#focusing on the important things in life here

[aihoshiino]

chapter 165 thoughts

Aqua Hoshigan Status: It's Officially Hoshinover

Chapters Until The Story Ends Without The 143 Kiss Being Addressed Or Acknowledged: 1

damn i guess they really did just kill his ass

I'm gonna be so real with you gamers, I kind of don't have a lot to say about this one either lol. Which I acknowledge sounds completely wild given the Everything that happens in it, but most of my meat and potatoes analysis in these reviews comes from breaking down characterization and we're flying through everything at such breakneck pace that we're barely getting any characterization.

It continues to drive me bugfuck insane that Ai is completely absent from this finale despite the importance of 15 Year Lie. Its imagery is plastered all over but whenever we return to it, we just see Aqua. Not only that, but Gotanda is the one who insists on pushing the movie through for Aqua. 15YL as a story about Ai's true self and her tragedy is now officially taking a backseat to being about Aqua's tragic death and legacy. It was already bad enough that we spent so much time in the Movie Arc not actually focusing on Ai to the extent that, as everyone pointed out, based on what we saw on-page it was basically a Sad Kamiki Movie, but this really is just pissing right in the wound at this point lmao.

The funeral scene also serves as the final nail in the coffin for any Secretly Alive Aqua copes, which is kind of a relief. I still don't like how Aqua's death played out, but I think dragging it out for four chapters then going "sorry you thought i was /srs when i was just /jk" would have been infinitely more insulting. I don't like this ending, but I can respect that Akasaka seems to be sticking to his guns on it, even if we still do have like a whole chapter left for him to whip around and go "I WAS /JK ALL ALONG!!!!" but I don't see it happening.

Anyway, yeah! The funeral! Uh. Is it gonna sound weird if I say I felt kind of like… grossed out reading this the first time? Like, I really don't know how else to explain the visceral "why the fuck is the author making me read this" reaction I had to it. I think it's just because Kana is so fucking distraught here and the drama is just so hammy and so over the top that it feels kind of… ech. I dunno. I just really didn't vibe.

It doesn't help that this is part of a much broader pattern in the back half of OnK of Aka getting us right up close into the gory details of a character's complete mental breakdown and suffering and then spend zero time or focus on their recovery. This happened with Ruby all over the Movie Arc and this many times and with this little runway to the end of the series, it just starts to feel exploitative, like a way to cheaply pull at our heartstrings without doing the work to build everyone back up after tearing them down.

also pre-emptively dreading all the fuel this is going to add to the fires of People Who Are Weird And Misogynistic About Kana but she could die saving innocent children from a burning building and people would find reasons to be shitty about her lmao

we really are not seeing ruby's reaction to finding out her brother was dead huh lol

I will say the one thing I didn't Actively Dislike about this chapter was Ruby, though. I was honestly starting to get pretty skeeved out with how many people were gleefully predicting or actively wishing for her immediate suicide purely for ship motivated reasons and I was also worrying that the story was going to pretend that Ruby doesn't like. Have a life and support system outside of Aqua. Yes, she should absolutely be affected by his death but this period of her shutting down only to drag herself back onto her feet that we seem to be getting feels way more in line with pre-Movie Arc flanderization Ruby and I'll take that W where I can get it.

god. I haven't even talked about Kamiki's supposed serial killer cult. I just don't have the strength. Like… that's self-evidently stupid, right? I don't need to explain to you why that's ridiculous and unbelievable? You don't need me to tell you why it's fucking crazy that we're getting this information about the alleged overarching antagonist of the series not only in the second-to-last chapter of the entire series but after he was already dead, right? We can just move on? Ok good. jesus christ.

FINAL CHAPTER NEXT WEEK…

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

The Boss Part 4 -Oneshot

Word count: 1915

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

“I don’t understand why this is a big deal,” Bucky groaned, picking up his work bag and adjusting his suit jacket.

“What do you mean?  It’s a big deal in any relationship,” Y/N said incredulously.  “Meeting the family is a big step.”

“It’s just Sunday brunch with my sister,” Bucky said, giving her an unimpressed look.

“The sister that I know so little about, other than the fact that she and I have similar traumatic experiences and she’s a designer.  Yeah, I’m feeling really prepared,” Y/N replied sarcastically, grabbing her own bag and walking to the garage.  Bucky was right behind her, unlocking the car and sighing heavily.  Y/N rolled her eyes.  

“Why would you need to be prepared?  It’s not a business lunch.  You just be yourself.  I think you both would get along really well,” he continued as he pulled the car out of the garage.

“Sure.  We’re out of the house, no more home talk,” Y/N said, trying to shut down the conversation.

Bucky gave her a frustrated glance before putting it in drive and taking off.  The drive was silent, which was out of the ordinary.  Y/N knew she was being a little ridiculous.  It was just a brunch.  With his sister.  But she didn’t know much about her.  And meeting new people, especially people that were important to Bucky, was always nerve-wracking.  What if they didn’t get along?  What if his sister hated her?  What if she saw something in Y/N that Bucky didn’t see and told him he deserved better or should find somebody else?  As secure in her relationship as she felt, this was introducing a new dynamic into it, something deeper and more serious between them.  

During the work day Y/N was much quieter and curt with Bucky.  Her regular friendly, polite banter was gone, and she was getting looks from others in the office.  “Are you okay, Y/N?” Steve asked while they were both in the break room getting lunch.

“What?  I’m fine,” Y/N said, frowning at him.

He gave her an arched eyebrow.  “Uh huh,” he said, unconvinced.  “Trouble at home?”

Y/N rolled her eyes.  Steve was the only one who knew that she and Bucky were together.  “Did he say something to you?” she asked him.

“No.  But neither of you are good at keeping a straight face,” he replied.  

“Good to know,” she huffed and grabbed her food.  “Bye Steve.”

“Bye Y/N,” he sing-songed back at her as she marched out of the break room.  She walked out of the office to the hallway leading to the elevators, then quickly veered into the stairwell.  She sat down on the steps, using her legs as a tray to eat her food.  She just wanted some peace and quiet for a moment as she ate.

“What are you doing in here?” Bucky’s voice echoed through the stairwell as he opened the door.

“Eating lunch,” Y/N said around a big bite in her mouth.  

“No shit Sherlock.  Why are you in the stairwell?” Bucky asked sharply.

Y/N took her time chewing then swallowing her bite.  “Just wanted some alone time.  I still have 20 minutes for lunch.  I’ll be in soon.”

Bucky watched her silently, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze, focusing on her food and taking another big bite.  “This is ridiculous,” he griped, then walked down the stairs enough to be at eye level with her.  “Quit acting like you’re this shy, nervous little thing that can’t handle meeting new people.  It’s just Becca.  I don’t understand why you’re so worried about it.”

“Uh uh uh, Mr. Barnes.  We’re at work.  No home conversations at the office,” Y/N said, taking another bite.  “But that’s good I know her name now.”

Bucky blinked, his jaw tight as he glared at her.  “Okay, you’ve made your point.  I haven’t told you much about her because I didn’t feel like it was my place.  But she’s the only family I have left, and I want the two most important women in my life to know each other.”  Y/N glanced at him at those words, seeing how serious he was.  She didn’t say anything, and his frown deepened.  “So you’ll suck me off at work, but you won’t talk to me about anything personal?”

Her eyes widened at him mentioning their sexual moment weeks before late at night in his office.  She glared back at him before standing up.  “Don’t be an asshole.  You’re the one who said work is work, and home is home.  I was just following orders, boss.”  She turned to walk toward the stairwell door, opening the door then slamming it shut behind her.  She marched back into Bucky’s office, grabbing her things before going back up to the front.  Bucky was just walking back in as she came out.  “Kamala, I’m not feeling well.  I’ll forward Mr. Barnes’ meeting schedule to you so you’re aware of who is coming in and when for today,” Y/N said, tapping the counter to Kamala’s desk.

“Oh, I’m sorry, well get feeling better!” Kamala said, giving her a sad look.

“Thank you,” Y/N said.  She gave Bucky a hard look before walking back out of the reception area to the elevators.  Bucky was right on her heels.

“So now you’re just running away?” Bucky accused when she pushed the button for the elevator.  

“No, I’m taking some time to collect myself,” Y/N said, keeping her tone as professional as possible.  

“Y/N–” “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all,” Y/N retorted as the doors opened for the elevator.  She stepped inside and pushed the main level floor button.

“How are you going to get home?” Bucky asked, holding the door open with his hand. 

“I’m not going home,” Y/N said quietly.

Bucky’s face twisted from frustration to sadness.  “Doll–”

“Don’t,” Y/N said, reaching up and moving his hand away.  The doors closed on him, his sad eyes haunting her.  Y/N gritted her teeth as the elevator moved down, literally biting back tears.  When the doors opened she left the building, ordering an Uber.  She had given up her apartment months ago after the whole debacle with her ex-boyfriend stalking her, so she had nowhere else to go.  But that didn’t matter.  The Uber brought her to Bucky’s house, where she ran in and packed a light, weekend bag before getting back in and was later dropped off at a nice hotel.  Now seemed as good a time as any for a short vacation.

***

Later that night as she was cuddled in bed in her bathrobe, finishing her last bit of room service dinner, a call came to her room phone.  Y/N frowned at the phone, waiting until the second ring before reaching over and grabbing it.  “Hello?”

“Hello, Miss Y/L/N?  This is Gwen, one of the front desk receptionists?”

“Uh, yes, how can I help you?”

“There’s a man here who says he’s here to see you.  James Barnes?”

Y/N rolled her eyes.  Of course he knew where she was.  She had forgotten that her location was still enabled on the work phone, sitting right next to her on the nightstand.  “Yeah, you can send him up,” she sighed.

“Okay, thank you.”  

Y/N shifted herself up and out of the bed, annoyed at having to move from her comfortable position.  She adjusted her robe and paused the show she was watching on the TV when she heard a knock on her door.  She took a deep breath to steady her thundering heart as she walked over, unlocked the door and opened it.  Bucky stood there in casual clothes and holding a backpack, a sad expression on his face as his gaze met hers.

They stood staring at each other for a long moment.  Bucky swallowed harshly, then took a step toward her.  “Doll,” he started.  Y/N inhaled deeply.  “Can I come in?”

She paused for a moment then nodded, stepping back to give him room to walk in.  Bucky gave her a small smile and walked around her into the room.  Y/N closed the door and followed him inside.  He stood waiting for her, and as she sat back down on the bed she gestured for him to sit on the chair across from her at the sitting area.  He quickly sat down, leaning on his elbows against his knees.  Y/N didn’t know what to say, so she just waited.  Bucky gnawed on his lower lip before sighing.

“I’m sorry, doll,” he said quietly.  “I’ve been thinking about it all day, and…I shouldn’t have gotten angry or defensive over it.  Meeting family is a big step, so I understand why you would be worried or stressed.  I meant what I said, though.  You and Becca are the most important people in my life.  I just thought that maybe, since things with us have been getting pretty serious, that it was time to introduce you to her.”

Y/N nodded, looking down at her hands.  “I’m sorry, too.  I just panicked.  You’ve given me no reason to be worried or stressed about it, I just…I don’t know.”  She shook her head, upset with herself.  “And then I freaked out and ran away.  I don’t know how to do this whole healthy communication thing.  I’ve never experienced it before.”

Bucky stood and walked to the bed, sitting next to her.  He slowly reached a hand out and gently grasped her hand closest to him.  “It’s gonna take practice, for both of us.  And we’re going to mess up sometimes, like today.  But I, I love you,” he said, squeezing her hand.  “I don’t want to lose you over something that we can fix.  So…can we just try this again?”

Y/N smiled.  “Yeah.”

Buck smiled at her.  “Okay.  So, I was thinking about inviting my sister to Sunday brunch at that bottomless mimosa place you love.  Would you be okay with that?”

Y/N squinted her eyes teasingly.  “So…officially meeting the family?  That’s kind of a big step, don’t you think?”

Bucky huffed a laugh.  “Yeah, it is.  But it’s a step I wanna take with you.”

Y/N’s cheeks were starting to hurt with how hard she was smiling.  “Okay,” she agreed.

He smiled brightly back at her.  “Awesome.  You’re gonna love her.  Her name is Becca.  She’s older than me by two years.  Very smart and artistic.  She designed my house, you know?” He joked, winking at her.

“She did?” Y/N joked back.  “Wow.  And she must be really pretty if she looks anything like you.”  

Bucky blushed at the compliment.  “You tryna sweeten me up?” he smirked.

“Maybe a little bit,” Y/N said, turning to face him more.  She lifted her free hand and traced it up his arm holding her other hand to his shoulder then across his chest.  “I love you,” she said quietly, leaning over and kissing his shoulder.

Bucky smiled softly at her.  “I love you, doll.”  

She glanced at the backpack he brought.  “Did you pack up some stuff just in case I let you stay?”

“Yep,” Bucky said shamelessly.  “I can’t really sleep without you.”  He suddenly pushed her back onto the bed and tucked her into his side.  “Thank you for agreeing to meet her.”

Y/N smiled.  “I’m sure it’ll be great.”

[fatgirlonadate-blog]

21 Days - Day 14

They say that to know someone is to love them. But what about loving someone without really knowing them? There aren't any famous quotes or pretty sayings for it, but it's just as real. You'd know because you're living it.

There's love at first sight, you suppose. But that isn't what happened with Xavier; it was almost the opposite. He'd been so beautiful that it was hard to look at him, but he had seemed strangely wary of you. He'd looked at you like you were somehow just as dangerous as the wanderers lurking in the shadows.

No, it was definitely not love at first sight. Xavier was mysterious and intriguing, but there was no life-altering pull toward him the moment your eyes met.

Not like there was when you had met Sylus.

Fuck. Not now; not Sylus. More confusion is the last thing you need.

Xavier's fevered promises have been replaying in your mind like a song stuck on repeat since last night. It was easy to ignore them when you were focused on caring for him, and even more easy to forget them as he caressed and kissed away all of the thoughts from your mind. But in the quiet moments since, his pleading words, said so brokenly, are all you’ve been able to think about.

Whatever it is that haunts him has now also possessed you.

You want to believe that it's not important. You know you need to let it go. If he wanted you to know, then he would let you in without having to push him for it. But curiosity is in your bloodstream now, circulating through all of your thoughts and feelings.

How can you fully love him while only knowing half of him? Maybe even less.

It's not like you don't know him at all - you do. In the past two weeks, you've learned more about him than you ever thought you would. You know the exact way he likes his milk tea, the feel of his fingers moving inside you, and that, if it came to it, he’d lay down his life for you without a second thought. And yet, you don’t even know if he has a middle name or what his life was like before he woke up in yours.

"What are you thinking about?" Xavier asks, his voice dragging you out of your thoughts and back to the present.

You're curled up on the couch beside him, snug against his side, wrapped in the warmth of his arms. Most of the day has been spent right here with him, just like this. He claimed that the only surefire cure for his cold was a horror movie marathon, but you’re fairly certain it was actually just an excuse to cuddle you all day. Not a moment has gone by without him touching you somehow—a hand resting on your thigh, an arm lazily draped over your shoulder, or his legs intertwined with yours.

His fingers glide down your arm now, lightly stroking your bare skin, and you realize he's still waiting for you to answer his question.

"Your birthday," you lie, saying the first thing that comes to mind. "It's almost here."

"Yeah," he nods. "Do I still get to pick the book?"

"Only if you are a very good boy," you tease, knowing you've already picked out a book and more for his special day.

He laughs softly, and you both fall quiet as his attention turns back to the television. You try to focus on the screen, you really do, but that ghost is back and so are all of your questions.

Does he even remember the things he said while he was sick? It doesn’t seem like he does, and he probably wouldn't want to talk about it even if he did.

The day has been nearly perfect, and there's no reason to ruin it. He looks so happy and at ease with you in his arms, and being with him like this is all you ever wanted. So why do you need more?

You don't need more. You don't, you don't, you don't. You love him. And isn't that enough? Love is patient.

But you, apparently, are not.

"Xavier, how old will you be on your birthday?"

His fingers on your arm pause for the smallest fraction of a second before resuming their caress. "24. You didn't know that?"

Liar.

You knew that would be his answer, but it does not make it sting less.

You have no idea how old he actually is, but he's definitely not 24. Despite all logic, he can't be. It's obvious that he and Lumiere are the same person, no matter how often he tries to insist otherwise. It shouldn't be possible; Lumiere would have to be in his 40s and Xavier hardly looks a day over 21. But, somehow, they're the same person. You know it's true even if you don't understand how it could be.

Your silence catches Xavier’s attention, and his curious gaze flickers to your face. You force a small, tight smile, hoping to mask the disappointment you feel. But you must fail because he frowns and glances away, shifting uncomfortably.

You should say something. You should joke or tease him just to ease the tension like you always do when you know he's lying. But all you manage is a soft hum of acknowledgement, unable to trust your mouth not to betray your thoughts.

The movie continues to play, the screams and gunshots coming from the TV sounding much louder now in the quiet room. But neither of you are paying any attention to it anymore, and you can practically feel him thinking from where he sits stiffly pressed beside you.

Finally, he lets out a heavy sigh, and his body relaxes against yours, "Ask me again."

"What?" You say, not trusting your own ears.

He shifts to turn toward you, reaching up to stroke the side of your face as he meets your gaze. "Ask me your question again. Please."

He's nervous, you realize. It's written all over him: from the slight tremor of his hand on your cheek to the way his eyes scan your face anxiously. He's afraid of this.

And maybe you are, too.

"On your birthday..." you trail off, losing momentum, caught between the fear of the truth and the sting of another lie, "will you be turning 24...for the first time?"

A silent struggle plays out in his blue eyes, torn between uncertainty and longing.

"No," he admits quietly, "not for the first time."

It's hard to remember to breathe as you absorb his words. It’s not that his answer shocks you; you’ve known for a long time that he was lying about his age. It’s his honesty that has you gaping at him in surprise.

He actually told you the truth.

You should be brimming with questions and desperate for answers, you know that. But you are neither as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into a tight hug. A wave of unbridled happiness rushes through you, and you have the silly urge to cry.

It’s just a few simple words—nothing to warrant this surge of emotion. But it feels like so much more. It’s a beginning, a tentative promise that, maybe, just maybe, he’ll let you truly know him.

The look in his eyes as you pull back from the hug is hard to read. There’s fear in there, definitely, but maybe also a hint of relief shining back at you.

"So... how many candles should I get for your cake?" you ask, trying to lighten the moment and ease the worry on his face.

His brows raise in surprise, and then his shoulders shake as he laughs, "A lot. Too many for a cake."

"100?" You guess, aiming higher than seems reasonable.

"More."

"150?" You squeak, your voice pitching up an octave at the very idea.

"Many more than that."

Your mouth drops open in surprise, and you'd swear he was fucking with you right now if he did not look like a deer staring down the barrel of a hunter's rifle.

"200?" You guess again, the number sounding even more ludicrous as it leaves your lips.

Xavier scrubs a hand across his reddening face and groans, "Still more."

A choked laugh slips out as you try to process that. Just how old is he? Ancient? Prehistoric?

Xavier fidgets with the pocket of his hoodie, his smile tight and forced. It starts to fade as your stunned silence stretches on, and he lets out a shuddering breath before speaking.

"I know it sounds..." Xavier starts and then stops, shaking his head as he tries to find the right word. "...impossible."

Impossible. Yes, it does sound impossible, and crazy, and a dozen other words that wouldn’t begin to describe how you're feeling. There are no words big enough for this. So instead, you lean forward and kiss him, hoping the press of your lips can say everything that words alone aren't enough to express.

Your fingers tangling in his hair are reassurance that it’s okay. That yes, this is crazy, but you believe him, and it doesn’t change anything—because it’s him. He could be a thousand years old, and you’d still be here.

Your tongue seeking the seam of his lips is a silent confirmation that you understand: you’re both standing at the edge of something that could change everything, but you’re not afraid. Not when he’s the one beside you.

He’s motionless against you for a fraction of a second, but then his fingers curl into your hair at the base of your neck, pulling you closer as he tilts your head to deepen the kiss. The way he parts his lips for you speaks for him, too, promising you everything. His heart, his time, and his secrets.

When he finally pulls away from the kiss, he leans back just far enough to catch his breath before brushing his nose against yours. "You're not freaked out?"

The stressed, anxious sound of his voice, even after you just poured every ounce of love and acceptance into that kiss, makes you realize for the first time that maybe he hasn’t been keeping secrets from you. Maybe he’s been keeping them for you—too afraid of scaring you away, too afraid of losing you.

"Xavier," You whisper, cupping his face in your hands and forcing him to look at you. "Nothing about you could ever, ever scare me."

He holds your gaze in silence for what feels like an eternity, worry and doubt etched into the lines of his face. Then, slowly, his face begins to crumple and his shoulders sag, as if he can no longer bear whatever weight he's been carrying.

Instinctively, you guide his head to your chest, shifting to pull him into your arms, and offering him comfort in the only way you know how.

"Nothing?" He breathes out shakily.

"Nothing," You reassure him, running a comforting hand through his hair. "Not a single thing."

You sit in silence, soothing him in your arms, as you struggle to process the reality of the last few minutes. You had hoped blindly that someday he might let his walls come down, but it was a half-hearted hope. You'd spent more time trying to accept that he probably never would.

But now he has.

There’s more, you’re sure of it. His age can't be his only secret, and so many questions swirl in your mind—big questions, complicated questions, questions with the potential to hurt. But as you hold him and stroke his back, you’re surprised to find that most of the answers you wanted so badly don’t feel nearly as important as you once thought they were.

You must truly love him, because the question you want to ask most isn’t so earth-shattering after all. It’s something simpler, almost trivial, with no reason for it to matter as much as it does—except for the fact that this tiny truth is more precious to you than all the rest.

"What were you like when you were young?" You ask, smiling at just the thought of it.

It’s not what he’s expecting, clearly, and his startled laugh rumbles against your chest before he pulls back to meet your eyes.

"That's what you want to know?" he asks, his voice laced with disbelief. A smile flickers onto his face, easing any trace of the tears that had been threatening to fall.

"Uh huh," You nod eagerly.

"I was..." He tilts his head to the side, considering it, "not so different from the way I am now."

You scoff and roll your eyes. "Xav, please, you have to give me more than that. I know it was like a million years ago, but you must remember. What were you like in school? What was your family like? I don't even know if you have siblings."

His lips quirk up slightly at the edges, “A million? Really? I am not that old."

"Oh, so just half a million then?" you tease, giggling at the exasperated, offended look on his face. "Tell me. Please, pretty please."

He’s silent for several moments, and that familiar, bittersweet distance clouds his eyes. His hesitation makes you wonder if this is where his willingness to share ends, if his walls are still firmly in place and he’s only allowed you a glimpse through a narrow window. But then, miraculously, his smile wins out over the frown, and his eyes find yours, soft and open.

"I don’t have any siblings,” he begins, “but, yes, I had a family. They were...difficult. My father and I didn't agree on very many things, some of them more important than others." He swallows hard and looks away, as if that particular admission is painful. "I tried to be what they wanted, but I couldn't. We weren't close."

Had? Tried? Past tense. Your stomach twists as it hits you: Xavier is an orphan, like you. It's another piece of yourself mirrored in him—another reason he feels so much like home. Because neither of you have one anymore, and what you've found in each other is the closest thing to it.

"Are you...from here?" You ask awkwardly, not sure how to phrase your question without sounding like an idiot. Asking if he's an alien or a god or something feels too stupid to say out loud.

"No." He says softly, shaking his head. "I'm from...another place. Far from here."

"What was it like?"

"It was..." He trails off, choosing his words carefully. "...different from here. The people there live for a long time. So yeah, I'm kind of old, I guess."

You can't help the bubble of nervous laughter that erupts at the absurdity of this situation. He is kind of old, and not from this planet, and you love him, and maybe he is an alien?

It is absolutely insane, but it makes more sense than it should. Is it really that much weirder than the aethercore lodged in your heart or the wanderers showing up on Earth?

"So...just to make sure I understand," you start carefully. "You are a really, really, really old man from...outer space. Right?"

His brows furrow, and it looks like he's going to correct you for a moment, but then he laughs. "Basically," he says, rubbing a hand against the nape of his neck.

"How did you get here? Like...why are you here and not wherever your home is?"

He sighs harshly and glances away, his easy expression slipping back into that guarded one as he shakes his head.

"That is a question for another day." He answers, jaw clenched, but there's an apology in his eyes.

Disappointment flares to life in your chest at his refusal, but you squash it. He has been more honest than you ever expected him to be. It seems that whatever ghost that still stands between you cannot be banished so easily. There must be a reason for it, and you are trying to trust that it's a good one.

"What were you like as a kid then? You never answered. Did you go to school and stuff? Did you have friends?"

He nods, and some of the tension eases from his jaw, "I did go to school. A...military academy. Where do you think I learned all of my swordsmanship?" A soft smile lights his face, as if he is recalling a genuinely fond memory. "I didn't have a lot of friends. But the ones I did have were very special to me."

It’s hard to picture him with friends—not because he’s unlikable; he’s incredibly charming. But you’ve never seen him show genuine interest in anyone besides you. You wonder what they were like, and if he must miss them terribly. Is that where that mysterious, sad look in his eyes comes from? Does he want to go back?

Yes, he misses someone. You would bet your life on it. But not his family. Someone else who was important to him.

"Did you ever have a girlfriend?" You blurt out, jealousy getting the best of you. 

He hesitates, frowning, and your heart seizes in your chest. This answer shouldn't be important. But some instinct tells you that it is; that your worry that perhaps you are sharing his heart isn't just a jealous delusion.

"No, not exactly," he says, his lips pressing into a thin line, withholding any further explanation.

Not exactly? Oh, hell no. That means yes.

You want to press him on it; you want to know if this ghost has a name and if he loved her - if he still loves her. If she is the reason for that far away look in his eyes and why he gives you that bittersweet smile so often. But the question is stuck - frozen in your throat.

You open your mouth to speak, but find you can't ask it. Not when this particular answer does actually scare you.

"Do you remember your first kiss?" You ask instead, trying to move past the sick feeling of jealousy coiling in your belly.

"I do," He answers, flashing you a cheeky smile. "It wasn't very good. I don't think she really wanted to kiss me. She did it because she thought she had to."

"What?" You practically squawk, your jealousy fading to surprised disbelief. Who in their right mind would not want to kiss him?

Xavier’s smile inexplicably widens, and he laughs as if you’ve told him a joke whose punchline only he understands.

"It's true. It was more like bumping noses than kissing, and she only did it to keep up appearances." He shrugs and cups your face in his hand, rubbing his thumb lightly over your bottom lip. "But the second kiss was much better. She let me try again, and I think we both liked that one."

Your brain nearly stops functioning as you connect the dots, and your initial disbelief is replaced by an even stronger shock. Is he describing your first kiss? He can't be.

How the hell long has he been alive? There's no way that was his first kiss. It cannot have been.

You swat his hand away from your face and scowl at him, "Very funny, Xavier."

"I'm not joking," He says, laughing quietly and catching your wrist with his hand before you can swat him again. He pulls you close and nuzzles your cheek, placing a soft kiss just beneath your ear. "It was my first kiss."

"Really?" You reply skeptically, squinting at him.

"Yes, really."

“But that’s...how is it even...200 years? 400 years?” Your words stumble over each other, incomplete, as you struggle to believe what you're hearing.

He lets out a soft, breathy laugh, a hint of pink coloring his cheeks, and he presses a line of kisses from your ear to your cheek. “I guess I was just waiting for the right girl.”

You’re stunned into silence, caught between disbelief and wonder. If you had not already been hopelessly in love with him, then this would have done it. It would have sent you careening over the edge with no possible hope of return.

His first kiss. You were his first kiss. Of everything he has said today, this is the thing that's most shocking. How can it even be possible? Never mind the fact that this means he'd have gone hundreds of years without a kiss, he's just plain too good at it to not have more experience. He kisses you like he's done it thousands of times, and he certainly doesn't touch you like a boy who had never been kissed before.

Wait a minute. Wait a damn minute.

The evening you were caught in the rain with Xavier replays in your mind, and you remember the pained way he refused you when you'd asked him for more than just his fingers. 'Waited so long. Don't know if I can be gentle with you.' That's what he had said, and you thought he meant weeks - that he had been pent up for weeks. But did he mean...years? Centuries?

"Are you a virgin?" You squeak out, your eyes widening comically as the possibility slaps you in the face.

The blush on Xavier's cheeks turns positively crimson, and he ducks his head, refusing to meet your eyes. "Well...I mean, sort of."

"You totally are!" You counter excitedly, playfully jabbing a finger at his chest.

He mumbles something quickly, his words too fast and too low for your brain to even begin to process them. Not that you could focus enough to hear him anyway, because if your kiss had truly been his first, then you must be his first everything.

It’s nearly impossible to believe, but somehow, it fits him—just like everything else about this does. And the longer you think about it, the more it makes sense. He’s old-fashioned because he is old; so very, very old. He still blushes around you because all of this is new to him. He can’t get enough of touching you because he’s never had the chance before.

He has been starved for affection, you realize. For hundreds of years. If you were not so elated you would feel bad for him.

You have to hold back a gasp as understanding dawns on you. Is this why you've been trapped in the land of heavy petting and dry humping? Is he going to make you wait until marriage to have sex with him? The thought is funnier than it should be, and you cannot hold back the growing hysteria anymore, your giggles tumbling out of your mouth on their own.

Xavier clears his throat and reaches for your face, gently holding it in his hands, guiding your gaze to his. His eyes are an intense, electric blue as he repeats his mumbled question, this time more clearly, “Are you?”

He watches your face expectantly as your laughter fades and his question sinks in.

Oh, shit.

It never crossed your mind that he might ask you the same thing, and the way he’s staring at you—sharp, focused—makes it clear that your answer is important. It matters to him.

"Um..." You hesitate, feeling backed into a corner by the intensity in his eyes, "...kind of?"

"Kind of?" He echoes, his eyes flicking down your lips. "What does that mean?"

"It means...that I've done some things, but not all of the things. You know, touching and kissing and stuff. But not like...all of it. Not all of the way," You finish lamely, your cheeks feeling like they might actually burn you up.

He falls silent for a moment, his brows knitting together as his eyes narrow on yours. “With someone else?”

There's a rough edge to his tone, a warning and a promise wrapped into a single question. The implication is clear, and you can practically hear his possessive thoughts as he waits for your answer. It's almost intimidating.

But mostly it's fucking hot.

"Um, yes?" You squeak out.

He nods slowly, his eyes darkening as he slides his hand from your cheek to rest lightly on your neck. "Where?"

"Huh?"

"Where did they touch you?" He clarifies, his thumb gently stroking the column of your throat.

Your pulse quickens under his touch. His hand isn’t squeezing or holding your neck tightly; it simply rests there, his fingers warm against your skin. You know, deep in your bones, he’d never hurt you. But the awareness that he could, if he wanted, sends a thrill through you that makes your heart pound.

It's unfair, really, how quickly he can go from a blushing boy one moment to a man who makes you tremble the next.

"Xav, no way," You say somewhat breathlessly, and the blush on your cheeks grows even hotter, "I am not telling you that."

He hums softly, eyes searching your face, though you’re not entirely sure what he’s looking for. Whatever it is, he must find it, because he nods and begins to slide his hand down from your neck.

“Here?” he asks softly, his fingers tracing gently along your collarbone just above the neckline of your tank top. “Did they touch you here?”

You nod wordlessly, a quiet thrill of anticipation coursing through you.

He leans in, pressing a soft line of kisses from the center of your collarbone to your shoulder, gently scraping his teeth along your skin as he completes his path.

A shaky breath escapes from between your lips, and he pulls away just slightly to ask, “Did they kiss you like this?”

“N-no,” you murmur, your voice catching as every ounce of blood in your body seems to rush south, robbing you of your ability to speak.

“No? Then what about...” he trails off as his hands slide down to trace along your breasts through the thin material of your top, “has anyone else touched you like this?”

“Xavier...” you try to speak, to tell him he is being ridiculous, but you're cut off as he grasps the hem of your shirt and begins lifting it up over your chest. You lift your arms instinctively as the fabric catches under your armpits, and he pulls it off completely, tossing it onto the floor.

"Here?" He asks, not waiting for a response as he dips his head to place gentle, open-mouthed kisses along your cleavage, his hands slipping behind your back to unhook the clasp of your bra.

"Xav, it doesn't matter," you whisper, feeling the cups of your bra fall away as he slides the straps off your shoulders, tossing it onto the floor to join your shirt.

"It does matter," he answers, palming your breasts in his hands and gently pinching your nipples between his fingers. "Because you're mine now."

A small gasp escapes your lips as a jolt of electric pleasure rushes from your nipples, down your spine, and settles between your thighs. You know you shouldn’t encourage this—he’s too jealous for his own good—but he's right. You are his now. And the thought of him replacing every touch, every kiss you've ever known with one of his own is too tempting to refuse.

You’re nodding before you even realize it. A soft “Yes” slipping from your lips as your fingers find the hem of his white hoodie, tugging it upward, needing to see him, too.

At your urging, he quickly pulls off his hoodie, then the t-shirt underneath, his muscles flexing with the movement. The sight alone is almost enough to make you moan. He’s so fucking gorgeous. You could see him like this every day for the rest of your life, and it would still never be enough.

The moment his shirt hits the floor, his hands are on your shoulders guiding you back onto the couch until he's on top of you. You can feel the hard length of his cock pressing against you through his jeans, and you have to squeeze your thighs together just to ease some of the ache between them.

He trails his lips down your chest, pausing to tease each nipple with his mouth, before kissing a slow path down to your belly button. He presses a warm, wet kiss there, and you gasp as his tongue slips into the small hollow, swirling around it. The sensation is new—unexpected—and you giggle helplessly at the wet tickle.

He lifts his head to smile up at you, and his eyes are an even brighter shade of blue now, shining with amused pride. He laughs, moving back down to nuzzle the spot with the tip of his nose, making you giggle again. "No one has kissed you here?"

You shake your head, threading your fingers through his hair and grazing your nails against his scalp as he kisses along the waistband of your leggings.

A wave of pure affection hits you as you watch him worship your skin, realizing only Xavier could make you giggle like this while your pussy throbs with need for him.

He continues his slow path of kisses across your stomach, pausing occasionally to run his tongue along a particularly sensitive patch of skin, making your back arch off the couch. You're not sure if he's teasing you on purpose or if he's just exploring. Maybe a bit of both, judging from the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth each time you gasp.

You're ready to beg, willing to promise him anything, by the time he finally moves lower and parts your thighs.

"What about here?" He asks, placing a kiss to your clothed pussy, his lips right above your clit. "Has anyone else ever touched you here?"

"God, Xavier, please," you groan, pressing your head back against the cushion and bucking your hips toward his face. But his hands are firm on your hips, holding you still, silently waiting for his answer.

"I don't remember," you lie breathlessly.

"I think you do," He argues, the heat of his mouth so fucking close, you swear you can feel it.

It's hard to think with him between your thighs, and your pussy is so slick and wet that you can feel your panties sticking to your skin. You're so desperate to feel his tongue against your clit that you'd say anything - embarrassment be damned.

"Yes," you pant, frustrated and needy, "but no one has ever kissed me there."

His eyes darken and a low groan rumbles in his throat. You can't tell if it's pleasure or disappointment, and before you can decide, he's moving off the couch.

You whine at the loss of contact, but he's already on his knees in front of you before you can complain. His hands grip your thighs, pulling you forward until your ass is on the edge of the cushion. You watch, breathless, as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your leggings and panties, and then begins dragging them down your thighs. You lift your hips to help him, and you don't miss the strangled sound that leaves his mouth when he sees your pussy - bare and wet and ready for him.

Pleasure then. Definitely a good sound.

"So perfect," He says under his breath, dragging his bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes glued to the sight between your thighs.

Xavier’s hands slowly rub up your bare legs, his touch gentle but possessive. He leans in to nuzzle his face against your inner thigh, dragging his nose over your skin, and inhales deeply. You start to tremble as he trails kisses higher up your thigh, pausing every so often to nip or gently suck.

“You always smell so good,” he murmurs between kisses.

A hot spike of embarrassment shoots through you as you realize he can smell you, smell just how wet you are, and a desperate sound somewhere between a whimper and a shy giggle leaves you.

Xavier’s kisses slow to a stop as he reaches the apex of your thighs, his breath catching as he looks up at you. His eyes are wide and his cheeks are flushed, the color creeping up to his ears, which are tinged pink. He looks almost achingly shy - uncertain but starving.

He's never done this before, you realize, and you open your mouth to say something - encouragement or instruction. But your words turn into a gasp as he nuzzles your clit. The tip of his nose brushes over the small bud of nerves, sending sparks of pleasure up through your body. 

Your fingers thread into his hair, gripping gently to guide his mouth to where you need it. And it takes all your control to stay still as his tongue teases your entrance, licking a slow, deliberate path upward until he finds your clit again

“Oh God,” you gasp, your fingers tangling even tighter in his hair. “Yes, Xav—right there. More…”

He hums low and pleased, sending vibrations all the way through your body. You can feel him smiling between your thighs as you buck up, trying desperately to push against the light pressure. He takes his time - lazily circling your clit with his tongue and lapping at it until you're a whimpering, writhing mess.

You're wondering how he could possibly be so good at this as he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks. Stars explode in your vision as the warm, wet heat of his mouth closes around you, and you think your soul would leave your body if he were not holding you down.

There's not enough air in your lungs as you moan and squirm under his mouth. You're dying - you think, but you don't especially care as long as he doesn't stop. You think he slips one, maybe two, fingers inside you at some point; you’re not certain. The feel of his mouth against you is so good that you can't process anything else; it's the only thing that exists.

“Xav, please. Please. I'm going-”

He nods, lips still wrapped around your clit, and the slight scrape of his teeth—just enough—sends you spiraling over the edge before you can finish your sentence. The heat coiled low in your belly erupts, flooding through every nerve as waves of pleasure ripple through you. Your hips press hard against his mouth, seeking more as your pussy convulses around his fingers.

Xavier doesn’t pull away as you moan and grind your pussy against his face. His mouth follows your movements, continuing to lick and suck as your orgasm begins to fade, your walls squeezing weakly against his fingers as aftershocks pulse through you.

He keeps licking and kissing you until the sensation is overwhelming, and you're forced to pull at his hair to escape from his hungry mouth. With a final, lingering kiss to your pussy, he slowly withdraws his fingers, and rests his cheek against your thigh as he catches his breath.

He looks as wrecked as you feel—his pupils dilated, hair disheveled from your touch, and his breath shallow as your wetness shines on his lips and chin. The way he looks at you, like he wants you so bad that it hurts, makes you want to give him everything and more.

You watch as he licks his lips, savoring the taste of you, before slowly sucking on the fingers that were inside you.

"Xavier," You choke out his name as your soul really does leave your body this time. You are dying. This beautiful man is killing you, and the last thing you will see before the light at the end of the tunnel is him sucking on those fingers as his cock strains against his jeans.

But there's no way in heaven or hell that you can die without seeing him, touching him, tasting him.

"You're mine now," He whispers, dragging his mouth along your thigh, "only mine."

"I was already yours," you say in a breathless rush, tugging at his arm, any lingering shyness fading as urgency takes over.

He rises to his feet and his lips finds yours instantly. The kiss is deep and wet, and you taste good in his mouth.

Your hands fumble blindly on the button of his jeans. You finally manage to get his pants unzipped, and he groans against your mouth as you slip your hand inside to palm his cock through the cotton of his boxers. He’s so thick and hard that your fingers barely meet around him.

His breath catches at your touch, and needy desperate sounds come out of his mouth as you stroke him through the fabric.

"Please, I need..." he begs, his voice breathless as his hands move quickly to strip off his boxers and pants. He kicks them aside, and before you can fully take in the sight of him, he’s pushing you back onto the couch and climbing on top of you.

"What do you need, Xav?" You ask, reaching between your bodies to wrap your hand around his hard length. It's so silky and hot, and it twitches in your hand when you swipe your thumb over the tip, slick with precum.

"I need..." He says again, burying his face against your neck and rocking his hips to thrust into your fist hard.

You’re waiting, praying, and hoping he’ll say he needs to be inside you. You've never been more ready in your life and the slide of him against your hand has you ready to beg him for it. But then he moans deeply against your neck and you feel warm, wet heat spilling over your hand, coating your stomach.

Oh.

He collapses on top of you, burying his face into the curve of your shoulder, hiding his face as he catches his breath. His chest rises and falls with the intensity of it, and a rush of pure, tender affection floods through you. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close, fighting the urge to laugh at the sweetness of the moment.

"That was... I’m..." he mumbles.

"Perfect," You finish for him. "You're perfect. And that was perfect."

He breathes out a laugh against your neck, then lifts himself on one arm to look down at you. A smile spreads across his face as his eyes meet yours, and in this moment, he looks lighter—happier than you’ve ever seen him.

He looks free.

[granny-core]

How can I enrich life? Especially when you have physical and mental health conditions 🐣🐔🐤

Hi!

This is a big and difficult question to answer, and I have been thinking a lot about what to say. It really varies for each and every person, as well as the nature of your physical and mental health condition, but I will share some things that I do to enrich my own life, and hope some of it will resonate with you.

I know I repeat this a lot, but focusing on the little things is pretty much my main approach to finding joy in being alive. Things like opening the window to smell the rain, buying a magazine, or wearing some nice socks. I'm working on letting go of these big, complicated expectations of what success or a good life should look like, and instead focusing on the fact that I'm alive and can interact with the world, and that is amazing enough. I also very firmly believe in the value of connecting with other people. Just talking about the weather with the person making my coffee in a café makes me feel human, and in touch with other humans. Just observing people from your window and thinking about what you have in common can feel comforting.

Another thing that brings me a lot of joy, is being in touch with the changing of seasons. That way, there is always something to look forward to (November is my least favourite month, but the stores here will carry persimmons now! How lovely!). Preparing for the upcoming season feels meaningful to me, and it is possible to make it as easy or complicated as your health allows for. I like going on little walks in the neighborhood or just sitting outside for a while to feel the weather, looking forward to different foods being in season, watching seasonal movies and shows, decorating, or making little rituals that mark the changes. I guess it helps me feel like my life is not stagnant, and that changes are all around me all the time.

I also like to make sure I have something to look forward to, and try to actively appreciate that feeling. Whether it means getting a pen pal and looking forward to letters, planting bulbs to see them bloom in spring, or promising yourself a treat or hot drink in the evening, I think it boils down to intentionally planning for small moments of joy.

Finally, I think it is really important not to feel disappointed if you expected something to give you joy and excitement, only to discover you don't feel as happy as you imagined you would. Emotions can be unpredictable, especially for us who deal with mental health issues, but the experience can still be worthwhile and can become meaningful to you later, even if it did not bring you the "spark" you imagined. Sometimes that spark will appear in the most unexpected of places as well!

I hope at least some of that can be of help to you. I wish you all the best, and hope that you are happy and safe!

[arainesque]

i have an innate urge to shitpost on linkedin (i love george)

[howtodisappearcompletelyand]

20/10 stars little guy

[wildstar25]

What physical part(s) of Arsay does her partners find the most attractive! Is it the same for all partners or does it differ between them?

(also optional bonus ask of what part(s) of/about Arsay generally do they love the most, physical or not!)

Meanwhile, if you were to ask the same of Arsay:

[cator99]

I always get detained at da border because PROFUNC never ended but basically I'm like if a targeted individual didn't even care

[catcr4ft]

GET YOURSELF A GIRL WHO SELF-ISOLATES !!!!

[cuteniaarts]

What if… Suiren in Vaatu’s colours 😳👀

[mariemariemaria]

when deirdre maguire said ‘punk is the only religion worth fighting for’

[quietwingsinthesky]

actually funny story regarding prev post but when my friend forced my to watch Red White and Royal Blue, at one point I said something along the lines of “They’re probably going to break up in a few years anyway, despite all this fuss.” and she accused me of trying to ruin the movie for her. And then I did not say the next thing I thought because she was already annoyed at me, which was “Why does them breaking up in the future matter if the story is about them being in love now?”

[moe-broey]

GOD. HELP. PLEASE FORNTHE LOVE OF GOD. HELP ME <- is slightly self-conscious and extremely worried about doing something Incorrectly

[helladirections]

I love working in politics because I'm basically teaching my candidate how to answer questions like Harry does.

"Yeah yeah, I think, uhm... it's really important that..."

[imgonnagetyoubacktv]

sometimes i miss talking to that one person who didn't NEVER turned it into a competition about who has it worse and never told me well atleast you have [x]

[sweetmodel]

How I became a master shifter (+ why methods aren't working for you)

Hello! I’ve been seeing a lot of disinformation lately, and I’ve noticed that some people might need help, so I wanted to chime in. I can shift whenever I want, and I see a LOT of limiting beliefs—but I understand because I was once on the other side.

Disclaimer: This is all based on my personal experience with how I became a master shifter. You’ll want to read everything—it’s important.

I first shifted around March 2022. I would always use methods. I would affirm, tell myself I was detached from this reality, and so on. During my very first shift, I literally affirmed all night long (if this sounds familiar, it’s because I used to have another blog here, lol). You know, really complicated stuff. Then... things changed. I couldn’t shift anymore. I kept using the same methods, but they didn’t work!

That’s when I started questioning everything about shifting and consciousness. Why was it that I could be in another reality where things like magic exist, but then suddenly I couldn’t shift anymore? Why were the methods, like lucid dreaming or the void, seemingly more powerful than the act of switching realities itself? Why, when I shifted from my Desired Reality to my Current Reality, all I needed to do think of my CR to shift back—but it didn’t work the other way around?

None of it made sense! And I’m sure many others have asked themselves these same questions.

I came up with two theories:

This reality has something unique compared to the infinite other realities. To shift from here, you need something extra, like a method.

There’s something else at play, something unrelated to the realities themselves.

I dismissed the first option. There’s nothing inherently special about this reality. So why do we use methods here but not in our DRs?

Then, I thought back to how I used to shift... detaching from my body, affirming until I shifted. It all aligned with my subconscious beliefs. The method didn’t work because that’s how shifting works, but because it made sense to my subconscious. Of course I would shift if I did these things—because that’s what I believed shifting required.

Well... kind of. As I said, it made sense because it aligned with my beliefs. So when the method failed, I wasn’t letting myself shift.

Did you catch that? I didn’t let myself shift. Of course, it wasn’t the method. At what point do you actually shift? Is it when you affirm? Do you really think the universe is just waiting for you to say the right thing enough times before it switches you to your DR?

No. It’s you.

So, you have two choices:

Find a method that truly aligns with your beliefs, or

Change your subconscious beliefs.

Changing your beliefs might seem hard, but I’m going to explain why it’s not as difficult as it feels.

All your life, you’ve had certain beliefs, but those beliefs came from somewhere. You weren’t born thinking you need methods to shift—it’s something that developed over time. Which means it’s not set in stone. It can be changed.

I realized that every reality holds the same weight. There’s NOTHING you can do in this one—no intrusive thoughts or negative emotions—that can stop you. Why? Because those thoughts and emotions are products of this reality. Shifting is simply changing what you’re aware of. That’s literally it. Anything outside of that can’t stop you.

Yes, we’ve all seen those posts saying things like, "Oh, you’re not focused enough" or "You spend too much time on X, Y, Z" or even "You don’t go outside enough" (I legit read this on here—y'all are wildin’). Are you in your DR thinking "Oh, I thought about failing to shift, it means I won't :("? Of course you aren't! But nothing can stop you from shifting. Nothing can stop you from being aware that you are a master shifter.

So, how do you become aware of that?

I started affirming throughout the day. I would tell myself these things:

I’m pure consciousness. I create my reality, and everything around me is just what I choose to perceive.

I’m a master shifter. I don’t need methods. All I need to do is choose to shift, think of my DR, and it happens.

Nothing in the 3D can stop me from shifting, because I’m in the 4D and pure consciousness.

I told myself these things constantly, and I truly understood what I was affirming. What being pure consciousness and being a master shifter actually meant. I stopped using methods. I stopped acting like this reality was special compared to the ones I wanted to be in. And then... it happened.

I shifted. During the day. I simply thought of my DR, told myself, I want to shift, and there I was—in my DR. It happened because, as I said, my subconscious beliefs changed and then manifested in my reality. The same way they did when I believed I needed methods.

Naturally, I stopped using methods. I stopped trying to shift. I no longer thought, Okay, tonight I’m going to shift, and I'm going to use X method. Because that’s not how you think or act when you’re a master shifter. I let go—why would I bother using a method before sleeping when I could just stand up, think about my DR, and be there? Why would I bother doing a method before falling asleep when I knew I'm a master shifter?

I allowed myself to shift. It was me! When people ask, What method did you use? What did you do to shift?—do you really, truly believe it’s the method that makes you shift? Of course you do, because you live in a reality that seems logical, and you apply that logic to shifting. But shifting isn’t logical! It just happens! I have no idea why—it’s literally just magic to me—but that’s how it works.

So, you need to understand: You make it happen. That’s a good thing, right? It means you don’t need methods, and you don’t need to keep searching for “the key.”

Anyway, I hope this helps someone. (Also yes, before you tell me, I know this is basically Law Of Assumption. But I wanted to explain it in more of shifting terms)

(Also if someone wants to post this to another social you have my permission- especially reddit since I was active in that community but I deleted my acc lol)

Edit: Hey guys there are some additional notes in the comments that might be useful!