#jake touches things

[slavhew]

r/offmychest My girlfriend washed my hair today

[sysig]

is this where u take the requests? if not, apologies lol still learning tumblr, I WAS WONDERING IF MY VARGAS RELATED REQUESTOBER REQUEST COULD BE JAKE/NNY? i feel like jake/nny is SO looked past like its actually so cute, they could be doing anything THANK U IF THIS WAS THE WRONG PLACE SORRY MWAH MWAH X

Day 12 - Once you had one hole in your skin, you've had 'em all

[kitnita]

jake oettinger ahead of game six   —   DAL vs EDM;   game 6   —   06.02.24

[uh, you’ve talked about — your teammates have talked about how you enjoy being the villain on the road. what is that like? i mean, is it — do you really just hunker down and like to take the energy out of the building?]  yeah, i think it’s just fun, like … i dunno, it just feels more — like, when we’re at home, and we’re getting all the chances and stuff, and the crowd’s going nuts, like, as a goalie you feel like everything you do is more magnified and stuff, so it feels like fun and, uh, yeah. a crowd like this especially, you know, canadian, canadian market is, i mean, they love their team so much, and it’s just such a good atmosphere and great fanbase and stuff. so to get to play in front of that in the conference finals is pretty cool.

[the-acid-pear]

It's curious how Harry is the only one in dsaf without a special evil route easter egg ending but if he did what do you guys think I'd look like?

[redrobin-detective]

the first language

Touch comes before sight, before speech. It is the first language and the last, and it always tells the truth. ~ Margaret Atwood

"Simon! Simon!" Finn shouted excitedly as he and Jake burst into Simon's house. Well it had technically been Marcy's first but though it's only been a few months since Simon became human again, it felt like it had always been their place. "Wait until you hear about this crazy wild monster we foug-"

"Stop," Simon commanded, peeking around from around the kitchen wall to give them a light glare, his lips pressed together in a line. He and Jake froze midstep. Finn was a bold teenage adventurer who took orders from no monster, king or extraterrestrial entity. Until Simon, only PB could boss them around and even that wasn't a sure thing. The older human flicked his eyes over them with an unimpressed stare that made Finn want to shrink into himself. Even without powers or magic, Simon was way more intimidating than Ice King. 

"You boys are filthy and I just cleaned up the place." Simon sighed and rubbed at his eyes underneath his glasses. "There's a hose outside, wash off the worst of the dirt and other various stains. I'll leave towels on the porch and for god's sake take off your shoes before you come in."

"Yeah okay, sorry Simon," Finn said, trudging outside and turning on the hose to spray down his arms and legs. Now that he looked, they were pretty gnarly covered in mud and monster guts.

"Simon's kinda like a mom, dontcha think?" Jake added as Finn sprayed him down with the hose. He laughed as Jake guzzled some of the water and spat it back at him. 

"I mean I guess," Finn shrugged, pointing the hose up so they both were getting rained on. "It's kinda nice you know, to be fussed over. It's different."

"I fuss over you," Jake frowned.

"I know man and I appreciate it," Finn said, showing his appreciation by spraying Jake in the face. "I can't explain it but it's different with Simon, kind of like how you and Lady have your own thing going on that's special but separate from what you and I have."

"Yeah okay," Jake responded. "Is that why you insist on stopping by to see him anytime we're in the area?" Finn didn't answer, instead impressing Jake but wiggling the hose to make it look like a snake. They continued to laugh and splash each other with the water until Simon stepped outside and hung some towels on the porch.

"When you're done playing, I have hot chocolate waiting for you. Then you can tell me all about your latest adventure," Simon smiled before stepping back inside. Finn whooped and rushed over to turn off the hose. Hopefully Marcy wouldn't be back before all the water on her porch and front lawn dried. 

They toweled off and Finn did remember to take off his shoes before entering the house. The place looked different from when it was just Marcy living there. The small loveseat had been exchanged for a bigger couch along with some mismatched armchairs. A keyboard was propped in the corner next to Marcy's bass. The house was cleaner, more organized with Simon around. It really felt like a home.

Simon was at the stove, stirring something in a pot as they took their seats at the kitchen table. Their assigned mugs were set out for them and snacks were on a large plate in the middle. He and Jake dug in. Simon came up behind them and poured the hot chocolate into their mugs from the pot and sat down, pouring his own cup.

"Finn, your hat still has blood on it," Simon noted, taking a sip. "How do you usually clean it?" 

"Oh uh you know, I usually just rinse it off and if it gets too grody or it comes to life, I go skin another bear," Finn said awkwardly. Simon nodded as if he expected such an answer and excused himself to go get something.

"Ohhhh Finn's in trouble with Mommmm," Jake sang under his breath and Finn kicked him under the table. Simon returned with a box of something before it could escalate into a full out foot war.

"Animal skin usually requires special care, it's doubtful those products exist anymore so we can also use shampoo to get some of those stains out. May I?" Simon asked, holding his hand out.

"Oh yeah, thanks, Simon," Finn said pulling off his hat which caused his long hair to flop against his shirt with a wet plop. Jake snickered, it was probably getting time to cut it again. Like his hat, it was getting dirty and tangled, easier to just shave it all off. Simon turned on the sink and began gently washing the hat. 

"I've talked a bit to your mother and some of the other Islanders and the history of humanity and the animals hats post-apocalypse really is interesting," Simon lectured. "The hats originally were intended to keep people warm in the elements but evolved to protect humans from vampiric attack, covering their vulnerable neck area. Even when vampires went extinct, humans continued to wear the skins as a form of cultural identity."

"Mom uh Jake and I's Mom said I was wearing a hat like that when they found me. It used to be the only clue I had about where I came from so I kept making similar hats in case someone was looking for me." Finn took a long sip from his cocoa to avoid the look Jake was giving him. He wasn't usually one for sentiment but hanging out with Simon usually made those deep inside feelings spill out.

"Okay, we'll just let that soak and- Finn," Simon said before turning around and sighing. "Finn, your hair is a mess. I keep telling you it's not healthy to jam your hair in that hat 24/7. Your scalp needs to breathe, especially with all the running around you do. Here," he grabbed the towel from earlier and wrapped it around Finn's shoulders. "Let me wash it for you and try to work out the worst of mess."

"Oh uh you don't have to it's fine, I'll take care of it when I'm home," Finn stumbled, embarrassed. Ice King had been a mess but Simon always looked so put together. It made Finn a bit self conscious but then again, until recently, he didn't have any other humans to compare himself to. Simon gently guided Finn back to the chair, tilting his head back. 

"I want to," Simon smiled from his upside gaze. "I used to do this all the time for Marcy. Besides, we humans have to take care of each other after all." Simon poured some shampoo in his hands and went to work on Finn's hair. The feel of fingers scrubbing at his roots, running through the length of his hair and massaging those sensitive, untouched areas of his head made him go boneless. Finn groaned, worried that his bones had become soup and he'd slide right out of the chair and into a puddle on the floor. He can't remember ever feeling so relaxed in his life.

"Oh my glob Finn, are you alright? What did you do to him?" Jake demanded but Finn barely noticed. He felt like he was in the 47th Dead World or something where everything was good and nothing hurt.  

"Head massages are relaxing to humans," Simon paused in his scrubbing and Finn moaned in disappointment. "Has he never had one of these before?"

"Mom and Dad used to pet us and I do it to Finn sometimes when he's upset," Jake defended.

"He's not a dog," Simon said, some unnameable emotion in his voice. "I'm sorry, I suppose I'm taking for granted what it was like to live in a society designed by and for humans. Finn, I'm going to rinse out your hair and start working on these knots. You really should work on maintaining your hair if you're going to keep it long. It's such a lovely color and texture."

"Hmm don't really know what to do with it, no one really had hair like mine," Finn mumbled as Simon rinsed the shampoo out.

"I suppose so and Marcy's is much thicker and textured requiring different styling," Simon mused out loud as he massaged some thick goop and gently, so gently, began working out the knots. Finn could die here happily. Jake hummed and stretched himself so he could see what Simon was doing.

"What's that stuff?"

"Conditioner or my best homemade equivalent with honey, olive oil and milk. It softens and moisturizes the hair and scalp. It will help prevent the hair from tangling so easily and overall keep it healthier, especially if he's going to continue to wear his signature hat," Simon explained. They chatted easily about human grooming methods while Finn's eyelids fluttered in relaxation, drifting in and out of the conversation as the comb made long, easy swipes through his hair before rinsing it out again. He loved his Mom and Dad, knew they did his best with him but he knows he missed out on something being raised by dogs. If he could recapture even a little bit of that missing piece with Simon...

"Finn? You still with us? Ground Control to Major Tom?" Simon teased, gently tapping at Finn's forehead. Finn blinked up at him. "What do you want me to do with it? I can braid it, put it in a ponytail, leave it flat." Finn wasn't ready to stop being touched.

"Braid please," he said quietly, sighing in contentment as Simon began combing and separating the strands.

"I'll write some notes on how to best care for it. Maybe next time you talk to your mother, you can get some ideas on what they've have been doing since I was last around." He paused in his braiding. "There's so much to being human, Finn, both past and present. Maybe it's selfish of me but I want you to proud of who you are. You may not be the last human anymore but that just means you're not alone. And we're done, not bad considering it's been about a millennia since I did my last braid."

With great reluctance, Finn raised himself up from the back of the chair. His braided hair was still wet but it felt cleaner and lighter than it had in a long time. Moreover, tension Finn didn't even realize had been in his neck, head and shoulders was gone. Jake suddenly popped into his vision.

"Bro, you look so pretty also like you just had the best rest of your life," he smiled awkwardly. "So is this like human equivalent of getting scratched in that itchy spot behind your ears? I guess that didn't really do anything for you, huh?" Finn smiled and reached up to scratch Jake's ears, smiling wider when Jake's tongue lolled out in satisfaction when Finn got to the right spot. 

"So I'm still waiting to hear about this monster you two got so dirty defeating," Simon added, cleaning up his supplies. Finn and Jake regaled Simon with the story of the evil monster they'd fought which had been terrorizing the Goblin Kingdom. Finn had felt tired initially but was reinvigorated, animatedly reenacting the epic battle. They finished their cocoa as Simon discussed his own research into the history of Ooo. They decided to head out soon after as BMO was probably getting lonely back at the house. Simon handed Finn his now cleaned hat and a container of the hair products he'd used.

"The animal skin needs to dry fully before you put it back on but it should be good by tomorrow. You should wash your hair when it's dirty or at minimum every few days. Shampoo first, rinse then a small amount of conditioner before rinsing that out too. And do try to keep your head uncovered every now and again," Simon said, before patting Finn's shoulder. "You can call or stop by anytime if you have questions about anything."

Finn had searched his whole life for answers, for comfort, for someone like him. His dad had been a massive wad and his mom was nice but disconnected. But the former sad wizard he used to beat up had shown him the best way to wash his hair. Life was funny like that. He couldn't wait to see what it was going to throw at him next.

"You're gonna regret saying that because I have about a bajillion questions."

"I'll do my best to answer them, after all, we've got all the time in the world." 

[rooolt]

Actual play characters will be battle masters and I’ll be a little disappointed because there’s so many other fun fighter subclasses and everyone’s always a battle master, but then I’ll see them play and it’s like fine maybe this is a bit cool

[angel---eater]

genuinely this is nobody on this site, this is a twitter thing. but some of yall take random users shipping things you dont like waaaaay too seriously

[lockley-spktr]

While I gather my thoughts, here’s a preview of a Jake fic I started writing last year. I don't know if I’ll ever finish this, but I wanted to share a bit of it with all of you.

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

Schmidt turns the gas off and so they have no hot water. And so Jess basically needs to get a job so that she can get the money to get the gas turned back on and take a shower. -Zooey

[lohstandfound]

Have I ever talked about the concept I had of the squip being used to basically erase a person and create an entire new identity in that body?

[adastra-j69]

I simply wish to make friends to yell to about dirk strider :’<

[t4tbruharvey]

SORRY SORRY JUST. 'kill erin' is ALWAYS the solution and he doesn't ever do it it's always a clear and present and EASY option and jake just Won't because. well.

[bijoumikhawal]

I'm so mad lmao

[medicinemane]

Also one other general piece of advice, never align yourself with elon musk because he's just a very stupid self centered person who sucks

Remember when those Thai kids were trapped in that cave, and this British diver told him more or less "fuck off, we don't want you publicity stunt sub", so he called the guy a pedophile?

He's an egocentric liar that always acts out of self interest, and he's also just... a complete moron

He's the kind of guy where if he told me the sky is blue I'd be tempted to look up and check for myself, cause I just don't trust him

[orestesimp]

Issue #6

COLLABORATED WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You and your unfriendly neighborhood Spiderman wind up far from your usual neighborhood and you need to find a way to leave before it's too late.

Word count: 2,600 words.

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[Previous] [TBC]

Your home is gone. 

Everything is gone. 

All you can see is white. A vast, empty space surrounding you, blank and endless as far as the eye can see. 

You suck in a surprised breath, already flinching because you expect a place so white and sterile to smell like sharp stinging disinfectant, but to your surprise it's the opposite. It smells of nothing in here.

“Mierda!”

You turn at the sound of his voice, and find Blue-Spiderman behind you.

“Shit!” he growls out. His hand comes up to his hair, fingers fisting into the poor strands as he starts tugging at them in frustration again. “Shit, shit, shit!”

“Wha– What happened?”

There was a helicopter, you think… darkness... a loud noise... the wall of your apartment exploding into a cloud of dust and rubble.

"Did... did a fucking helicopter just crash into my apartment!?"

He ignores your question, opting to fidget with his wristwatch instead, swearing and muttering to himself, while you try to make sense of what’s happening. 

“And… And then…” And then the otherworldly light show. At the time, you thought you were dying, but you’re clearly not dead. You’re just… someplace else. “What is this place?”

“We weren’t supposed to end up here,” he says, ignoring your question once again. He smacks at his watch repeatedly before swearing again and then leaves the poor thing alone.

“Come on.” He unceremoniously grabs your arm and starts marching forward, dragging you along.  He seems to have some destination in mind, though you don’t know how he can tell left from right in this expanse of nothingness, let alone where to go.

“Wait, wait,” you protest, “Where are we? What is this place?” Maybe if you repeat yourself enough he’ll finally give you an answer.

“We have to get out of here. We can’t waste time.” There is no pause in his steps, he marches on as if he’s expecting you to calmly accept the situation without further explanation.

"Can you please just stop for a second and tell me what’s going on?!" you say, digging your heels against his strength to try and stop him for even a second. 

He takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring with anger and irritation. “We’re in an interdimensional fabric where the interstitial domain emerges. It’s void of any discernible quantum fluctuations or energy-matter manifestations, constituting an absolute absence of existence or spatial-temporal coherency and–”

He’s still talking, throwing out a string of convoluted science terms, one after another in quick succession, but all you hear is an endless stream of jibberish. 

His words seem strangely far away, like your ears are plugged or something. You raise a hand to rub at one of them, then at your forehead when that doesn't make the sound go back to normal.

Normal. Ha! Who even knows what "normal" is for this place anyway. Everything since you left your apartment has been so bizarre that you're not surprised your head feels a little wonky.

And there's something weird with your hand too. You pull it back from your forehead and hold it in front of your face, staring at it.

Strange. The tone of it seems off, somehow. Opaque and lighter in shade then you’re used to. Almost like it’s fading.

It's only when he moves to stand in front of you that you realize you can see the red and blue of his suit though your hand. The whole of your palm is turning translucent.

“Shit!” he spits out and steps forward, grabbing and yanking your hand towards him as he inspects your palm.

Whatever he sees clearly doesn’t make him happy. His mouth is at an angle of irritation you had not thought was physically possible before.

"What's your name?" he demands.

"You know my name!" You scowl, tired of keeping up this farce, you know he knows it, and you're not playing this game with him. 

His annoyance seems to grow deeper. “Yes, I know your name. I'm asking if you remember it.”

What kind of stupid question is that!? Of course you remember your own name. What a condescending jerk! Does he get off on making everyone around him feel like an idiot?

Your name is… it’s... it's... uhm…

... huh.

The first syllable of your name is on the tip of your tongue. Your lips shape the sound, but nothing comes out because you don't remember what vowel comes next. Or what comes after that.

Your name... Why can't you remember your name?

“I–I don’t...” you hesitate, blinking in confusion. You don’t understand. How did you forget something so simple? “I don’t understand what’s happening. Where are we?”

“I just told you where we are,” he bursts out impatiently.

You wince at his words. God, he did explain, didn't he? You just... can't remember what he said. You know he used a lot of science-y words… Is that why you can't remember what he told you?

 “Look, it’s been a rough day. Can you explain it to me again, please, but like you’re talking to a 5 year old?”

In front of you, his expression softens ever so slightly, and he takes another deep breath before continuing more calmly.

“We’re in a space between worlds,” he explains, this time in plain speech, thank god. “It’s a void. Nothing exists here. If we stay too long, we won’t either.”

“Okay, but what am I supposed to–”

“Think happy thoughts,” he orders with a testy bite, which is not at all very helpful in making you think of happy thoughts.

“What, like think of a joke or…?”

He scowls at your question, as if it wasn’t a perfectly reasonable question to ask in the circumstances.

“No. Close your eyes and think of a happy memory. Something important. And personal. It’ll keep you tethered to your physical body,” he says, and despite the terse snappiness that remains in this rude man’s voice, you don’t put up a protest.

You close your eyes, trading out white for the black behind your eyelids. You try to form a memory—any memory—but nothing comes to you.

“I can’t think of anything,” you say, as worry starts creeping into your chest. You don’t understand why something that should be simple is so hard to do all of a sudden.

Then you hear his voice in the darkness.

“Think of someone you love. A day you spent together, or if you can’t think of something, then just think of their smile, or the color of their eyes,” he continues, and with each quality he lists out to you, there's a warmth that leaks through the hardness of his voice.

In your mind’s eye, a memory unfolds pixel by pixel. One of your favorite childhood memories of going camping upstate with your family. You’re wearing a pink ball cap, and your parents are standing by the tent, watching as the family dog runs up to you with a soggy tennis ball in her mouth.

Your mom is smiling at you as she waves from afar, gentle and patient. Her eyes are squinting against the bright sunlight, but you can’t remember the color of them. 

Gray hazy mist invades the edges of the memory, eating into the vivid colors, the picture distorts until the smiles of your parents morphs into a faceless blob.

Your eyes snap open, and you can’t keep the panic out of your voice. “What’s happening to me!?”

You don’t remember… You don’t remember what they look like. Who they were, you can’t–

“Hey, hey” his voice snaps you out of the fog, His warm palms come up to cup the apple of your cheeks, face mere inches from yours.

“Stay with me.”

And you're trying, you really are, but the panic is already here. Eating through your veins and crawling under your skin with an itch that won't go away.

“I– I can’t– I don’t–”

You can’t feel his hand anymore. Can’t feel your cheeks either. Can’t feel the clattering of your teeth from your trembling or the hard beating of your heart in your chest.

“I don’t remember her eyes.” Your fingers clutch onto his arms, but no matter how hard you dig in with your nails, it sinks into nothingness,  “I don’t– My mom. I– I don’t remember her name, her face, her–” 

Your feet seem to have fused to the spot you are standing on. They feel heavy and weightless at the same time. You try to move, but can't. Your body is no longer listening to you, and you’ve forgotten what it’s like to coordinate your feet, for the right foot to take a step forward and have the left one follow.

“Lyla,” he tells you, thumb smoothing over the apple of your cheeks, and you can feel the rasp of the rough calluses on it. “Your mom’s name was Lyla.”

The panic subsides at the familiar name. 

Lyla.

Your mom's face comes flooding back, the way her eyes would crinkle at the corner when she laughed, the proud smile she wore at your high school graduation, the soft sound of her voice singing you quiet lullabies as you drifted off to sleep.

“She used to make the most disgusting mac ‘n’ cheese, and whenever you’re sad, it’s all you want to eat,” he reminds you and your mouth tingles at the memory of the thick layer of dripping cheap cheese, scalding hot on your tongue. 

You adjust your grip on him, and you can feel the texture of his suit under your fingertips now. Your fingers aren’t as numb anymore, neither is your face. 

“Food worked, huh?” The corner of his mouth tugs into a half smile, eyes soft as he gazes down at you. “Figures.”

He leans down, hunching over until his forehead rests against yours. “You know that pizza place down on Downing street that you always go to the day before payday? With the gross doughy crust and kimchi topping that you love so much? Think of that.”

You can picture it clearly. The brick brownhouses, the familiar waft of oven-baked dough, and hint of coal burning, and slowly but surely, your stomach warms at the thought of it. 

“Think of those ugly pink fur slippers you wear constantly at home when it gets cold,” he says, and you do, gradually become aware of the soles of your feet and the weight of your own body being held up by them.  

He goes on like that, listing off things about you. The way he talks about them is almost insulting, but there’s an undertone of fondness hidden underneath that you can’t make sense of. He describes your favorite cozy sweater, calling it “ratty”; your favorite corner of central park that he thinks reeks of piss; your favorite episode of Grey’s anatomy, the one where Cristina has to get cut out of her wedding dress, which you always watch when you need a good cry.

The sound of his voice seems to shiver through you, the warmth of it settling low in your belly.

The more he talks, the more you remember, memories bleeding back into your consciousness. The simplest things come first... The sensation of running your fingers through your hair. Stepping barefoot into grass on a summer day. What it feels like to want someone.

And, as he continues to talk, awareness of your body comes trickling back until you're acutely conscious of his forehead pressing against yours; his hands, big and gentle where they're wrapped around your upper arms; the heat radiating off his big body inches from yours as his deep voice lists off all sorts of intimate things about your life, things he has no business knowing. 

Control of your body is returning to you. You can blink now, even if it requires conscious effort, and you blink up at him as he pulls back to look down at you.

“You back with me?” he asks softly, one big, warm hand rising to cup the back of your neck in a way that makes you lightheaded.

You tip your head ever so slightly until you catch sight of your hands, now totally opaque instead of that eerily ghostly sheen, and you nod back at him. 

“I– I think so.”

“Good.” 

You’re still a little bit frazzled. Disorientated by the whole experience that it takes you a while longer to gather your thoughts together. 

You still don’t know where you are. You don’t know what the hell just happened. Or what this place is supposed to be. Calling it a ‘void’ doesn’t really explain as much as he seems to think it does. How on earth did you just lose control over your body like that? Why did your body literally start to disappear, fading into the nothingness? 

A chill trickles down your spine as you recall the lack of sensation, and you grip his arm underneath your fingers just a little bit tighter to remind yourself that, yeah, he’s still here. 

It makes you feel just the tiniest bit safer. 

With one arm still wrapped around your shoulders, he brings his other wrist to his mouth and speaks into the watch. “Lyla, have you got a lock down?” 

Huh? Lyla? What is he– You don’t understand. Wait, is he talking to your mom? What does he mean he’s locking down your mom!? 

There’s a crackle of static in your ears, and the endless white gives way to a burst of color as reality reforms around the two of you. A wall of masonry appears brick by brick before you, nothing but blue clear skies above. There’s a crunch of gravel on the concrete tiles beneath your feet, and when you look down to your right, you see the New York skyline below you. The bird’s eye view of the city is familiar. It’s one you’ve seen many, many times before. 

You’re on top of the Chrysler building. 

For a second you panic at the height. You clutch onto the man who has once again saved your life, and he lets you, holding you steady, with one big palm resting on the small of your back. 

“You’re okay,” he says, shushing you until you relax in his arms. “You’re okay.” 

You stay like that for some time, held in the safety of his arms, until your heartbeat slows, until the pulse racing in your throat is no longer in a clustered lump and you feel like you can breathe and think again. 

And now that you can think again, your brain is racing a mile a minute. All the things that have happened… All the things that this man said to you to bring you back to yourself. 

Things that no one except for you would know about. It’s too personal and intimate. Even if he had somehow been stalking you, he wouldn’t know these things unless he has been stalking you from childhood. The things he knows about you only comes through years of being with a person. Your habits. Your likes. Your dislikes. The things that upset you. The things that make it better when everything else has gone wrong. He knows all these things about you that he really only should know if he’s known you for a lifetime.  

"Who are you?" you ask him again, pulling back slightly to stare up into those blood red eyes inches away from your own, "Who are you really?"

"My name is Miguel O'Hara,” he says, holding your gaze, “and I’m Spiderman from another dimension."

Dedication & Credits: To my sister clown in arms @thirstworldproblemss thank you for putting up with me since this series started, I have been bugging his poor woman every second of her waking day. Please give her all the love because I couldn't do this without her or even if I did, I wouldn't have 1/100000000000000000 of the fun I have now with her.

[h0n3yk1tt3n]

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