving him that look. Once upon a time, discovering that you don’t care too much about your surroundings excited Namjoon. It’s a form of power he never thought he would have in a marriage. Perusing local furniture galleries and commissioning artists to furnish a home that suits his aesthetic sparked Namjoon’s creativity. Tempering compost, monitoring seedlings in the garden, and flecking walkways with wildflowers and willows brims him with encompassing adoration for life. Beauty is created in the wake of his passionate work. “Unbutton your shirt halfway.” You're taking a sip of lemonade, leaning back, and watching Namjoon follow your instruction. Buttons open somewhat shakily. He rests his hands and waits to hear your next idle thought on what he should do for you. The outlines of these moments cross your mind slowly and meander to your imagination. You don’t have the patience for gardening. You do have the patience to capture some of Namjoon’s beauty for yourself.  

SEOKJIN ➜

note | blindfolds

Your coworkers have met him at parties. Seokjin is a friendly, handsome man with savoir faire. A creative list of salacious reasons a man like that would drop his career forms behind your back. Seokjin scoffs when you relay gossip to him. He’s especially fond of the idea he’s a criminal witness skirting discovery. Trying the hobbies he never had time for, taking his little cousins to the aquarium, fishing weekends, signing up for classes at the local university, streaming liveplays out of his gaming room or cooking tutorials out of the fancy kitchen you funded—Seokjin savors it all with fresh-faced enthusiasm. Some days he just takes out the trash, folds laundry, edges himself, gets bored, catnaps, and checks his phone to see if you can call because he’s lonely today and nothing he could do compares to hearing his wife tell him what’s on her mind. There is an unwieldy desire inside Seokjin, despite it all. He needs to demonstrate the ways he cherishes, protects, and provides for you. Sometimes, it’s being the person you need to tell about your day. It’s being the person who cooks your comfort foods, provides warm hugs, queues your shows, and takes you on dates. Most often, it’s your kiss on his forehead as you adjust the blindfold and praise him sweetly. “You’re the reason,” you remind him with another kiss, “that I’m always smiling when I think about home.”

[bringmoreknives]

(via demolitionlovers, fuckyeahray-blog)

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #400

“it’s an age-old story: the first will be last, and the last will be kings  /  the small will be great, and the great will be weak”

Who was the last person you sincerely thanked? My mom; I thank her every time she cooks for me/us, and I really do mean it. What’s the longest you’ve ever stayed as a guest at someone’s house? Somewhere around a month. What was the last thing to really surprise you? My brother has a fiancee and is having another son! :') Have you ever found out that you have been sleep walking? No. Have you ever tried making something from one of those short cooking videos? How did it turn out? No. Have you ever written a review for a product you bought online? No. What was the last thing you had the urge to do? Idk about anything notable. Is there anyone you feel that takes you for granted? No. What is the last thing you had a craving for? A donut. Do you ever read the comments on social media posts? Sometimes. What was the last thing you felt like you wasted money on? It's so rare that I buy things with my own cash that I really don't know. What was the last thing you wanted to buy, but couldn’t afford? Venus' terrarium on my own. Mom has to help me with buying it. What is a recipe you’d like to try to make for yourself? I don’t cook, so. What goes through your mind when you look back at old photographs of yourself? More than anything, I get sad over how much weight I've gained. I was so healthy once upon a time. It also just makes me miss my childhood. What was the subject matter of the last email you sent? I believe it was about setting up an appointment with my therapist. How do you get your news? Facebook articles, really. What do you think about lizards? I love them! I was that kid that always tried to catch them when I saw 'em. Now I just observe because I don't want to terrify them by trying to pick them up. Have you ever done consumer testing (testing products before they come out on the market)? If not, would you ever want to? No, but sure, I'd do it. Have you ever received anesthesia or morphine? Both. The time I received morphine, it did jack-all for me. If you had to choose which video game to be in, which would it be? Hmmm... I would say Azeroth from World of Warcraft, but too much shit goes down, ha ha. Perhaps the top of the temple in Shadow of the Colossus? So long as I could have someone I love with me, I'd be in Heaven. Although... I doubt there's WiFi there, so I might drop that answer, lmfao. I really don't know. Between the two, would you rather live in a place where it’s only night or where it’s only day? Day. I need the natural light of day sometimes, and if I wanted to sleep, I could just find shade. If you had to be an actor/actress in a movie, what genre of the movie would you be best at? Fantasy. Out of fire, earth, water, wind, light, and dark, which element appeals the most to you? Dark. What’s one thing that you wish was real? Friendly dragons, haha. Is there anything (show, comedian, etc.) that you constantly quote or make references to? No. What’s your favorite Disney Channel movie? I have absolutely no idea. I don't even remember almost any of them. What’s your favorite holiday? Christmas. Do you ever have to do yard work? No. Do you have any live versions of songs in your music software? Yes. Did/do you listen to Britney Spears songs? Yeah, sometimes. I genuinely don't mind her. Do you still make Christmas lists? Yeah, because I'm asked to. Do you watch the show Dexter? Never seen it. Which musical instrument do you think sounds the prettiest? I'm torn between the violin, harp, and piano. Is your mom or dad the older parent? Mom, by a year. Do you and your parents like any of the same bands/singers? A lot, actually. Is there any food in your bedroom? What? I have these tictacs I keep in my purse in case of a dry mouth. Medication makes me have that severely, and my psychiatrist recommended me to always have a hard candy available to suck on since it forces salivation. Do you know anyone who has road rage? Who? My younger sister, badly. How far away do your grandparents live from you? They're all dead, but they lived in far away states. Do you know anyone who wants to be the president one day? No. What kinds of chips are in the cupboards? None. It's a bad idea to keep chips in this house, haha. Do you have your mom's or dad's hair? Well, I was born with dirty blonde hair like my dad, but my hair is thick and more similar in color now to my mom's before the cancer completely drained the color. If you were going out with your celebrity crush, what would you wear? OH MY GOD LA;KSDJFAKLWJE I DON'T KNOW I LOOK AWFUL IN EVERYTHING. Have you ever cried when a teacher retired? Teared up, yes, multiple times. Do you swear and yell while playing video games? I might swear under my breath, but that's the extent of it. If you were adopted, would you want to know? At this point in my life, I don't really know. I kinda find myself leaning towards no. Has a best friend ever ditched you for a girlfriend/boyfriend? Pretty much. Do your pets chase after bugs? Roman sure does. When’s the last time you were so excited you couldn’t sleep? Why? I want to say that was the night before I was getting my tattoo redone. Do you own any flip-flops? Yeah, considering they're like... all I wear, ever. Did you ever really believe that the stork brought babies? I don't believe so, no. Have you ever had a dream about sleeping with a celebrity? (You don’t have to give details.) It was the only lucid dream I've ever had and I'm not complaining about it lmao. Have you ever had a dream that upset you or made you cry? Oh I'm sure. Has anyone ever told you that they needed you? Do you think they meant it? Not to my recollection, no, and I don't believe you should ever adopt that mentality and say that to someone. Do you own a laser? No. Is there anything you like to put on a sandwich, that some might find odd? Nah. I do enjoy a layer of potato chips on some sandwiches, like ham and cheese, but I know that's like an actual thing some people just like. What colour are the shoes you wear most often? They're black flip-flops. When was the last time you were required to put on a mask? In the morning when I go to the TMS office. And what colour was the last mask you wore? It's one of those normal blue and white medical ones. The last time you were in a queue, what were you waiting for? To see the woman who would give me my APAP mask. Have you had your Covid vaccine yet? Which one, if you have? Yes, Moderna. If you've had your vaccine, did you experience any side effects? None for the first shot, but my second shot bruised badly and I felt seriously shitty the following day. I was perfectly fine afterwards, though. Can any of your friends sing well? Which one has the nicest singing voice? Sara has an AMAAAAAAAAAAAZING voice. When was the last time you wore make-up, if ever? What shades/colours? I don't even remember, but I'm sure it would've been black. What is something that seems popular, but doesn't interest you personally? Fashion, various TV shows, etc... Are you clumsy or graceful? I am STUPID clumsy. Like it's just ridiculous. Do you like gloves? I like fingerless gloves. Does your sibling(s) have braces? My older sister did as a kid. Do you ever say "OMG" in person? No; it's a random pet peeve of mine, "Internet talk" irl. What was the last thing your parents got mad at you for? Dad, no idea. Mom, uhhhh. Not "mad," but "annoyed" probably better fits how she felt about me leaving the heating pad I use for my cramps on the floor. Do your pets have favorites? I'm definitely Roman's favorite seeing as he is my literal shadow, and I'd assume Venus trusts me more than anyone else, but realistically, she's in contact with almost no one else, so. Who was your first boyfriend/girlfriend? Why did you break up? The first guy to have the title of "boyfriend" was Aaron, and I broke up with him 'cuz I just wasn't as romantically into him as I thought I might be. It was puppy-dog love, and I feel I knew that. My first *real* boyfriend was Jason, who broke up with me because my mental illnesses began to affect his wellbeing. Which I now accept is fine, but he seriously coulda gone about things differently... When was the last time you got a new bed? Is your bed comfy? Late into my teenage years; idk the exact age and don't feel like doing the math. Teddy kept peeing on the bed to where it was just unrecoverable and needed to be thrown away. My current bed is comfy enough. What kind of games did you play on the playground when you were younger? My absolute favorite was digging tunnels in the sandbox, pretending to be a meerkat. The only trend I ever created, haha, seeing as my classmates got into it with me, allowing us to make huge tunnel systems. It was really cool. I also liked playing 4 Square (which I now don't even remember the details of) on the basketball court. Do you remember the first time you ever drove a car? Who were you with? Yeah, my driver's ed instructor and the guy who was on the same route as me. What’s your favorite thing to do when drunk? Would you do this sober? N/A Are you a fan of dogs? Do you have any as pets? I'm picky with dogs. I like interacting with any dog, but I don't plan on ever owning another. I don't like how hyper they can be, and I prefer more independent pets, like cats. Basically, I'll be hyped to meet a random dog on the street and give it some loving, but I don't want to take it home to be my own. Are you an elitist (even a little bit) when it comes to anything? What? No. I cannot stand elitists. Is just being fond of something enough, or does it take more than that to be a ‘real fan’? And I hate gatekeeping in fandoms even more. There are varying intensities of "being a fan," but regardless, if you like something, congratulations, you're a valid, "real" fan. What type of fabric is most comfortable for clothing? I don't pay attention to this, honestly. If you wear one – bras with or without a wire? I'll wear either, but without is way more comfortable. If you wear one – are you able to find cute bras in your size? God no. What length do you like your shorts to be? I don’t wear shorts. What was the last disappointing movie you saw? Warcraft, but not because it was bad. I've talked before how in the theater, the orcs' voices were just so fucking baritone that I couldn't understand almost ANYTHING they said. Kinda ruined the experience for me. What was the last disappointing book you read? Don't recall. Do you ever watch compilation videos? Of what? Very rarely. If I do, they're mostly of animals being silly. Favorite Disney character who isn’t royalty? Probably Dory, but idk. There's WAY too many options to fish through.

[sensoryo]

Well, this is it for me. I'm done. You did is Supernatural. You really fucking did it. Serves me right for still having scrap of faith in you. Or your ability to follow through on anything.

You had a chance you do something really special here, the bar was set so fucking low and somehow, you managed to miss even that. This is your legacy. A series finale so underwhelimg, so regressive and so fucking mindless so that I still wonder if this was some fever dream or mass halucination.

In what universe this is satysfing? In what universe this episode was about the brothers AND found family they made along the way that was so proudly sold to us in the interviews?

I'm refusing to celebrate Supernatural in any shape or form. I'm in the process of deleting my queued SPN posts.

When I see Cas' face I start to cry at the disrespect he recieved (fan favourite, third brother MY ASS). Being Cas fan was never easy but what you did is a fucking slap in the face.

When I see Dean's or Sam's face or I can think of how 15 years of developmnet went down the drain to satisfy some sick bibors incest fantasies.

When I see Dean/Cas posts all I can think of is WHY. Why did you make it text if you didn’t give us a resolution or even a fucking mention.

I will keep fanworks in my queue because conent creators are superstars and their work deserve and needs to be shared and celebrated.

It’s you, Supernatural. You never deserved us.

[thylalock]

Title: Celestial By: thylalock Characters: William Schofield, Tom Blake, Joseph Blake Pairing: William Schofield/Tom Blake Summary: Celestial beings don’t die, not truly. Before they completed their tasks, their souls will always reincarnate on Earth. On April 5th, 1896, Elizabeth Schofield had her first son—William Schofield. His task was quite simple: reunite Tom and Joseph Blake. Tags: fantasy AU, angel AU, reincarnation AU, modern AU, truly just an excuse for me to write Sco as an angel that he really is, will he and Blake meet again in the later incarnations? A/N: evidently I’m a weakling for AUs Chapter 1 (of 5): Operation Alberich Full text below the tag or here!

Fore A/N: wow I'm still emotional about this movie after watching it twice in the cinema and reading the script that I needed to get this out of my chest.

—

1896

It was a chilly dawn in April 5th, 1896, but none of it registered to Henry Schofield, who was pacing up and down the hallway just outside the closed door, or to Elizabeth Schofield, who was squeezing the bedpost and crying on top of her lungs as she pushed for the baby for safe delivery.

It might have sprinkled a bit in the morning, when the sun was barely peeking from the far end of the horizon, but none of it mattered. Because none of it could eclipse the bright smile etched on William Schofield’s face as he stared into his mother’s eyes, his cheeks rosy and his smile toothless.

Of course, it would be very natural for the young couple to be blinded by the simple smile of the little one—Henry and Elizabeth Schofield, very much in love, was barely of age themselves when they married, eyes glistening as they stared into each other on the aisle, vowing to be one—but the midwife noticed it.

The other girls from the village who had been helping her delivering the baby had gone downstairs to fetch some water and clean clothes to clean the mess, but for a second, the old woman could’ve sworn she saw the boy's eyes flashed. It wasn’t a blinding flash, although the parents would beg to differ, but under the shadow of April shower that morning, there was no mistaking that there was a glow emanating from the baby's eyes.

When she blinked, however, it was gone, so the midwife paid no mind to it.

—

1906

William—or Will, as how he usually went with these times—grew into a very sweet boy of ten years old.

He was quiet and a bit reserved, always steered clear from conflicts, and was gentle and caring and awfully protective of her two younger sisters, Mary and Elsie. He worked hard for school and during the weekends he could always find the time to help Elizabeth in the bakery even though the young woman always ushered him to go outside and play with his friends. He was relatively clear of any history of troubles, compared to the other boys in his school, except of a handful of times when he punched some boys for trying to kiss Mary as a part of a dare. He was an honest boy and he had relatively no trouble admitting to his mother that he hated being a thin and gangly boy who was too tall for his age the first time he went home with a bruise on his cheek.

But Elizabeth just wished she could get to know her first and only son better.

Of course she knew him, Will was never the kind of child who would hide things from her—she knew he was aware of the fact that she would always love him, all of her three children, whatever happened—but there were times when Will seemed troubled, Elizabeth wished he could only tell what was wrong when she asked him instead of flashing her one of his beautiful smiles, dodging the question away.

It didn’t help that he stopped lying to her, telling her that he was fine, the following months after they discovered that Henry Schofield wasn’t going to be home from the Second Boer War. Forever.

So she would usually just gather him into a hug and kissed the top of his head until he wriggled out, groaning playfully as he insisted that he was alright.

Because unbeknownst to the young mother, the boy himself couldn’t describe it.

—

1910

Will couldn’t place a finger on when he really started hearing those voices.

It was some time ago that he finally accepted the fact that he probably had started hearing the voices in his dreams from a very young age, forgetting them as soon as he woke up, before it finally permeated into his waking moments. He never really knew who it was, but it wasn't until he was fourteen that he realized what the voice had been saying.

He needs water!

Will blinked, the sight of his friend pushing back into focus as he snapped out of his reverie. “Will! He needs water! Get me your bottle!”

Will complied, although he retrieved his bottle from his school backpack a little too slowly, his mind trying not to short-circuit at the revelation. The boy in front of him, Matthew, was helping another boy, Richard, who had a cut on his chin from where he landed on the pavement, flesh raking into the ground and collecting dirt. He was on his way back home from school with his friends and there had been a fight about some nonsense about a girl that Will didn’t really understand, but the quick instinct that jumped into action as he pulled Richard away from the fight quickly dulled as he heard the words.

He needs water!

Matthew barked something at him, probably because he was moving too slowly, before snatching the bottle himself, pouring the contents on Richard’s chin. “For god’s sake, stay still Richard, you can’t have mud on a cut as big as that!”

Every was dull and silent and roaring and loud at the same time in Will’s head. He didn’t register his surroundings until he closed the door to his room, his back sliding against the cool wood and his mother’s questions from the kitchen went unheard.

—

1914

Will stood in front of a simple desk, a group of boys and young men bustling behind him.

He hated doing this. Not a lot of his friends had a family member swallowed by the horrors of war, as how it was evident from the way the lot of them was too eager to sign up to fight for the King and country even though they were barely sixteen years old, but Will knew. More than that, he understood—the impact that it would do to his mother and his two younger sisters. But to say he could easily dodge the pressure from his friends and neighbors, and the tiny voice pushing him to do his part to defend the country, with his views would be lying.

So here he was, standing in the queue, finally his turn to face the officer on the desk. The older man asked how old he was, and he lied through his teeth.

“Nineteen, sir.”

The man looked up, and Will widened his eyes in pure shock as he saw the man’s eyes flashed golden for less than a second, his breath knocked out from his lungs as he staggered backward.

“Oi, you alright mate?” a young man, who was next in the queue and was standing quite close behind him, asked, holding him steady. Will looked at him and was scared to see that the man didn’t even seem to register the unnatural event that he just witnessed. He slowly regained his composure as scanned the crowd around him, each man looking absorbed in their own business—how could nobody see that?

“You’re eighteen, boy, it’s not your time yet. Next!”

Will walked out of the building, feeling a wave of relief that was too confusing. As he stood there for a moment, calming his beating heart, he noticed a few more boys walking out of the building, looking pissed that they didn’t get the chance to fight.

The officer knew he wasn’t nineteen yet, even though the physical difference wouldn’t be recognizable for a gap as small as one year, and he knew all those boys were too young too. His words rang in his ears. It’s not your time yet.

—

1915

It was the same officer that accepted him the following year.

Will hadn’t been sure about it, a lot of his friends and neighbors were now dead and his family had insisted on him not to sign up, but as his eyes connected with the officer’s, a silent understanding passed between them. When the man’s eyes flashed golden once again, he found himself not feeling scared, but certain.

He received the message. This was what he was meant to do.

—

1917

It was the only feeling that he kept close to his heart.

Through the shells, through the deafening bombs, through the piss-soaked handkerchief he clamped tightly against his nose as the trench was flooded by chlorine gas, through the artillery attack and the shrapnel pieces raining down on him, through rain-soaked earth, through blood, through bullets that narrowly missed his helmet from snipers from the other side of no man’s land. But also through hunger, through bites of lice and invasion of rats, through the rain that froze him to near death and infection when the trenches were drained, through the boredom of waiting on the backline with no mail and nothing to eat, through the latrines and the sound of dying soldiers that he helped carry on the stretchers, begging him not to let them die.

To say that war was a cesspool of insanity, a whirlwind of unending terror and boredom and the guilt for alternating between both, was truly an understatement.

A little under two years since he signed up, Will was really ready to give up, until he heard it.

“Sho—Schofield? Did I get it right? Lance Corporal Schofield?”

Will looked up not so much at the mention of his name as much at the voice that wormed itself into his head. That voice—

The soldier before him suddenly turned back, looking at the sky behind him as though he expected to see a German aircraft in the sky rain bullets on them, legs already adopting the pose to enable him to jump. Will rose to his feet just as quickly, his hand already on his rifle and his feet ready to jump for the nearest cover.

“What is it, what is it?” Will asked, his voice rasping from dry throat. There were only the two of them in this corner of the line, and Will was ready to sprint to tell his commander of the threat.

But then the soldier before him them relaxed before turning back to him. “God, sorry, I thought there was something in the sky. Must be the trick of the light, though, saw something flashed in your eyes.”

This was the first time his brain nearly short-circuited since the day Richard Kent cut his chin on the pavement.

Everything about the soldier standing before him screamed new recruit —his build, his rosy cheeks, his demeanor and the fact he couldn’t stop talking, his youthfulness, the uniform on his person that Will would bet hadn’t seen the horrors that he’d seen, the lack of callous on his hands, the fact that he didn’t look like the war had cut some ten years from his lifespan, the generally clean and prim state of his person and belongings—and yet there was something about his voice Will couldn’t put a finger on. Something familiar about his voice—

“They told me you’d be here, so there you go. Got yourself a mail.”

There was something about his voice—

But that couldn’t be. There was nothing about this boy that didn’t betray the fact that he was a nineteen years old, if not younger, new recruit. There was no doubt he hadn’t met this chap before—so how could any of it be familiar?

“Blake, the name’s Blake.”

—

Blake turned out to be a very nice company.

True, sometimes he talked too much and was a bit insensitive, asking about the Somme and Ypres when all the men in the regiment would rather erase the words from their heads, and sometimes they could all do with a bit of silence to rest during the afternoons, but he was funny, never short of hilarious stories to tell, and quite frankly, he was the epitome of what it meant to be human. A reminder for him to stay sane in the middle of the war.

One couldn’t really choose one’s companies in wars—everyone was each other’s brother—but there was something comforting in working with Blake. Carrying the rations with him, helping the wounded with him, digging the bloody earth with him, even though the task used to bore and tire him to death.

One day, as they sat on the slightly damp earth in the backline, playing chess with rocks as makeshift chess pieces to kill time, he correctly deduced that Blake had an older brother.

“How did you know?” the young man asked in the middle of a chess game, astonished. Will only looked up and offered a small smile before he moved his rook, cornering Blake’s knight.

—

And so Will found himself leaning against a tree and drifted off to sleep in one of the rare afternoons where Blake was too tired to tell him the stories about how Evans woke half the trench up upon finding a rat in his pants or how Davies broke the latrine pole and sent his five of his comrades into the muck.

But then he heard Sanders woke Blake up, telling him to take a man and follow him.

It felt almost natural that Blake would offer his hand to him, would choose him to go with the young man, but then something happened as their palms touched.

A weak current seemed to flow from Will’s fingertips, tingling the base of his arms, but he ignored it. He’d been having some of these inexplicable and strange occurrences around Blake for a while now that he was able to brush it off as nothing in the face of the real absurdity of the Great War.

They walked down the trench to follow the Sergeant, Blake getting chatty as usual at the news of Myrtle having puppies, and Will wisely refusing to participate in a bet with him with enough healthy common sense, being the more sensible of the two.

—

The first time he realized it, he put his hand on Blake’s arm immediately, almost instinctively. Something just dawned on him—a feeling he couldn’t quite describe, something foreign and familiar at the same time, a tingling sensation in his bones that told him it was his job to look out for the younger man beside him, more than any other times. Something akin to the understanding—or dare he say it, the accepting of fate—that he felt as he finally signed up to do his part in the Great War, bravely leveling his gaze on the recruiting officer in front of him. Blake stopped climbing the ladder, retrieving his arm from where he was about to grab hold of the parapet to heave himself upwards.

This was it, this was what he was meant to do.

“Age before beauty,” Will said in a low voice, before climbing up the parapet himself.

—

“No, NO!”

And then a deafening explosion.

It happened in less than a fraction of a second that Will was not able to register anything.

But there was something. Someone. A voice, a familiar voice, a voice he had been hearing ever since he was a child. A tug. A faint feeling of his own body being pulled upwards, dull enough that he thought he was dreaming, that he was not inside his own person. A voice, a shout, a tug on his soul—

“WAKE UP! UP!”

His lungs convulsed and he retched, coughing out an awful amount of dust. He was alive.

—

The fact was Will could listen to Blake talk for eternity.

He might have never admitted it—and he really would never admit it, come to think of it, for the sake of other men who really needed the rest, Blake really didn’t need the encouragement—and he often dodged the prospect by saying he was not in the mood to listen, but the fact held true. He might have dozed off a few times during Blake’s endless stock of recounts, too tired to keep listening, but he loved listening to his voice. It was sweet, melodious, full of excitement and rich in hope, shining like a beacon with lights bright enough to pierce through the clouds in Will’s war-addled mind, reminding him of what was pure and what was human.

Gently caressing his soul like a lullaby, because, now he realized, he had been listening to it since he was a child .

And so Will found himself relaxing to Blake’s recount of how Wilko had lost his ear to a rat, of all things.

He had refused to listen to it at first, insisting that they kept their eyes fixed on the ridges for the oncoming Germans and kept their guards, but of course, Blake wouldn’t listen. And Will finally accepted it. They had set one bloody explosive just then, barely escaping the collapsing dugout in the process and nearly getting buried alive themselves, and had stood on open space for a long time. The fact that they hadn’t been shot then could only account for the fact that there was no one to shoot them—that was, if the Germans didn’t have more tricks up their sleeves.

And Will knew Blake was trying to make up for when they had a bit of an argument back then, so he let him.

And he laughed. First reluctantly, then appreciatively, and then genuinely.

The two aircraft they had seen earlier returned from the enemy lines, silencing them both.

—

There was a dull throb in his bones as soon as he set foot on the little house. He didn’t like the place.

He couldn’t decide what inflicted the particular thought—among the dead cows he spotted lying on the far end of the horizon, the cherry trees chopped down to rot, the dead dog he saw lying on the other side of the farmhouse, or the fact that the Germans just gave them miles and miles of land that Will couldn’t quite grasp his mind around—but there was something about it that didn’t feel right. As though there was some evil written on the walls.

“Anything?” Blake called out from the backyard.

Will concluded there was nothing in the area, and said as much to Blake, but he didn’t know if it was true.

—

He knew he was wrong when he heard it. He didn’t know what it meant, but he knew something big was about to unfold.

This was the only time he hated hearing Blake’s voice, even though his voice and these particular words were something he had been listening to since he was a child.

“No, get him some water, he needs water! ”

Will couldn’t take his eyes off Blake, his breathing stopping and his heartbeat stuttering. There was something, something—

He didn’t want to look away from him, he didn’t want to let him out of his sight— how could he had heard this since he was a child —the gravity of the situation was pulling him into the earth, swallowing him whole, snatching his consciousness years into the past before throwing him back into the present in less than a second—something was wrong and he didn’t know what and he didn’t want to lose sight of Blake—

But he complied, and never had tearing his eyes from Blake felt so painful.

Because that was what he embodied. That was what Blake was the epitome of in the midst of this war—humanity. In the most important moment and revelation of his life, Will would not betray what Blake represented in his life.

Blake, Blake, Blake—

Before he regretted it.

“Stop, STOP!”

Will’s neck snapped to Blake so quickly it was a miracle he didn’t sprain it. Before he knew it, he sent two bullets down the German’s body, killing him outright.

Both of them stood looking at each other, Blake’s hands working around the buttons of his uniform, and Will standing there stupefied, both knowing what just happened.

Blake fell on his knees first, looking more like it was at the sight of the blood and the realization of the wound more than the actual pain itself, and Will followed suit, kneeling beside him. His voice shook. God, god—he pressed the dressing onto Blake’s wound, hoping to stop the bleeding although the latter writhed in pain and threw him curses. He couldn’t lose him now, he was supposed to look out for him—he couldn’t lose him, he couldn’t lose him, he couldn’t lose him.

Blake was losing blood impossibly fast, the color draining from his person too quickly. Will was desperate—he’d do anything, anything , he’d lift him, he’d pull him up for as often as he needed to, he’d even carry his whole body himself in his own arms if he needed to, he just couldn’t lose Blake—

“Your brother! We have to find your brother!” Will cried, pleaded, begged . Warm blood was flowing out of the spaces between his fingers in a sickly rhythm with Blake’s beating heart that was slowly losing strength, and Will hated it—he hated it .

He couldn’t lose him, not now, not ever, not—

“You’ll recognize him,” Blake breathed, sending Will’s heart to the bottom of his abdomen.

Will shut his eyes, not trusting his voice to even debate it—no.

“He looks like me,” Blake said, panting, “and, he’s a bit older.”

And then his head lolled to his side, resting against Will’s chest. His breathing slowed, he stopped panting, finally giving in to the death sentence, and Will hated himself for not knowing how to instill the fight back into Blake’s heart. He was still frantically looking around for help—Aid Posts, nearest cover, anything—he couldn’t lose him, he couldn’t lose him for god’s sake—

The roof of the fallen barn behind them collapsed, eaten by the fire roaring from the burning aircraft, sending embers into the air. He noticed how Blake was eyeing them curiously. Will knew what it was—blood was no longer feeding his brain and he slowly forgot what just happened.

“Are we being shelled?”

Will looked at him. He’d seen countless of other soldiers dying, he knew what it meant. “They’re embers, the barn is on fire.”

It was painful to watch as Blake’s eyes travel to the wound on his abdomen, realizing that the pool of blood seeping through to his pants was his own, but it was yet more painful when he put his cold palm on Will’s own. So gentle and weak and childlike and pale and feeble.

When Blake asked if he was dying, it was as painful and agonizing for Will to admit that he was, indeed, dying.

Tears pooled on Blake’s eyes. He was crying.

So there was nothing else he could do except to offer him promises—a letter to Blake’s mother, the safe delivery of the message, finding his brother.

—

“Come with me, Corporal. That’s an order.”

Will had seen countless other men dying, a lot of them cradled in his arms, a lot of them clutching onto his person, a lot of them too young, a lot of them losing the heat of their body on his lap, and a lot of them holding his hand, but Blake’s death felt like something was robbed from his soul.

—

It was the only thing that filled his mind and burned through his being as he left the abandoned barn, on the truck to Ecoust, on the mud that trapped the wheels.

“We all need to push! COME ON!”

It burned. It scorched his being, it burned in his eyes that were threatening to spill angry tears, it torched his throat as he roared in his attempt to move the truck, and it glowed bright—

When they finally got the wheel out of the mud, half of the men filed back into the back of the truck immediately, looking quite pleased that they could continue their journey, while the other half looked slightly annoyed that the driver had opted to veer out of the road and got them trapped in the first place. No one paid any attention to him except one Sikh soldier who offered him a hand to help him stand.

“Back in. Get back in. Go.”

There was nothing he wanted more in the world than to just continue his journey, reaching Ecoust as fast as he could. He knew his emotions were probably written all over his face, but he couldn’t care less.

But unbeknownst to Will, it was not what caught the Sikh’s attention.

It was the literal flash in Will’s eyes, there for a second and gone the next.

—

When he hit the back of his head on the staircase landing, his last thought was his promise to Blake.

—

And it was the first thought that passed through his mind upon waking up.

And so he pushed his way through the city, with only flares to see and ruined walls for cover and luck to pray to.

He pushed his way through the city, through the painful throb on the back on his head, through the aching hole bleeding open on his chest because the lost baby girl in Ecoust reminded him of his little sisters and the young maiden reminded him of his own mother, through the weight of his webbing pulling him under the water as he vaulted down into the river, through the white freezing water roiling all around him and choking his lungs, through the fatigue that was slowly claiming his person as he sat listening to the eerily lonesome ballad—

Blake. Blake. Sixteen hundred men. Joe Blake, Colonel Mackenzie.

Letter.

Devons.

Blake. Blake...

“We’re the Devons.”

There was a dull ebbing in the liquid of his brain. He had trouble understanding it, accepting it. He was there .

The fire had burned too long. His flesh were singed and his sinews exhausted, but the revelation splashed fuel onto his being and cleared his mind. Will rose to his feet.

—

For a moment there was nothing but the sound of his heart beating as he made the decision.

Something dawned on him. There would be no time. These men had prepared to attack in a moment’s notice with lieutenants counting down the seconds to the attack and Mackenzie was still nowhere to be seen, the next man he asked always telling him he was further and further up the line. He had no choice, no time to deal with the bustling soldiers lining up the front line and knocking over him as he tried to push his way through, no time—

And so he climbed up the sloping ground that was the only protection for the front line.

He’d walk through the line of fire for these sixteen hundred men. For Blake.

—

Something tugged on his soul. He heard something behind him.

He realized it now. All the gentle tugging on his soul and all the strange occurrences he’d had throughout his life, all the voices and all the glows, all the gentle tingling in his bones and the inexplicable instinct in his gut. It took his stupid self so long, so bloody long, but he realized it now.

It all pointed to Blake.

But this, this was a different tug. Something similar but not quite the same—

Will knew what it was before he finished his train of thought. He knew who he would see as he turned around.

Lieutenant Joseph Blake.

—

1918

Funny how he went back to the insane and deranged cycle of alternating between terror and boredom as he went to his next battles without Blake on his side.

Will heard the deafening sound of the explosion for a split second, and then all was black.

And then—and then all was white.

—

1919

On the other side of England, a nurse gasped.

The head nurse barked an order to her, telling her to clean the baby and to immediately fetch her more clean clothes for the young mother. She complied, but she could’ve sworn she saw the baby’s eyes flashed for a second.

—

NOTES: the minimum age to sign up in World War I was nineteen, but a lot of boys from age 15 to 18 managed to lie their way in. Before the respirators were introduced, many soldiers had to literally piss on clothes to filter the chlorine gas, utilizing the ammonia in the urine to neutralize the chlorine. This was before the discovery that chlorine and ammonia can, in fact, interact to produce other toxic byproducts, but, you know, it worked at the moment. Nevertheless, the urine-soaked clothes functioned like a normal water-soaked cloth, so it worked quite well. The title of the chapter, Operation Alberich, is the name of German's strategic withdrawal to the shorter Hindenburg Line in the movie. It's a strategy to distribute the men into fewer divisions, therefor strengthening their position. (Correct me if I'm wrong, though, this is the best I could do to make it as real as possible but constructive criticism is always welcomed!)

End A/N: PHEW AHAHAHAHAH finally got it out of my chest! This is the first chapter of the five chapters that I planned, what do you guys think?

[bringmoreknives]

altpack editing weeks → week a, day four: favorite song

“just turn it off  a g a i n...”